This latter idea rapidly took definite form in his mind. As likely as not Herbert Camp was hidden in the house—perhaps without his uncle’s knowledge.
“But his sister is aware of it,” was the young man’s further thought, “and who knows,” bitterly, “but that she still fancies me in pursuit of him.”
With this his mind was made up; he put the pistol down upon the table, and then pulled off the other boot. After this he stood up, and divested himself of coat and waistcoat; he put out two of the candles, permitting that near the picture of the burgomaster to remain burning. Drawing a tall leather screen up to the four poster he spread it out and then with a wide yawn went behind it as though to complete his disrobing.
Now, as before said, the bed stood near the door, and when George spread the screen, he hid the door from the view of the peering eyes behind the portrait. So instead of going on with his preparations for bed, the young man softly opened the door, and all unarmed as he was, stepped out into the hall.
This latter was dark and still, and step by step he made his way along, being careful not to knock against anything that might be in his way. He had not gone many feet when he saw that the door of the apartment next his own stood partly open; it was only a trifle and but a trickle of light showed itself. He approached the door softly. It was in this apartment that the spy would be hidden, for the portrait was backed against the wall that divided it from his own. He had all but gained the door when there came a sharp exclamation and the stir of feet upon the other side of it; for a moment he feared that he had been discovered and halting, braced himself for whatever was to come. But there was nothing save a continued and low-pitched sound of voices.
“There’s more than one,” he murmured softly. This knowledge, however, did not stay him; once more he made for the door along the edges of which the light was seeping. The opening was too small to admit of his gaining a view of even a part of the room; but he could hear the almost whispered words distinctly.
“It is very annoying to be spied upon,” said a voice which George at once knew as Major Hyde’s. “And I am surprised that you should stoop to it. Or, perhaps,” and there was something like a sneer in the tone, “you will deny that you were spying.”
“No,” came the voice of Peggy Camp, “I do not deny it. I saw you steal along the hall and followed you.”
“You are quite sure,” and there was a keen note of inquiry in the man’s voice, “that you were not already in the room when I entered?”
“I am not in the habit of misrepresenting my actions,” returned Peggy, and the listener fancied her head rearing proudly as she said it.