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Fire-Tongue

2. The Sixth Sense
Paul Harley stepped into his car in Chancery Lane. "Drive in the direction of Hyde
Park Corner," he directed the chauffeur. "Go along the Strand."
Glancing neither right nor left, he entered the car, and presently they were
proceeding slowly with the stream of traffic in the Strand. "Pull up at the Savoy,"
he said suddenly through the tube.
The car slowed down in that little bay which contains the entrance to the hotel,
and Harley stared fixedly out of the rear window, observing the occupants of all
other cars and cabs which were following. For three minutes or more he
remained there watching. "Go on," he directed.
Again they proceeded westward and, half-way along Piccadilly, "Stop at the
Ritz," came the order.
The car pulled up before the colonnade and Harley, stepping out, dismissed the
man and entered the hotel, walked through to the side entrance, and directed a
porter to get him a taxicab. In this he proceeded to the house of Sir Charles
Abingdon. He had been seeking to learn whether he was followed, but in none of
the faces he had scrutinized had he detected any interest in himself, so that his
idea that whoever was watching Sir Charles in all probability would have
transferred attention to himself remained no more than an idea. For all he had
gained by his tactics, Sir Charles's theory might be no more than a delusion after
all.
The house of Sir Charles Abingdon was one of those small, discreet
establishments, the very neatness of whose appointments inspires respect for
the occupant. If anything had occurred during the journey to suggest to Harley
that Sir Charles was indeed under observation by a hidden enemy, the suave
British security and prosperity of his residence must have destroyed the
impression.
As the cab was driven away around the corner, Harley paused for a moment,
glancing about him to right and left and up at the neatly curtained windows. In the
interval which had elapsed since Sir Charles's departure from his office, he had
 
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