“Yes,” Crespin replied instantly; “and I agree with you.”
“Opening off the fellow’s own sanctum,” Traherne went on.
Crespin nodded. “It’s probably the wireless room,” he said still lower.
They stood and looked at each other, steadily, significantly—saying nothing. There was no need.
“And what’s out here?” Traherne was pointing to the window.
“Take a look,” Crespin told him tersely.
Traherne crossed the room, and leaned over the window’s sill. He whistled. “A sheer drop of a hundred feet,” he pronounced slowly.
“And a dry torrent below,” Major Crespin added insinuatingly. “How if we were to pick up our host, Traherne, and gently drop him on those razor-edged rocks?”
Traherne’s eyes glittered hungrily, but he shrugged his shoulders discouragingly, and said, “As he remarked last night, they’d tear us to pieces the quicker.”
“If it weren’t for Lucilla, I’m damned if I wouldn’t do it all the same,” Major Crespin muttered.