characterize the house when viewed from outside. The focus of
menace, therefore, lay not inside the house of Sir Charles but
without. It was very curious. In the next instant came a possible
explanation.

"Mr. Paul Harley?" said the butler tentatively.

"Yes, I am he."

"Sir Charles is expecting you, sir. He apologizes for not being
in to receive you, but he will only be absent a few minutes."

"Sir Charles has been called out?" inquired Harley as he handed
hat and coat to the man.

"Yes, sir. He is attending Mr. Chester Wilson on the other side
of the square, and Mr. Wilson's man rang up a few moments ago
requesting Sir Charles to step across."

"I see," murmured Harley, as the butler showed him into a small
but well-filled library on the left of the lobby.

Refreshments were set invitingly upon a table beside a deep
lounge chair. But Harley declined the man's request to refresh
himself while waiting and began aimlessly to wander about the
room, apparently studying the titles of the works crowding the
bookshelves. As a matter of fact, he was endeavouring to arrange
certain ideas in order, and if he had been questioned on the
subject it is improbable that he could have mentioned the title
of one book in the library.