Wharton and Carstairs approved of his suggestion, and they examined the house thoroughly. John concluded from the presence of all the furniture and the good order in which they found everything that the departure of its owners had been hasty, perhaps, too, with the expectation of a return on the morrow.
The room that they liked best they found on the third floor, not a secret chamber, but one that chance visitors to the house would not be likely to see. A narrow stairway starting near it led down through the rear of the house, and the door was fastened with a heavy lock in which the key remained.
It contained only some boxes, and John surmised that it was a storeroom. But it seemed to suit their purpose admirably, and, bringing blankets from one of the bedrooms, they made their beds on the floor.
John was the last to go to sleep. The others were slumbering soundly before he lay down, but he stood a little while at the single window, looking out. The window was closed ordinarily with a heavy shutter, which was now sagging open. The boughs of a great tree waved almost against it.
The night was clear, but John saw nothing unusual outside. The château, and all its buildings and grounds were bathed in clear moonlight. The only sound was the soothing murmur of leaves before a light wind. It was hard to realize that a great war was sweeping Europe, and that they were in the thick of it.
But utter exhaustion claimed him, too, and soon three instead of two were sleeping soundly.
CHAPTER XIII
ON THE ROOF
John was awakened by the measured thud of heavy boots. It resembled the goosestep of the German army, and he turned over in order to stop the unpleasant dream. But it did not stop, and he sat up. Then it was louder, and it also had an echo.