It was uncanny, unnerving; and whereas, at
first, the atmosphere of Sir Charles Abingdon's home had been
laden with prosperous security, now from every side, and even
penetrating to the warmly lighted dining room, came that chilling
note of danger.
In crossing the lobby he had not failed to note that there were
many Indian curios in the place which could not well have failed
to attract the attention of a burglar. But that the person who
had penetrated to the house was no common burglar he was now
assured and he required no further evidence upon this point.
As he took his seat at the dining table he observed that Sir
Charles's collection had overflowed even into this room. In the
warm shadows about him were pictures and ornaments, all of which
came from, or had been inspired by, the Far East.
In this Oriental environment lay an inspiration. The terror which
had come into Sir Charles's life, the invisible menace which,
swordlike, hung over him, surely belonged in its eerie quality to
the land of temple bells, of silent, subtle peoples, to the
secret land which has bred so many mysteries. Yes, he must look
into the past, into the Indian life of Sir Charles Abingdon, for
the birth of this thing which now had grown into a shadow almost
tangible.
Benson attended at table, assisted by a dark-faced and very
surly-looking maid, in whom Harley thought he recognized the
housekeeper's bete noire.
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