by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XVI. NICOL BRINN GOES OUT
Detective Sergeant Stokes was a big, dark, florid man, the word"constable" written all over him. Indeed, as Wessex had complained morethan once, the mere sound of Stokes's footsteps was a danger signalfor any crook. His respect for his immediate superior, the detectiveinspector, was not great. The methods of Wessex savoured too much of theFrench school to appeal to one of Stokes's temperament and outlook uponlife, especially upon that phase of life which comes within the provinceof the criminal investigator.
Wessex's instructions with regard to Nicol Brinn had been succinct:"Watch Mr. Brinn's chambers, make a note of all his visitors, but takeno definite steps respecting him personally without consulting me."
Armed with these instructions, the detective sergeant had undertakenhis duties, which had proved more or less tedious up to the time thata fashionably attired woman of striking but unusual appearance hadinquired of the hall porter upon which floor Mr. Nicol Brinn resided.
In her manner the detective sergeant had perceived something furtive.There was a hunted look in her eyes, too.
When, at the end of some fifteen or twenty minutes, she failed toreappear, he determined to take the initiative himself. By intrudingupon this prolonged conference he hoped to learn something of value.Truth to tell, he was no master of finesse, and had but recently beenpromoted from an East End district where prompt physical action was ofmore value than subtlety.
As a result, then, he presently found himself in the presence of theimmovable Hoskins; and having caused his name to be announced, he wasrequested to wait in the lobby for one minute. Exactly one minute hadelapsed when he was shown into that long, lofty room, which of late hadbeen the scene of strange happenings.
Nicol Brinn was standing before the fireplace, hands clasped behind him,and a long cigar protruding from the left corner of his mouth. No oneelse was present, so far as the detective could see, but he glancedrapidly about the room in a way which told the man who was watchingthat he had expected to find another present. He looked into theunfathomable, light blue eyes of Nicol Brinn, and became conscious of acertain mental confusion.
"Good evening, sir," he said, awkwardly. "I am acting in the caseconcerning the disappearance of Mr. Paul Harley."
"Yes," replied Brinn.
"I have been instructed to keep an eye on these chambers."
"Yes," repeated the high voice.
"Well, sir"--again he glanced rapidly about-"I don't want to intrudemore than necessary, but a lady came in here about half an hour ago."
"Yes," drawled Brinn. "It's possible."
"It's a fact," declared the detective sergeant. "If it isn't troublingyou too much, I should like to know that lady's name. Also, I shouldlike a chat with her before she leaves."
"Can't be done," declared Nicol Brinn. "She isn't here."
"Then where is she?"
"I couldn't say. She went some time ago."
Stokes stood squarely before Nicol Brinn--a big, menacing figure; buthe could not detect the slightest shadow of expression upon the other'simpassive features. He began to grow angry. He was of that sanguinetemperament which in anger acts hastily.
"Look here, sir," he said, and his dark face flushed. "You can't playtricks on me. I've got my duty to do, and I am going to do it. Ask yourvisitor to step in here, or I shall search the premises."
Nicol Brinn replaced his cigar in the right corner of his mouth:"Detective Sergeant Stokes, I give you my word that the lady to whom yourefer is no longer in these chambers."
Stokes glared at him angrily. "But there is no other way out," heblustered.
"I shall not deal with this matter further," declared Brinn, coldly. "Imay have vices, but I never was a liar."
"Oh," muttered the detective sergeant, taken aback by the coldincisiveness of the speaker. "Then perhaps you will lead the way, as Ishould like to take a look around."
Nicol Brinn spread his feet more widely upon the hearthrug. "DetectiveSergeant Stokes," he said, "you are not playing the game. InspectorWessex passed his word to me that for twenty-four hours my movementsshould not be questioned or interfered with. How is it that I find youhere?"
Stokes thrust his hands in his pockets and coughed uneasily. "I am not amachine," he replied; "and I do my own job in my own way."
"I doubt if Inspector Wessex would approve of your way."
"That's my business."
"Maybe, but it is no affair of yours to interfere with private affairsof mine, Detective Sergeant. See here, there is no lady in thesechambers. Secondly, I have an appointment at nine o'clock, and you aredetaining me."
"What's more," answered Stokes, who had now quite lost his temper, "Iintend to go on detaining you until I have searched these chambers andsearched them thoroughly."
Nicol Brinn glanced at his watch. "If I leave in five minutes, I'll bein good time," he said. "Follow me."
Crossing to the centre section of a massive bookcase, he opened it,and it proved to be a door. So cunning was the design that the closestscrutiny must have failed to detect any difference between the dummybooks with which it was decorated, and the authentic works which filledthe shelves to right and to left of it. Within was a small and cosystudy. In contrast with the museum-like room out of which it opened, itwas furnished in a severely simple fashion, and one more experienced inthe study of complex humanity than Detective Sergeant Stokes must haveperceived that here the real Nicol Brinn spent his leisure hours. Abovethe mantel was a life-sized oil painting of Mrs. Nicolas Brinn; andwhereas the great room overlooking Piccadilly was exotic to a degree,the atmosphere of the study was markedly American.
Palpably there was no one there. Nor did the two bedrooms, the kitchen,and the lobby afford any more satisfactory evidence. Nicol Brinn led theway back from the lobby, through the small study, and into the famousroom where the Egyptian priestess smiled eternally. He resumed his placeupon the hearthrug. "Are you satisfied, Detective Sergeant?"
"I am!" Stokes spoke angrily. "While you kept me talking, she slippedout through that study, and down into the street."
"Ah," murmured Nicol Brinn.
"In fact, the whole business looks very suspicious to me," continued thedetective.
"Sorry," drawled Brinn, again consulting his watch. "The five minutesare up. I must be off."
"Not until I have spoken to Scotland Yard, sir."
"You wish to speak to Scotland Yard?"
"I do," said Stokes, grimly.
Nicol Brinn strode to the telephone, which stood upon a small tablealmost immediately in front of the bookcase. The masked door remainedajar.
"You are quite fixed upon detaining me?"
"Quite," said Stokes, watching him closely.
In one long stride Brinn was through the doorway, telephone in hand!Before Stokes had time to move, the door closed violently, in order, nodoubt, to make it shut over the telephone cable which lay under it!
Detective Sergeant Stokes fell back, gazed wildly at the false books fora moment, and then, turning, leaped to the outer door. It was locked!
In the meanwhile, Nicol Brinn, having secured the door whichcommunicated with the study, walked out into the lobby where Hoskins wasseated. Hoskins stood up.
"The lady went, Hoskins?"
"She did, sir."
Nicol Brinn withdrew the key from the door of the room in whichDetective Sergeant Stokes was confined. Stokes began banging wildly uponthe panels from within.
"That row will continue," Nicol Brinn said, coldly; "perhaps he willshout murder from one of the windows. You have only to say you had nokey. I am going out now. The light coat, Hoskins."
Hoskins unemotionally handed coat, hat, and cane to his master and,opening the front door, stood aside. The sound of a window being raisedbecame audible from within the locked room.
"Probably," added Nicol Brinn, "you will be arrested."
"Very good, sir," said Hoskins. "Good-night, sir..."