58
FIRE-TONGUE
chamber which held so many records of the troubled past and which seemed to be charged with shadowy portents of the future.
Something struck with a dull thud upon a window-pane—once—twice. There followed a faint, sibilant sound.
Paul Harley started and the stocial Nicol Brinn turned rapidly and glanced across the room.
"What was that?" asked Harley.
"I expect—it was an owl," answered Brinn. "We sometimes get them over from the Green Park."
His high voice sounded unemotional as ever. But it seemed to Paul Harley that his face, dimly illuminated by the upcast light from the lamp upon the coffee table, had paled, had become gaunt.
