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.”
Whittington seemed to remonstrate with him, but he merely laughed.
“Why not, my friend? It is a name most respectable—most common. Did he not choose it for that reason? Ah, I should like to meet him— Mr. Brown.”
There was a steely ring in Whittington’s voice as he replied:
“Who knows? You may have met him already.”
“Bah!” retorted the other. “That is children’s talk—a fable for the police. Do you know what I say to myself sometimes? That he is a fable invented by the Inner Ring, a bogey to frighten us with. It might be so.”
“And it might not.”
“I wonder … or is it indeed true that he is with us and amongst us, unknown to all but a chosen few? If so, he keeps his secret well. And the idea is a good one, yes. We never know. We look at each other— one of us is Mr. Brown —which? He commands—but also he serves. Among us—in the midst of us. And no one knows which he is. …”
With an effort the Russian shook off the vagary of his fancy. He looked at his watch.
“Yes,” said Whittington. “We might as well go.”