grasped my shoulder, and I sprang up in bed with a stifled cry, but:
“It’s all right, Knox,” came Harley’s voice. “Don’t make a noise.”
“Harley!” I said. “Harley! what has happened?”
“Nothing, nothing. I am sorry to have to disturb your beauty sleep, but in the absence of Innes I am compelled to use you as a dictaphone, Knox. I like to record impressions while they are fresh, hence my having awakened you.”
“But what has happened?” I asked again, for my brain was not yet fully alert.
“No, don’t light up!” said Harley, grasping my wrist as I reached out toward the table-lamp.
His figure showed as a black silhouette against the dim square of the window.
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s nearly two o’clock. The light might be observed.”
“Two o’clock?” I exclaimed.
“Yes. I think we might smoke, though. Have you any cigarettes? I have left my pipe behind.”
I managed to find my case, and in the dim light of the match which I presently struck I saw that Paul Harley’s face was very fixed and grim. He seated himself on the edge of my bed, and:
“I have been guilty of a breach of hospitality, Knox,” he began. “Not only have I secretly had my own car sent down here, but I have had something else sent, as well. I brought it in under my coat this evening.”
“To what do you refer, Harley?”
“You remember the silken rope-ladder with bamboo rungs which I brought from Hongkong on one occasion?”
