The girls were just going to call to him, and beg him to peep through the door in the wall and give them some news of the tennis players, when they suddenly changed their intention. Mrs. Wilson had appeared in the porch. She brought out a flower vase, flung the stale water away, and refilled it from one of the butts that stood near.
Scott had evidently seen her too, for he gave a short whistle to attract her attention, then, throwing down his blacking brush, he crossed the courtyard to speak to her. In spite of his lowered tone, his voice rose up clearly to the classroom window above.
"About what we were talking of this morning," he began. "It had best be done as soon as possible. I'll do it to-night."
"I've marked the place," replied Mrs. Wilson, "but I'll come with you to make sure. You'll want a helping hand. It's too much for one."
"You can hold the lantern, at any rate. It's a job that will need some caution. We mustn't attempt it till it's quite dark."
"No, not till everything's quiet," said Mrs. Wilson, as she re-entered the house.
Lindsay drew Cicely back quickly into the room, as Scott returned to his rows of boots on the bench. She did not wish him, at any cost, to see them at the window, or to know that they had overheard the conversation.
"What are they going to do?" asked Cicely breathlessly.
"I don't know. It must be something dreadful if they want to keep it so quiet."