Arrowheads of the Stone Age and medieval rapiers were ranged
alongside some of the latest examples of the gunsmith's art.
There were elephants' tusks and Mexican skulls; a stone jar of
water from the well of Zem-Zem, and an ivory crucifix which had
belonged to Torquemada. A mat of human hair from Borneo overlay a
historical and unique rug woven in Ispahan and entirely composed
of fragments of Holy Carpets from the Kaaba at Mecca.
"I take it," said Mr. Brinn, suddenly, "that you are up against a
stiff proposition."
Paul Harley, accepting a cigarette from an ebony box (once the
property of Henry VIII) which the speaker had pushed across the
coffee table in his direction, stared up curiously into the
sallow, aquiline face. "You are right. But how did you know?"
"You look that way. Also--you were followed. Somebody knows
you've come here."
Harley leaned forward, resting one hand upon the table. "I know I
was followed," he said, sternly. "I was followed because I have
entered upon the biggest case of my career." He paused and smiled
in a very grim fashion. "A suspicion begins to dawn upon my mind
that if I fail it will also be my last case. You understand me?"
"I understand absolutely," replied Nicol Brinn. "These are dull
days. It's meat and drink to me to smell big danger."
Paul Harley lighted a cigarette and watched the speaker closely
the while. His expression, as he did so, was an odd one.
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