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Page 97
Inch by inch, Nicol Brinn edged the torpedo body nearer to the
wheels of the racing limousine. The Oriental chauffeur drew in
ever closer to the ditch bordering the roadside. He shouted
hoarsely and was about to apply the brakes when the two cars
touched!
A rending crash came--a hoarse scream--and the big limousine
toppled over into the ditch.
Harley felt himself hurled through space.
"Shall I follow on to Lower Claybury, sir?" asked Inspector
Wessex, excitedly.
Phil Abingdon's message had come through nearly an hour before,
and a party had been despatched in accordance with Brinn's
instructions. Wessex had returned to New Scotland Yard too late
to take charge, and now, before the Assistant Commissioner had
time to reply, a 'phone buzzed.
"Yes?" said the Assistant Commissioner, taking up one of the
several instruments: "What!"
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.
"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. I desire that a shorthand-writer attend to take it
down."
He dropped weakly into a chair which Wessex placed for him. The
Assistant Commissioner, doubtless stimulated by the manner of his
extraordinary visitor, who now extracted a cigar from the breast
pocket of his ill-fitting jacket and nonchalantly lighted it,
successfully resumed his well-known tired manner, and, pressing a
bell:
"One shall attend, Mr. Brinn," he said.
A knock came at the door and a sergeant entered.
"Send Ferris," directed the Assistant Commissioner. "Quickly."
Two minutes later a man came in carrying a note book and fountain
pen. The Assistant Commissioner motioned him to a chair, and:
"Pray proceed, Mr. Brinn," he said.
CHAPTER XXX. NICOL BRINN'S STORY OF THE CITY OF FIRE
"The statement which I have to make, gentlemen, will almost
certainly appear incredible to you. However, when it has been
transcribed I will sign it. And I am going to say here and now
that there are points in the narrative which I am in a position
to substantiate. What I can't prove you must take my word for.
But I warn you that the story is tough.
"I have a certain reputation for recklessness. I don't say it may
not be inherent; but if you care to look the matter up, you will
find that the craziest phase of my life is that covering the last
seven years. The reason why I have courted death during that
period I am now about to explain.
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