“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.  It was not the voice of an Oriental.  Furthermore, it held a note of command, and something, too, which inspired trust.

She looked quickly about her to make sure that she was alone.  And then, running swiftly to the window from which the sound had come, she moved a heavy gilded fastening which closed it, and drew open the heavy leaves.

A narrow terrace was revealed with a shrubbery beyond; and standing on the terrace was a tall, thin man wearing a light coat over evening dress.  He looked pale, gaunt, and unshaven, and although the regard of his light eyes was almost dreamy, there was something very tense in his pose.

“I am Nicol Brinn,” said the stranger.  “I knew your father.  You have walked into a trap.  I am here to get you out of it.  Can you drive?”

“Do you mean an automobile?” asked Phil, breathlessly.

“A Rolls Royce.”

“Yes.”

“Come right out.”

“My furs! my hat!”

“Something bigger is at stake.”

It was all wildly bizarre, almost unbelievable.  Phil Abingdon had experienced in her own person the insidious power of Ormuz Khan.  She now found herself under the spell of a personality at least as forceful, although in a totally different way.  She found herself running through a winding path amid bushes, piloted by this strange, unshaven man, to whom on sight she had given her trust unquestioningly!

“When we reach the car,” he said over his shoulder, “ask no questions—­head for home, and don’t stop for anything—­on two legs or on four.  That’s the first thing—­most important; then, when you know you’re safe, telephone Scotland Yard to send a raid squad down by road, and do it quick.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.  THE CHASE

The events which led to the presence of Mr. Nicol Brinn at so opportune a moment were—­consistent with the character of that remarkable man—­of a sensational nature.