Inspector Wessex passed his word to me that for twenty-four
hours my movements should not be questioned or interfered with.
How is it that I find you here?"
Stokes thrust his hands in his pockets and coughed uneasily. "I
am not a machine," he replied; "and I do my own job in my own
way."
"I doubt if Inspector Wessex would approve of your way."
"That's my business."
"Maybe, but it is no affair of yours to interfere with private
affairs of mine, Detective Sergeant. See here, there is no lady
in these chambers. Secondly, I have an appointment at nine
o'clock, and you are detaining me."
"What's more," answered Stokes, who had now quite lost his
temper, "I intend to go on detaining you until I have searched
these chambers and searched them thoroughly."
Nicol Brinn glanced at his watch. "If I leave in five minutes,
I'll be in good time," he said. "Follow me."
Crossing to the centre section of a massive bookcase, he opened
it, and it proved to be a door. So cunning was the design that
the closest scrutiny must have failed to detect any difference
between the dummy books with which it was decorated, and the
authentic works which filled the shelves to right and to left of
it. Within was a small and cosy study. In contrast with the
museum-like room out of which it opened, it was furnished in a
severely simple fashion, and one more experienced in the study of
complex humanity than Detective Sergeant Stokes must have
perceived that here the real Nicol Brinn spent his leisure hours.
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