Carefully he took hold of this and began to draw himself upward; inch by inch he ascended until finally his head rose above the level of the window. Securing a good foot-hold in a tough fork of the stem, George settled himself to observe what was before him. The room was a fairly large one, having once upon a time been used for a storeroom by the miller for his grist. A candle end sputtered fitfully upon the head of an upturned cask; and beside it sat two figures engaged in earnest conversation.
Looking down at them as he was, George had no very plain view of their faces; but their words came distinctly enough to his ears.
“I wish,” spoke the voice which he had heard a few minutes before, “I had known of your willingness some time ago. You would have been very useful.”
“I may still be so,” replied the second person, and young Prentiss started and barely managed to choke back the exclamation that arose to his lips. The speaker was Herbert Camp!
“No,” said the first man. “Our plans are now complete. Nothing remains but to await the moment when the signal is given.”
“And when will that be?” inquired Camp.
“How am I to answer that?” said the other man. “I know very little of anything except the danger.”
“They don’t tell you the important things, then?”
“Only those that they must. There are men among them that are not half—no, not a tenth as much concerned as I am; and yet they have the details at their fingers’ ends.”
“It would seem to me that you are not well treated, Hickey,” said Herbert Camp.