“I never make mistakes,” he said arrogantly, “and I have every right to be here. It is the first duty of a citizen to frustrate any wrong-doing, and the first duty of a host to ask his guest if he is hungry. Now you can invite me to breakfast. And over that pleasant meal I will tell you something which will interest and amuse you.” The baffled man looked first one way and then the other. He was trapped; his ruse had not only failed, but had rebounded against himself. Dorn, out of the corner of his eye, saw the quick rise and fall of his chest, and knew something of the panic in him. “You can’t stay here. I don’t want you!” exploded Tappatt angrily. “That story about women being in my house is all moonshine and you know it. I’ll give you one minute to clear out! You can’t bluff me!” Michael Dorn laughed softly. “What will happen if I don’t clear out? Will you send for the police? There is the opportunity to get back on the cruel police commissioner who shut down your little home in the Provinces and might have got you five long weary years in Delhi prison if the official mind had only moved a little quicker. Send for the police, my good man; it will be a grand advertisement for you.” Dr. Tappatt had no intention of sending for the police; the force was not a popular constituent of public life with him. From the height of his intellect he looked down upon all other professions and callings than his own. “All right,” he growled, “come in. And as for the women, you’ll find you were mistaken.” “Don’t let us discuss them,” said Michael with an airy gesture of his hand. Chapter Twenty-eight He could almost afford to feel jubilant at the contemplation of his partial success, only he was a man who never counted eggs as chickens; nor did he underrate the resourcefulness of the man he was dealing with. The doctor was thinking rapidly, and a stiff glass of whisky helped further to clear a mind which was only normal when it was stimulated. Dorn was there to stay; such subterfuges as came into his mind to rid himself of the unwelcome visitor, he rejected. “Tell me where the coffee is and I will make it myself,” said Dorn. “Please forgive me if I’m a little suspicious, but doctors have an uncanny knowledge of the properties of certain drugs, and I should hate to feel myself going to sleep for no other reason than that you had found an opportunity for doctoring my drink.” He went into the kitchen, kindled the fire and put on the kettle. In one of the cupboards he found a tin of biscuits and a can of preserved milk--there were the elements of safe refreshment here. He knew his doctor very well--he had set a train of thought in motion. Would he take the obvious step, or go outside the detective’s plan?