They continued on their way homeward and soon came within the outskirts of the town. The houses were darkened and apparently every one was in bed and asleep. The sound of the boys' footsteps on the pavements echoed loudly along the still, deserted streets.
"Here's Elm Street," said Hugh. "Let's turn down here; it's on our way home and we can pass right by that stucco house."
"All right," Bob agreed, and they turned the corner.
"That's the place," whispered Hugh a few moments later.
"There's a light in the third story," said Bob in a low tone.
"Perhaps they're waiting up for that German bomb planter," chuckled
Hugh. "I guess he won't be home to-night."
"Don't joke about it, Hugh. I feel sorry for the man's family."
"So do I, but I don't feel sorry for him."
"I should say not! Anything they do to him won't be half bad enough."
"The snake," muttered Hugh. "I'd like to have one look inside that room up there though and see what is going on." He glanced up at the lighted window questioningly. As he did so the shade was thrown up and the window opened by some man who thrust his head out and looked around. Bob and Hugh shrank back within the shadow of a nearby tree. They caught only a fleeting glimpse of the man's face, and saw that it was no one they knew. He had closely cropped hair and a bristling mustache turned up at the ends.