“Yes, but I could judge nothing from that.”

“Well, he’s a rum one.  I shan’t open this window again till he gives signs of reaching the end of his speech.  It’s too cold.”

But almost immediately he gave a start and, pressing George’s arm, appeared to listen, not to the speech which was no longer audible, but to something much nearer—­a step or movement in the adjoining yard.  At least, so George interpreted the quick turn which this impetuous detective made, and the pains he took to direct George’s attention to the walk running under the window beneath which they crouched.  Someone was stealing down upon the house at their left, from the alley beyond.  A big man, whose shoulder brushed the window as he went by.  George felt his hand seized again and pressed as this happened, and before he had recovered from this excitement, experienced another quick pressure and still another as one, two, three additional figures went slipping by.  Then his hand was suddenly dropped, for a cry had shot up from the door where the sentinel stood guard, followed by a sudden loud slam, and the noise of a shooting bolt, which, proclaiming as it did that the invaders were not friends but enemies to the cause which was being vaunted above, so excited Sweetwater that he pulled the window wide open and took a bold look out.  George followed his example and this was what they saw: 

Three men were standing flat against the fence leading from the shed directly to the porch.  The fourth was crouching within the latter, and in another moment they heard his fist descend upon the door inside in a way to rouse the echoes.  Meantime, the voice in the audience hall above had ceased, and there could be heard instead the scramble of hurrying feet and the noise of overturning benches.  Then a window flew up and a voice called down: 

“Who’s that?  What do you want down there?”

But before an answer could be shouted back, this man was drawn fiercely inside, and the scramble was renewed, amid which George heard Sweetwater’s whisper at his ear: 

“It’s the police.  The chief has got ahead of me.  Was that the man we’re after—­the one who shouted down?”

“No.  Neither was he the speaker.  The voices are very different.”

“We want the speaker.  If the boys get him, we’re all right; but if they don’t—­wait, I must make the matter sure.”

And with a bound he vaulted through the window, whistling in a peculiar way.  George, thus left quite alone, had the pleasure of seeing his sole protector mix with the boys, as he called them, and ultimately crowd in with them through the door which had finally been opened for their admittance.  Then came a wait, and then the quiet re-appearance of the detective alone and in no very, amiable mood.

“Well?” inquired George, somewhat breathlessly.  “Do you want me?  They don’t seem to be coming out.”