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Glancing shrewdly at the chauffeur, a smart, military-looking fellow, Nicol Brinn drew a card from his waistcoat pocket, and resting it upon a wing in the light of one of the lamps, wrote something rapidly upon it in pencil. Returning the pencil to his pocket: "Whose car, my man?" he inquired of the chauffeur. "Colonel Lord Wolverham's, sir."
"I have seen my danger since the evening that Mr. Paul Harley walked into this room: but I'll confess I did not anticipate this particular development." "To get right down to business," said Wessex, "if Mr. Paul Harley did not come here, where, in your idea, did he go?" Nicol Brinn considered the speaker meditatively. "If I knew that," said he, "maybe I could help.
In contrast with the museum-like room out of which it opened, it was furnished in a severely simple fashion, and one more experienced in the study of complex humanity than Detective Sergeant Stokes must have perceived that here the real Nicol Brinn spent his leisure hours. Above the mantel was a life-sized oil painting of Mrs.
"Every little drop swells the ocean," returned Nicol Brinn. "You speak well," the Hindu said. "We have here your complete record. It shall not be consulted. To do so were unnecessary. We are satisfied. We regret only that one so happily circumstanced to promote the coming of the Fire should have been lost sight of. Last night there were three promotions and several rejections. You were expected."
Anger threatened him as it had threatened him when he had realized that Nicol Brinn meant to remain silent. He combated it, for it had no place in the judicial mind of the investigator. But he recognized its presence with dismay. Where Phil Abingdon was concerned he could not trust himself.
Gordon queried as the door closed upon him, addressing the remark to the old lady by way of politely including her in the conversation. "No, he is a neighbor of ours a close and constant friend to us." Mrs. Brinn spoke as with grateful appreciation. Mrs. Keene took a different view. "He just hangs about here on Geraldine's account," she said.
I never saw a man of proved courage more afraid in my life. He prefers to court arrest for complicity in a murder rather than tell what he knows!" "It's unbelievable." "It would be, Innes, if Nicol Brinn's fears were personal." Paul Harley checked his steps in front of the watchful secretary and gazed keenly into his eyes. "Death has no terrors for Nicol Brinn," he said slowly.
"He knows it and he's trailing you. My luck's turned. How can I help?" Harley stood up, facing Mr. Brinn. "He knows it, as you say," he replied, "and I hold my life in my hands. But from your answer to the question which I have come here to-night to ask you, I shall conclude whether or not your danger at the moment is greater than mine." "Good," said Nicol Brinn.
Nicol Brinn not only locked up a representative of the Criminal Investigation Department, but also stole a Rolls Royce car from outside the Cavalry Club!" "What!" cried Innes. "Stole a car?" "Stole Lord Wolverham's car and calmly drove away in it. We have failed to trace both car and man!" The detective inspector sighed wearily. "Well, I suppose I must get along to the Yard.
Above all, he wished that Detective Sergeant Stokes had been a more clever man. It would have been good to know that he was followed. His only hope was that someone detailed by Paul Harley might be in pursuit. Lighting a fresh cigar, Nicol Brinn drew a copy of the Sketch from the rack, and studied the photographs of more or less pretty actresses with apparent contentment.
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