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 cosy 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.
