Herc readily agreed. He was fairly boiling with anger. But, on investigation, the fresh paint at the rear of the shed proved not to be scratched, as must have been the case had any one clambered up to the window.
"Looks to me as if you're seeing things," teased Ned.
"Does look rather like it," confessed Herc. "It seems as if—hullo, what—what's that? I guess that's how he reached the window without scratching the paint."
He pointed to a short ladder, evidently left behind by the workmen who had fitted up the hangars. It lay in some tall grass, a short distance from where the Dreadnought Boys stood. A hasty attempt seemed to have been made to hide it, but if this had been the case, it was unsuccessful.
"Just as I thought," declared Herc, after a minute. "The grass here is freshly trampled by the chap who threw the ladder back."
Ned was silent a minute. Then he spoke.
"I wonder how much they overheard?" he said slowly.
"All our conversation, I guess, if they arrived in time. Why?"