Something struck with a dull thud upon a windowpane--once--twice.
There followed a faint, sibilant sound.
Paul Harley started and the stoical Nicol Brinn turned rapidly
and glanced across the room.
"What was that?" asked Harley.
"I expect--it was an owl," answered Brinn. "We sometimes get them
over from the Green Park."
His high voice sounded unemotional as ever. But it seemed to Paul
Harley that his face, dimly illuminated by the upcast light from
the lamp upon the coffee table, had paled, had become gaunt.
CHAPTER VI. PHIL ABINGDON ARRIVES
On the following afternoon Paul Harley was restlessly pacing his
private office when Innes came in with a letter which had been
delivered by hand. Harley took it eagerly and tore open the
envelope. A look of expectancy faded from his eager face almost
in the moment that it appeared there. "No luck, Innes," he said,
gloomily. "Merton reports that there is no trace of any dangerous
foreign body in the liquids analyzed."
He dropped the analyst's report into a wastebasket and resumed
his restless promenade. Innes, who could see that his principal
wanted to talk, waited. For it was Paul Harley's custom, when the
clue to a labyrinth evaded him, to outline his difficulties to
his confidential secretary, and by the mere exercise of verbal
construction Harley would often detect the weak spot in his
reasoning. This stage come to, he would dictate a carefully
worded statement of the case to date and thus familiarize himself
with its complexities.
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