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Page 4
His investigation of the case of the man with the shaven skull
afforded an instance of this, and even more notable was his first
meeting with Major Jack Ragstaff of the Cavalry Club, a meeting
which took place after the office had been closed, but which led
to the unmasking of perhaps the most cunning murderer in the
annals of crime.
One summer's evening when the little clock upon his table was
rapidly approaching the much-desired hour, Harley lay back in his
chair and stared meditatively across his private office in the
direction of a large and very handsome Burmese cabinet, which
seemed strangely out of place amid the filing drawers,
bookshelves, and other usual impedimenta of a professional man. A
peculiarly uninteresting week was drawing to a close, and he was
wondering if this betokened a decreased activity in the higher
criminal circles, or whether it was merely one of those usual
quiescent periods which characterize every form of warfare.
Paul Harley, although the fact was unknown to the general public,
occupied something of the position of an unofficial field marshal
of the forces arrayed against evildoers. Throughout the war he
had undertaken confidential work of the highest importance,
especially in regard to the Near East, with which he was
intimately acquainted. A member of the English bar, and the last
court of appeal to which Home Office and Foreign Office alike
came in troubled times, the brass plate upon the door of his
unassuming premises in Chancery Lane conveyed little or nothing
to the uninitiated.
The man himself, with his tropical bronze and air of eager
vitality, must have told the most careless observer that he stood
in the presence of an extraordinary personality. He was slightly
gray at the temples in these days, but young in mind and body,
physically fit, and possessed of an intellectual keenness which
had forced recognition from two hemispheres. His office was part
of an old city residence, and his chambers adjoined his workroom,
so that now, noting that his table clock registered the hour of
six, he pressed a bell which summoned Innes, his confidential
secretary.
"Well, Innes," said Harley, looking around, "another uneventful
day."
"Very uneventful, Mr. Harley. About a month of this and you will
have to resume practice at the bar."
Paul Harley laughed.
"Not a bit likely, Innes," he replied. "No more briefs for me. I
shall retire to Norfolk and devote my declining years to
fishing."
"I don't know that fishing would entirely satisfy me," said
Innes.
"It would more than satisfy me," returned Harley. "But every man
to his own ambition. Well, there is no occasion to wait; you
might as well get along. But what's that you've got in your
hand?"
"Well," replied Innes, laying a card upon the table, "I was just
coming in with it when you rang."
Paul Harley glanced at the card.
"Sir Charles Abingdon," he read aloud, staring reflectively at
his secretary. "That is the osteologist?"
"Yes," answered Innes, "but I fancy he has retired from
practice."
"Ah," murmured Harley, "I wonder what he wants. I suppose I had
better see him, as I fancy that he and I met casually some years
ago in India. Ask him to come in, will you?"
Innes retiring, there presently entered a distinguished-looking,
elderly gentleman upon whose florid face rested an expression not
unlike that of embarrassment.
"Mr. Harley," he began, "I feel somewhat ill at ease in
encroaching upon your time, for I am by no means sure that my
case comes within your particular province."
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