your word, sir," said Wessex, finally, and he sighed and scratched his chin in the manner of a man hopelessly puzzled.
Silence fell again. The muted sounds of Piccadilly became audible in the stillness. Cabs and cars rolled by below, their occupants all unaware of the fact that in that long, museumlike room above their heads lay the key to a tragedy and the clue to a mystery.
"Look here, sir," said the detective, suddenly, "the result of Mr. Paul Harley'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 possession of sufficient evidence to justify me in putting you under arrest?"
"I see your point quite clearly," replied Nicol Brinn. "I have seen my danger since the evening that Mr. Paul Harley walked into this room; but I'll confess I did not anticipate this particular development."
"To get right down to business," said Wessex, "if Mr. Paul Harley did not come here, where, in your idea, did he go?"
Nicol Brinn considered the speaker meditatively. "If I knew that," said he, "maybe I could help. I told him here in this very room that the pair of us were walking on the edge of hell. I don't like to say it, and you don't know all it means, but in my opinion he has taken a step too far."
Detective Inspector Wessex stood up impatiently.
