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Page 32
If his ineffective surveillance of Ormuz Khan had been dictated
by interest in Phil Abingdon rather than by strictly professional
motives, it was, nevertheless, an ordinary part of the conduct of
such a case. But while he had personally undertaken the matter of
his excellency he had left the work of studying the activities of
Nicol Brinn to an assistant. He could not succeed in convincing
himself that, on the evidence available, the movements of the
Oriental gentleman were more important than those of the
American.
"Here we are," said Phil Abingdon.
She alighted, and Harley dismissed the cabman and followed the
girl into Doctor McMurdoch's house. Here he made the acquaintance
of Mrs. McMurdoch, who, as experience had taught him to
anticipate, was as plump and merry and vivacious as her husband
was lean, gloomy, and taciturn. But she was a perfect well of
sympathy, as her treatment of the bereaved girl showed. She took
her in her arms and hugged her in a way that was good to see.
"We were waiting for you, dear," she said when the formality of
presenting Harley was over. "Are you quite sure that you want to
go?"
Phil Abingdon nodded pathetically. She had raised her veil, and
Harley could see that her eyes were full of tears. "I should like
to see the flowers," she answered.
She was staying at the McMurdochs' house, and as the object at
present in view was that of a visit to her old home, from which
the funeral of Sir Charles Abingdon was to take place on the
morrow, Harley became suddenly conscious of the fact that his
presence was inopportune.
"I believe you want to see me, Doctor McMurdoch," he said,
turning to the dour physician. "Shall I await your return or do
you expect to be detained?"
But Phil Abingdon had her own views on the matter. She stepped up
beside him and linked her arm in his.
"Please come with me, Mr. Harley," she pleaded. "I want you to."
As a result he found himself a few minutes later entering the
hall of the late Sir Charles's house. The gloved hand resting on
his arm trembled, but when he looked down solicitously into Phil
Abingdon's face she smiled bravely, and momentarily her clasp
tightened as if to reassure him.
It seemed quite natural that she should derive comfort from the
presence of this comparative stranger; and neither of the two, as
they stood there looking at the tributes to the memory of the
late Sir Charles--which overflowed from a neighbouring room into
the lobby and were even piled upon the library table--were
conscious of any strangeness in the situation.
The first thing that had struck Harley on entering the house had
been an overpowering perfume of hyacinths. Now he saw whence it
arose; for, conspicuous amid the wreaths and crosses, was an
enormous device formed of hyacinths. Its proportions dwarfed
those of all the others.
Mrs. Howett, the housekeeper, a sad-eyed little figure, appeared
now from behind the bank of flowers. Her grief could not rob her
of that Old World manner which was hers, and she saluted the
visitors with a bow which promised to develop into a curtsey.
Noting the direction of Phil Abingdon's glance, which was set
upon a card attached to the wreath of hyacinths: "It was the
first to arrive, Miss Phil," she said. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"It's wonderful," said the girl, moving forward and drawing
Harley along with her. She glanced from the card up to his face,
which was set in a rather grim expression.
"Ormuz Khan has been so good," she said. "He sent his secretary
to see if he could be of any assistance yesterday, but I
certainly had not expected this."
Her eyes filled with tears again, and, because he thought they
were tears of gratitude, Harley clenched his hand tightly so that
the muscles of his forearm became taut to Phil Abingdon's touch.
She looked up at him, smiling pathetically: "Don't you think it
was awfully kind of him?" she asked.
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