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Page 79
"He is with you?" exclaimed Phil, almost incredulously.
"With me, at my home in Surrey. In me he found a natural ally,
since my concern was as great as his own. I do not conceal from
you, Miss Abingdon, that he is danger."
"In danger?" she whispered.
"It is true, but beneath my roof he is safe. There is a matter of
vital urgency, however, in which you can assist him."
"I?" she exclaimed.
"No one but you." Ormuz Khan raised his slender hand gracefully.
"I beg you, do not misunderstand me. In the first place, would
Mr. Harley have asked you to visit him at my home, if he had not
been well assured that you could do so with propriety? In the
second place, should I, who respect you more deeply than any
woman in the world, consent to your coming unchaperoned? Miss
Abingdon, you know me better. I beg of you in Mr. Harley's name
and in my own, prevail upon Mrs. McMurdoch to accept the
invitation which I bring to lunch with me at Hillside, my Surrey
home."
He spoke with the deep respect of a courtier addressing his
queen. His low musical voice held a note that was almost a note
of adoration. Phil Abingdon withdrew her gaze from the handsome
ivory face, and strove for mental composure before replying.
Subtly, insidiously, the man had cast his spell upon her. Of this
she was well aware. In other words, her thoughts were not
entirely her own, but in a measure were promptings from that
powerful will.
Indeed, her heart was beating wildly at the mere thought that she
was to see Paul Harley again that very day. She had counted the
hours since their last meeting, and knew exactly how many had
elapsed. Because each one had seemed like twelve, she had ceased
to rebel against this sweet weakness, which, for the first time
in her life, had robbed her of some of her individuality, and had
taught her that she was a woman to whom mastery by man is
exquisite slavery. Suddenly she spoke.
"Of course I will come, Your Excellency," she said. "I will see
Mrs. McMurdoch at once, but I know she will not refuse."
"Naturally she will not refuse, Miss Abingdon," he returned in a
grave voice. "The happiness of so many people is involved."
"It is so good of you," she said, standing up. "I shall never
forget your kindness."
He rose, bowing deeply, from a European standpoint too deeply.
"Kindness is a spiritual investment," he said, "which returns us
interest tenfold. If I can be sure of Mrs. McMurdoch's
acceptance, I will request permission to take my leave now, for I
have an urgent business appointment to keep, after which I will
call for you. Can you be ready by noon?"
"Yes, we shall be ready."
Phil Abingdon held out her hand in a curiously hesitant manner.
The image of Paul Harley had become more real, more insistent.
Her mind was in a strangely chaotic state, so that when the hand
of Ormuz Khan touched her own, she repressed a start and laughed
in an embarrassed way.
She knew that her heart was singing, but under the song lay
something cold, and when Ormuz Khan had bowed himself from the
room, she found herself thinking, not of the newly departed
visitor, nor even of Paul Harley, but of her dead father. In
spite of the sunshine which flooded the room, her flesh turned
cold and she wondered if the uncanny Persian possessed some
strange power.
Clearly as though he had stood beside her, she seemed to hear the
beloved voice of her father. It was imagination, of course, she
knew this; but it was uncannily real.
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