“Got any matches?” Billy had failed to find any in his own pockets.
Henri was better supplied. In the military aëroplane he had not only found matches, but also a box of tapers, and he had taken the precaution of putting them in his pockets when they left the machine.
With a little flame, carefully shaded, the boys discovered a shaky-looking ladder in a grape-arbor at the back of the garden.
By degrees, foot by foot, they edged the ladder alongside of the house, and gently hoisted it to the window of the upper room, which Leon had assured them was the right one.
“Let’s shy some pebbles against the window to let them know we are here,” was the whispered suggestion of Henri.
“Nothing doing.” Billy was going to have a look in first. He was already crawling up the ladder. Henri laid hold of the lower rungs, to keep the rickety frame steady, and Leon stationed himself at the garden door, ready and alert to give warning whistle if anything happened in front.
Billy tapped softly on the window pane. The sash was silently raised, and Billy crept in.
Not a word had been spoken, and no signal from the room above.
Standing in the dark and the rain in the dismal garden, Henri was of half a mind to follow his comrade without further delay. It was an anxious moment.
A bird-like trill from Leon. With this call Henri left the ladder and tiptoed to the garden door to join the little Belgian and find out what was the matter.