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.
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