George pinched his arm encouragingly, and Sweetwater, with an amused grunt, softly unlatched the window and pulled it wide open.

A fine sleet flew in, imperceptible save for the sensation of damp it gave, and the slight haze it diffused through the air.  Enlarged by this haze, the building they were set to watch rose in magnified proportions at their left.  The yard between, piled high in the centre with snow-heaps or other heaps covered with snow, could not have been more than forty feet square.  The window from which they peered, was half-way down this yard, so that a comparatively short distance separated them from the porch where George had been told to look for the man he was expected to identify.  All was dark there at present, but he could hear from time to time some sounds of restless movement, as the guard posted inside shifted in his narrow quarters, or struck his benumbed feet softly together.

But what came to them from above was more interesting than anything to be heard or seen below.  A man’s voice, raised to a wonderful pitch by the passion of oratory, had burst the barriers of the closed hall in that towering third storey and was carrying its tale to other ears than those within.  Had it been summer and the windows open, both George and Sweetwater might have heard every word; for the tones were exceptionally rich and penetrating, and the speaker intent only on the impression he was endeavouring to make upon his audience.  That he had not mistaken his power in this direction was evinced by the applause which rose from time to time from innumerable hands and feet.  But this uproar would be speedily silenced, and the mellow voice ring out again, clear and commanding.  What could the subject be to rouse such enthusiasm in the Associated Brotherhood of the Awl, the Plane and the Trowel?  There was a moment when our listening friends expected to be enlightened.  A shutter was thrown back in one of those upper windows, and the window hurriedly raised, during which words took the place of sounds and they heard enough to whet their appetite for more.  But only that.  The shutter was speedily restored to place, and the window again closed.  A wise precaution, or so thought George if they wished to keep their doubtful proceedings secret.

A tirade against the rich and a loud call to battle could be gleaned from the few sentences they had heard.  But its virulence and pointed attack was not that of the second-rate demagogue or business agent, but of a man whose intellect and culture rang in every tone, and informed each sentence.

Sweetwater, in whom satisfaction was fast taking the place of impatience and regret, pushed the window to before asking George this question: 

“Did you hear the voice of the man whose action attracted, your attention outside the Clermont?”

“No.”

“Did you note just now the large shadow dancing on the ceiling over the speaker’s head?”