Like two shadows, creatures of the night, Val and Eddie crept along the balcony of the hotel. With the exception of one or two rooms, that side of the house was in complete darkness. One room, far down towards the end of the balcony, was lighted, the yellow shaft of light cutting across the gloom of the black balcony sharply.
A cold breeze blew from Chesapeake Bay, and the men inwardly were grateful that they had thought to put on their hats. They could not tell how long they would have to stand outside the French windows of Teck’s room, which was next to the lighted one, on the extreme end of the balcony. Far in the distance was the great arc light of Willoughby Spit, a tiny star in the tenebrous immensity that lay, like a somber cloak, over the bay. Over towards Hampton Roads were the riding lights of a couple of battleships, and a few electric lights gleamed over Fortress Monroe, leaving in black relief the motionless figure of a sentry who had stopped, momentarily, high up on one of the bastions of the twelve-inch guns.
“Two on and four off,” murmured Eddie, noticing the sentinel. “Glad I’m off that stuff.”
“S-s-sh’-h!” cautioned his employer, warningly.
At last they stopped outside the windows of Teck’s room. All was dark inside. For a full minute they
