“What shall I do?” thought Frank; and for a moment he was disposed to descend and leave the house, but he felt that he could not without first gaining possession of the letter. It would be impossible to bear the strain, especially with the accompaniment of the dread of its being discovered and placing information which might prove disastrous to his father in the hands of a spy.
The next minute his mind was made up. He determined to weary out the man if he could, while he on his part went up to his own old bedroom, which he used to occupy when he came home from school while his father and mother were in town. He would go up to it, and sit down and read if he could. The man should not come in there, of that he was determined; and he felt that he must risk the fellow’s searching the place they had left.
“For if he has a key, he could come in at any time, and hunt about the place. But how did he get a key to fit the door?”
Frank thought for a few moments, and then it was plain enough: he had obtained it from the people who made the new door to the house.
“I must get the letter before I go,” thought the boy now, “so as to send word to father that he must not venture to come again, because the place is so closely watched; and I must tell him of this piece of miserable intrusion.”
He took a few steps down, and the man followed; but before the landing was reached, he turned sharply round, and began to ascend rapidly.
The man still followed close to his elbow, and in this way the second floor was reached, where the door of Frank’s bedroom lay a little to the right.
The last time he was up there he was in company with his father in the dark, on the night of the escape, and a faint thrill of excitement ran through him as he recalled all that had passed.
He turned sharply to the spy, and said indignantly:
“Look here, fellow, this is my bedroom;” and he pointed to the door.