Fire-Tongue

  CHAPTER XIII. NICOL BRINN HAS A VISITOR

  It was close upon noon, but Nicol Brinn had not yet left his chambers.From that large window which overlooked Piccadilly he surveyed theprospect with dull, lack-lustre eyes. His morning attire was at least astightly fitting as that which he favoured in the evening, and now, handsclasped behind his back and an unlighted cigar held firmly in the leftcorner of his mouth, he gazed across the park with a dreamy and vacantregard. One very familiar with this strange and taciturn man might haveobserved that his sallow features looked even more gaunt than usual.But for any trace of emotion in that stoic face the most expertphysiognomist must have sought in vain.

  Behind the motionless figure the Alaskan ermine and Manchurian leopardsstared glassily across the room. The flying lemur continued apparentlyto contemplate the idea of swooping upon the head of the tigress whereshe crouched upon her near-by pedestal. The death masks grinned; theEgyptian priestess smiled. And Nicol Brinn, expressionless, watched thetraffic in Piccadilly.

  There came a knock at the door.

  "In," said Nicol Brinn.

  Hoskins, his manservant, entered: "Detective Inspector Wessex would liketo see you, sir."

  Nicol Brinn did not turn around. "In," he repeated.

  Silently Hoskins retired, and, following a short interval, ushered intothe room a typical detective officer, a Scotland Yard man of the besttype. For Detective Inspector Wessex no less an authority than PaulHarley had predicted a brilliant future, and since he had attained tohis present rank while still a comparatively young man, the prophecyof the celebrated private investigator was likely to be realized. NicolBrinn turned and bowed in the direction of a large armchair.

  "Pray sit down, Inspector," he said.

  The high, monotonous voice expressed neither surprise nor welcome, norany other sentiment whatever.

  Detective Inspector Wessex returned the bow, placed his bowler hat uponthe carpet, and sat down in the armchair. Nicol Brinn seated himselfupon a settee over which was draped a very fine piece of Persiantapestry, and stared at his visitor with eyes which expressed nothingbut a sort of philosophic stupidity, but which, as a matter of fact,photographed the personality of the man indelibly upon that keen brain.

  Detective Inspector Wessex cleared his throat and did not appear to bequite at ease.

  "What is it?" inquired Nicol Brinn, and proceeded to light his cigar.

  "Well, sir," said the detective, frankly, "it's a mighty awkwardbusiness, and I don't know just how to approach it."

  "Shortest way," drawled Nicol Brinn. "Don't study me."

  "Thanks," said Wessex, "I'll do my best. It's like this"--he staredfrankly at the impassive face: "Where is Mr. Paul Harley?"

  Nicol Brinn gazed at the lighted end of his cigar meditatively for amoment and then replaced it in the right and not in the left corner ofhis mouth. Even to the trained eye of the detective inspector he seemedto be quite unmoved, but one who knew him well would have recognizedthat this simple action betokened suppressed excitement.

  "He left these chambers at ten-fifteen on Wednesday night," replied theAmerican. "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 anawkward corner. I know you for a man with a fine sporting reputation,and therefore I don't doubt your word. But Mr. Paul Harley disappearedlast night."

  At last Nicol Brinn was moved. A second time he took the cigar from hismouth, gazed at the end reflectively, and then hurled the cigar acrossthe room into the hearth. He stood up, walked to a window, and staredout. "Just sit quiet a minute," came the toneless voice. "You've hit meharder than you know. I want to think it out."

  At the back of the tall, slim figure Detective Inspector Wessex staredwith a sort of wonder. Mr. Nicol Brinn of Cincinnati was a conundrumwhich he found himself unable to catalogue, although in his gallery ofqueer characters were many eccentric and peculiar. If Nicol Brinn shouldprove to be crooked, then automatically he became insane. This Wessexhad reasoned out even before he had set eyes upon the celebratedAmerican traveller. His very first glimpse of Nicol Brinn had confirmedhis reasoning, except that the cool, calm strength of the man had donemuch to upset the theory of lunacy.

  Followed an interval of unbroken silence. Not even the ticking of aclock could be heard in that long, singularly furnished apartment. Then,as the detective continued to gaze upon the back of Mr. Nicol Brinn,suddenly the latter turned.

  "Detective Inspector Wessex," he said, "there has been a cloud hangingover my head for seven years. That cloud is going to burst very soon,and it looks as if it were going to do damage."

  "I don't understand you, sir," replied the detective, bluntly. "But Ihave been put in charge of the most extraordinary case that has evercome my way and I'll ask you to make yourself as clear as possible."

  "I'll do all I can," Nicol Brinn assured him. "But first tell mesomething: Why have you come to me for information in respect to Mr.Paul Harley?"

  "I'll answer your question," said Wessex, and the fact did not escapethe keen observing power of Nicol Brinn that the detective's manner hadgrown guarded. "He informed Mr. Innes, his secretary, before settingout, that he was coming here to your chambers."

  Nicol Brinn stared blankly at the speaker. "He told him that? When?"

  "Yesterday."

  "That he was coming here?"

  "He did."

  Nicol Brinn sat down again upon the settee. "Detective Inspector," saidhe, "I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that I last saw Mr.Paul Harley at ten-fifteen on Wednesday night. Since then, not only haveI not seen him, but I have received no communication from him."

  The keen glance of the detective met and challenged the dull glance ofthe speaker. "I accept your word, sir," said Wessex, finally, and hesighed and scratched his chin in the manner of a man hopelessly puzzled.

  Silence fell again. The muted sounds of Piccadilly became audible in thestillness. Cabs and cars rolled by below, their occupants all unawareof the fact that in that long, museum-like room above their heads lay thekey to a tragedy and the clue to a mystery.

  "Look here, sir," said the detective, suddenly, "the result of Mr. PaulHarley's investigations right up to date has been placed in my hands,together with all his notes. I wonder if you realize the fact that,supposing Mr. Harley does not return, I am in repossession of sufficientevidence to justify me in putting you under arrest?"

  "I see your point quite clearly," replied Nicol Brinn. "I have seen mydanger since the evening that Mr. Paul Harley walked into this room: butI'll confess I did not anticipate this particular development."

  "To get right down to business," said Wessex, "if Mr. Paul Harley didnot come here, where, in your idea, did he go?"

  Nicol Brinn considered the speaker meditatively. "If I knew that," saidhe, "maybe I could help. I told him here in this very room that the pairof us were walking on the edge of hell. I don't like to say it, and youdon't know all it means, but in my opinion he has taken a step too far."

  Detective Inspector Wessex stood up impatiently. "You have alreadytalked in that strain to Mr. Harley," he said, a bit brusquely. "Mr.Innes has reported something of the conversation to me. But I mustask you to remember that, whereas Mr. Paul Harley is an unofficialinvestigator, I am an officer of the Criminal Investigation Department,and figures of speech are of no use to me. I want facts. I want plainspeaking. I ask you for help and you answer in parables. Now perhaps Iam saying too much, and perhaps I am not, but that Mr. Harley was rightin what he believed, the circumstances of his present disappearance goto prove. He learned too much about something called Fire-Tongue."

  Wessex spoke the word challengingly, staring straight into the eyes ofNicol Brinn, but the latter gave no sign, and Wessex, concealing hisdisappointment, continued: "You know more about Fire-Tongue than youeve
r told Mr. Paul Harley. All you know I have got to know. Mr. Harleyhas been kidnapped, perhaps done to death."

  "Why do you say so?" asked Nicol Brinn, rapidly.

  "Because I know it is so. It does not matter how I know."

  "You are certain that his absence is not voluntary?"

  "We have definite evidence to that effect."

  "I don't expect you to be frank with me, Detective Inspector, but I'llbe as frank with you as I can be. I haven't the slightest idea in theworld where Mr. Harley is. But I have information which, if I knew wherehe was, would quite possibly enable me to rescue him."

  "Provided he is alive!" added Wessex, angrily.

  "What leads you to suppose that he is not?"

  "If he is alive, he is a prisoner."

  "Good God!" said Nicol Brinn in a low voice. "It has come." He took astep toward the detective. "Mr. Wessex," he continued, "I don't tell youto do whatever your duty indicates; I know you will do it. But in theinterests of everybody concerned I have a request to make. Have mewatched if you like--I suppose that's automatic. But whatever happens,and wherever your suspicions point, give me twenty-four hours. As Ithink you can see, I am a man who thinks slowly, but moves with a rush.You can believe me or not, but I am even more anxious than you are tosee this thing through. You think I know what lies back of it all, and Idon't say that you are not right. But one thing you don't know, and thatthing I can't tell you. In twenty-four hours I might be able to tellyou. Whatever happens, even if poor Harley is found dead, don't hampermy movements between now and this time tomorrow."

  Wessex, who had been watching the speaker intently, suddenly held outhis hand. "It's a bet!" he said. "It's my case, and I'll conduct it inmy own way."

  "Mr. Wessex," replied Nicol Brinn, taking the extended hand, "I thinkyou are a clever man. There are questions you would like to ask me, andthere are questions I would like to ask you. But we both realize thefacts of the situation, and we are both silent. One thing I'll say: Youare in the deadliest peril you have ever known. Be careful. Believe me Imean it. Be very careful."