"What do you mean, Sir Charles?"

"I was called ten minutes ago by someone purporting to be the
servant of Mr. Chester Wilson, that friend and neighbour whom I
have been attending."

"So your butler informed me."

"My dear sir," cried Sir Charles, and the expression in his eyes
grew almost wild, "no one in Wilson's house knew anything about
the matter!"

"What! It was a ruse?"

"Palpably a ruse to get me away from home."

Harley dropped his cigarette into the ash tray beside the match,
where, smouldering, it sent up a gray spiral into the air of the
library. Whether because of his words or because of the presence
of the man himself, the warning, intuitive finger had again
touched Paul Harley. "You saw or heard nothing on your way across
the square to suggest that any one having designs on your safety
was watching you?"

"Nothing. I searched the shadows most particularly on my return
journey, of course. For the thing cannot have been purposeless."

"I quite agree with you," said Paul Harley, quietly.