Fire-Tongue

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XIV. WESSEX GETS BUSY

  Innes rose from the chair usually occupied by Paul Harley as DetectiveInspector Wessex, with a very blank face, walked into the office. Inneslooked haggard and exhibited unmistakable signs of anxiety. Since hehad received that dramatic telephone message from his chief he had notspared himself for a moment. The official machinery of Scotland Yard wasat work endeavouring to trace the missing man, but since it had provedimpossible to find out from where the message had been sent, theinvestigation was handicapped at the very outset. Close inquiries at theSavoy Hotel had shown that Harley had not been there. Wessex, who was athorough artist within his limitations, had satisfied himself that noneof the callers who had asked for Ormuz Khan, and no one who had loiteredabout the lobbies, could possibly have been even a disguised PaulHarley.

  To Inspector Wessex the lines along which Paul Harley was operatingremained a matter of profound amazement and mystification. His interviewwith Mr. Nicol Brinn had only served to baffle him more hopelessly thanever. The nature of Paul Harley's inquiries--inquiries which, presumablyfrom the death of Sir Charles Abingdon, had led him to investigate themovements of two persons of international repute, neither apparentlyhaving even the most remote connection with anything crooked--was aconundrum for the answer to which the detective inspector sought invain.

  "I can see you have no news," said Innes, dully.

  "To be perfectly honest," replied Wessex, "I feel like a man who iswalking in his sleep. Except for the extraordinary words uttered bythe late Sir Charles Abingdon, I fail to see that there is any possibleconnection between his death and Mr. Nicol Brinn. I simply can't fathomwhat Mr. Harley was working upon. To my mind there is not the slightestevidence of foul play in the case. There is no motive; apart from which,there is absolutely no link."

  "Nevertheless," replied Innes, slowly, "you know the chief, andtherefore you know as well as I do that he would not have instructedme to communicate with you unless he had definite evidence in hispossession. It is perfectly clear that he was interrupted in the act oftelephoning. He was literally dragged away from the instrument."

  "I agree," said Wessex. "He had got into a tight corner somewhere rightenough. But where does Nicol Brinn come in?"

  "How did he receive your communication?"

  "Oh, it took him fairly between the eyes. There is no denying that. Heknows something."

  "What he knows," said Innes, slowly, "is what Mr. Harley learned lastnight, and what he fears is what has actually befallen the chief."

  Detective Inspector Wessex stood beside the Burmese cabinet, restlesslydrumming his fingers upon its lacquered surface. "I am grateful for onething," he said. "The press has not got hold of this story."

  "They need never get hold of it if you are moderately careful."

  "For several reasons I am going to be more than moderately careful.Whatever Fire-Tongue may be, its other name is sudden death! It's adevil of a business; a perfect nightmare. But--" he paused--

  "I am wondering what on earth induced Mr. Harley to send that parcel oflinen to the analyst."

  "The result of the analysis may prove that the chief was not engagedupon any wild-goose chase."

  "By heavens!" Wessex sprang up, his eyes brightened, and he reached forhis hat, "that gives me an idea!"

  "The message with the parcel was written upon paper bearing theletterhead of the late Sir Charles Abingdon. So Mr. Harley evidentlymade his first call there! I'm off, sir! The trail starts from thathouse!"

  Leaving Innes seated at the big table with an expression of despairupon his face, Detective Inspector Wessex set out. He blamed himself forwasting time upon the obvious, for concentrating too closely upon theclue given by Harley's last words to Innes before leaving the officein Chancery Lane. It was poor workmanship. He had hoped to take a shortcut, and it had proved, as usual, to be a long one. Now, as he sat in alaggard cab feeling that every minute wasted might be a matter of lifeand death, he suddenly became conscious of personal anxiety. He was acourageous, indeed a fearless, man, and he was subconsciously surprisedto find himself repeating the words of Nicol Brinn: "Be careful--be verycareful!" With all the ardour of the professional, he longed to find aclue which should lead him to the heart of the mystery.

  Innes had frankly outlined the whole of Paul Harley's case to date, andDetective Inspector Wessex, although he had not admitted the fact, hadnevertheless recognized that from start to finish the thing did notoffer one single line of inquiry which he would have been capable offollowing up. That Paul Harley had found material to work upon, hadsomehow picked up a definite clue from this cloudy maze, earned theenvious admiration of the Scotland Yard man.

  Arrived at his destination, he asked to see Miss Abingdon, and was shownby the butler into a charmingly furnished little sitting room whichwas deeply impressed with the personality of its dainty owner. It wasessentially and delightfully feminine. Yet in the decorations and in thearrangement of the furniture there was a note of independence which wasalmost a note of defiance. Phyllis Abingdon, an appealingly patheticfigure in her black dress, rose to greet the inspector.

  "Don't be alarmed, Miss Abingdon," he said, kindly. "My visit does notconcern you personally in any way, but I thought perhaps you might beable to help me trace Mr. Paul Harley."

  Wessex had thus expressed himself with the best intentions, but evenbefore the words were fully spoken he realized with a sort of shock thathe could not well have made a worse opening. Phil Abingdon's eyes seemedto grow alarmingly large. She stood quite still, twisting his cardbetween her supple fingers.

  "Mr. Harley!" she whispered.

  "I did not want to alarm you," said the detective, guiltily, "but--" Hestopped, at a loss for words.

  "Has something happened to him?"

  "I am sorry if I have alarmed you," he assured her, "but there is somedoubt respecting Mr. Harley's present whereabouts. Have you any ideawhere he went when he left this house yesterday?"

  "Yes, yes. I know where he went, quite well."

  "Benson, the butler, told me all about it when I came in." Phil Abingdonspoke excitedly, and took a step nearer Wessex. "He went to call uponJones, our late parlourmaid."

  "Late parlourmaid?" echoed Wessex, uncomprehendingly.

  "Yes. He seemed to think he had made a discovery of importance."

  "Something to do with a parcel which he sent away from here to theanalyst?"

  "Yes! I have been wondering whatever it could be. In fact, I rang uphis office this morning, but learned that he was out. It was a serviettewhich he took away. Did you know that?"

  "I did know it, Miss Abingdon. I called upon the analyst. I understandyou were out when Mr. Harley came. May I ask who interviewed him?"

  "He saw Benson and Mrs. Howett, the housekeeper."

  "May I also see them?"

  "Yes, with pleasure. But please tell me"--Phil Abingdon looked up at himpleadingly--"do you think something--something dreadful has happened toMr. Harley?"

  "Don't alarm yourself unduly," said Wessex. "I hope before the day isover to be in touch with him."

  As a matter of fact, he had no such hope. It was a lie intended toconsole the girl, to whom the news of Harley's disappearance seemed tohave come as a terrible blow. More and more Wessex found himself to begroping in the dark. And when, in response to the ringing of the bell,Benson came in and repeated what had taken place on the previous day,the detective's state of mystification grew even more profound. As amatter of routine rather than with any hope of learning anything useful,he interviewed Mrs. Howett; but the statement of the voluble old ladygave no clue which Wessex could perceive to possess the slightest value.

  Both witnesses having been dismissed, he turned again to Phil Abingdon,who had been sitting watching him with a pathetic light of hope in hereyes throughout his examination of the butler and Mrs. Howett.

  "The next step is clear enough," he said, brightly. "I am off to SouthLambeth Road. The woman Jones is the link we are looking for."

 
; "But the link with what, Mr. Wessex?" asked Phil Abingdon. "What is itall about?--what does it all mean?"

  "The link with Mr. Paul Harley," replied Wessex. He moved toward thedoor.

  "But won't you tell me something more before you go?" said the girl,beseechingly. "I--I--feel responsible if anything has happened to Mr.Harley. Please be frank with me. Are you afraid he is--in danger?"

  "Well, miss," replied the detective, haltingly, "he rang up hissecretary, Mr. Innes, last night--we don't know where from--and admittedthat he was in a rather tight corner. I don't believe for a moment thathe is in actual danger, but he probably has--" again he hesitated--"goodreasons of his own for remaining absent at present."

  Phil Abingdon looked at him doubtingly. "I am almost afraid to ask you,"she said in a low voice, "but--if you hear anything, will you ring meup?"

  "I promise to do so."

  Chartering a more promising-looking cab than that in which he had come,Detective Inspector Wessex proceeded to 236 South Lambeth Road. He hadknocked several times before the door was opened by the woman to whomthe girl Jones had called on the occasion of Harley's visit.

  "I am a police officer," said the detective inspector, "and I havecalled to see a woman named Jones, formerly in the employ of Sir CharlesAbingdon."

  "Polly's gone," was the toneless reply.

  "Gone? Gone where?"

  "She went away last night to a job in the country."

  "What time last night?"

  "I can't remember the time. Just after a gentleman had called here tosee her."

  "Someone from the police?"

  "I don't know. She seemed to be very frightened."

  "Were you present when he interviewed her?"

  "No."

  "After he had gone, what did Polly do?"

  "Sat and cried for about half an hour, then Sidney came for her."

  "Sidney?"

  "Her boy--the latest one."

  "Describe Sidney."

  "A dark fellow, foreign."

  "French--German?"

  "No. A sort of Indian, like."

  "Indian?" snapped Wessex. "What do you mean by Indian?"

  "Very dark," replied the woman without emotion, swinging a baby sheheld to and fro in a methodical way which the detective found highlyirritating.

  "You mean a native of India?"

  "Yes, I should think so. I never noticed him much. Polly has so many."

  "How long has she known this man?"

  "Only a month or so, but she is crazy about him."

  "And when he came last night she went away with him?"

  "Yes. She was all ready to go before the other gentleman called. He musthave told her something which made her think it was all off, and she wascrazy with joy when Sidney turned up. She had all her things packed, andoff she went."

  Experience had taught Detective Inspector Wessex to recognize the truthwhen he met it, and he did not doubt the statement of the woman withthe baby. "Can you give me any idea where this man Sidney came from?" heasked.

  "I am afraid I can't," replied the listless voice. "He was in theservice of some gentleman in the country; that's all I know about him."

  "Did Polly leave no address to which letters were to be forwarded?"

  "No; she said she would write."

  "One other point," said Wessex, and he looked hard into the woman'sface: "What do you know about Fire-Tongue?"

  He was answered by a stare of blank stupidity.

  "You heard me?"

  "Yes, I heard you, but I don't know what you are talking about."

  Quick decisions are required from every member of the CriminalInvestigation Department, and Detective Inspector Wessex came to onenow.

  "That will do for the present," he said, turned, and ran down the stepsto the waiting cab.