"They're in the drawing-room. Wait here," Elsie whispered; and the next moment Madge was alone.
It was very cold and the darkness was daunting, but she tried to brace herself. Her brother was engaged in dangerous work, and the secret conference that was being held in the room across the hall might threaten him. Then, Rankine had some part in the business. She felt a thrill that brought the blood to her face and gave her courage as she determined that no harm should come to him.
The murmur in the drawing-room grew louder, and Madge wondered if she could get nearer to it. Advancing cautiously into the hall, she tried to remember where the furniture was; but her outstretched hand struck something that rattled, and she stopped, alarmed. She had been on the point of knocking down a vase, and it was plain to her that further progress would involve risk. Elsie had some plan, and a noise would spoil it. Madge went back to her post and waited there in the darkness, highly strung and shivering.
Elsie, in the meantime, had left the house and crept round it on the grass until she reached a greenhouse built against one side of the drawing-room. The door was open, as she had expected, and, feeling for the edge of a flower-stand, she followed it up until she could crouch down beside the steps leading to a French window. It was closed but not latched, for when she ran her fingers along the joint, she felt an aperture; but she dared not try to pull it open. Still, she could see in. The lamps had not been lighted, but an electric torch lay on the table and threw a ring of light on the opposite wall, two or three feet from the ground. The rest of the room was in darkness, but a dim illumination which spread beyond the bright beam showed two figures faintly.
The men sat at the table. Elsie could not hear what they said; for their voices were low and they spoke in curt sentences. As soon as they had finished their business, one of them would get up and go, and she might not be able to steal away in time; besides, another man might come in by the door behind her. She must risk trying to open the window. She got her fingernails into the crack; but the hinges began to grate, and she let her hand drop. The voices, however, were now a trifle more distinct and she recognized one as her uncle's. Only a word or two was audible here and there, and she could not connect them with what she missed; but, after a time, she heard Staffer say:
"All falls through unless Williamson gets into touch. . . ."
"He must . . . should be there now . . . low water," said the other man.
Elsie missed Staffer's answer, but soon she caught:
"Andrew Johnstone and the American. . . ."
"Must be stopped . . . know too much . . . No scruples . . . can't hesitate."