"Good-night," said the latter, gripping it heartily. "If there is
any mystery surrounding poor Abingdon's death, I believe you are
the man to clear it up. But, frankly, it was his heart. I believe
he had a touch of the sun once in India. Who knows? His idea that
some danger threatened him or threatened Phil may have been
merely--" He tapped his brow significantly.

"But in the whole of your knowledge of Sir Charles," cried
Harley, exhibiting a certain irritation, "have you ever known him
to suffer from delusions of that kind or any other?"

"Never," replied the physician, firmly; "but once a man has had
the sun one cannot tell."

"Ah!" said Harley. "Good-night, Doctor McMurdoch."

When presently he left the house, carrying a brown leather bag
which he had borrowed from the butler, he knew that rightly or
wrongly his own opinion remained unchanged in spite of the
stubborn opposition of the Scottish physician. The bogus message
remained to be explained, and the assault in the square, as did
the purpose of the burglar to whom gold and silver plate made no
appeal. More important even than these points were the dead man's
extraordinary words: "Fire-Tongue"--"Nicol Brinn." Finally and
conclusively, he had detected the note of danger outside and
inside the house; and now as he began to cross the square it
touched him again intimately.

He looked up at the darkened sky. A black cloud was moving slowly