“I understand, sir.”
“St Albans is too far. Make your excuse and get away from there to-day. Put up somewhere in town, where you will be in reach of the telephone. Let Mr Carlyle and myself know where you are. Keep out of Creake’s way. I don’t want actually to tie you down to the house, but we may require your services. We will let you know at the first sign of anything doing and if there is nothing to be done we must release you.”
“I don’t mind that. Is there nothing more that I can do now?”
“Nothing. In going to Mr Carlyle you have done the best thing possible; you have put your sister into the care of the shrewdest man in London.” Whereat the object of this quite unexpected eulogy found himself becoming covered with modest confusion.
“Well, Max?” remarked Mr Carlyle tentatively when they were alone.
“Well, Louis?”
“Of course it wasn’t worth while rubbing it in before young Hollyer, but, as a matter of fact, every single man carries the life of any other man—only one, mind you—in his hands, do what you will.”
“Provided he doesn’t bungle,” acquiesced Carrados.
“Quite so.”
“And also that he is absolutely reckless of the consequences.”