"On the other hand, I am here to assure you that it is not," Lutchester replied.
Her hand was tearing at the cushion by her side. She moistened her lips. There was something about Lutchester hatefully convincing.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "Is this a trick. You won't get it!
No one but Mr. Haskall will get that formula from me!"
Lutchester smiled.
"It will only puzzle him when he gets it! To tell you the truth, the formula is rubbish."
"I don't believe you," she said firmly. "If you think you are going to interfere with my handing it over to him, you are mistaken."
"I have no wish to do anything of the sort," Lutchester assured her. "Make a bargain with me. Mr. Haskall will be here soon. Unfasten the little package you are carrying somewhere about your person, hand him the envelope and watch his face. If he tells you that what you have offered him is a coherent and possible formula for an explosive, then you can look upon me for ever afterwards as the poor, foolish person you sometimes seem to consider me. If, on the other hand, he tells you that it is rubbish, I shall expect you at the Ritz-Carlton at half-past eight."
There was a ring at the bell. She rose to her feet.
"I accept," she declared. "That is Mr. Haskall. And, by the bye, Mr. Lutchester, don't order too elaborate a dinner, for I am very much afraid you will have to eat it all yourself. Now, au revoir," she added, as the door was opened in obedience to her summons and a servant stood prepared to show him out. "If we don't turn up to-night, you will know the reason."
"I am very hopeful," Lutchester replied, as he turned away.