"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 too puzzled
to be able to express any opinion respecting the death of Sir
Charles Abingdon. When I tell you all I know of him you will
wonder as much as I do, Mr. Harley, why my name should have been
the last to pass his lips."
He half turned in the big chair to face his visitor, who now was
standing before the fireplace staring down at him.
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