in Piccadilly, which had impressed him as extraordinary, he said very little about Mr. Brinn. He sounded interesting and"—she hesitated and her eyes filled with tears—"I asked Dad to invite him home." Again she paused. This retrospection, by making the dead seem to live again, added to the horror of her sudden bereavement, and Harley would most gladly have spared her more. "Dad seemed strangely disinclined to do so," she added.
At that the keen investigator came to life within Harley. "Your father did not appear anxious to bring Mr. Brinn to his home?" he asked, eagerly.
"Not at all anxious. This was all the more strange because Dad invited Mr. Brinn to his club."
"He gave no reason for his refusal?"
"Oh, there was no refusal, Mr. Harley. He merely evaded the matter. I never knew why."
"H'm," muttered Harley. "And now, Miss Abingdon, can you enlighten me respecting the identity of the Oriental gentleman with whom he had latterly become acquainted?"
Phil Abingdon glanced rapidly at Doctor McMurdoch and then lowered her head. She did not answer at once. "I know to whom you refer, Mr. Harley," she said, finally. "But it was I who had made this gentleman's acquaintance. My father did not know him."
"Then I wonder why he mentioned him?" murmured Harley.
