Indeed, Milford had been
exceptionally fortunate in that respect.
Neighboring towns had been visited, some of
them several times, but Milford had escaped.
The night was quite dark, but not what is
called pitchy dark. As the eyes became
accustomed to the obscurity, they were able to
see a considerable distance. So it was with
Carl. From his place of concealment he
occasionally raised his head and looked across
the way to the factory. An hour passed, and
he grew tired. It didn't look as if the
attempt were to be made that night. Eleven
o'clock pealed out from the spire of the Bap-
tist Church, a quarter of a mile away. Carl
counted the strokes, and when the last died
into silence, he said to himself:
"I will stay here about ten minutes longer.
Then, if no one comes, I will give it up for tonight."
The time was nearly up when his quick ear
caught a low murmur of voices. Instantly
he was on the alert. Waiting till the sound
came nearer, he ventured to raise his head for
an instant above the top of the wall.
His heart beat with excitement when he saw
two figures approaching. Though it was so
dark, he recognized them by their size and
outlines. They were Julius Gibbon, the bookkeeper,
and Phil Stark, the stranger staying at the hotel.
Carl watched closely, raising his head for
a few seconds at a time above the wall, ready
to lower it should either glance in his direction.
But neither of the men did so. Ignorant
that they were suspected, it was the farthest
possible from their thoughts that anyone
would be on the watch.
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