Parker
who crossed the book-lined study within and walked through to the
private office where Innes was seated writing. It was Mr. Paul
Harley.
CHAPTER XI. THE PURPLE STAIN
For more than an hour Harley sat alone, smoking, neglectful of
the routine duties which should have claimed his attention. His
face was set and grim, and his expression one of total
abstraction. In spirit he stood again in that superheated room at
the Savoy. Sometimes, as he mused, he would smoke with
unconscious vigour, surrounding himself with veritable fog banks.
An imaginary breath of hyacinths would have reached him, to
conjure up vividly the hateful, perfumed environment of Ormuz
Khan.
He was savagely aware of a great mental disorderliness. He
recognized that his brain remained a mere whirlpool from which
Phyllis Abingdon, the deceased Sir Charles, Nicol Brinn, and
another, alternately arose to claim supremacy. He clenched his
teeth upon the mouthpiece of his pipe.
But after some time, although rebelliously, his thoughts began to
marshal themselves in a certain definite formation. And
outstanding, alone, removed from the ordinary, almost from the
real, was the bizarre personality of Ormuz Khan.
The data concerning the Oriental visitor, as supplied by
Inspector Wessex, had led him to expect quite a different type of
character. Inured as Paul Harley was to surprise, his first
sentiment as he had set eyes upon the man had been one of sheer
amazement.
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