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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Stokes wanted to detain the servant, whose name is Hoskins, but I simply wouldn't hear of it. I am a poor man, but I would cheerfully give fifty pounds to know where Nicol Brinn is at this moment." Innes stood up restlessly and began to drum his fingers upon the table edge. Presently he looked up, and: "There's a shadow of hope," he said.
It was close upon noon, but Nicol Brinn had not yet left his chambers. From that large window which overlooked Piccadilly he surveyed the prospect with dull, lack-lustre eyes.
"Geraldine is always late for breakfast, but surely she ought to be down by this time," Mrs. Brinn said, with as much acrimony as a mild old lady could well compass. "Oh, Geraldine reads half the night," explained Mrs. Keene. "Such an injurious habit! Don't you think so, Mr. Gordon?" "Oh, she is all right," expostulated the young physician. "Geraldine has a constitution of iron, I know," Mrs.
Paul Harley glanced at the granite face of his companion with an apprehension he was unable to conceal. This was a cool madman who drove. What did he intend to do? Inch by inch, Nicol Brinn edged the torpedo body nearer to the wheels of the racing limousine. The Oriental chauffeur drew in ever closer to the ditch bordering the roadside.
"The 'N. B. cocktail' has a reputation which extends throughout the clubs of the world." Nicol Brinn, exhibiting the swift adroitness of that human dodo, the New York bartender, mixed the drinks. Paul Harley watched him, meanwhile drumming his fingers restlessly upon the chair arm. "Here's success," he said, "to my mission." It was an odd toast, but Mr. Brinn merely nodded and drank in silence.
On the death of Mr. Brinn, senior, in 1914, he inherited an enormous fortune and a preponderating influence in the B.U.E.S.C. He has never taken any active part in conduct of the concern, but has lived a restless and wandering life in various parts of the world. 'Mr. Nicol Brinn is a confirmed bachelor.
"Detective Sergeant Stokes wishes to see you at once, sir." Brinn drew a watch from his waistcoat pocket. Attached to it was a fob from which depended a little Chinese Buddha. He consulted the timepiece and returned it to his pocket. "Eight-twenty-five," he muttered, and glanced across to where Naida, wide-eyed, watched him.
It was sheer nonsense to suppose that Ormuz Khan, who was evidently interested in the girl, could be in any way concerned in the death of her father. Nevertheless, as an ordinary matter of routine, Paul Harley, having lighted his pipe, made a note on a little block: Cover activities of Ormuz Khan. He smoked reflectively for a while and then added another note: Watch Nicol Brinn.
Nicol Brinn resided. In her manner the detective sergeant had perceived something furtive. There was a hunted look in her eyes, too. When, at the end of some fifteen or twenty minutes, she failed to reappear, he determined to take the initiative himself. By intruding upon this prolonged conference he hoped to learn something of value.
Nicol Brinn glanced rapidly about his own luxurious room in an oddly apprehensive manner. "I said that," he declared, "and I meant it." "Then I can only suppose," resumed Harley, deliberately, "that the cause of your fear lies in the term, 'Fire-Tongue'?" Brinn again rested his chin in his hand, staring fixedly into the grate.
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