Having already lunched heartily, Tommy contented himself with
ordering a Welsh rarebit and a cup of coffee. Whittington
ordered a substantial lunch for himself and his companion; then,
as the waitress withdrew, he moved his chair a little closer to
the table and began to talk earnestly in a low voice. The other
man joined in. Listen as he would, Tommy could only catch a word
here and there; but the gist of it seemed to be some directions
or orders which the big man was impressing on his companion, and
with which the latter seemed from time to time to disagree.
Whittington addressed the other as Boris.

Tommy caught the word "Ireland" several times, also "propaganda,"
but of Jane Finn there was no mention. Suddenly, in a lull in
the clatter of the room, he got one phrase entire. Whittington
was speaking. "Ah, but you don't know Flossie. She's a marvel.
An archbishop would swear she was his own mother. She gets the
voice right every time, and that's really the principal thing."

Tommy did not hear Boris's reply, but in response to it
Whittington said something that sounded like: "Of course--only
in an emergency...."

Then he lost the thread again. But presently the phrases became
distinct again whether because the other two had insensibly
raised their voices, or because Tommy's ears were getting more
attuned, he could not tell. But two words certainly had a most
stimulating effect upon the listener. They were uttered by Boris
and they were: "Mr. Brown."