"I know him intimately," was the cool reply. "What about our dinner to-night?" "We are going to dine with Mr. Fischer," Pamela decided. "I really don't think so," Lutchester objected. "For one thing, Mr. Fischer will probably have to attend the police court again later on." "What about?" "For having hired a famous murderer to try and get rid of me." Lutchester explained suavely. "Do you really believe that?" Pamela scoffed. "Why should he want to get rid of you? What harm can you do him?" "I am trying to find out," Lutchester replied grimly. "Still, since you ask the question, the pocketbook which is on its way to Germany, and which I picked up when Nikasti was taken ill--" "Oh, yes, I know about that!" Pamela interrupted. "That is the one thing that always sets me thinking about you. What did you do it for? How did you know what it meant to me?" "Divination, I imagine," Lutchester answered, "or perhaps I was thinking what it might mean to Mr. Fischer." She looked at him and her face was a study in mixed expressions. Her forehead was a little knitted, her eyes almost strained in their desire to read him; her lips were petulant. "Dear me, what a puzzle you are!" she exclaimed. "All the same, I am going to wait for Mr. Fischer. It doesn't matter whether one dines or sups. I suppose he will get away from the police court sometime or other." "But anyway," he protested, "you've heard all that Mr. Fischer has to say. Now I, on the other hand, haven't shown you my hand yet." "Heard all that Mr. Fischer has to say?" she repeated. "Certainly! Wasn't he here for several hours with you this afternoon? Didn't he promise you an alliance with Germany against Japan, if you could persuade certain people at Washington to change their tone and attitude towards the export of munitions?" "This," she declared, trying to keep a certain agitation from her tone, "is mere bluff." Lutchester was suddenly very serious indeed. "Listen," he said, "I can prove to you, if you will, that it is not bluff. I can prove to you that I really know something of what I am talking about." "There is nothing I should like better," she declared. "To begin with then," Lutchester said, "the pocketbook which Nikasti is supposed to have stolen from your room, the pocketbook of young Sandy Graham, which Mr. Fischer has sent to Germany, does not contain the formula of the new explosive, or any other formula that amounts to anything." "Just how do you know that?" she demanded. "To continue," Lutchester said, playing with a little ornament upon the mantelpiece, "you have an appointment--within half an hour, I believe--with Mr. Paul Haskall, who is a specialist in explosives, having an official position with the American Government." She had ceased to struggle any longer with her surprise. She looked at him fixedly but remained silent. "It is your belief," he proceeded, "that you are going to hand over to him the formula of which we were speaking."