“You can count me in.”
“It may really be rather formidable. We shall have possibly to tackle a prizefighter.”
“Right-o!” said Malone, cheerfully.
“And we want another man for the job. Do you know any fellow who would come along just for the sake of the adventure. If he knows anything about psychic matters, all the better.”
Malone puzzled for a moment. Then he had an inspiration.
“There is Roxton,” said he. “He’s not a chicken, but he is a useful man in a row. I think I could get him. He has been keen on your subject since his Dorsetshire experience.”
“Right! Bring him along! If he can’t come, we shall have to tackle the job ourselves. Forty-one, Belshaw Gardens, S.W. Near Earl’s Court Station. Three p.m. Right!”
Malone at once rang up Lord Roxton, and soon heard the familiar voice.
“What’s that, young fellah?... A scrap? Why, certainly. What!... I mean I had a golf match at Richmond Deer Park, but this sounds more attractive. What! Very good. I’ll meet you there.”
And so it came about that at the hour of three, Mailey, Lord Roxton and Malone found themselves seated round the fire in the comfortable drawing-room of the barrister. His wife, a sweet and beautiful woman, who was his helpmate in his spiritual as well as in his material life, was there to welcome them.