His mental equipment was of a character too rarely met with in
the profession to which he belonged. While up to the very moment
of reaching Sir Charles's house he had doubted the reality of the
menace which hung over this man, the note of danger which he had
sensed at the very threshold had convinced him, where more
ordinary circumstantial evidence might have left him in doubt.

It was perhaps pure imagination, but experience had taught him
that it was closely allied to clairvoyance.

Now upon his musing there suddenly intruded sounds of a muffled
altercation. That is to say, the speakers, who were evidently in
the lobby beyond the library door, spoke in low tones, perhaps in
deference to the presence of a visitor. Harley was only mildly
interested, but the voices had broken his train of thought, and
when presently the door opened to admit a very neat but rather
grim-looking old lady he started, then looked across at her with
a smile.

Some of the grimness faded from the wrinkled old face, and the
housekeeper, for this her appearance proclaimed her to be, bowed
in a queer Victorian fashion which suggested that a curtsy might
follow. One did not follow, however. "I am sure I apologize,
sir," she said. "Benson did not tell me you had arrived."

"That's quite all right," said Harley, genially.

His smile held a hint of amusement, for in the comprehensive
glance which the old lady cast across the library, a glance keen