Harley found himself temporarily at a loss for words.  She was perfectly well aware that he disapproved, and now was taking a cruel pleasure in reminding him of the fact that he was not entitled to do so.  Had he been capable of that calm analysis to which ordinarily he submitted all psychological problems, he must have found matter for rejoicing in this desire of the girl’s to hurt him.  “I am afraid, Miss Abingdon,” he replied, quietly, “that the matter is not one in which I am entitled to express my opinion.”

She continued to look at him challengingly, but: 

“Quite right, Mr. Harley,” said Doctor McMurdoch, “but if you were, your opinion would be the same as mine.”

Mrs. McMurdoch’s glance became positively beseeching, but the physician ignored it.  “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.  He wondered if the surveillance which he had once detected had ceased.  Perhaps the chambers of Nicol Brinn were the true danger zone upon which these subtle but powerful forces now were focussed.  On the other hand, he was quite well aware that his movements might have been watched almost uninterruptedly since the hour that Sir Charles Abingdon had visited his office.

During the previous day, in his attempt to learn the identity of Ormuz Khan, he had covered his tracks with his customary care.  He had sufficient faith in his knowledge of disguise, which was extensive, to believe that those mysterious persons who were interested in his movements remained unaware of the fact that the simple-minded visitor from Vancouver who had spent several hours in and about the Savoy, and Paul Harley of Chancery Lane, were one and the same.