Fire-Tongue Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII. A WREATH OF HYACINTHS

  Deep in reflection and oblivious of the busy London life around him,Paul Harley walked slowly along the Strand. Outwardly he was still thekeen-eyed investigator who could pry more deeply into a mystery thanany other in England; but to-day his mood was introspective. He was in abrown study.

  The one figure which had power to recall him to the actual worldsuddenly intruded itself upon his field of vision. From dreams which herecognized in the moment of awakening to have been of Phil Abingdon, hewas suddenly aroused to the fact that Phil Abingdon herself was present.Perhaps, half subconsciously, he had been looking for her.

  Veiled and dressed in black, he saw her slim figure moving through thethrong. He conceived the idea that there was something furtive in hermovements. She seemed to be hurrying along as if desirous of avoidingrecognition. Every now and again she glanced back, evidently in searchof a cab, and a dormant suspicion which had lain in Harley's mind nowbecame animate. Phil Abingdon was coming from the direction of the SavoyHotel. Was it possible that she had been to visit Ormuz Khan?

  Harley crossed the Strand and paused just in front of the hurrying,black-clad figure. "Miss Abingdon," he said, "a sort of instinct told methat I should meet you to-day."

  She stopped suddenly, and through the black veil which she wore he sawher eyes grow larger--or such was the effect as she opened them widely.Perhaps he misread their message. To him Phil Abingdon's expression wasthat of detected guilt. More than ever he was convinced of the truth ofhis suspicions. "Perhaps you were looking for a cab?" he suggested.

  Overcoming her surprise, or whatever emotion had claimed her atthe moment of this unexpected meeting, Phil Abingdon took Harley'soutstretched hand and held it for a moment before replying. "I hadalmost despaired of finding one," she said, "and I am late already."

  "The porter at the Savoy would get you one."

  "I have tried there and got tired of waiting," she answered quitesimply.

  For a moment Harley's suspicions were almost dispelled, and, observingan empty cab approaching, he signalled to the man to pull up.

  "Where do you want to go to?" he inquired, opening the door.

  "I am due at Doctor McMurdoch's," she replied, stepping in.

  Paul Harley hesitated, glancing from the speaker to the driver.

  "I wonder if you have time to come with me," said Phil Abingdon. "I knowthe doctor wants to see you."

  "I will come with pleasure," replied Harley, a statement which was nomore than true.

  Accordingly he gave the necessary directions to the taxi man and seatedhimself beside the girl in the cab.

  "I am awfully glad of an opportunity of a chat with you, Mr. Harley,"said Phil Abingdon. "The last few days have seemed like one longnightmare to me." She sighed pathetically. "Surely Doctor McMurdoch isright, and all the horrible doubts which troubled us were idle ones,after all?"

  She turned to Harley, looking almost eagerly into his face. "Poor daddyhadn't an enemy in the world, I am sure," she said. "His extraordinarywords to you no doubt have some simple explanation. Oh, it would be sucha relief to know that his end was a natural one. At least it would dullthe misery of it all a little bit."

  The appeal in her eyes was of a kind which Harley found much difficultyin resisting. It would have been happiness to offer consolation to thissorrowing girl. But, although he could not honestly assure her thathe had abandoned his theories, he realized that the horror of hersuspicions was having a dreadful effect upon Phil Abingdon's mind.

  "You may quite possibly be right," he said, gently. "In any event, Ihope you will think as little as possible about the morbid side of thisunhappy business."

  "I try to," she assured him, earnestly, "but you can imagine how hardthe task is. I know that you must have some good reason for your idea;something, I mean, other than the mere words which have puzzled us allso much. Won't you tell me?"

  Now, Paul Harley had determined, since the girl was unacquainted withNicol Brinn, to conceal from her all that he had learned from thatextraordinary man. In this determination he had been actuated, too, bythe promptings of the note of danger which, once seemingly attuned tothe movements of Sir Charles Abingdon, had, after the surgeon's death,apparently become centred upon himself and upon Nicol Brinn. He dreadedthe thought that the cloud might stretch out over the life of this girlwho sat beside him and whom he felt so urgently called upon to protectfrom such a menace.

  The cloud? What was this cloud, whence did it emanate, and by whom hadit been called into being? He looked into the violet eyes, and as awhile before he had moved alone through the wilderness of London now heseemed to be alone with Phil Abingdon on the border of a spirit worldwhich had no existence for the multitudes around. Psychically, hewas very close to her at that moment; and when he replied he repliedevasively: "I have absolutely no scrap of evidence, Miss Abingdon,pointing to foul play. The circumstances were peculiar, of course, butI have every confidence in Doctor McMurdoch's efficiency. Since he issatisfied, it would be mere impertinence on my part to question hisverdict."

  Phil Abingdon repeated the weary sigh and turned her head aside,glancing down to where with one small shoe she was restlessly tappingthe floor of the cab. They were both silent for some moments.

  "Don't you trust me?" she asked, suddenly. "Or don't you think I amclever enough to share your confidence?"

  As she spoke she looked at him challengingly, and he felt all the forceof personality which underlay her outward lightness of manner.

  "I both trust you and respect your intelligence," he answered, quietly."If I withhold anything from you, I am prompted by a very differentmotive from the one you suggest."

  "Then you are keeping something from me," she said, softly. "I knew youwere."

  "Miss Abingdon," replied Harley, "when the worst trials of this affairare over, I want to have a long talk with you. Until then, won't youbelieve that I am acting for the best?"

  But Phil Abingdon's glance was unrelenting.

  "In your opinion it may be so, but you won't do me the honour ofconsulting mine."

  Harley had half anticipated this attitude, but had hoped that shewould not adopt it. She possessed in a high degree the feminine art ofprovoking a quarrel. But he found much consolation in the fact that shehad thus shifted the discussion from the abstract to the personal. Hesmiled slightly, and Phil Abingdon's expression relaxed in response andshe lowered her eyes quickly. "Why do you persistently treat me like achild?" she said.

  "I don't know," replied Harley, delighted but bewildered by her suddenchange of mood. "Perhaps because I want to."

  She did not answer him, but stared abstractedly out of the cab window;and Harley did not break this silence, much as he would have liked to doso. He was mentally reviewing his labours of the preceding day when, inthe character of a Colonial visitor with much time on his hands, he hadhaunted the Savoy for hours in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of OrmuzKhan. His vigil had been fruitless, and on returning by a roundaboutroute to his office he had bitterly charged himself with wastingvaluable time upon a side issue. Yet when, later, he had sat in hisstudy endeavouring to arrange his ideas in order, he had discovered manypoints in his own defence.

  If his ineffective surveillance of Ormuz Khan had been dictated byinterest in Phil Abingdon rather than by strictly professional motives,it was, nevertheless, an ordinary part of the conduct of such a case.But while he had personally undertaken the matter of his excellencyhe had left the work of studying the activities of Nicol Brinn to anassistant. He could not succeed in convincing himself that, on theevidence available, the movements of the Oriental gentleman were moreimportant than those of the American.

  "Here we are," said Phil Abingdon.

  She alighted, and Harley dismissed the cabman and followed the girlinto Doctor McMurdoch's house. Here he made the acquaintance of Mrs.McMurdoch, who, as experience had taught him to anticipate, was as plumpand merry and vivacious as her husband was lean, gloomy, and taciturn.But she w
as a perfect well of sympathy, as her treatment of the bereavedgirl showed. She took her in her arms and hugged her in a way that wasgood to see.

  "We were waiting for you, dear," she said when the formality ofpresenting Harley was over. "Are you quite sure that you want to go?"

  Phil Abingdon nodded pathetically. She had raised her veil, and Harleycould see that her eyes were full of tears. "I should like to see theflowers," she answered.

  She was staying at the McMurdochs' house, and as the object at presentin view was that of a visit to her old home, from which the funeralof Sir Charles Abingdon was to take place on the morrow, Harley becamesuddenly conscious of the fact that his presence was inopportune.

  "I believe you want to see me, Doctor McMurdoch," he said, turning tothe dour physician. "Shall I await your return or do you expect to bedetained?"

  But Phil Abingdon had her own views on the matter. She stepped up besidehim and linked her arm in his.

  "Please come with me, Mr. Harley," she pleaded. "I want you to."

  As a result he found himself a few minutes later entering the hallof the late Sir Charles's house. The gloved hand resting on his armtrembled, but when he looked down solicitously into Phil Abingdon'sface she smiled bravely, and momentarily her clasp tightened as if toreassure him.

  It seemed quite natural that she should derive comfort from the presenceof this comparative stranger; and neither of the two, as theystood there looking at the tributes to the memory of the late SirCharles--which overflowed from a neighbouring room into the lobbyand were even piled upon the library table--were conscious of anystrangeness in the situation.

  The first thing that had struck Harley on entering the house had beenan overpowering perfume of hyacinths. Now he saw whence it arose; for,conspicuous amid the wreaths and crosses, was an enormous device formedof hyacinths. Its proportions dwarfed those of all the others.

  Mrs. Howett, the housekeeper, a sad-eyed little figure, appeared nowfrom behind the bank of flowers. Her grief could not rob her of thatOld World manner which was hers, and she saluted the visitors with a bowwhich promised to develop into a curtsey. Noting the direction of PhilAbingdon's glance, which was set upon a card attached to the wreath ofhyacinths: "It was the first to arrive, Miss Phil," she said. "Isn't itbeautiful?"

  "It's wonderful," said the girl, moving forward and drawing Harley alongwith her. She glanced from the card up to his face, which was set in arather grim expression.

  "Ormuz Khan has been so good," she said. "He sent his secretary to seeif he could be of any assistance yesterday, but I certainly had notexpected this."

  Her eyes filled with tears again, and, because he thought they weretears of gratitude, Harley clenched his hand tightly so that the musclesof his forearm became taut to Phil Abingdon's touch. She looked up athim, smiling pathetically: "Don't you think it was awfully kind of him?"she asked.

  "Very," replied Harley.

  A dry and sepulchral cough of approval came from Doctor McMurdoch; andHarley divined with joy that when the ordeal of the next day was overPhil Abingdon would have to face cross-examination by the conscientiousScotsman respecting this stranger whose attentions, if Orientallyextravagant, were instinct with such generous sympathy.

  For some reason the heavy perfume of the hyacinths affected himunpleasantly. All his old doubts and suspicions found a new life, sothat his share in the conversation which presently arose became confinedto a few laconic answers to direct questions.

  He was angry, and his anger was more than half directed against himself,because he knew that he had no shadow of right to question this girlabout her friendships or even to advise her. He determined, however,even at the cost of incurring a rebuke, to urge Doctor McMurdoch toemploy all the influence he possessed to terminate an acquaintanceshipwhich could not be otherwise than undesirable, if it was not actuallydangerous.

  When, presently, the party returned to the neighbouring house of thephysician, however, Harley's plans in this respect were destroyed bythe action of Doctor McMurdoch, in whose composition tact was not apredominant factor. Almost before they were seated in the doctor'sdrawing room he voiced his disapproval. "Phil," he said, ignoring asilent appeal from his wife, "this is, mayhap, no time to speak of thematter, but I'm not glad to see the hyacinths."

  Phil Abingdon's chin quivered rebelliously, and, to Harley's dismay,it was upon him that she fixed her gaze in replying. "Perhaps you alsodisapprove of his excellency's kindness?" she said, indignantly.

  Harley found himself temporarily at a loss for words. She was perfectlywell aware that he disapproved, and now was taking a cruel pleasure inreminding him of the fact that he was not entitled to do so. Had hebeen capable of that calm analysis to which ordinarily he submitted allpsychological problems, he must have found matter for rejoicing inthis desire of the girl's to hurt him. "I am afraid, Miss Abingdon," hereplied, quietly, "that the matter is not one in which I am entitled toexpress my opinion."

  She continued to look at him challengingly, but:

  "Quite right, Mr. Harley," said Doctor McMurdoch, "but if you were, youropinion would be the same as mine."

  Mrs. McMurdoch's glance became positively beseeching, but the physicianignored it. "As your father's oldest friend," he continued, "I feelcalled upon to remark that it isn't usual for strangers to thrust theirattentions upon a bereaved family."

  "Oh," said Phil Abingdon with animation, "do I understand that this isalso your opinion, Mr. Harley?"

  "As a man of the world," declared Doctor McMurdoch, gloomily, "it cannotfail 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 havespoken now."

  Tears began to trickle down Phil Abingdon's cheeks.

  "Oh, my dear, my dear!" cried little Mrs. McMurdoch, running to herside.

  But the girl sprang up, escaping from the encircling arm of the motherlyold lady. She shook her head disdainfully, as if to banish tears andweakness, and glanced rapidly around from face to face. "I think you areall 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 PhilAbingdon from the room.