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Page 54
Wessex, who had been watching the speaker intently, suddenly held
out his hand. "It's a bet!" he said. "It's my case, and I'll
conduct it in my own way."
"Mr. Wessex," replied Nicol Brinn, taking the extended hand, "I
think you are a clever man. There are questions you would like to
ask me, and there are questions I would like to ask you. But we
both realize the facts of the situation, and we are both silent.
One thing I'll say: You are in the deadliest peril you have ever
known. Be careful. Believe me I mean it. Be very careful."
CHAPTER XIV. WESSEX GETS BUSY
Innes rose from the chair usually occupied by Paul Harley as
Detective Inspector Wessex, with a very blank face, walked into
the office. Innes looked haggard and exhibited unmistakable signs
of anxiety. Since he had received that dramatic telephone message
from his chief he had not spared himself for a moment. The
official machinery of Scotland Yard was at work endeavouring to
trace the missing man, but since it had proved impossible to find
out from where the message had been sent, the investigation was
handicapped at the very outset. Close inquiries at the Savoy
Hotel had shown that Harley had not been there. Wessex, who was a
thorough artist within his limitations, had satisfied himself
that none of the callers who had asked for Ormuz Khan, and no one
who had loitered about the lobbies, could possibly have been even
a disguised Paul Harley.
To Inspector Wessex the lines along which Paul Harley was
operating remained a matter of profound amazement and
mystification. His interview with Mr. Nicol Brinn had only served
to baffle him more hopelessly than ever. The nature of Paul
Harley's inquiries--inquiries which, presumably from the death of
Sir Charles Abingdon, had led him to investigate the movements of
two persons of international repute, neither apparently having
even the most remote connection with anything crooked--was a
conundrum for the answer to which the detective inspector sought
in vain.
"I can see you have no news," said Innes, dully.
"To be perfectly honest," replied Wessex, "I feel like a man who
is walking in his sleep. Except for the extraordinary words
uttered by the late Sir Charles Abingdon, I fail to see that
there is any possible connection between his death and Mr. Nicol
Brinn. I simply can't fathom what Mr. Harley was working upon. To
my mind there is not the slightest evidence of foul play in the
case. There is no motive; apart from which, there is absolutely
no link."
"Nevertheless," replied Innes, slowly, "you know the chief, and
therefore you know as well as I do that he would not have
instructed me to communicate with you unless he had definite
evidence in his possession. It is perfectly clear that he was
interrupted in the act of telephoning. He was literally dragged
away from the instrument."
"I agree," said Wessex. "He had got into a tight corner somewhere
right enough. But where does Nicol Brinn come in?"
"How did he receive your communication?"
"Oh, it took him fairly between the eyes. There is no denying
that. He knows something."
"What he knows," said Innes, slowly, "is what Mr. Harley learned
last night, and what he fears is what has actually befallen the
chief."
Detective Inspector Wessex stood beside the Burmese cabinet,
restlessly drumming his fingers upon its lacquered surface. "I am
grateful for one thing," he said. "The press has not got hold of
this story."
"They need never get hold of it if you are moderately careful."
"For several reasons I am going to be more than moderately
careful. Whatever Fire-Tongue may be, its other name is sudden
death! It's a devil of a business; a perfect nightmare. But--" he
paused--
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