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Updated: June 27, 2025
He found himself upon dangerously delicate ground and was temporarily at a loss as to how to proceed. Unexpected aid came from the taciturn Doctor McMurdoch. "He never breathed a word of this to me, Phil," he said, gloomily. "The impudence of the man! Small wonder Abingdon objected." Phil Abingdon tilted her chin forward rebelliously.
"None. Did he tell you nothing further about him?" "Unfortunately, nothing. In the next place, Doctor McMurdoch, are you aware of any difference of opinion which had arisen latterly between Sir Charles and his daughter?" "Difference of opinion!" replied Doctor McMurdoch, raising his brows ironically. "There would always be difference of opinion between little Phil and any man who cared for her.
When at last the car was drawn up before the porch of Hillside, and Ormuz Khan, stepping out, assisted the ladies to alight, for one moment Phil Abingdon hesitated, although she knew that it was already too late to do so. They were received by Mr. Rama Dass, his excellency's courteous secretary, whom she had already met, and whom Ormuz Khan presented to Mrs. McMurdoch.
Tardily enough he now succumbed to the silent entreaties of his wife. "I will speak of this later," he concluded. "Mayhap I should not have spoken now." Tears began to trickle down Phil Abingdon's cheeks. "Oh, my dear, my dear!" cried little Mrs. McMurdoch, running to her side. But the girl sprang up, escaping from the encircling arm of the motherly old lady.
McMurdoch, in her artificially induced swoon, had been left in charge of a hospitable cottager, while her solicitous Oriental escort had sped away in quest of a physician. But at the moment matters of even greater urgency engaged his attention. Creeping forward to the doorway by which Rama Dass had gone out, Nicol Brinn emerged upon a landing from which stairs both ascended and descended.
She laughed, and accepting the arm of Ormuz Khan, walked into a very English-looking library, followed by Rama Dass and Mrs. McMurdoch. The house, she thought, was very silent, and she found herself wondering why no servants had appeared.
A stifled shriek sounded from the doorway, and in tottered Mrs. Howett, the old housekeeper, with other servants peering over her shoulder into that warmly lighted dining room where Sir Charles Abingdon lay huddled in his own chair dead. "Had you reason to suspect any cardiac trouble, Doctor McMurdoch?" asked Harley.
"As your father's oldest friend," he continued, "I feel called upon to remark that it isn't usual for strangers to thrust their attentions upon a bereaved family." "Oh," said Phil Abingdon with animation, "do I understand that this is also your opinion, Mr. Harley?" "As a man of the world," declared Doctor McMurdoch, gloomily, "it cannot fail to be."
"You will not misunderstand me, Doctor McMurdoch," he said, "if I venture to ask you one or two rather personal questions respecting Miss Abingdon?" Doctor McMurdoch lowered his shaggy brows and looked gloomily at the speaker. "Mr. Harley," he replied, "I know you by repute for a man of integrity. But before I answer your questions will you answer one of mine?" "Certainly."
She was exquisitely and fashionably dressed, and even the pallor of grief could not rob her cheeks of the bloom born of Devon sunshine. He had expected her to be pretty. He was surprised to find her lovely. Doctor McMurdoch stood silent in the doorway, saying nothing by way of introduction. But nothing was necessary.
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