Yet his hesitancy was indeed difficult to explain,
and because it seemed to Harley that the cloud which had stolen
out across the house of Sir Charles Abingdon now hung
threateningly over those very chambers, he merely waited and
wondered.
"He referred to an experience which had befallen him in India,"
came Nicol Brinn's belated reply.
"In India? May I ask you to recount that experience?"
"Mr. Harley," replied Brinn, suddenly standing up, "I can't."
"You can't?"
"I have said so. But I'd give a lot more than you might believe
to know that Abingdon had told you the story which he told me."
"You are not helping, Mr. Brinn," said Harley, sternly. "I
believe and I think that you share my belief that Sir Charles
Abingdon did not die from natural causes. You are repressing
valuable evidence. Allow me to remind you that if anything should
come to light necessitating a post-mortem examination of the
body, you will be forced to divulge in a court of justice the
facts which you refuse to divulge to me."
"I know it," said Brinn, shortly.
He shot out one long arm and grasped Harley's shoulder as in a
vice. "I'm counted a wealthy man," he continued, "but I'd give
every cent I possess to see 'paid' put to the bill of a certain
person. Listen. You don't think I was in any way concerned in the
death of Sir Charles Abingdon? It isn't thinkable. But you do
think I'm in possession of facts which would help you find out
who is.
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