Furley was sitting upright upon the sofa, his keen eyes aglint with anger.
"I am waiting for an explanation, Julian," he announced.
"You shall have it," was the prompt reply.

"The companion of the man who was shot, for whom the police are searching at this moment, is a guest in my father's house.

I have had to go to the extent of lying to save her from detection." "Her ?" Furley gasped.
"Yes! The youth in fisherman's oilskins, into whose hands that message passed last night, is Miss Catherine Abbeway.

The young lady has referred me to you for some explanation as to its being in her possession." Furley remained absolutely speechless for several moments.

His first expression was one of dazed bewilderment.