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Page 62
Hoskins entered. "Detective Sergeant Stokes wishes to see you at
once, sir."
Brinn drew a watch from his waistcoat pocket. Attached to it was
a fob from which depended a little Chinese Buddha. He consulted
the timepiece and returned it to his pocket.
"Eight-twenty-five," he muttered, and glanced across to where
Naida, wide-eyed, watched him. "Admit Detective Sergeant Stokes
at eight-twenty-six, and then lock the door."
"Very good, sir."
Hoskins retired imperturbably.
CHAPTER XVI. NICOL BRINN GOES OUT
Detective Sergeant Stokes was a big, dark, florid man, the word
"constable" written all over him. Indeed, as Wessex had
complained more than once, the mere sound of Stokes's footsteps
was a danger signal for any crook. His respect for his immediate
superior, the detective inspector, was not great. The methods of
Wessex savoured too much of the French school to appeal to one of
Stokes's temperament and outlook upon life, especially upon that
phase of life which comes within the province of the criminal
investigator.
Wessex's instructions with regard to Nicol Brinn had been
succinct: "Watch Mr. Brinn's chambers, make a note of all his
visitors, but take no definite steps respecting him personally
without consulting me."
Armed with these instructions, the detective sergeant had
undertaken his duties, which had proved more or less tedious up
to the time that a fashionably attired woman of striking but
unusual appearance had inquired of the hall porter upon which
floor Mr. Nicol Brinn resided.
In her manner the detective sergeant had perceived something
furtive. There was a hunted look in her eyes, too.
When, at the end of some fifteen or twenty minutes, she failed to
reappear, he determined to take the initiative himself. By
intruding upon this prolonged conference he hoped to learn
something of value. Truth to tell, he was no master of finesse,
and had but recently been promoted from an East End district
where prompt physical action was of more value than subtlety.
As a result, then, he presently found himself in the presence of
the immovable Hoskins; and having caused his name to be
announced, he was requested to wait in the lobby for one minute.
Exactly one minute had elapsed when he was shown into that long,
lofty room, which of late had been the scene of strange
happenings.
Nicol Brinn was standing before the fireplace, hands clasped
behind him, and a long cigar protruding from the left corner of
his mouth. No one else was present, so far as the detective could
see, but he glanced rapidly about the room in a way which told
the man who was watching that he had expected to find another
present. He looked into the unfathomable, light blue eyes of
Nicol Brinn, and became conscious of a certain mental confusion.
"Good evening, sir," he said, awkwardly. "I am acting in the case
concerning the disappearance of Mr. Paul Harley."
"Yes," replied Brinn.
"I have been instructed to keep an eye on these chambers."
"Yes," repeated the high voice.
"Well, sir"--again he glanced rapidly about-"I don't want to
intrude more than necessary, but a lady came in here about half
an hour ago."
"Yes," drawled Brinn. "It's possible."
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