by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER IX. TWO REPORTS
On returning to his office Paul Harley found awaiting him the reportof the man to whom he had entrusted the study of the movements of NicolBrinn. His mood was a disturbed one, and he had observed none of hiscustomary precautions in coming from Doctor McMurdoch's house. Hewondered if the surveillance which he had once detected had ceased.Perhaps the chambers of Nicol Brinn were the true danger zone upon whichthese subtle but powerful forces now were focussed. On the other hand,he was quite well aware that his movements might have been watchedalmost uninterruptedly since the hour that Sir Charles Abingdon hadvisited his office.
During the previous day, in his attempt to learn the identity ofOrmuz Khan, he had covered his tracks with his customary care. He hadsufficient faith in his knowledge of disguise, which was extensive,to believe that those mysterious persons who were interested in hismovements remained unaware of the fact that the simple-minded visitorfrom Vancouver who had spent several hours in and about the Savoy, andPaul Harley of Chancery Lane, were one and the same.
His brain was far too alertly engaged with troubled thoughts of PhilAbingdon to be susceptible to the influence of those delicate ethericwaves which he had come to recognize as the note of danger. Practicallythere had been no development whatever in the investigation, and he wasalmost tempted to believe that the whole thing was a mirage, when thesight of the typewritten report translated him mentally to the luxuriouschambers in Piccadilly.
Again, almost clairvoyantly, he saw the stoical American seated beforethe empty fireplace, his foot restlessly tapping the fender. Again heheard the curious, high tones: "I'll tell you... You have opened thegates of hell...."
The whole scene, with its tantalizing undercurrent of mystery, wasreenacted before his inner vision. He seemed to hear Nicol Brinn,startled from his reverie, exclaim: "I think it was an owl.... Wesometimes get them over from the Green Park...."
Why should so simple an incident have produced so singular an effect?For the face of the speaker had been ashen.
Then the pendulum swung inevitably back: "You are all perfectly crueland horrible...."
Paul Harley clenched his hands, frowning at the Burmese cabinet asthough he hated it.
How persistently the voice of Phil Abingdon rang in his ears! He couldnot forget her lightest words. How hopelessly her bewitching imageintruded itself between his reasoning mind and the problem upon which hesought to concentrate.
Miss Smith, the typist, had gone, for it was after six o'clock, andInnes alone was on duty. He came in as Harley, placing his hat and caneupon the big writing table, sat down to study the report.
"Inspector Wessex rang up, Mr. Harley, about an hour ago. He said hewould be at the Yard until six."
"Has he obtained any information?" asked Paul Harley, wearily, glancingat his little table clock.
"He said he had had insufficient time to do much in the matter, but thatthere were one or two outstanding facts which might interest you."
"Did he seem to be surprised?"
"He did," confessed Innes. "He said that Ormuz Khan was a well-knownfigure in financial circles, and asked me in what way you wereinterested in him."
"Ah!" murmured Harley. He took up the telephone. "City 400," he said...."Is that the Commissioner's Office, New Scotland Yard? ... Paul Harleyspeaking. Would you please inquire if Detective Inspector Wessex hasgone?"
While awaiting a reply he looked up at Innes. "Is there anything else?"he asked.
"Only the letters, Mr. Harley."
"No callers?"
"No."
"Leave the letters, then; I will see to them. You need not wait." Amoment later, as his secretary bade him good-night and went out of theoffice:
"Hello," said Harley, speaking into the mouthpiece... "The inspectorhas gone? Perhaps you would ask him to ring me up in the morning." Hereplaced the receiver on the hook.
Resting his chin in his hands, he began to read from the typewrittenpages before him. His assistant's report was conceived as follows:
'Re Mr. Nicol Brinn of Raleigh House, Piccadilly, W. I.
'Mr. Nicol Brinn is an American citizen, born at Cincinnati, Ohio,February 15, 1884. He is the son of John Nicolas Brinn of the samecity, founder of the firm of J. Nicolas Brinn, Incorporated, laterreconstituted under the style of Brinn's Universal Electric SupplyCorporation.
'Nicol Brinn is a graduate of Harvard. He has travelled extensivelyin nearly all parts of the world and has access to the best societyof Europe and America. He has a reputation for eccentricity, has wonnumerous sporting events as a gentleman rider; was the first airman tofly over the Rockies; took part in the Uruguay rebellion of 1904, andheld the rank of lieutenant colonel of field artillery with the Americanforces during the Great War.
'He has published a work on big game and has contributed numerous travelarticles to American periodicals. On the death of Mr. Brinn, senior, in1914, he inherited an enormous fortune and a preponderating influencein the B.U.E.S.C. He has never taken any active part in conduct of theconcern, but has lived a restless and wandering life in various parts ofthe world.
'Mr. Nicol Brinn is a confirmed bachelor. I have been unable to findthat he has ever taken the slightest interest in any woman other thanhis mother throughout his career. Mrs. J. Nicolas Brinn is still livingin Cincinnati, and there is said to be a strong bond of affectionbetween mother and son. His movements on yesterday, 4th June, 1921, wereas follows:
'He came out of his chambers at eight o'clock and rode for an hour inthe park, when he returned and remained indoors until midday. He thendrove to the Carlton, where he lunched with the Foreign Secretary, withwhom he remained engaged in earnest conversation until ten minutes tothree. The Rt. Hon. gentleman proceeded to the House of Commons and Mr.Brinn to an auction at Christie's. He bought two oil paintings. He thenreturned to his chambers and did not reappear again until seven o'clock.He dined alone at a small and unfashionable restaurant in Soho, went onto his box at Covent Garden, where he remained for an hour, also alone,and then went home. He had no callers throughout the day.'
Deliberately Paul Harley had read the report, only removing his handfrom his chin to turn over the pages. Now from the cabinet at his elbowhe took out his tin of tobacco and, filling and lighting a pipe, layback, eyes half closed, considering what he had learned respecting NicolBrinn.
That he was concerned in the death of Sir Charles Abingdon he didnot believe for a moment; but that this elusive case, which uponinvestigation only seemed the more obscure, was nevertheless a case ofdeliberate murder he was as firmly convinced as ever. Of the identity ofthe murderer, of his motive, he had not the haziest idea, but that thecloud which he had pictured as overhanging the life of the late SirCharles was a reality and not a myth of the imagination he became morecompletely convinced with each new failure to pick up a clue.
He found himself helplessly tied. In which direction should he move andto what end? Inclination prompted him in one direction, common senseheld him back. As was his custom, he took a pencil and wrote upon alittle block:
Find means to force Brinn to speak.
He lay back in his chair again, deep in thought, and presently added thenote:
Obtain interview with Ormuz Khan.
Just as he replaced the pencil on the table, his telephone bell rang.The caller proved to be his friend, Inspector Wessex.
"Hello, Mr. Harley," said the inspector. "I had occasion to return tothe Yard, and they told me you had rung up. I don't know why you areinterested in this Ormuz Khan, unless you want to raise a loan."
Paul Harley laughed. "I gather that he is a man of extensive means,"he replied, "but hitherto he has remained outside my radius ofobservation."
"And outside mine," declared the inspector. "He hasn't the most distantconnection with anything crooked. It gave me a lot of trouble to findout what little I have found out. Briefly, all I have to tell you isthis: Ormuz Khan--who is apparently entitled to be addressed as'his excellency'--is a director of the Imperial B
ank of Iran, andis associated, too, with one of the Ottoman banks. I presume hisnationality is Persian, but I can't be sure of it. He periodically turnsup in the various big capitals when international loans and that sort ofthing are being negotiated. I understand that he has a flat somewherein Paris, and the Service de Surete tells me that his name is good forseveral million francs over there. He appears to have a certain fondnessfor London during the spring and early summer months, and I am told hehas a fine place in Surrey. He is at present living at Savoy Court.He appears to be something of a dandy and to be very partialto the fair sex, but nevertheless there is nothing wrong withhis reputation,considering, I mean, that the man is a sort ofEastern multimillionaire."
"Ah!" said Harley, who had been listening eagerly. "Is that the extentof your information, Wessex?"
"That's it," replied Wessex, with a laugh. "I hope you'll find ituseful, but I doubt it. He hasn't been picking pockets or anything, hashe?"
"No," said Harley, shortly. "I don't apprehend that his excellency willever appear in your province, Wessex. My interest in him is of a purelypersonal nature. Thanks for all the trouble you have taken."
Paul Harley began to pace the office. From a professional point of viewthe information was uninteresting enough, but from another point ofview it had awakened again that impotent anger which he had too oftenexperienced in these recent, strangely restless days.
At all costs he must see Ormuz Khan, although how he was to obtainaccess to this man who apparently never left his private apartments (ifthe day of his vigil at the Savoy had been a typical one) he failed toimagine.
Nevertheless, pausing at the table, he again took up his pencil, andto the note "Obtain interview with Ormuz Khan" he added the one word,underlined:
"To-morrow."
