Nothing was said, but what each read was a sufficient answer to a host of unspoken questions.
A moment after Mrs.Douglas had gone, Constance opened a cabinet.

From the false back of a drawer she took two little vials of powder and a small bottle with a sponge.
Then she added a long steel bar, with a peculiar turn at the end, to her paraphernalia for the trip.
Nothing further occurred until they met at the Terminal, or, in fact, on the journey out.

On most of the ride Mrs.Douglas kept her face averted, looking out of the window into the blackness of the night.
Perhaps she was thinking of other journeys out to Glenclair, perhaps she was afraid of meeting the curious gaze of any late sojourners who might suffer from acute suburban curiosity.
Quietly the two women alighted and quickly made their way from the station up the main street, then diverged to a darker and less frequented avenue.
"There's the house," pointed out Mrs.Douglas, halting Constance, with a little bitter exclamation.
Evidently she had reasoned well.

He had gone out there early and there was a light in the library.
"He isn't much of a reader," whispered Mrs.Douglas.

"Oh--it's clear to me that he has the stuff all right.