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Updated: June 8, 2025
Harley," replied Brinn, suddenly standing up, "I can't." "You can't?" "I have said so. But I'd give a lot more than you might believe to know that Abingdon had told you the story which he told me." "You are not helping, Mr. Brinn," said Harley, sternly. "I believe and I think that you share my belief that Sir Charles Abingdon did not die from natural causes. You are repressing valuable evidence.
"Rector you know Rector? had been detailed by the chief to cover the activities of Nicol Brinn. He has not reported to me so far to-night." "You mean that he may be following him?" cried Wessex. "It is quite possible following either Nicol Brinn or the woman." "My God, I hope you're right! even though it makes the Criminal Investigation Department look a bit silly."
Again he stood listening, and: "Good!" he muttered. He could hear the other car labouring up the slope. He ran along to the corner of the lane, and, crouching close under the bushes, waited for its appearance. As he had supposed, the chauffeur turned the car to the right. "Good!" muttered Nicol Brinn again. There was a baggage-rack immediately above the number plate.
"That row will continue," Nicol Brinn said, coldly; "perhaps he will shout murder from one of the windows. You have only to say you had no key. I am going out now. The light coat, Hoskins." Hoskins unemotionally handed coat, hat, and cane to his master and, opening the front door, stood aside. The sound of a window being raised became audible from within the locked room.
His only actions were, first, to assure himself that both doors were locked again, and then at intervals tidily to place a little cone of ash in the tray provided for the purpose. Finally, the car drew up and a door was unlocked by the chauffeur. Nicol Brinn, placing his hat upon his head, stepped out before the porch of the Cavalry Club.
The introduction of Maskelyne illusions into an English country house must ordinarily have touched his sense of humour, but knowing something of the invisible presence in which he stood in that darkened chamber, there was no laughter in the heart of Nicol Brinn, but rather an unfamiliar coldness, the nearest approach to fear of which this steel-nerved man was capable.
She conjured up dreams of the perfumed luxury of the East, and was a figure to fire the imagination. But Nicol Brinn seemed incapable of movement; his body was inert, but his eyes were on fire. Into the woman's face had come anxiety that was purely feminine. "Oh, my big American sweetheart," she whispered, and, approaching him with a sort of timidity, laid her little hands upon his arm.
It continued to descend, and he found himself in absolute darkness. Nicol Brinn ran on to the veranda and paused for a moment to take breath. The window remained open, as Phil Abingdon had left it. He stepped into the room with its elegant Persian appointments. It was empty. But as he crossed the threshold, he paused, arrested by the sound of a voice.
"Do you know what you have done to-night, Mr. Harley?" Paul Harley shook his head. Swiftly, like the touch of an icy finger, that warning note of danger had reached him again. "I'll tell you," continued Brinn. "You have opened the gates of hell!"
A cautious tour of the place revealed a lighted window upon the first floor. Standing in the shadow of an old apple tree, Nicol Brinn watched the blind of this window minute after minute, patiently waiting for a shadow to appear upon it; and at last his patience was rewarded. A shadow appeared the shadow of a woman! Nicol Brinn dropped his cigar at his feet and set his heel upon it.
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