may surprise you to learn that I have already
taken steps to have the remains of the soup from Sir Charles's plate
examined, as well as the water in the glass. I now propose to call upon
Mr. Wilson in order that I may complete this line of enquiry."

"I sympathize with your suspicions, Mr. Harley," said the physician
dourly, "but you are wasting your time." A touch of the old acidity
crept back into his manner. "My certificate will be 'syncope due to
unusual excitement'; and I shall stand by it."

"You are quite entitled to your own opinion," Harley conceded, "which if
I were in your place would be my own. But what do you make of the fact
that Sir Charles received a bogus telephone message some ten minutes
before my arrival, as a result of which he visited Mr. Wilson's house?"

"But he's attending Wilson," protested the physician.

"Nevertheless, no one there had telephoned. It was a ruse. I don't
assume for a moment that this ruse was purposeless."

Doctor McMurdoch was now staring hard at the speaker.

"You may also know," Harley continued, "that there was an attempted
burglary here less than a week ago."

"I know that," admitted the other, "but it counts for little. There have
been several burglaries in the neighbourhood of late."

Harley perceived that Doctor McMurdoch was one of those characters, not
uncommon north of the Tweed, who, if slow in forming an opinion, once
having done so cling to it as tightly as any barnacle.

"You may be right and I may be wrong," Harley admitted, "but while your
professional business with Sir Charles unfortunately is ended, mine is
only beginning. May I count upon you to advise me of Miss Abingdon's
return? I particularly wish to see her, and I should prefer to meet
her in the capacity of a friend rather than in that of a professional
investigator."

"At the earliest moment that I can decently arrange a meeting," replied
Doctor McMurdoch, "I will communicate with you, Mr. Harley. I am just
cudgelling my brains at the moment to think how the news is to be broken
to her. Poor little Phil! He was all she had."

"I wish I could help you," declared Harley with sincerity, "but in the
circumstances any suggestion of mine would be mere impertinence." He
held out his hand to the doctor.

"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 beli