"This is the place," said he, as they came to a standstill.
"And a nice, lonely sort of place, too, hey?" chirped old Harding; "just
the place for a traitor to his country to----"
"Hush!" said the young officer seriously. "Let us wait and see if young
Prescott completes the case against himself before we condemn him, Mr.
Harding."
"Humph!" grunted the old money-bags. "In my opinion, he is condemned
already. Never did like that boy, something sneaky about him. Hey, hey,
hey?"
The officer's heart was too sick within him to answer. He drew out his
watch and looked at it in a fleeting glimpse of moonshine. It was almost
the time that Mortlake had declared had been agreed upon for the
consummation of the plot.
"At all events, I shall know within a few minutes if this story is to be
credited or condemned," thought Lieut. Bradbury.
Old Harding and Mortlake, the latter leading and beckoning to Lieut.
Bradbury, slipped cautiously through the alders, and took up a position in
the clump at the edge of the road behind a big bowlder, where they could
command a good view of the thoroughfare without being seen themselves. The
officer, with a keener sense than ever of doing something dishonorable,
joined them.
"Hark!" exclaimed Mortlake presently.
But, although they all strained their ears, they could hear no sound
except the cracking of a tree limb, as it rubbed against another branch in
the night wind.
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