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Updated: June 8, 2025
"'Tis what the Father said to Brinn, the man that runs the Weekly Herald. Ye know him?" "I know no good av him." "He's not a bad fella a-tall. Ye know he has a head as bald as an aig. Well, he was goin' to the Knights of Pythias ball, and was worrited about a fancy suit to wear; fer it appears that thim that goes must be rigged up.
He had no callers throughout the day. Deliberately Paul Harley had read the report, only removing his hand from his chin to turn over the pages. Now from the cabinet at his elbow he took out his tin of tobacco and, filling and lighting a pipe, lay back, eyes half closed, considering what he had learned respecting Nicol Brinn.
He recognized that his brain remained a mere whirlpool from which Phyllis Abingdon, the deceased Sir Charles, Nicol Brinn, and another, alternately arose to claim supremacy. He clenched his teeth upon the mouthpiece of his pipe. But after some time, although rebelliously, his thoughts began to marshal themselves in a certain definite formation.
"Not so loud not so loud!" implored Brinn, repeating that odd, almost furtive glance around. "Mr. Harley you know me. You've heard of me and now you've met me. You know my place in the world. Do you believe me when I say that from this moment onward I don't trust my own servants? Nor my own friends?" He removed his grip from Harley's shoulder. "Inanimate things look like enemies.
"I try to," she assured him, earnestly, "but you can imagine how hard the task is. I know that you must have some good reason for your idea; something, I mean, other than the mere words which have puzzled us all so much. Won't you tell me?" Now, Paul Harley had determined, since the girl was unacquainted with Nicol Brinn, to conceal from her all that he had learned from that extraordinary man.
"And possibly," went on the remorseless voice, "you can explain the significance of that term?" Nicol Brinn remained silent but with one foot he was slowly tapping the edge of the fender. "Mr. Harley," he began, abruptly, "you have been perfectly frank with me and in return I wish to be as frank with you as I can be.
Harley leaned forward, resting one hand upon the table. "I know I was followed," he said, sternly. "I was followed because I have entered upon the biggest case of my career." He paused and smiled in a very grim fashion. "A suspicion begins to dawn upon my mind that if I fail it will also be my last case. You understand me?" "I understand absolutely," replied Nicol Brinn. "These are dull days.
"He left these chambers at ten-fifteen on Wednesday night," replied the American. "I had never seen him before and I have never seen him since." "Sure?" "Quite." "Could you swear to it before a jury?" "You seem to doubt my word." Detective Inspector Wessex stood up. "Mr. Brinn," he said, "I am in an awkward corner.
The shell of an ancient barn, roofless and desolate, presently invited inspection and, as a result, a few minutes later Colonel Lord Wolverham's luxurious automobile was housed for the night in these strange quarters. When Nicol Brinn returned to Hillside, he found the garage locked and the lights extinguished.
"Just sit quiet a minute," came the toneless voice. "You've hit me harder than you know. I want to think it out." At the back of the tall, slim figure Detective Inspector Wessex stared with a sort of wonder. Mr. Nicol Brinn of Cincinnati was a conundrum which he found himself unable to catalogue, although in his gallery of queer characters were many eccentric and peculiar.
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