"Let's go around first, and see what lies in the rear," whispered Tom.
He had an object in view when he said this. Having noted carefully their route in coming from the open field where they had left their big plane, Tom knew that the window from whence the sobbing had come must be either at the back of the house, or on the eastern side.
He was heading in that quarter now, and looking for signs of a light in some upper window. This he discovered speedily, and pointed it out to his companion.
"Whoever was crying, Jack, must be up there," he said, close to the other's ear so as to insure safety.
"But how can we find out?" queried Jack. "If you say the word I'm willing to climb up, and learn what's wrong."
"Not yet. We must take a turn around, and pick up more knowledge of this place, as well as the people who live in the house."
"Then why not creep up and look in at that lower window?" suggested Jack, pointing as he spoke. "I've seen a shadow passing back and forth, as if some person were walking up and down like a caged tiger. It's a man, too, Tom, because I could easily make out his figure, a tall man to boot."
Tom led the way, with Jack at his heels. They managed to crawl through the bushes that cluttered the ground close to the wall of the stone building, and were at length in a position to raise themselves from their knees and peep under the drawn shade.
Jack was the first to look. Almost instantly he drew back with a low ejaculation of wonder. Tom, spurred on by this fact, also raised his head until his eyes were on a level with the small strip of open space just below the shade. He too had a thrill at what he saw.
"I feel as if I must be dreaming!" whispered Jack huskily. "Tell me, is that man in there really Carl Potzfeldt, the good-for-nothing guardian of little Bessie Gleason?"