Accordingly Amos began to move along after Jack, who led him directly to the spot where he had found the widest crack. Presently both boys were flat on their stomachs, and with their eyes glued to the slender aperture.
Apparently Amos had no trouble about seeing, for before long he drew back again. The murmur of low voices came up to them from below, and he had found that it was just as Jack said.
A young man had come in, and was talking very earnestly with the old people. Whatever it was engrossed their attention they glanced suspiciously about them from time to time. Amos, looking further, had seen that the bar was again across the door, and also that every little window was carefully covered with some sort of dark material that would prevent prying eyes from peering through into the room.
That some of the conversation had a connection with the two lads was evidenced from the way the man pointed upward more than once. Amos, too, believed he caught a German word spoken by one of the conspirators below.
Was this a secret spy, and if so had that apparently harmless old couple been bribed by German gold to betray the cause of their country? It was a dreadful thought, and made Amos feel as cold as ice; for like most American boys he had a perfect horror of treachery.
“Jack!” he whispered softly, touching the other with his groping hand.
“Yes, what is it?” asked his comrade in the same cautious way, though the patter of the still falling rain on the nearby roof would very likely have drowned what little noise their voices made.
“It looks bad, don’t you think?” asked Amos, as though eager to have his own view confirmed by the opinion of his partner.
“It certainly does, I’m afraid,” said Jack.
“They act like they are plotting with that stranger,” suggested Amos.