Paul Harley shook his head. Swiftly, like the touch of an icy finger, that warning note of danger had reached him again.
"I'll tell you," continued Brinn. "You have opened the gates of hell!"
Not another word did he speak while Paul Harley, pacing slowly up and down before the hearth, gave him a plain account of the case, omitting all reference to his personal suspicions and to the measures which he had taken to confirm them.
He laid his cards upon the table deliberately. Whether Sir Charles Abingdon had uttered the name of Nicol Brinn as that of one whose aid should be sought or as a warning, he had yet to learn. And by this apparent frankness he hoped to achieve his object. That the celebrated American was in any way concerned in the menace which had overhung Sir Charles he was not prepared to believe. But he awaited with curiosity that explanation which Nicol Brinn must feel called upon to offer.
"You think he was murdered?" said Brinn in his high, toneless voice.
"I have formed no definite opinion. What is your own?"
"I may not look it," replied Brinn, "but at this present moment I am the most hopelessly puzzled and badly frightened man in London."
"Frightened?" asked Harley, curiously.
"I said frightened, I also said puzzled; and I am far
