SMITH. Pardon me, Romeo: two men, I think? MOORE. A man wot means business. If I'd 'a' bin with him last night, it ain't psalm-singin' would have got us off. Psalm-singin'? Muck! Let 'em try it on with me. AINSLIE. Losh me, I heard a noise. (_Alarm; they crouch into the shadow and listen._) SMITH. All serene. (_To AINSLIE._) Am I to cut that liver out of you? Now, am I? (_A whistle._) 'St! here we are. (_Whistles a modulation, which is answered._) SCENE II _To these, BRODIE_ MOORE. Waiting for you, Deacon. BRODIE. I see. Everything ready? SMITH. All a-growing and a-blowing. BRODIE. Give me the light. (_Briefly examines tools and door with bull's-eye._) You, George, stand by, and hand up the pieces. Ainslie, take the glim. Moore, out and watch. MOORE. I didn't come here to do sentry-go, I didn't. BRODIE. You came here to do as I tell you. (_MOORE goes up slowly._) Second bunch, George. I know the lock. Steady with the glim. (_At work._) No good. Give me the centre-bit. SMITH. Right. (_Work continues. AINSLIE drops lantern._) BRODIE. Curse you! (_Throttling and kicking him._) You shake, and you shake, and you can't even hold a light for your betters. Hey? AINSLIE. Eh, Deacon, Deacon.... SMITH. Now, Ghost! (_With lantern._) BRODIE. 'St, Moore! MOORE. Wot's the row? BRODIE. Take you the light. MOORE (_to AINSLIE_). Wo' j' yer shakin' at? (_Kicks him._) BRODIE (_to AINSLIE_). Go you, and see if you're good at keeping watch. Inside the arch. And if you let a footfall past, I'll break your back. (_AINSLIE retires._) Steady with the light. (_At work with centre-bit._) Hand up number four, George. (_At work with picklock._) That has it. SMITH. Well done, our side. BRODIE. Now the crowbar! (_At work._) That's it. Put down the glim, Badger, and help at the wrench. Your whole weight, men! Put your backs to it! (_While they work at the bar, BRODIE stands by, dusting his hands with a pocket-handkerchief. As the door opens._) _Voila!_ In with you. MOORE (_entering with light_). Mucking fine work too, Deacon! BRODIE. Take up the irons, George. SMITH. How about the P(h)antom? BRODIE. Leave him to me. I'll give him a look. (_Enters office._) SMITH (_following_). Houp-la! SCENE III _AINSLIE; afterwards BRODIE; afterwards HUNT and OFFICERS_ AINSLIE. Ca' ye that mainners? Ye're grand gentry by your way o't! Eh sirs, my hench! Ay, that was the Badger. Man, but ye'll look bonnie hangin'! (_A faint whistle._) Lord's sake, what's thon? Ay, it'll be Hunt an' his lads. (_Whistle repeated._) Losh me, what gars him whustle, whustle? Does he think me deaf? (_Goes up. BRODIE enters from office, stands an instant, and sees him making a signal through the arch._) BRODIE. Rats! Rats! (_Hides L. among lumber. Enter noiselessly through arch HUNT and OFFICERS._) HUNT. Birds caught? AINSLIE. They're a' ben the house, mister. HUNT. All three? AINSLIE. The haill set, mister. BRODIE. Liar!