"Sir Charles Abingdon," echoed Brinn; "and in what way is it
connected with your case?"
"In this way," answered Harley. "It was spoken by Sir Charles a
few moments before he died."
Nicol Brinn's drooping lids flickered rapidly. "Before he died!
Then Sir Charles Abingdon is dead! When did he die?"
"He died to-night and the last words that he uttered were
'Fire-Tongue'--" He paused, never for a moment removing that
fixed gaze from the other's face.
"Go on," prompted Mr. Brinn.
"And 'Nicol Brinn.'"
Nicol Brinn stood still as a carven man. Indeed, only by an added
rigidity in his pose did he reward Paul Harley's intense
scrutiny. A silence charged with drama was finally broken by the
American. "Mr. Harley," he said, "you told me that you were up
against the big proposition of your career. You are right."
With that he sat down in an armchair and, resting his chin in his
hand, gazed fixedly into the empty grate. His pose was that of a
man who is suddenly called upon to review the course of his life
and upon whose decision respecting the future that life may
depend. Paul Harley watched him in silence.
"Give me the whole story," said Mr. Brinn, "right from the
beginning." He looked up. "Do you know what you have done
to-night, Mr. Harley?"
Paul Harley shook his head. Swiftly, like the touch of an icy
finger, that warning note of danger had reached him again.
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