Thus, as always, his musings brought him back to the same point. He suppressed a groan and, standing up, began to pace the room. To and fro he walked, before the gleaming cabinet, and presently his expression underwent a subtle change. His pipe had long since gone out, but he had failed to observe the fact. His eyes had grown unusually bright—and suddenly he stepped to the table and stooping made a note upon the little writing block.
He rang the bell communicating with the outer office. Innes came in. “Innes,” he said, rapidly, “is there anything of really first-rate importance with which I should deal personally?”
“Well,” replied the secretary, glancing at some papers which he carried, “there is nothing that could not wait until to-morrow at a pinch.”
“The pinch has come,” said Harley. “I am going to interview the two most important witnesses in the Abingdon case.”
“To whom do you refer, Mr. Harley?”
Innes stared rather blankly, as he made the inquiry, whereupon:
“I have no time to explain,” continued Harley. “But I have suddenly realized the importance of a seemingly trivial incident which I witnessed. It is these trivial incidents, Innes, which so often contain the hidden clue.”
“What! you really think you have a clue at last?”
“I do.” The speaker’s face grew grimly serious. “Innes, if I am right, I shall probably proceed to one of two places: the apartments of Ormuz Khan or the chambers of Nicol Brinn. Listen. Remain here until I phone—whatever the hour.”
“Shall I advise Wessex to stand by?”