"Did they suspect Miss Van Teyl, then, of having taken your pocketbook?"
Graham shook his head.
"I lost the drift of things just then," he admitted. "She couldn't have done, in any case. Forgive me, but aren't we wasting time, Mr. Lutchester? We must do something. Couldn't you ring up Scotland Yard now?"
"I certainly could," Lutchester assented, "but, as I told you just now,
I don't think that I will."
Graham stared at him.
"But why not?"
"For certain very definite reasons with which you needn't trouble yourself just now," Lutchester pronounced. "The formula has gone, without a doubt, but it certainly isn't in the hands of any of the people at Henry's."
"But there's that American fellow—Fischer!" Graham exclaimed. "He was the ringleader!"
"Just so," Lutchester murmured thoughtfully. "However, he hasn't got the formula."
"But he planned the attack upon me," Graham protested. "He is an enemy—a German—sheltering himself under his American naturalization. Surely we're going for him?"