"There, what did I tell you?" Jack asked eagerly. "I am sure the different attitudes of that man's hand are meant for signs."
"Indeed, it would seem so," Rigby was forced to admit. "We'd better stay here and await developments."
For the next hour or so the mysterious process of printing the posters continued. It was exactly as Jack's ingenious mind had forecast. In every instance, although the dark and sinister features remained the same, the attitude of the hand was different. It was a strange and most important discovery that the two friends had made; but, instead of making their task easier, the problem had become still more intricate. Was all this part of some cunning device for attracting public attention, something absolutely new in the way of advertisement, or did it signify a deeper and more sinister purpose?
Jack recollected now how frequently Anstruther had alluded in his hearing to the ramifications of secret societies. With his intimate knowledge of criminality, and having every assistance from the police always at his disposal, Anstruther's acquaintance with the seamy side of life was extensive and peculiar. But was he now helping the police as usual, or was he engaged himself upon some ingenious conspiracy for the aggrandizement of himself and his satellites?
It was difficult to say, it was still more difficult to prove anything, seeing that the work of printing was still proceeding in silence. If these men would only speak, if they would only utter some word which might give a clue to what they were doing, the spies would have been more satisfied. Their only hope was to watch and wait on the off-chance of a careless word.
They were listening so eagerly indeed that they almost failed to notice the sound of a footstep which now echoed on the stairs. They were so close to the door that any one reaching their landing from below could hardly fail to make out the outline of their figures. Rigby had barely time to drag his companion back into the velvety darkness beyond before the newcomer was past them and had entered the room.
"How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?" the newcomer cried. "How are you getting on? Nobody interrupting you--seen nothing of the police or anything of that kind?"
"No doubt as to who that is," Rigby whispered. "I should recognize Anstruther's voice anywhere. I told you he was at the bottom of this business."
Anstruther stood before them, tall and distinguished in his evening dress, and there was no sign about him that he was doing anything more than pursuing a quite normal occupation.
"Not at all a bad evening's work," he said. "Are we all here, or is Carrington late again? Confound that fellow! I begin to wish we hadn't taken him into the business at all. But I do not think he is at all likely to play me false; it will be a bad day's work for him if he does."