Mr. Weatherley asserted, "but I prefer to be on the
right side. As regards firearms," he continued, "I have never
carried them, nor am I accustomed to handling them. At the same
time,--"

"I wouldn't bother about firearms, if I were you, sir," Arnold
interrupted. "I can promise you that while I am in this office no
one will touch you or harm you in any way. I would rather rely upon
my fists any day."

Mr. Weatherley nodded.

"I am glad to hear you say so. A strong young man like you need have
no fear, of course. You understand, Chetwode, not a word in the
outer office."

"Certainly not, sir," Arnold promised. "You can rely entirely upon
my discretion. You will perhaps tell Mr. Jarvis that I am to do my
work in here. Fortunately, I know a little shorthand, so if you like
I can take the letters down. It will make my presence seem more
reasonable."

Mr. Weatherley leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. He was
recovering slowly.

"A very good idea, Chetwode," he said. "I will certainly inform Mr.
Jarvis. Poor Rosario!" he went on thoughtfully. "And to think that
he might have been warned. If only I had told you to wait outside
the restaurant!"

"Do you know who it was who telephoned to you, sir?" Arnold asked.

"No idea--no idea at all," Mr. Weatherley declared. "Some one rang
up and told me that Mr. Rosario was engaged to lunch in the Grill
Room with my wife. I don't know who it was--didn't recognize the
voice from Adam--but the person went on to say that it would be a
very great service indeed to Mr. Rosario if some one could stop him
from lunching there to-day. Can't think why they telephoned to me."

"If Mr. Rosario were lunching with your wife," Arnold pointed out,
"it would be perfectly easy for her to get him to go somewhere else
if she knew of the message, whereas he might have refused an
ordinary warning."

"You haven't heard the motive even hinted at, I suppose?" Mr.
Weatherley asked.

"Not as yet," Arnold replied. "That may all come out at the
inquest."

"To be sure," Mr. Weatherley admitted. "At the inquest--yes, yes!
Poor Rosario!"

He watched the smoke from his cigar curl up to the ceiling. Then he
turned to some papers on his table.

"Get your desk in, Chetwode," he ordered, "and then take down some
letters. The American mail goes early this afternoon."

CHAPTER IX

A STRAINED CONVERSATION

Arnold swung around the corner of the terrace that evening with
footsteps still e