He smiled slightly, and Phil Abingdon's
expression relaxed in response and she lowered her eyes quickly.
"Why do you persistently treat me like a child?" she said.
"I don't know," replied Harley, delighted but bewildered by her
sudden change of mood. "Perhaps because I want to."
She did not answer him, but stared abstractedly out of the cab
window; and Harley did not break this silence, much as he would
have liked to do so. He was mentally reviewing his labours of the
preceding day when, in the character of a Colonial visitor with
much time on his hands, he had haunted the Savoy for hours in the
hope of obtaining a glimpse of Ormuz Khan. His vigil had been
fruitless, and on returning by a roundabout route to his office
he had bitterly charged himself with wasting valuable time upon a
side issue. Yet when, later, he had sat in his study endeavouring
to arrange his ideas in order, he had discovered many points in
his own defence.
If his ineffective surveillance of Ormuz Khan had been dictated
by interest in Phil Abingdon rather than by strictly professional
motives, it was, nevertheless, an ordinary part of the conduct of
such a case. But while he had personally undertaken the matter of
his excellency he had left the work of studying the activities of
Nicol Brinn to an assistant. He could not succeed in convincing
himself that, on the evidence available, the movements of the
Oriental gentleman were more important than those of the
American.
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