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Updated: June 8, 2025
Nicol Brinn at so opportune a moment were consistent with the character of that remarkable man of a sensational nature. Having commandeered the Rolls Royce from the door of the Cavalry Club, he had immediately, by a mental process which many perils had perfected, dismissed the question of rightful ownership from his mind.
In the meanwhile, Nicol Brinn, having secured the door which communicated with the study, walked out into the lobby where Hoskins was seated. Hoskins stood up. "The lady went, Hoskins?" "She did, sir." Nicol Brinn withdrew the key from the door of the room in which Detective Sergeant Stokes was confined. Stokes began banging wildly upon the panels from within.
"Come in," said the Assistant Commissioner. The door was thrown open and Nicol Brinn entered. One who knew him well would have said that he had aged ten years. Even to the eye of Wessex he looked an older man. He wore a shoddy suit and a rough tweed cap and his left arm was bandaged. "Gentlemen," he said, without other greeting, "I'm here to make a statement.
"It was not Ormuz Khan?" "No. I am sure it wasn't." Paul Harley's expression underwent a sudden change. "Was it Brown?" he asked. She hesitated. "I believe it did begin with a B," she admitted. "Was it Brunn?" "No! I remember, sir. It was Brinn!" "Good God!" muttered Harley. "Are you sure?" "Quite sure." "Do you know any one of that name?" "No, sir." "And is this positively all you remember?"
"My question is simple but strange," said Paul Harley. "It is this: What do you know of 'Fire-Tongue'?" If Paul Harley had counted upon the word "Fire-Tongue" to have a dramatic effect upon Nicol Brinn, he was not disappointed. It was a word which must have conveyed little or nothing to the multitude and which might have been pronounced without perceptible effect at any public meeting in the land.
She opened her closed left hand and smoothed out a scrap of torn paper which she held there. It was from the "Agony" column of that day's Times. N. November 23, 1913. N. B. See Telephone Directory. "I told you long, long ago that I would come if ever you wanted me." "Long, long ago," echoed Nicol Brinn. "To me it has seemed a century; to-night it seems a day."
I called at the druggist's establishment this morning. They recalled the incident, of course. Mr. Brinn never uttered a word until, opening his eyes, he said: 'Hello! Am I much damaged?" Innes smiled discreetly. "A remarkable character, Mr. Harley," he said. "Your biggest difficulty at the moment is to fit Mr. Nicol Brinn into the scheme." "He won't fit at all, Innes!
Even this great man, so justly celebrated for his placid demeanour, was unable to conceal his amazement. "Yes," he added. "Let him come up!" He replaced the receiver and turning to Wessex: "Mr. Nicol Brinn is here!" he informed him. "What's that!" cried the inspector, quite startled out of his usual deferential manner. Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Came a rap at the door.
That is to say, he touched the second finger of his right hand with the tip of his tongue, and then laid the finger upon his forehead, at the same time bowing deeply. Nicol Brinn repeated the salutation, and quietly put his coat on. "We greet you," said the Hindu. "I am Rama Dass of the Bengal Lodge. Have you Hindustani?" "No." "Where were you initiated?" "At Moon Ali Lane."
"It must," agreed Harley, and his manner was almost fierce; "but when I tell you why I ask these two questions and I only do so on the understand ing that my words are to be treated in the strictest confidence you may regard the matter in a new light. 'Nicol Brinn' and 'Fire-Tongue' were the last words which Sir Charles Abingdon uttered."
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