It aroused her from the
curious condition of lethargy into which she was falling. She
turned her head sharply aside, the physical reflection of a
mental effort to remove her gaze from the long, magnetic eyes of
Ormuz Khan. And:
"Do you think that is Mr. Harley?" she asked, and failed to
recognize her own voice.
"Possibly," returned the Persian, speaking very gently.
With one ivory hand he touched his knee for a moment, the only
expression of disappointment which he allowed himself.
"May I ask you to go and enquire?" continued Phil, now wholly
mistress of herself again. "I am wondering, too, what can have
become of Mrs. McMurdoch."
"I will find out," said Ormuz Khan.
He rose, his every movement possessing a sort of feline grace. He
bowed and walked out of the room. Phil Abingdon heard in the
distance the motor restarted and the car being driven away from
Hillside. She stood up restlessly.
Beneath the calm of the Persian's manner she had detected the
presence of dangerous fires. The silence of the house oppressed
her. She was not actually frightened yet, but intuitively she
knew that all was not well. Then came a new sound arousing active
fear at last.
Someone was rapping upon one of the long, masked windows! Phil
Abingdon started back with a smothered exclamation.
"Quick!" came a high, cool voice, "open this window. You are in
danger."
The voice was odd, peculiar, but of one thing she was certain.
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