What could this man’s errand be? Evidently he must know the mysterious peasant and be familiar with the grounds.
“Curious! Curious!” muttered Don.
Expectantly—anxiously, he waited until the man had passed, then began retracing his steps, with Bobby close at his heels.
When he had resumed his former position, the boy, gazing over the top of the branches and leaves, was just in time to observe the man disappear in the dense shadows of the old farmhouse.
“Now what do you think of all this?” almost stuttered Bobby. “Oh, boy, but I feel kind of sorry for Jasy, though. This night’s work may get him into a whole pile of trouble.”
He was evidently going to add something more, but the sound of voices again stopped him. They were no longer raised as if in anger, yet, nevertheless, the conversation was evidently being carried on with the greatest seriousness.
And just about this time the two disciples of Sherlock Holmes saw a very dim light appear in one of the windows of the first floor, which, flashing in an erratic fashion, rapidly grew stronger, as though some one were bringing a lamp into the room.
Very soon the last vestige of day had disappeared, and overhead the stars and constellations were shining and twinkling with that wonderful brilliancy which they only possess when viewed far from smoke-filled towns. The boys no longer feared discovery. Night, with all its mystery, all its weirdness and majesty, was upon them, and though his fellow pilot was only a few yards away Don could no longer distinguish his form.
Easy in mind, therefore, they were able to give their undivided attention to the house. Now and again the light was blotted out, as figures momentarily passed in front. It was all very interesting, invoking in the mind thoughts of plots, of mysteries and of the machinations of spies.
“If we could only hear what they are saying,” groaned Bobby.