He seemed to recognize some of the voices he heard, but it was a long time before he could connect the voices with their owners.
At last, however, he made out that one of the speakers was Emile Durant, the fierce-eyed anarchist from Paris.
Another speaker was Kennington Glanworth, and Frank heard this fellow saying:
“Of course it is a decidedly unpleasant piece of business, but the blooming fool would have made us no end of trouble.”
“Ha! Zat ees right,” said Durant. “I know zat boy in Paree. He was one wondare.”
“Well, he is done for now,” said another voice. “Luptus finished him this time. It does not take the dummy long to end them when he gets those icy hands of his on their throats.”
“He is one dev-val!” cried Durant. “He would keel his own moder for a dreenk.”
“Such a job as this is not likely to meet the approval of our friends,” said Glanworth. “Some of them might denounce us if they knew. I will confess that I am rather scared myself.”
“Scare!” cried the French anarchist. “Bah! What you scare for? You must haf ze nerfe. What eef you was tole to blow up ze Tower? You may be set to do zat job some time.”
“That would be different. It would be for the cause to which I am pledged.”