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Rohmer, Sax, 1883-1959

"Fire-Tongue"

"
"Ah," said the inspector. "I am not sorry to know that he is
human like the rest of us." His expression grew retrospective,
and: "I can't make out how the garage you were speaking about
didn't report that matter before," he added.
"Well, you see," explained Innes, "they were used to the chief
making long journeys."
"Long journeys," muttered the inspector. "Did he make a long
journey? I wonder--I wonder."

CHAPTER XXI. THE SEVENTH KAMA
As Nicol Brinn strolled out from the door below his chambers in
Piccadilly, a hoarse voice made itself audible above his head.
"Police!" he heard over the roar of the traffic. "Help! Police!"
Detective Sergeant Stokes had come out upon the balcony. But up
to the time that Nicol Brinn turned and proceeded in leisurely
fashion in the direction of the Cavalry Club, the sergeant had
not succeeded in attracting any attention.
Nicol Brinn did not hurry. Having his hands thrust in the pockets
of his light overcoat, he sauntered along Piccadilly as an idle
man might do. He knew that he had ample time to keep his
appointment, and recognizing the vital urgency of the situation,
he was grateful for some little leisure to reflect.
One who had obtained a glimpse of his face in the light of the
shop windows which he passed must have failed to discern any
evidence of anxiety. Yet Nicol Brinn knew that death was
beckoning to him. He knew that his keen wit was the only weapon
which could avail him to-night; and he knew that he must show
himself a master of defence.


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