"Well, to begin with," Pamela explained, "he searched my room, then he locked me in here, and was proceeding to threaten me when fortunately Mr. Lutchester arrived." "Threaten you--what about?" Fischer demanded. "He seemed to have an absurd idea," Pamela explained sweetly, "that I might have somewhere concealed upon my person the formula which was stolen from Captain Graham last Monday week at Henry's Restaurant. It makes quite a small world of it, doesn't it?" "I will deal with Nikasti for this," Fischer promised, "if it is true. Meanwhile?" "No sooner have I got over that little shock," Pamela went on, "than you turn up with this melodramatic story, and an offer from Mr. Fischer, which I can read in his face. Really, I feel that I shall hear the buzz of a cinema machine in a moment. How much do you owe him, Jimmy?" "Eighty-nine thousand dollars," the young man groaned. "I'll write you a cheque to-morrow morning," Pamela promised. "Will that do, Mr. Fischer?" "It is the last thing I desire," was the calm reply. "Really! Well, perhaps now you will come to the point. Perhaps you will tell me what it is that you do want?" "Stolen property," Fischer announced deliberately--"stolen property, however, to which I have a greater right than you." She laughed at him mockingly. "I think not, Mr. Fischer," she said. "You really don't deserve it, you know." "And why not?" "Just see how you have bungled! You bait the trap, the poor man walks into it, and you allow another to forestall you. Not only that, but you actually allow Japan to come into the game, and but for Mr. Lutchester's appearance we might both of us have been left plante la. No, Mr. Fischer! You don't deserve the formula, and you shall not have it. I'll pay my brother's debt to you in dollars--no other way." "Dollars," Mr. Fischer told her sternly, "will never buy the forged transfer. Dollars will never keep your brother out of the city police court or Sing Sing afterwards. There isn't much future for a young man who has been through it." Van Teyl was upon him suddenly with a low, murderous cry. Fischer had no time to resist, no chance of success if he had attempted it. He was borne backwards on to the lounge, his assailant's hand upon his throat. The young man was beside himself with drink and fury. The words poured from his lips, incoherent, hot with rage. "You--hound! You've made my life a hell! You've plotted and schemed to get me into your power!... There! Do you feel the life going out of you?... My sister, indeed! You!... You scum of the earth! You ..." "James!" The sound of Pamela's voice unnerved him. His fit of passion was spent. She dragged him easily away. "Don't be a fool, Jimmy!" she begged. "You can't settle accounts like that." "Can't I?" he muttered. "If we'd been alone, Pamela ... my God, if he and I had been alone here!" "Jimmy," she said, "you're a fool, and you've been drinking. Fetch the water bottle."