Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/120

108 I began to realize that I had a very pleasant little time ahead of me. But I was more interested in what I was hearing, at that moment, than in what I was feeling. If about twenty-five hundred icy feet began to make a out of my spinal column, I didn't give that creepy sensation much thought, beyond surmising that I was getting into that game of theirs for keeps. For outside the door their talk was still going on, and I didn't want to miss any more of it than I had to.

"But how can you fool those people on the voice? Most of them must have heard that other girl's voice, and some of them must have known it for years."

The little old weasel, apparently, was not to be stumped by any such objections.

"We'll have our woman whisper—whisper, do you understand? She's a sick girl. Her voice is gone. Everything she says, every word, must be in a whisper. And the weaker she can make it the better—for in half an hour, don't you see, that girl's going to be dead!"

"Or our whole plan's going to be dead!" interpolated the none too optimistic doctor.

I couldn't help thinking, as I stood there, that these three worthies were accepting the death of a