“Further,” he went on, “I judge, by the recent dry weather, that those lorries have been here at intervals of about three days. They came from some considerable distance, no doubt. The last was here yesterday, in which case the next would be here the day after to-morrow.”
“Then I can stay and see with my own eyes?” suggested Collins.
“Exactly my idea,” his master replied. “You could be an actual witness, and make a statement before I dare act.”
At that moment all three were startled by hearing voices. People were coming out of the farmhouse. The dogs in the yard barked—showing that the voice of one of the persons was that of a stranger—the man from London.
“Quick!” cried Collins. “Let’s get into hiding somewhere. I hope they won’t let those infernal dogs loose, or they’ll soon scent us out!”
“I hope not!” said Beryl, who, though a lover of dogs, held farm dogs, in such circumstances, in distinct suspicion.
All three sped quickly back, crouching behind a wooden fence close by, just as the fitful light of a lantern could be seen approaching. Three persons were revealed—the man Cator, his guest, and the fat old woman.
Ronnie and Beryl strained their ears to catch their conversation, but at first they could not distinguish a single word.
Suddenly the woman, with a loud laugh, spoke more distinctly. Yes! She spoke in German, the man from London answering in the same language!
They walked to the door of the long, low building which, after some difficulty, the man Cator unlocked, leaving his old hurricane-lamp outside. The trio went in; therefore it was plain one of them carried an electric torch.