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Page 34
His wife looked at him in speechless indignation and then
followed Phil Abingdon from the room.
CHAPTER IX. TWO REPORTS
On returning to his office Paul Harley found awaiting him the
report of the man to whom he had entrusted the study of the
movements of Nicol Brinn. His mood was a disturbed one, and he
had observed none of his customary precautions in coming from
Doctor McMurdoch's house. He wondered if the surveillance which
he had once detected had ceased. Perhaps the chambers of Nicol
Brinn were the true danger zone upon which these subtle but
powerful forces now were focussed. On the other hand, he was
quite well aware that his movements might have been watched
almost uninterruptedly since the hour that Sir Charles Abingdon
had visited his office.
During the previous day, in his attempt to learn the identity of
Ormuz Khan, he had covered his tracks with his customary care. He
had sufficient faith in his knowledge of disguise, which was
extensive, to believe that those mysterious persons who were
interested in his movements remained unaware of the fact that the
simple-minded visitor from Vancouver who had spent several hours
in and about the Savoy, and Paul Harley of Chancery Lane, were
one and the same.
His brain was far too alertly engaged with troubled thoughts of
Phil Abingdon to be susceptible to the influence of those
delicate etheric waves which he had come to recognize as the note
of danger. Practically there had been no development whatever in
the investigation, and he was almost tempted to believe that the
whole thing was a mirage, when the sight of the typewritten
report translated him mentally to the luxurious chambers in
Piccadilly.
Again, almost clairvoyantly, he saw the stoical American seated
before the empty fireplace, his foot restlessly tapping the
fender. Again he heard the curious, high tones: "I'll tell you...
You have opened the gates of hell...."
The whole scene, with its tantalizing undercurrent of mystery,
was reenacted before his inner vision. He seemed to hear Nicol
Brinn, startled from his reverie, exclaim: "I think it was an
owl.... We sometimes get them over from the Green Park...."
Why should so simple an incident have produced so singular an
effect? For the face of the speaker had been ashen.
Then the pendulum swung inevitably back: "You are all perfectly
cruel and horrible...."
Paul Harley clenched his hands, frowning at the Burmese cabinet
as though he hated it.
How persistently the voice of Phil Abingdon rang in his ears! He
could not forget her lightest words. How hopelessly her
bewitching image intruded itself between his reasoning mind and
the problem upon which he sought to concentrate.
Miss Smith, the typist, had gone, for it was after six o'clock,
and Innes alone was on duty. He came in as Harley, placing his
hat and cane upon the big writing table, sat down to study the
report.
"Inspector Wessex rang up, Mr. Harley, about an hour ago. He said
he would be at the Yard until six."
"Has he obtained any information?" asked Paul Harley, wearily,
glancing at his little table clock.
"He said he had had insufficient time to do much in the matter,
but that there were one or two outstanding facts which might
interest you."
"Did he seem to be surprised?"
"He did," confessed Innes. "He said that Ormuz Khan was a
well-known figure in financial circles, and asked me in what way
you were interested in him."
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