"Hush! Listen!"
Stumpy listened, and heard a noise of crying and sobbing in the next room.
He stared at Leicester and shook his head.
"It's that young lad we saw downstairs," he said. "Listen! Some one's giving him a beating."
"No," said Leicester, in the same low voice, "there's no other voice or noise in the room. What can be the matter?"
Stumpy looked up at the ceiling.
It was an old cottage, and the partition between the rooms was in some places worn through; light came between these chinks, and supplied Stumpy with an idea.
Without a word he bent down close against the wall and, in silence, motioned Leicester to get on his back.
This Leicester for some time declined to do; but as the sobbing broke out again his curiosity overcame him, and he stepped lightly on to Stumpy's back and then supported himself by clinging to one of the rough beams.
Having gained a position, he peered through one of the holes.