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Page 9
Familiarity with crime, in its many complexions, East and West,
had developed in Paul Harley a sort of sixth sense. It was an
evasive, fickle thing, but was nevertheless the attribute which
had made him an investigator of genius. Often enough it failed
him entirely. It had failed him to-night--or else no one had
followed him from Chancery Lane.
It had failed him earlier in the evening when, secretly, he had
watched from the office window Sir Charles's car proceeding
toward the Strand. That odd, sudden chill, as of an abrupt
lowering of the temperature, which often advised him of the
nearness of malignant activity, had not been experienced.
Now, standing before Sir Charles's house, he "sensed" the
atmosphere keenly--seeking for the note of danger.
There had been a thunder shower just before he had set out, and
now, although rain had ceased, the sky remained blackly overcast
and a curious, dull stillness was come. The air had a welcome
freshness and the glistening pavements looked delightfully cool
after the parching heat of the day. In the quiet square, no
doubt, it was always restful in contrast with the more busy
highroads, and in the murmur of distant traffic he found
something very soothing. About him then were peace, prosperity,
and security.
Yet, as he stood there, waiting--it came to him: the note of
danger. Swiftly he looked to right and left, trying to penetrate
the premature dusk. The whole complexion of the matter changed.
Some menace intangible now, but which at any moment might become
evident--lay near him. It was sheer intuition, no doubt, but it
convinced him.
A moment later he had rung the bell; and as a man opened the
door, showing a easy and well-lighted lobby within, the fear aura
no longer touched Paul Harley. Out from the doorway came hominess
and that air of security and peace which had seemed to
characterize the house when viewed from outside. The focus of
menace, therefore, lay not inside the house of Sir Charles but
without. It was very curious. In the next instant came a possible
explanation.
"Mr. Paul Harley?" said the butler tentatively.
"Yes, I am he."
"Sir Charles is expecting you, sir. He apologizes for not being
in to receive you, but he will only be absent a few minutes."
"Sir Charles has been called out?" inquired Harley as he handed
hat and coat to the man.
"Yes, sir. He is attending Mr. Chester Wilson on the other side
of the square, and Mr. Wilson's man rang up a few moments ago
requesting Sir Charles to step across."
"I see," murmured Harley, as the butler showed him into a small
but well-filled library on the left of the lobby.
Refreshments were set invitingly upon a table beside a deep
lounge chair. But Harley declined the man's request to refresh
himself while waiting and began aimlessly to wander about the
room, apparently studying the titles of the works crowding the
bookshelves. As a matter of fact, he was endeavouring to arrange
certain ideas in order, and if he had been questioned on the
subject it is improbable that he could have mentioned the title
of one book in the library.
His mental equipment was of a character too rarely met with in
the profession to which he belonged. While up to the very moment
of reaching Sir Charles's house he had doubted the reality of the
menace which hung over this man, the note of danger which he had
sensed at the very threshold had convinced him, where more
ordinary circumstantial evidence might have left him in doubt.
It was perhaps pure imagination, but experience had taught him
that it was closely allied to clairvoyance.
Now upon his musing there suddenly intruded sounds of a muffled
altercation. That is to say, the speakers, who were evidently in
the lobby beyond the library door, spoke in low tones, perhaps in
deference to the presence of a visitor. Harley was only mildly
interested, but the voices had broken his train of thought, and
when presently the door opened to admit a very neat but rather
grim-looking old lady he started, then looked across at her with
a smile.
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