by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER VI. PHIL ABINGDON ARRIVES
On the following afternoon Paul Harley was restlessly pacing his privateoffice when Innes came in with a letter which had been delivered byhand. Harley took it eagerly and tore open the envelope. A look ofexpectancy faded from his eager face almost in the moment that itappeared there. "No luck, Innes," he said, gloomily. "Merton reportsthat there is no trace of any dangerous foreign body in the liquidsanalyzed."
He dropped the analyst's report into a wastebasket and resumed hisrestless promenade. Innes, who could see that his principal wantedto talk, waited. For it was Paul Harley's custom, when the clue to alabyrinth evaded him, to outline his difficulties to his confidentialsecretary, and by the mere exercise of verbal construction Harley wouldoften detect the weak spot in his reasoning. This stage come to, hewould dictate a carefully worded statement of the case to date and thusfamiliarize himself with its complexities.
"You see, Innes," he began, suddenly, "Sir Charles had taken norefreshment of any kind at Mr. Wilson's house nor before leaving hisown. Neither had he smoked. No one had approached him. Therefore, if hewas poisoned, he was poisoned at his own table. Since he was never outof my observation from the moment of entering the library up to that ofhis death, we are reduced to the only two possible mediums--the soup orthe water. He had touched nothing else."
"No wine?"
"Wine was on the table but none had been poured out. Let us see whatevidence, capable of being put into writing, exists to support my theorythat Sir Charles was poisoned. In the first place, he clearly went infear of some such death. It was because of this that he consulted me.What was the origin of his fear? Something associated with the termFire-Tongue. So much is clear from Sir Charles's dying words, and hisquestioning Nicol Brinn on the point some weeks earlier.
"He was afraid, then, of something or someone linked in his mind withthe word Fire-Tongue. What do we know about Fire-Tongue? One thing only:that it had to do with some episode which took place in India. This itemwe owe to Nicol Brinn.
"Very well. Sir Charles believed himself to be in danger from some thingor person unknown, associated with India and with the term Fire-Tongue.What else? His house was entered during the night under circumstancessuggesting that burglary was not the object of the entrance. And next?He was assaulted, with murderous intent. Thirdly, he believed himself tobe subjected to constant surveillance. Was this a delusion? It wasnot. After failing several times I myself detected someone dogging mymovements last night at the moment I entered Nicol Brinn's chambers.Nicol Brinn also saw this person.
"In short, Sir Charles was, beyond doubt, at the time of his death,receiving close attention from some mysterious person or personsthe object of which he believed to be his death. Have I gone beyondestablished facts, Innes, thus far?"
"No, Mr. Harley. So far you are on solid ground."
"Good. Leaving out of the question those points which we hope to clearup when the evidence of Miss Abingdon becomes available--how did SirCharles learn that Nicol Brinn knew the meaning of Fire-Tongue?"
"He may have heard something to that effect in India."
"If this were so he would scarcely have awaited a chance encounter toprosecute his inquiries, since Nicol Brinn is a well-known figure inLondon and Sir Charles had been home for several years."
"Mr. Brinn may have said something after the accident and before he wasin full possession of his senses which gave Sir Charles a clue."
"He did not, Innes. I called at the druggist's establishment thismorning. They recalled the incident, of course. Mr. Brinn never uttereda word until, opening his eyes, he said: 'Hello! Am I much damaged?'"
Innes smiled discreetly. "A remarkable character, Mr. Harley," he said."Your biggest difficulty at the moment is to fit Mr. Nicol Brinn intothe scheme."
"He won't fit at all, Innes! We come to the final and conclusive item ofevidence substantiating my theory of Sir Charles's murder: Nicol Brinnbelieves he was murdered. Nicol Brinn has known others, in his ownwords, 'to go the same way.' Yet Nicol Brinn, a millionaire, a scholar,a sportsman, and a gentleman, refuses to open his mouth."
"He is afraid of something."
"He is afraid of Fire-Tongue--whatever Fire-Tongue may be! I never saw aman of proved courage more afraid in my life. He prefers to court arrestfor complicity in a murder rather than tell what he knows!"
"It's unbelievable."
"It would be, Innes, if Nicol Brinn's fears were personal."
Paul Harley checked his steps in front of the watchful secretary andgazed keenly into his eyes.
"Death has no terrors for Nicol Brinn," he said slowly. "All his lifehe has toyed with danger. He admitted to me that during the past sevenyears he had courted death. Isn't it plain enough, Innes? If ever a manpossessed all that the world had to offer, Nicol Brinn is that man. Insuch a case and in such circumstances what do we look for?"
Innes shook his head.
"We look for the woman!" snapped Paul Harley.
There came a rap at the door and Miss Smith, the typist, entered. "MissPhil Abingdon and Doctor McMurdoch," she said.
"Good heavens!" muttered Harley. "So soon? Why, she can only just--" Hechecked himself. "Show them in, Miss Smith," he directed.
As the typist went out, followed by Innes, Paul Harley found himselfthinking of the photograph in Sir Charles Abingdon's library and waitingwith an almost feverish expectancy for the appearance of the original.
Almost immediately Phil Abingdon came in, accompanied by the sepulchralDoctor McMurdoch. And Harley found himself wondering whether her eyeswere really violet-coloured or whether intense emotion heroicallyrepressed had temporarily lent them that appearance.
Surprise was the predominant quality of his first impression. SirCharles Abingdon's daughter was so exceedingly vital--petite andslender, yet instinct with force. The seeming repose of the photographwas misleading. That her glance could be naive he realized--as it couldalso be gay--and now her eyes were sad with a sadness so deep as todispel the impression of lightness created by her dainty form, heralluring, mobile lips, and the fascinating, wavy, red-brown hair.
She did not wear mourning. He recalled that there had been no time toprocure it. She was exquisitely and fashionably dressed, and even thepallor of grief could not rob her cheeks of the bloom born of Devonsunshine. He had expected her to be pretty. He was surprised to find herlovely.
Doctor McMurdoch stood silent in the doorway, saying nothing by wayof introduction. But nothing was necessary. Phil Abingdon came forwardquite naturally--and quite naturally Paul Harley discovered her littlegloved hand to lie clasped between both his own. It was more like areunion than a first meeting and was so laden with perfect understandingthat, even yet, speech seemed scarcely worth while.
Thinking over that moment, in later days, Paul Harley remembered thathe had been prompted by some small inner voice to say: "So you have comeback?" It was recognition. Of the hundreds of men and women who cameinto his life for a while, and ere long went out of it again, he knew,by virtue of that sixth sense of his, that Phil Abingdon had come tostay--whether for joy or sorrow he could not divine.
It was really quite brief--that interval of silence--although perhapslong enough to bridge the ages.
"How brave of you, Miss Abingdon!" said Harley. "How wonderfully braveof you!"
"She's an Abingdon," came the deep tones of Doctor McMurdoch. "Shearrived only two hours ago and here she is."
"There can be no rest for me, Doctor," said the girl, and strovevaliantly to control her voice, "until this dreadful doubt is removed.Mr. Harley"--she turned to him appealingly--"please don't study myfeelings in the least; I can bear anything--now; just tell me whathappened. Oh! I had to come. I felt that I had to come."
As Paul Harley placed an armchair for his visitor, his glance met thatof Doctor McMurdoch, and in the gloomy eyes he read admiration of thisgirl who could thus conquer the inherent weakness of her sex and at suchan hour and after a dreadful ordeal set her hand to the task
which fatehad laid upon her.
Doctor McMurdoch sat down on a chair beside the door, setting his silkhat upon the floor and clasping his massive chin with his hand.
"I will endeavour to do as you wish, Miss Abingdon," said Harley,glancing anxiously at the physician.
But Doctor McMurdoch returned only a dull stare. It was evidentthat this man of stone was as clay in the hands of Phil Abingdon. Hedeprecated the strain which she was imposing upon her nervous system,already overwrought to the danger point, but he was helpless for all hisdour obstinacy. Harley, looking down at the girl's profile, read a newmeaning into the firm line of her chin. He was conscious of an insanedesire to put his arms around this new acquaintance who seemed in someindefinable yet definite way to belong to him and to whisper the tragicstory he had to tell, comforting her the while.
He began to relate what had taken place at the first interview, when SirCharles had told him of the menace which he had believed to hang overhis life. He spoke slowly, deliberately, choosing his words with a viewto sparing Phil Abingdon's feelings as far as possible.
She made no comment throughout, but her fingers alternately tightenedand relaxed their hold upon the arms of the chair in which she wasseated. Once, at some reference to words spoken by her father, hersensitive lips began to quiver and Harley, watching her, paused. Sheheld the chair arms more tightly. "Please go on, Mr. Harley," she said.
The words were spoken in a very low voice, but the speaker looked upbravely, and Harley, reassured, proceeded uninterruptedly to the end ofthe story. Then:
"At some future time, Miss Abingdon," he concluded, "I hope you willallow me to call upon you. There is so much to be discussed--"
Again Phil Abingdon looked up into his face. "I have forced myselfto come to see you to-day," she said, "because I realize there is noservice I can do poor dad so important as finding out--"
"I understand," Harley interrupted, gently. "But--"
"No, no." Phil Abingdon shook her head rebelliously. "Please ask me whatyou want to know. I came for that."
He met the glance of violet eyes, and understood something of DoctorMcMurdoch's helplessness. He found his thoughts again wandering intostrange, wild byways and was only recalled to the realities by thedry, gloomy voice of the physician. "Go on, Mr. Harley," said DoctorMcMurdoch. "She has grand courage."
