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Rohmer, Sax, 1883-1959

"Fire-Tongue"

By
intruding upon this prolonged conference he hoped to learn
something of value. Truth to tell, he was no master of finesse,
and had but recently been promoted from an East End district
where prompt physical action was of more value than subtlety.
As a result, then, he presently found himself in the presence of
the immovable Hoskins; and having caused his name to be
announced, he was requested to wait in the lobby for one minute.
Exactly one minute had elapsed when he was shown into that long,
lofty room, which of late had been the scene of strange
happenings.
Nicol Brinn was standing before the fireplace, hands clasped
behind him, and a long cigar protruding from the left corner of
his mouth. No one else was present, so far as the detective could
see, but he glanced rapidly about the room in a way which told
the man who was watching that he had expected to find another
present. He looked into the unfathomable, light blue eyes of
Nicol Brinn, and became conscious of a certain mental confusion.
"Good evening, sir," he said, awkwardly. "I am acting in the case
concerning the disappearance of Mr. Paul Harley."
"Yes," replied Brinn.
"I have been instructed to keep an eye on these chambers."
"Yes," repeated the high voice.
"Well, sir"--again he glanced rapidly about-"I don't want to
intrude more than necessary, but a lady came in here about half
an hour ago."
"Yes," drawled Brinn.


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