"You're a liar--the same damned liar that you've always been! I want that transfer, Morelle. I'm through with you--after your appearance in the police court. You're a damned fine asset to a company! You and your Lola! You will resign from the board of my companies. Get that! And whilst I'm dealing with you, I'd like to tell you that if you attack my stocks, I'll attack you in a way that will make hell a cosy corner, huh?" His hand shot out and he gripped Ronnie. "Come here--you! D'ye hear me. I'll--" Ronnie took the hand that grasped his collar and pried loose the fingers; he did this without apparent effort. The fingers had to release their hold or be broken. Then with a twist of his wrist he flung the hand away. "Don't do that, please," he said calmly. Steppe stood panting, grimacing--afraid. Merville felt the fear before he saw its evidence. "How did you do that?" panted Steppe. It was the resentful curiosity of the beaten animal. Ronnie opened his mouth and laughed long and joyously. He was, thought the doctor, like a boy conjuror who had mystified his elders and was enjoying the joke of it. Then, without warning, he became serious again and pressed a bell on his table. "François, open the door--must you go, Bertram? I wanted to see you rather pressingly. Steppe can find his way home, can't you, Steppe? One can't imagine him getting lost--and he can ask a policeman." "I'll settle with you later, Morelle. Come on, Merville." The doctor vacillated. "Come on!" roared Steppe. "I'll see you this afternoon. I have an engagement now." Merville went hastily after the big man. Ronnie followed, overtaking them as they were getting into the elevator. "Will you tell Beryl that I am coming to see her tonight?" "She'll not see you!" exploded Steppe, "no decent woman would see you--" "What an ape you are!" said Ronnie reproachfully, "don't you realize that I'm not talking to you?" XII Jan Steppe's solitary lunch was served at midday, an hour which ensured his solitude, for he was a man who liked his meals alone. He was nearing the finish of his repast, his enormous appetite unimpaired by his unhappy experience of the morning, when two men mounted the steps of his Berkeley Square residence. They were unknown to one another; one had walked, the other had descended from a taxi, and they stood aside politely. "You are first, sir," said the taller and healthier of the two. Their cards went in to Jan Steppe together. He saw the tall man first, jumping up from the table and wiping his fingers on his serviette. "In the library, huh?" He looked at himself in the glass, pulled his cravat straight, and smoothed his black hair before he made his way to where the tall man, hat in hand, was waiting his pleasure. "Well, inspector, what do you want?" Steppe jerked open the lid of a box and presented its contents for approval.