Sir Richard drew a cheque book from his pocket. “I don’t know why I should believe in you,” he said, as he wrote the cheque.
“But you do,” Peter Ruff said, smiling. “Fortunately for you, you do!”
It was not so easy to impart a similar confidence into the breast of Colonel Dickinson, with whom Sir Richard dined that night tete-a-tete. Dickinson was inclined to think that Sir Richard ad been “had.”
“You’ve paid a ridiculous fee,” he argued, “and all that you have in return is the fellow’s promise to see you through. It isn’t like you to part with money so easily, Richard. Did he hypnotise you?”
“I don’t think so,” Sir Richard answered. “I wasn’t conscious of it.”
“What sort of a fellow is he?” Dickinson asked.
Sir Richard looked reflectively into his glass.
“He’s a vulgar sort of little Johnny,” he said. “Looks as though he were always dressed in new clothes and couldn’t get used to them.”
Three men entered the room. Two remained in the background. John Dory came forward towards the table.
“Sir Richard Dyson,” he said, gravely, “I have come upon an unpleasant errand.”