w him no more professionally. But he dined with me a
week later and I had lunch at his club about a fortnight ago."

He looked up at Harley. "On my solemn word of honour," he said, "that's
all I know about Sir Charles Abingdon."

Paul Harley returned the other's fixed stare. "I don't doubt your
assurance on the point, Mr. Brinn," he acknowledged. "I can well
understand that you must be badly puzzled; but I would remind you of
your statement that you were also frightened. Why?"

Nicol Brinn glanced rapidly about his own luxurious room in an oddly
apprehensive manner. "I said that," he declared, "and I meant it."

"Then I can only suppose," resumed Harley, deliberately, "that the cause
of your fear lies in the term, 'Fire-Tongue'?"

Brinn again rested his chin in his hand, staring fixedly into the grate.

"And possibly," went on the remorseless voice, "you can explain the
significance of that term?"

Nicol Brinn remained silent--but with one foot he was slowly tapping the
edge of the fender.

"Mr. Harley," he began, abruptly, "you have been perfectly frank with me
and in return I wish to be as frank with you as I can be. I am face to
face with a thing that has haunted me for seven years, and every step I
take from now onward has to be considered carefully, for any step might
be my last. And that's not the worst of the matter. I will risk one
of those steps here and now. You ask me to explain the significance of
Fire-Tongue" (there was a perceptible pause before he pronounced the
word, which Harley duly noticed). "I am going to tell you that Sir
Charles Abingdon, when I lunched with him at his club, asked me
precisely the same thing."

"What! He asked you that so long as two weeks ago?"

"He did."

"And what reason did he give for his inquiry?"

Nicol Brinn began to tap the fender again with his foot. "Let me think,"
he replied. "I recognize that you must regard my reticence as peculiar,
Mr. Harley, but if ever a man had reason to look before he leaped, I am
that man."

Silence fell again, and Paul Harley, staring down at Nicol Brinn,
realized that this indeed was the most hopelessly mystifying case which
fate had ever thrown in his way. This millionaire scholar and traveller,
whose figure was as familiar in remote cities of the world as it was
familiar in New York, in Paris, and in London, could not conceivably be
associated with any criminal organization. Yet his hesitancy was indeed
difficult to explain,