"You mean," Graham protested, working himself gradually into a state of wrath, "that I am to go back to my rooms as though nothing had happened, see Holderness and the others to-morrow, and not have a word of explanation to offer? That I am to leave those blackguards at Henry's to try their dirty games on some one else, and let Fischer, the man who was fully inclined to become my murderer, go away unharmed? I think not, Mr. Lutchester. I am much obliged for your help, but you are talking piffle."
"What do you propose to do, then?"
"I am going round to Scotland Yard myself."
Lutchester rose to his feet.
"Stay where you are for a minute, please," he begged.
He passed into a smaller room, and Graham could hear faintly the sound of the telephone. In a minute or two his host returned.
"Go in there and speak, Graham," he invited. "You will find some one you know at the other end."
Graham did as he was bidden, and Lutchester closed the door after him. For a few minutes the latter sat in his chair, smoking quietly, his eyes fixed upon the fire. Then his unwilling guest reappeared. He came into the room a little unsteadily and looked with new eyes at the man who seemed so unaccountably to have taken over the control of his affairs.
"I don't understand all this," he muttered. "Who the devil are you, anyway, Lutchester?"
"A very ordinary person, I can assure you," was the quiet reply.
"However, you are satisfied, I suppose, that my advice is good?"