There's something
wrong, radically wrong. Find out what it is and send the bill to
me. Then perhaps I'll be able to sleep in peace."
He paused, and again taking out the large silk handkerchief blew
his nose loudly. Harley glanced at me in rather an odd way, and
then:
"There will be no bill, Major Ragstaff," he said; "but if I can
see any possible line of inquiry I will pursue it and report the
result to you."
II
A CURIOUS OUTRAGE
"What do you make of it, Harley?" I asked. Paul Harley returned
a work of reference to its shelf and stood staring absently
across the study.
"Our late visitor's history does not help us much," he replied.
"A somewhat distinguished army career, and so forth, and his only
daughter, Sybil Margaret, married the fifth Marquis of Ireton.
She is, therefore, the noted society beauty, the Marchioness of
Ireton. Does this suggest anything to your mind?"
"Nothing whatever," I said blankly.
"Nor to mine," murmured Harley.
The telephone bell rang.
"Hallo!" called Harley. "Yes. That you, Wessex? Have you got
the address? Good. No, I shall remember it. Many thanks.
Good-bye."
He turned to me.
"I suggest, Knox," he said, "that we make our call and then
proceed to dinner as arranged.
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