Dollar met them for a moment with a sidelong flash; that was as much as the little red eyes could stand. Scarth glowered, but Mr. Croucher was not looking up any more. Between the two strong men, one spitting insults with his tongue, the other darting questions with his eyes, flabby Croucher found it convenient to study the toes of his bedroom slippers. But his right hand shook deep in the far pocket of the voluminous bathgown. None of them saw that but Mostyn Scarth, and him it filled with gleaming confidence. "Come, Alfred," said he, "get into your street clothes, if they haven't been taken away from you. If they have, go down as you are and call a taxi. I'm going to take you out of this hole. You look more dead than alive. I thought you might; that's one reason why I came." "Croucher is going to do something for me first," said the crime doctor. "_Then_ he can do what he likes." "Sorry you haven't got a soul to call your own, Alfred." "Who says I haven't?" "Doctor Dollar. Didn't you hear him?" "If he does, he's a----" "Croucher! Croucher!" said the doctor. "All I want you to do is to hand me the razor case from the dressing-table. In fact you needn't do all that; just arm yourself with the weapon you ought to find there. Then somebody will be more of a match for me. And Mr. Scarth isn't raising any further objection, you will notice." What Croucher noticed, as the red eyes came up at last, was that Mostyn Scarth had suddenly lost a little of his usual healthy tan; but the bedroom slippers remained planted where they were. And then without a word Lady Vera stepped from the doctor's side, took the razor-case in both her hands, pulled it in two and exhibited the empty halves. "Which of you has borrowed my razor?" said John Dollar. "Not _me_!" cried Croucher with tremendous emphasis. But his right hand was still in his far pocket, as only Mostyn Scarth could see; and the sight restored a little of that healthy tan which so becomes dark faces. "Not you, Croucher?" "No, not me, by Gawd!" "Yet I believe your original mission in this house was to possess yourself of that razor--and--use it?" Dollar did not finish the sentence without feeling for a little hand with his left; that little hand met it half-way, and was the first to give a reassuring squeeze. "You were to do something to me with it, I believe, and to leave it in my hand to show I'd done it myself?" And then, under another sidelong flash, that steadied down into a will-destroying gleam, Croucher came out with a dreadful phrase. "To guide yer 'and!" said he, hoarsely. "To guide my hand! Exactly! But it was not exactly your idea?" "No. It was----" But here his eyes rolled into Mostyn Scarth's, and dropped once more. "Exactly!" repeated Dollar. "But you didn't quite feel like doing it, so at last your master had to come in to do it for you?" "He ain't my master now, blast 'im!" "Steady, Croucher. May I ask what that is in your hand?"