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Page 85
"I am."
"You have yet an hour. Your final decision will be demanded of
you at the end of that time."
Faint sounds of withdrawal followed these words and Harley
suddenly discovered himself to be very cold. The note of danger
had touched him. For long it had been silent. Now it clamoured
insistently. He knew beyond all doubt that he was approaching a
crisis in his life. At its nature he could not even guess.
He began to pace the room nervously, listening for he knew not
what. His mind was filled with vague imaginings; when at last
came an overture to the grim test to be imposed upon him.
A slight metallic sound drew his glance in the direction of the
gilded screen. A sliding door of thick plate glass had been
closed behind it, filling the space between the metal work and
the curtain. Then--the light in the brass lantern became
extinguished.
Standing rigidly, fists clenched, Paul Harley watched the
curtain. And as he watched, slowly it was drawn aside. He found
himself looking into a long room which appeared to be practically
unfurnished.
The floor was spread with rugs and at the farther end folding
doors had been opened, so that he could see into a second room,
most elegantly appointed in Persian fashion. Here were silver
lanterns, and many silken cushions, out of which, as from a sea
of colour, arose slender pillars, the scheme possessing an air of
exotic luxury peculiarly Oriental.
Seated in a carved chair over which a leopard skin had been
thrown, and talking earnestly to some invisible companion, whose
conversation seemed wholly to enthrall her, was Phil Abingdon!
CHAPTER XXVI. THE ORCHID OF SLEEP
"My God!" cried Innes, "here is proof that the chief was right!"
Wessex nodded in silent agreement. On the table lay the report of
Merton, the analyst, concerning the stains upon the serviette
which Harley had sent from the house of the late Sir Charles
Abingdon. Briefly, it stated that the serviette had been
sprinkled with some essential oil, the exact character of which
Merton had found himself unable to determine, its perfume, if it
ever possessed any, having disappeared. And the minute quantity
obtainable from the linen rendered ordinary tests difficult to
apply. The analyst's report, however, concluded as follows:
"Mr. Harley, having foreseen these difficulties, and having
apparently suspected that the oil was of Oriental origin,
recommended me, in the note which he enclosed with the serviette,
to confer with Dr. Warwick Grey. I send a copy of a highly
interesting letter which I have received from Doctor Grey, whose
knowledge of Eastern poison is unparalleled, and to whose opinion
I attach immense importance."
It was the contents of this appended letter which had inspired
Innes's remarks. Indeed, it contained matter which triumphantly
established Paul Harley's theory that Sir Charles Abingdon had
not died from natural causes. The letter was as follows:
'No.---- Harley Street
London, W. I.
'MY DEAR MERTON:
'I am indebted to you and to Mr. Harley for an opportunity of
examining the serviette, which I return herewith. I agree that
the oil does not respond to ordinary tests, nor is any smell
perceptible. But you have noticed in your microscopic examination
of the stains that there is a peculiar crystalline formation upon
the surface. You state that this is quite unfamiliar to you,
which is not at all strange, since outside of the Himalayan
districts of Northwest India I have never met with it myself.
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