She regarded him with steady eyes, and then, without a word, motioned him to proceed further downstairs to the ground-floor.
“You want to talk to me?” he whispered again.
He had a voice which was curiously capable of being almost inaudible, and yet at the same time distinct.
She nodded.
He pointed to the open door of Mrs. Ilam’s room, but Rosie shook her head.
“Why not?” he demanded.
She shook her head once more, and they went downstairs to the dining-room, both silently creeping. With infinite precautions he opened the dining-room door, and shut it when they had entered.
“It would have been better to remain upstairs,” he said mildly. “The least possible movement is dangerous enough. At this stage a creaking stair might spoil the whole business.”
“I cannot talk there,” she said.
“But, since Mrs. Ilam is utterly helpless,” he protested, “what can it matter what she hears? She cannot talk.”