"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."
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. She shook her head disdainfully, as if to
banish tears and weakness, and glanced rapidly around from face
to face. "I think you are all perfectly cruel and horrible," she
said in a choking voice, turned, and ran out.
A distant door banged.
"H'm," muttered Doctor McMurdoch, "I've put my foot in it."
His wife looked at him in speechless indignation and then
followed Phil Abingdon from the room.
CHAPTER IX. TWO REPORTS
On returning to his office Paul Harley found awaiting him the
report of the man to whom he had entrusted the study of the
movements of Nicol Brinn. His mood was a disturbed one, and he
had observed none of his customary precautions in coming from
Doctor McMurdoch's house.
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