They conversed as before for a few minutes. The Girondin, it appeared, had arrived some hours previously with a cargo of “1375.” It was clear that the members of the syndicate had agreed never to mention the word “gallons.” It was, Willis presumed, a likely enough precaution against eavesdroppers, and he thought how much sooner both Hilliard and himself would have guessed the real nature of the conspiracy, had it not been observed.
Presently they came to the subject about which Willis was expecting to hear. Beamish, the manager explained, was there and wished to speak to Archer.
“That you, Archer?” came in what Willis believed he recognized as the captain’s voice. “I’ve had rather a nasty jar, a letter from Madeleine Coburn. Wants Coburn’s share in the affair, and hints at knowledge of what we’re really up to. Reads as if she was put up to it by someone, probably that —— Merriman. Hold on a minute and I’ll read it to you.” Then followed Madeleine’s letter.
Archer’s reply was short but lurid, and Willis, not withstanding the seriousness of the matter, could not help smiling.
There was a pause, and then Archer asked:
“When did you get that?”
“Now, when we got in; but Benson tells me the letter has been waiting for me for three days.”
“You might read it again.”
Beamish did so, and presently Archer went on:
“In my opinion, we needn’t be unduly alarmed. Of course she may know something, but I fancy it’s what you say; that Merriman is getting her to put up a bluff. But it’ll take thinking over. I have an appointment presently, and in any case we couldn’t discuss it adequately over the telephone. We must meet. Could you come up to my house tonight?”