“More than that,” he said. “You are a brave man in your way, Sir Richard Dyson, but you are going about now shivering under a load of fear. It sits like a devil incarnate upon your shoulders. It poisons the air wherever you go. Write your cheque, Sir Richard, and you can leave that little black devil in my wastebasket. You are under my protection. Nothing will happen to you.” Sir Richard sat like a man mesmerised. The little man with the amiable expression and the badly fitting suit was leaning back in his chair, his finger tips pressed together, waiting. “Nothing will happen!” Sir Richard repeated, incredulously. “Certainly not. I guarantee you against any inconvenience which might arise to you from this recent unfortunate affair. Isn’t that all you want?” “It’s all I want, certainly,” Sir Richard declared, “but I must understand a little how you propose to secure my immunity.” Ruff shook his head. “I have my own methods,” he said. “I can help only those who trust me.” Sir Richard drew a cheque book from his pocket. “I don’t know why I should believe in you,” he said, as he wrote the cheque. “But you do,” Peter Ruff said, smiling. “Fortunately for you, you do!” It was not so easy to impart a similar confidence into the breast of Colonel Dickinson, with whom Sir Richard dined that night tete-a-tete. Dickinson was inclined to think that Sir Richard ad been “had.” “You’ve paid a ridiculous fee,” he argued, “and all that you have in return is the fellow’s promise to see you through. It isn’t like you to part with money so easily, Richard. Did he hypnotise you?” “I don’t think so,” Sir Richard answered. “I wasn’t conscious of it.” “What sort of a fellow is he?” Dickinson asked. Sir Richard looked reflectively into his glass. “He’s a vulgar sort of little Johnny,” he said. “Looks as though he were always dressed in new clothes and couldn’t get used to them.” Three men entered the room. Two remained in the background. John Dory came forward towards the table. “Sir Richard Dyson,” he said, gravely, “I have come upon an unpleasant errand.” “Go on,” Sir Richard said, fingering something hard inside pocket of his coat. “I have a warrant for your arrest,” Dory continued, “in connection with the disappearance of Job Masters on Saturday, the 10th of November last. I will read the terms of the warrant, if you choose. It is my duty to warn you that anything you may now say can be used in evidence against you. This gentleman, I believe, is Colonel Dickinson?” “That is my name, sir,” Dickinson answered, with unexpected fortitude. “I regret to say,” the detective continued, “that I have also a warrant for your arrest in connection with the same matter.”