m of the nearness of malignant activity, had not
been experienced.

Now, standing before Sir Charles's house, he "sensed" the atmosphere
keenly--seeking for the note of danger.

There had been a thunder shower just before he had set out, and now,
although rain had ceased, the sky remained blackly overcast and a
curious, dull stillness was come. The air had a welcome freshness and
the glistening pavements looked delightfully cool after the parching
heat of the day. In the quiet square, no doubt, it was always restful
in contrast with the more busy highroads, and in the murmur of distant
traffic he found something very soothing. About him then were peace,
prosperity, and security.

Yet, as he stood there, waiting--it came to him: the note of danger.
Swiftly he looked to right and left, trying to penetrate the premature
dusk. The whole complexion of the matter changed. Some menace intangible
now, but which at any moment might become evident--lay near him. It was
sheer intuition, no doubt, but it convinced him.

A moment later he had rung the bell; and as a man opened the door,
showing a easy and well-lighted lobby within, the fear aura no longer
touched Paul Harley. Out from the doorway came hominess and that air
of security and peace which had seemed to 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