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"What had he eaten?" "Nothing but soup, except that he drank a portion of a glass of water. I am wondering if he took anything at Mr. Wilson's house." He stared hard at Doctor McMurdoch. "It may surprise you to learn that I have already taken steps to have the remains of the soup from Sir Charles's plate examined, as well as the water in the glass. I now propose to call upon Mr.
I don't assume for a moment that this ruse was purposeless." Doctor McMurdoch was now staring hard at the speaker. "You may also know," Harley continued, "that there was an attempted burglary here less than a week ago." "I know that," admitted the other, "but it counts for little. There have been several burglaries in the neighbourhood of late."
"But in the whole of your knowledge of Sir Charles," cried Harley, exhibiting a certain irritation, "have you ever known him to suffer from delusions of that kind or any other?" "Never," replied the physician, firmly; "but once a man has had the sun one cannot tell." "Ah!" said Harley. "Good-night, Doctor McMurdoch."
And written in pencil beneath the name appeared the following: Borrowed your Rolls. Urgent. Will explain tomorrow. Apologize. On the following morning the card of His Excellency Ormuz Khan was brought to Phil Abingdon in the charming little room which Mrs. McMurdoch had allotted to her for a private sanctum during the period of her stay under this hospitable roof.
"What!" cried Doctor McMurdoch, displaying a sudden surprising energy. "What?" "I solemnly assure you," declared Harley, "that such is the case. Benson, the butler, also overheard them." Doctor McMurdoch relapsed once more into gloom, gazing at the whiskey in the glass which he held in his hand and slowly shaking his head. "Poor old Charley Abingdon," he murmured. "It's plain to me, Mr.
He found himself resenting the intrusion of this wealthy Oriental into the life of the girl who sat there before him. And because he could read a kindred resentment in the gloomy eye of Doctor McMurdoch, he was drawn spiritually closer to that dour character.
She shook her head disdainfully, as if to banish tears and weakness, and glanced rapidly around from face to face. "I think you are all perfectly cruel and horrible," she said in a choking voice, turned, and ran out. A distant door banged. "H'm," muttered Doctor McMurdoch, "I've put my foot in it." His wife looked at him in speechless indignation and then followed Phil Abingdon from the room.
May I count upon you to advise me of Miss Abingdon's return? I particularly wish to see her, and I should prefer to meet her in the capacity of a friend rather than in that of a professional investigator." "At the earliest moment that I can decently arrange a meeting," replied Doctor McMurdoch, "I will communicate with you, Mr. Harley.
There came a rap at the door and Miss Smith, the typist, entered. "Miss Phil Abingdon and Doctor McMurdoch," she said. "Good heavens!" muttered Harley. "So soon? Why, she can only just " He checked himself. "Show them in, Miss Smith," he directed.
Tonight death had stopped him. "Was he consulting you professionally, Mr. Harley?" asked the physician. "He was," replied Harley, continuing to stare fascinatedly at the photograph on the mantelpiece. "I am informed," said he, abruptly, "that Miss Abingdon is out of town?" Doctor McMurdoch nodded in his slow, gloomy fashion. "She is staying in Devonshire with poor Abingdon's sister," he answered.
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