T. X. folded the telegram very carefully and slipped it into his
waistcoat pocket.

He favoured the newcomer with a little bow and taking upon himself
the honours of the establishment, pushed a chair to his visitor.

"I think you know my name," said Kara easily, "I am a friend of
poor Lexman's."

"So I am told," said T. X., "but don't let your friendship for
Lexman prevent your sitting down."

For a moment the Greek was nonplussed and then, with a little
smile and bow, he seated himself by the writing table.

"I am very distressed at this happening," he went on, "and I am
more distressed because I feel that as I introduced Lexman to this
unfortunate man, I am in a sense responsible."

"If I were you," said T. X., leaning back in the chair and looking
half questioningly and half earnestly into the face of the other,
"I shouldn't let that fact keep me awake at night. Most people
are murdered as a result of an introduction. The cases where
people murder total strangers are singularly rare. That I think
is due to the insularity of our national character."

Again the other was taken back and puzzled by the flippancy of the
man from whom he had expected at least the official manner.