He uttered a low cry and would have seized her in his arms but,
lithely evading him, she turned, stifling a sob, and darted away
through the trees toward the house.
For long he stood looking after her, fists clenched and his face
very gray in the morning light. Some small inner voice told him
that his new plan, and the others which he had built upon it,
must crumble and fall as a castle of sand. He groaned and,
turning aside, made his way through the shrubbery to the
highroad.
He was become accessory to a murder; for he had learned for what
reason and by what means Sir Charles Abingdon had been
assassinated. He had even learned the identity of his assassin;
had learned that the dreaded being called Fire-Tongue in India
was known and respected throughout the civilized world as His
Excellency Ormuz Khan!
Paul Harley had learned these things also, and now at this very
hour Paul Harley lay a captive in Hillside. Naida had assured him
that Paul Harley was alive and safe. It had been decided that his
death would lead to the destruction of the movement, but pressure
was being brought upon him to ensure his silence.
Yes, he, Nicol Brinn, was bound and manacled to a gang of
assassins; and because his tongue was tied, because the woman he
loved better than anything in the world was actually a member of
the murderous group, he must pace the deserted country lanes
inactive; he must hold his hand, although he might summon the
resources of New Scotland Yard by phoning from Lower Claybury
station!
Through life his word had been his bond, and Nicol Brinn was
incapable of compromising with his conscience.
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