FIRETONGUE.................................................................................................................................................1

Sax Rohmer ..............................................................................................................................................1

Some of Paul Harley's most interesting cases were brought to his notice in an almost accidental way.

Although he closed his office in Chancery Lane sharply at the hour of six, the hour of six by no means

marked the end of his business day. His work was practically ceaseless. But even in times of leisure, at the

club or theatre, fate would sometimes cast in his path the first slender thread which was ultimately to lead

him into some unsuspected labyrinth, perhaps in the underworld of London, perhaps in a city of the Far East.

His investigation of the case of the man with the shaven skull afforded an instance of this, and even more

notable was his first meeting with Major Jack Ragstaff of the Cavalry Club, a meeting which took place after

the office had been closed, but which led to the unmasking of perhaps the most cunning murderer in the

One summer's evening when the little clock upon his table was rapidly approaching the muchdesired hour,

Harley lay back in his chair and stared meditatively across his private office in the direction of a large and

very handsome Burmese cabinet, which seemed strangely out of place amid the filing drawers, bookshelves,

and other usual impedimenta of a professional man. A peculiarly uninteresting week was drawing to a close,

and he was wondering if this betokened a decreased activity in the higher criminal circles, or whether it was

merely one of those usual quiescent periods which characterize every form of warfare.

Paul Harley, although the fact was unknown to the general public, occupied something of the position of an

unofficial field marshal of the forces arrayed against evildoers. Throughout the war he had undertaken

confidential work of the highest importance, especially in regard to the Near East, with which he was

intimately acquainted. A member of the English bar, and the last court of appeal to which Home Office and

Foreign Office alike came in troubled times, the brass plate upon the door of his unassuming premises in

The man himself, with his tropical bronze and air of eager vitality, must have told the most careless observer

that he stood in the presence of an extraordinary personality. He was slightly gray at the temples in these

days, but young in mind and body, physically fit, and possessed of an intellectual keenness which had forced

recognition from two hemispheres. His office was part of an old city residence, and his chambers adjoined his

workroom, so that now, noting that his table clock registered the hour of six, he pressed a bell which

"Very uneventful, Mr. Harley. About a month of this and you will have to resume practice at the bar."

"Not a bit likely, Innes," he replied. "No more briefs for me. I shall retire to Norfolk and devote my declining

"It would more than satisfy me," returned Harley. "But every man to his own ambition. Well, there is no

occasion to wait; you might as well get along. But what's that you've got in your hand?"

"Well," replied Innes, laying a card upon the table, "I was just coming in with it when you rang."

"Sir Charles Abingdon," he read aloud, staring reflectively at his secretary. "That is the osteologist?"

"Ah," murmured Harley, "I wonder what he wants. I suppose I had better see him, as I fancy that he and I met

Innes retiring, there presently entered a distinguishedlooking, elderly gentleman upon whose florid face

"Mr. Harley," he began, "I feel somewhat ill at ease in encroaching upon your time, for I am by no means

"Sit down, Sir Charles," said Harley with quiet geniality. "Officially, my working day is ended; but if nothing

comes of your visit beyond a chat it will have been very welcome. Calcutta, was it not, where we last met?"

"It was," replied Sir Charles, placing his hat and cane upon the table and sitting down rather wearily in a big

leather armchair which Harley had pushed forward. "If I presume upon so slight an acquaintance, I am sorry,

but I must confess that only the fact of having met you socially encouraged me to make this visit."

He raised his eyes to Harley's face and gazed at him with that peculiarly searching look which belongs to

members of his profession; but mingled with it was an expression of almost pathetic appeal, of appeal for

"Go on, Sir Charles," said Harley. He pushed forward a box of cigars. "Will you smoke?"

Slr Charles evidently was oppressed by some secret trouble, thus Harley mused silently, as, taking out a tin of

tobacco from a cabinet beside him, he began in leisurely manner to load a briar. In this he desired to convey

that he treated the visit as that of a friend, and also, since business was over, that Sir Charles might without

scruple speak at length and at leisure of whatever matters had brought him there.

"Very well, then," began the surgeon; "I am painfully conscious that the facts which I am in a position to lay

"If this were not so," he explained, "you would have no occasion to apply to me, Sir Charles. It is my

business to look for facts. Naturally, I do not expect my clients to supply them."

Sir Charles slowly nodded his head, and seemed in some measure to recover confidence.

"H'm," said Harley, replacing the tin in the cupboard and striking a match. "Even if the facts are scanty, no

"I cannot say that they are substantial, Mr. Harley. They are rather more circumstantial. Frankly, I have

forced myself to come here, and now that I have intruded upon your privacy, I realize my difficulties more

The expression of embarrassment upon the speaker's face had grown intense; and now he paused, bending

forward in his chair. He seemed in his glance to appeal for patience on the part of his hearer, and Harley,

lighting his pipe, nodded in understanding fashion. He was the last man in the world to jump to conclusions.

He had learned by bitter experience that lightly to dismiss such cases as this of Sir Charles as coming within

the province of delusion, was sometimes tantamount to refusing aid to a man in deadly peril.

"You are naturally anxious for the particulars," Sir Charles presently resumed. "They bear, I regret to say, a

close resemblance to the symptoms of a wellknown form of hallucination. In short, with one exception, they

"Surveillance," said Paul Harley. "You mean that you are more or less constantly followed?"

"A very hazy one. Tonight, as I came to your office, I have every reason to believe that someone followed

"Practically the whole way, except that as my chauffeur turned into Chancery Lane, the cab stopped at the

"One very notable thing, Mr. Harley. I was actually assaulted less than a week ago within sight of my own

"Indeed! Tell me of this." Paul Harley became aware of an awakening curiosity. Sir Charles Abingdon was

"I had been to visit a friend in the neighbourhood," Sir Charles continued, "whom I am at present attending

professionally, although I am actually retired. I was returning across the square, close to midnight, when,

fortunately for myself, I detected the sound of light, pattering footsteps immediately behind me. The place

was quite deserted at that hour, and although I was so near home, the worst would have happened, I fear, if

my sense of hearing had been less acute. I turned in the very instant that a man was about to spring upon me

from behind. He was holding in his hand what looked like a large silk handkerchief. This encounter took

place in the shadow of some trees, and beyond the fact that my assailant was a small man, I could form no

"Then he made no attempt to contest the issue, but simply ran swiftly off, always keeping in the shadows of

"Maybe," replied Sir Charles. "The handkerchief was perhaps saturated with some drug, or he may even have

"None whatever, Mr. Harley. When you see the spot at which the encounter took place, if you care to do so,

you will recognize the difficulties. It is perfectly dark there after nightfall."

"H'm," mused Harley. "A very alarming occurrence, Sir Charles. It must have shaken you very badly. But we

Sir Charles Abingdon cleared his throat nervously. "It does, Mr. Harley," he admitted, "but a very confusing

train of thought. It leads me to a point which I must mention, but which concerns a very wellknown man.

Before I proceed I should like to make it clear that I do not believe for a moment that he is responsible for

Harley stared at him curiously. "Nevertheless," he said, "there must be some data in your possession which

"There are, Mr. Harley, and I should be deeply indebted if you could visit my house this evening, when I

could place this evidence, if evidence it may be called, before you. I find myself in so delicate a position. If

"Of course, Sir Charles," he said, presently, "your statement is very interesting and curious, and I shall

naturally make a point of going fully into the matter. But before proceeding further there are two questions I

should like to ask you. The first is this: What is the name of the 'wellknown' man to whom you refer? And

"The one matter is so hopelessly involved in the other," he finally replied, "that although I came here

prepared as I thought with a full statement of the case, I should welcome a further opportunity of rearranging

the facts before imparting them to you. One thing, however, I have omitted to mention. It is, perhaps, of

"Nothing of the slightest value, Mr. Harley, to any one but myselfor so I should have supposed." The

speaker coughed nervously. "The thief had gained admittance to my private study, where there are several

cases of Oriental jewellery and a number of pieces of valuable gold and silverware, all antique. At what hour

he came, how he gained admittance, and how he retired, I cannot imagine. All the doors were locked as usual

ImmediatelyimmediatelyI perceived that my papers were disarranged. Close examination revealed the

fact that a short manuscript in my own hand, which had been placed in one of the pigeonholes, was missing."

"Scarcely a technical subject, Mr. Harley. It was a brief account which I had vaguely contemplated

publishing in one of the reviews, a brief account of a very extraordinary patient whom I once attended."

"No; some years ago. But I had recently added to it. I may say that it was my purpose still further to add to it,

"May I suggest that your patient and the 'wellknown man' to whom you referred are one and the same?"

"It is not so, Mr. Harley," returned Sir Charles in a tired voice. "Nothing so simple. I realize more than ever

that I must arrange my facts in some sort of historical order. Therefore I ask you again: will you dine with me

That his ready acceptance had immensely relieved the troubled mind of Sir Charles was evident enough. His

visitor stood up. "I am not prone to sickly fancies, Mr. Harley," he said. "But a conviction has been growing

upon me for some time that I have incurred, how I cannot imagine, but that nevertheless I have incurred

powerful enmity. I trust our evening's counsel may enable you, with your highly specialized faculties, to

And it was instructive to note how fluently he spoke now that he found himself temporarily relieved of the

Paul Harley stepped into his car in Chancery Lane. "Drive in the direction of Hyde Park Corner," he directed

Glancing neither right nor left, he entered the car, and presently they were proceeding slowly with the stream

of traffic in the Strand. "Pull up at the Savoy," he said suddenly through the tube.

The car slowed down in that little bay which contains the entrance to the hotel, and Harley stared fixedly out

of the rear window, observing the occupants of all other cars and cabs which were following. For three

Again they proceeded westward and, halfway along Piccadilly, "Stop at the Ritz," came the order.

The car pulled up before the colonnade and Harley, stepping out, dismissed the man and entered the hotel,

walked through to the side entrance, and directed a porter to get him a taxicab. In this he proceeded to the

house of Sir Charles Abingdon. He had been seeking to learn whether he was followed, but in none of the

faces he had scrutinized had he detected any interest in himself, so that his idea that whoever was watching

Sir Charles in all probability would have transferred attention to himself remained no more than an idea. For

all he had gained by his tactics, Sir Charles's theory might be no more than a delusion after all.

The house of Sir Charles Abingdon was one of those small, discreet establishments, the very neatness of

whose appointments inspires respect for the occupant. If anything had occurred during the journey to suggest

to Harley that Sir Charles was indeed under observation by a hidden enemy, the suave British security and

As the cab was driven away around the corner, Harley paused for a moment, glancing about him to right and

left and up at the neatly curtained windows. In the interval which had elapsed since Sir Charles's departure

from his office, he had had leisure to survey the outstanding features of the story, and, discounting in his

absence the pathetic sincerity of the narrator, he had formed the opinion that there was nothing in the account

Sir Charles's hesitancy in regard to two of the questions asked had contained a hint that they might involve

intimate personal matters, and Harley was prepared to learn that the source of the distinguished surgeon's

dread lay in some unrevealed episode of the past. Beyond the fact that Sir Charles was a widower, he knew

little or nothing of his private life; and he was far too experienced an investigator to formulate theories until

all the facts were in his possession. Therefore it was with keen interest that he looked forward to the

Familiarity with crime, in its many complexions, East and West, had developed in Paul Harley a sort of sixth

sense. It was an evasive, fickle thing, but was nevertheless the attribute which had made him an investigator

of genius. Often enough it failed him entirely. It had failed him tonightor else no one had followed him

It had failed him earlier in the evening when, secretly, he had watched from the office window Sir Charles's

car proceeding toward the Strand. That odd, sudden chill, as of an abrupt lowering of the temperature, which

often advised him of the nearness of malignant activity, had not been experienced.

Now, standing before Sir Charles's house, he "sensed" the atmosphere keenlyseeking for the note of

There had been a thunder shower just before he had set out, and now, although rain had ceased, the sky

remained blackly overcast and a curious, dull stillness was come. The air had a welcome freshness and the

glistening pavements looked delightfully cool after the parching heat of the day. In the quiet square, no doubt,

it was always restful in contrast with the more busy highroads, and in the murmur of distant traffic he found

Yet, as he stood there, waitingit came to him: the note of danger. Swiftly he looked to right and left, trying

to penetrate the premature dusk. The whole complexion of the matter changed. Some menace intangible now,

but which at any moment might become evidentlay near him. It was sheer intuition, no doubt, but it

A moment later he had rung the bell; and as a man opened the door, showing a easy and welllighted lobby

within, the fear aura no longer touched Paul Harley. Out from the doorway came hominess and that air of

security and peace which had seemed to characterize the house when viewed from outside. The focus of

menace, therefore, lay not inside the house of Sir Charles but without. It was very curious. In the next instant

"Sir Charles is expecting you, sir. He apologizes for not being in to receive you. but he will only be absent a

"Sir Charles has been called out?" inquired Harley as he handed hat and coat to the man.

"Yes, sir. He is attending Mr. Chester Wilson on the other side of the square, and Mr. Wilson's man rang up a

"I see," murmured Harley, as the butler showed him into a small but wellfilled library on the left of the

Refreshments were set invitingly upon a table beside a deep lounge chair. But Harley declined the man's

request to refresh himself while waiting and began aimlessly to wander about the room, apparently studying

the titles of the works crowding the bookshelves. As a matter of fact, he was endeavouring to arrange certain

ideas in order, and if he had been questioned on the subject it is improbable that he could have mentioned the

His mental equipment was of a character too rarely met with in the profession to which he belonged. While

up to the very moment of reaching Sir Charles's house he had doubted the reality of the menace which hung

over this man, the note of danger which he had sensed at the very threshold had convinced him, where more

It was perhaps pure imagination, but experience had taught him that it was closely allied to clairvoyance.

Now upon his musing there suddenly intruded sounds of a muffled altercation. That is to say, the speakers,

who were evidently in the lobby beyond the library door, spoke in low tones, perhaps in deference to the

presence of a visitor. Harley was only mildly interested, but the voices had broken his train of thought, and

when presently the door opened to admit a very neat but rather grimlooking old lady he started, then looked

Some of the grimness faded from the wrinkled old face, and the housekeeper, for this her appearance

proclaimed her to be, bowed in a queer Victorian fashion which suggested that a curtsy might follow. One did

not follow, however. "I am sure I apologize, sir," she said. "Benson did not tell me you had arrived."

His smile held a hint of amusement, for in the comprehensive glance which the old lady cast across the

library, a glance keen to detect disorder and from which no speck of dust could hope to conceal itself, there

remained a trace of that grimness which he had detected at the moment of her entrance. In short, she was still

bristling from a recent encounter. So much so that detecting something sympathetic in Harley's smile she

availed herself of the presence of a badly arranged vase of flowers to linger and to air her grievances.

"Servants in these times," she informed him, her fingers busily rearranging the blooms, "are not what servants

The old lady tossed her head. "I do my best," she continued, "but that girl would not have stayed in the house

for one week if I had had my way. Miss Phil is altogether too softhearted. Thank goodness, she goes

"Gracious goodness, no!" exclaimed the house keeper, and laughed with simple glee at the joke. "I mean

Jones, the new parlourmaid. When I say new, they are all new, for none of them stay longer than three

"Indeed," smiled Harley, who perceived that the old lady was something of a martinet.

"Indeed, they don't. Think they are ladies nowadays. Four hours off has that girl had today, although she

was out on Wednesday. Then she has the impudence to allow someone to ring her up here at the house; and

finally I discover her upsetting the table after Benson had laid it and after I had rearranged it."

She glanced indignantly in the direction of the lobby. "Perhaps one day," she concluded, pathetically, as she

walked slowly from the room, "we shall find a parlourmaid who is a parlourmaid. Good evening, sir,"

"Good evening," said Harley, quietly amused to be made the recipient of these domestic confidences.

He continued to smile for some time after the door had been closed. His former train of ideas was utterly

destroyed, but for this he was not ungrateful to the housekeeper, since the outstanding disadvantage of that

strange gift resembling prescience was that it sometimes blunted the purely analytical part of his mind when

this should have been at its keenest. He was now prepared to listen to what Sir Charles had to say and to

Wandering from side to side of the library, he presently found himself standing still before the mantelpiece

and studying a photograph in a silver frame which occupied the centre of the shelf. It was the photograph of

an unusually pretty girl; that is to say, of a girl whose beauty was undeniable, but who belonged to a type

The outline of her face was soft and charming, and there was a questioning look in her eyes which was

alluring and challenging. Her naive expression was palpably a pose, and her slightly parted lips promised

laughter. She possessed delightfully wavy hair and her neck and one shoulder, which were bare, had a

Grecian purity. Harley discovered himself to be smiling at the naive lady of the photograph.

He removed his gaze with reluctance from the fascinating picture, and dropping into the big lounge chair, he

lighted a cigarette. He had just placed the match in an ash tray when he heard Sir Charles's voice in the lobby,

and a moment later Sir Charles himself came hurrying into the library. His expression was so peculiar that

"My dear Mr. Harley," began Sir Charles, "in the first place pray accept my apologies"

"None are necessary," Harley interrupted. "Your excellent housekeeper has entertained me vastly."

"Good, good," muttered Sir Charles. "I am obliged to Mrs. Howett," and it was plainly to be seen that his

thoughts were elsewhere. "But I have to relate a most inexplicable occurrenceinexplicable unless by some

"I was called ten minutes ago by someone purporting to be the servant of Mr. Chester Wilson, that friend and

"My dear sir," cried Sir Charles, and the expression in his eyes grew almost wild, "no one in Wilson's house

Harley dropped his cigarette into the ash tray beside the match, where, smouldering, it sent up a gray spiral

into the air of the library. Whether because of his words or because of the presence of the man himself, the

warning, intuitive finger had again touched Paul Harley. "You saw or heard nothing on your way across the

"Nothing. I searched the shadows most particularly on my return journey, of course. For the thing cannot

Between the promptings of that uncanny sixth sense of his and the working of the trained deductive reasoning

powers, he was momentarily at a loss. Some fact, some episode, a memory, was clamouring for recognition,

while the intuitive, subconscious voice whispered: "This man is in danger; protect him." What was the

meaning of it all? He felt that a clue lay somewhere outside the reach of his intelligence, and a sort of anger

Sir Charles was staring at him in that curiously pathetic way which he had observed at their earlier interview

in Chancery Large. "In any event," said his host, "let us dine: for already I have kept you waiting."

Harley merely bowed, and walking out of the library, entered the cosy dining room. A dreadful premonition

had claimed him as his glance had met that of Sir Charlesa premonition that this man's days were

numbered. It was uncanny, unnerving; and whereas, at first, the atmosphere of Sir Charles Abingdon's home

had been laden with prosperous security, now from every side, and even penetrating to the warmly lighted

In crossing the lobby he had not failed to note that there were many Indian curios in the place which could

not well have failed to attract the attention of a burglar. But that the person who had penetrated to the house

was no common burglar he was now assured and he required no further evidence upon this point.

As he took his seat at the dining table he observed that Sir Charles's collection had overflowed even into this

room. In the warm shadows about him were pictures and ornaments, all of which came from, or had been

In this Oriental environment lay an inspiration. The terror which had come into Sir Charles's life, the invisible

menace which, swordlike, hung over him, surely belonged in its eerie quality to the land of temple bells, of

silent, subtle peoples, to the secret land which has bred so many mysteries. Yes, he must look into the past,

into the Indian life of Sir Charles Abingdon, for the birth of this thing which now had grown into a shadow

Benson attended at table, assisted by a darkfaced and very surlylooking maid, in whom Harley thought he

When presently both servants had temporarily retired. "You see, Mr. Harley," began Sir Charles, glancing

about his own room in a manner almost furtive, "I realized today at your office that the history of this dread

which has come upon me perhaps went back so far that it was almost impossible to acquaint you with it under

"I think perhaps I should inform you in the first place that I have a daughter. Her mother has been dead for

many years, and perhaps I have not given her the attention which a motherless girl is entitled to expect from

her father. I don't mean," he said, hastily, "that we are in any sense out of sympathy, but latterly in some way

I must confess that we have got a little out of touch." He glanced anxiously at his guest, indeed almost

apologetically. "You will of course understand, Mr. Harley, that this seeming preamble may prove to have a

"Pray tell the story in your own way, Sir Charles," said Harley with sympathy. "I am all attention, and I shall

"Thank you," said Sir Charles. "I find it so much easier to explain the matter now. To continue, there is a

"It is always delightful to chat with one who knows India so well as you do," he continued, glancing

Paul Harley, who fully appreciated the purpose of this abrupt change in the conversation, nodded in

agreement. "The call of the East," he replied, "is a very real thing. Only one who has heard it can understand

The butler, an excellently trained servant, went about his work with quiet efficiency, and once Harley heard

him mutter rapid instructions to the surly parlourmaid, who hovered disdainfully in the background. When

again host and guest found themselves alone: "I don't in any way distrust the servants," explained Sir Charles,

"but one cannot hope to prevent gossip." He raised his serviette to his lips and almost immediately resumed:

He paused and cleared his throat, then, hastily pouring out a glass of water, he drank a sip or two and Paul

Harley noticed that his hand was shaking nervously. He thought of the photograph in the library, and now, in

this reference to a distinguished Oriental gentleman, he suddenly perceived the possible drift of the

This was the point to which Sir Charles evidently experienced such difficulty in coming. It was something

which concerned his daughter; and, mentally visualizing the pure oval face and taunting eyes of the library

photograph, Harley found it impossible to believe that the evil which threatened Sir Charles could possibly be

Yet, if the revelation which he had to make must be held responsible for his present condition, then truly it

was a dreadful one. No longer able to conceal his concern, Harley stood up. "If the story distresses you so

Sir Charles waved his hand reassuringly. "A mere nothing. It will pass," he whispered.

He ceased abruptly, and ran to his host's assistance, for the latter, evidently enough, was in the throes of some

sudden illness or seizure. His freshcoloured face was growing positively livid, and he plucked at the edge of

the table with twitching fingers. As Harley reached his side he made a sudden effort to stand up, throwing out

"Too late," whispered Sir Charles in a choking voice. He began to clutch his throat as Benson hurried into the

Indeed, the truth was all too apparent. Sir Charles Abingdon was almost past speech. He was glaring across

the table as though he saw some ghastly apparition there. And now with appalling suddenness he became as a

dead weight in Harley's supporting grasp. Raspingly, as if forced in agony from his lips:

A stifled shriek sounded from the doorway, and in tottered Mrs. Howett, the old housekeeper, with other

servants peering over her shoulder into that warmly lighted dining room where Sir Charles Abingdon lay

"Had you reason to suspect any cardiac trouble, Doctor McMurdoch?" asked Harley.

Doctor McMurdoch, a local practitioner who had been a friend of Sir Charles Abingdon, shook his head

slowly. He was a tall, preternaturally thin Scotsman, cleanshaven, with shaggy dark brows and a most

gloomy expression in his deepset eyes. While the presence of his sepulchral figure seemed appropriate

enough in that stricken house, Harley could not help thinking that it must have been far from reassuring in a

"I had never actually detected anything of the kind," replied the physician, and his deep voice was gloomily

in keeping with his personality. "I had observed a certain breathlessness at times, however. No doubt it is one

of those cases of on suspected endocarditis. Acute. I take it," raising his shaggy brows interrogatively, "that

"On the contrary," replied Harley, "he was highly distressed about some family trouble, the nature of which

He stared hard at Doctor McMurdoch, wondering how much he might hope to learn from him respecting the

affairs of Sir Charles. It seemed almost impertinent at that hour to seek to pry into the dead man's private life.

To the quiet, booklined apartment stole now and again little significant sounds which told of the tragedy in

the household. Sometimes when a distant door was opened, it would be the sobs of a weeping woman, for the

poor old housekeeper had been quite prostrated by the blow. Or ghostly movements would become audible

from the room immediately over the librarythe room to which the dead man had been carried; muffled

footsteps, vague stirrings of furniture; each sound laden with its own peculiar portent, awakening the

imagination which all too readily filled in the details of the scene above. Then, to spur Harley to action, came

the thought that Sir Charles Abingdon had appealed to him for aid. Did his need terminate with his

unexpected death or would the shadow under which he had died extend nowHarley found himself staring

across the library at the photograph of Phil Abingdon. It was of her that Sir Charles had been speaking when

that mysterious seizure had tied his tongue. That strange, fatal illness, mused Harley, all the more strange in

the case of a man supposedly in robust healthit almost seemed like the working of a malignant will. For the

revelation, whatever its nature, had almost but not quite been made in Harley's office that evening.

Something, some embarrassment or mental disability, had stopped Sir Charles from completing his statement.

"He was," replied Harley, continuing to stare fascinatedly at the photograph on the mantelpiece. "I am

Doctor McMurdoch nodded in his slow, gloomy fashion. "She is staying in Devonshire with poor Abingdon's

sister," he answered. "I am wondering how we are going to break the news to her."

Perceiving that Doctor McMurdoch had clearly been intimate with the late Sir Charles, Harley determined to

make use of this opportunity to endeavour to fathom the mystery of the late surgeon's fears. "You will not

misunderstand me, Doctor McMurdoch," he said, "if I venture to ask you one or two rather personal

Doctor McMurdoch lowered his shaggy brows and looked gloomily at the speaker. "Mr. Harley," he replied,

"I know you by repute for a man of integrity. But before I answer your questions will you answer one of

"Then my question is this: Does not your interest cease with the death of your client?"

"Doctor McMurdoch," said Harley, sternly, "you no doubt believe yourself to be acting as a friend of this

bereaved family. You regard me, perhaps, as a Paul Pry prompted by idle curiosity. On the contrary, I find

myself in a delicate and embarrassing situation. From Sir Charles's conversation I had gathered that he

"If these fears were well grounded, the danger is not removed, but merely increased by the death of Miss

Abingdon's natural protector. I regret, sir, that I approached you for information, since you have misjudged

my motive. But far from my interest having ceased, it has now as I see the matter become a sacred duty to

learn what it was that Sir Charles apprehended. This duty, Doctor McMurdoch, I propose to fulfil with or

"Oh," said Doctor McMurdoch, gloomily, "I'm afraid I've offended you. But I meant well, Mr. Harley." A

faint trace of human emotion showed itself in his deep voice. "Charley Abingdon and I were students together

His apology was so evidently sincere that Harley relented at once. "Please say no more, Doctor McMurdoch,"

he responded. "I fully appreciate your feelings in the matter. At such a time a stranger can only be an

intruder; but"he fixed his keen eyes upon the physician"there is more underlying all this than you

suspect or could readily believe. You will live to know that I have spoken the truth."

"I know it now," declared the Scotsman, solemnly. "Abingdon was always eccentric, but he didn't know the

"Once that may have been true," replied Harley. "But a great fear was upon him when he came to me, Doctor

"Go ahead," said Doctor McMurdoch and, turning to the side table, he poured out two liberal portions of

whiskey. "If there's anything I can do to help, count me at your service. You tell me he had fears about little

"He had," answered Harley, "and it is maddening to think that he died before he could acquaint me with their

nature. But I have hopes that you can help me in this. For instance"again he fixed his gaze upon the

gloomy face of the physician"who is the distinguished Oriental gentleman with whom Sir Charles had

Doctor McMurdoch's expression remained utterly blank, and he slowly shook his head. "I haven't an idea in

"Possibly," said Harley, conscious of some disappointment; "yet from the way he spoke of him I scarcely

think that he was a patient. Surely Sir Charles, having resided so long in India, numbered several Orientals

"None ever came to his home," replied Doctor McMurdoch. "He had all the AngloIndian's prejudice against

men of colour." He rested his massive chin in his hand and stared down reflectively at the carpet.

"Unfortunately, nothing. In the next place, Doctor McMurdoch, are you aware of any difference of opinion

"Difference of opinion!" replied Doctor McMur doch, raising his brows ironically. "There would always be

difference of opinion between little Phil and any man who cared for her. But outandout quarrelno!"

Again Harley found himself at a deadlock, and it was with scanty hope of success that he put his third

question to the gloomy Scot. "Was Sir Charles a friend of Mr. Nicol Brinn?" he asked.

"Nicol Brinn?" echoed the physician. He looked perplexed. "You mean the American millionaire? I believe

they were acquainted. Abingdon knew most of the extraordinary people in London; and if half one hears is

true Nicol Brinn is as mad as a hatter. But they were not in any sense friends as far as I know." He was

"I will tell you in a moment," said Harley, rapidly, "but I have one more question to put to you first. Does the

Doctor McMurdoch's eyebrows shot upward most amazingly. "I won't insult you by supposing that you have

chosen such a time for joking," he said, dourly. "But if your third question surprised me, I must say that your

"It must," agreed Harley, and his manner was almost fierce; "but when I tell you why I ask these two

questionsand I only do so on the understand ing that my words are to be treated in the strictest

confidenceyou may regard the matter in a new light. 'Nicol Brinn' and 'FireTongue' were the last words

"I solemnly assure you," declared Harley, "that such is the case. Benson, the butler, also overheard them."

Doctor McMurdoch relapsed once more into gloom, gazing at the whiskey in the glass which he held in his

hand and slowly shaking his head. "Poor old Charley Abingdon," he murmured. "It's plain to me, Mr. Harley,

that his mind was wandering. May not we find here an explanation, too, of this idea of his that some danger

overhung Phil? You didn't chance to notice, I suppose, whether he had a temperature?"

"I did not," replied Harley, smiling slightly. But the smile quickly left his face, which became again grim and

A short silence ensued, during which Doctor McMurdoch sat staring moodily down at the carpet and. Harley

"In view of the fact," he said, suddenly, "that Sir Charles clearly apprehended an attempt upon his life, are

"Perfectly satisfied," replied the physician, looking up with a start: "perfectly satisfied. It was unexpected, of

course, but such cases are by no means unusual. He was formerly a keen athlete, remember. 'Tis often so.

Surely you don't suspect foul play? I understood you to mean that his apprehensions were on behalf of Phil."

Paul Harley stood still, staring meditatively in the other's direction. "There is not a scrap of evidence to

support such a theory," he admitted, "but if you knew of the existence of any poisonous agent which would

produce effects simulating these familiar symptoms, I should be tempted to take certain steps."

"If you are talking about poisons," said the physician, a rather startled look appearing upon his face, "there

are several I might mention; but the idea seems preposterous to me. Why should any one want to harm

"Nothing but soup, except that he drank a portion of a glass of water. I am wondering if he took anything at

Mr. Wilson's house." He stared hard at Doctor McMurdoch. "It may surprise you to learn that I have already

taken steps to have the remains of the soup from Sir Charles's plate examined, as well as the water in the

glass. I now propose to call upon Mr. Wilson in order that I may complete this line of enquiry."

"I sympathize with your suspicions, Mr. Harley," said the physician dourly, "but you are wasting your time."

A touch of the old acidity crept back into his manner. "My certificate will be 'syncope due to unusual

"You are quite entitled to your own opinion," Harley conceded, "which if I were in your place would be my

own. But what do you make of the fact that Sir Charles received a bogus telephone message some ten

"Nevertheless, no one there had telephoned. It was a ruse. I don't assume for a moment that this ruse was

"You may also know," Harley continued, "that there was an attempted burglary here less than a week ago."

"I know that," admitted the other, "but it counts for little. There have been several burglaries in the

Harley perceived that Doctor McMurdoch was one of those characters, not uncommon north of the Tweed,

who, if slow in forming an opinion, once having done so cling to it as tightly as any barnacle.

"You may be right and I may be wrong," Harley admitted, "but while your professional business with Sir

Charles unfortunately is ended, mine is only beginning. May I count upon you to advise me of Miss

Abingdon's return? I particularly wish to see her, and I should prefer to meet her in the capacity of a friend

"At the earliest moment that I can decently arrange a meeting," replied Doctor McMurdoch, "I will

communicate with you, Mr. Harley. I am just cudgelling my brains at the moment to think how the news is to

"I wish I could help you," declared Harley with sincerity, "but in the circumstances any suggestion of mine

"Goodnight," said the latter, gripping it heartily. "If there is any mystery surrounding poor Abingdon's

death, I believe you are the man to clear it up. But, frankly, it was his heart. I believe he had a touch of the

sun once in India. Who knows? His idea that some danger threatened him or threatened Phil may have been

"But in the whole of your knowledge of Sir Charles," cried Harley, exhibiting a certain irritation, "have you

"Never," replied the physician, firmly; "but once a man has had the sun one cannot tell."

When presently he left the house, carrying a brown leather bag which he had borrowed from the butler, he

knew that rightly or wrongly his own opinion remained unchanged in spite of the stubborn opposition of the

Scottish physician. The bogus message remained to be explained, and the assault in the square, as did the

purpose of the burglar to whom gold and silver plate made no appeal. More important even than these points

were the dead man's extraordinary words: "FireTongue""Nicol Brinn." Finally and conclusively, he had

detected the note of danger outside and inside the house; and now as he began to cross the square it touched

He looked up at the darkened sky. A black cloud was moving slowly overhead, high above the roof of the late

Sir Charles Abingdon; and as he watched its stealthy approach it seemed to Paul Harley to be the symbol of

that dread in which latterly Sir Charles's life had lain, beneath which he had died, and which now was

At about nine o'clock on the same evening, a man stood at a large window which over looked Piccadilly and

the Green Park The room to which the window belonged was justly considered one of the notable sights of

London and doubtless would have received suitable mention in the "Blue Guide" had the room been

accessible to the general public. It was, on the contrary, accessible only to the personal friends of Mr. Nicol

Brinn. As Mr. Nicol Brinn had a rarely critical taste in friendship, none but a fortunate few had seen the long

The man at the window was interested in a car which, approaching from the direction of the Circus, had

slowed down immediately opposite and now was being turned, the chauffeur's apparent intention being to

pull up at the door below. He had seen the face of the occupant and had recognized it even from that

elevation. He was interested; and since only unusual things aroused any semblance of interest in the man who

now stood at the window, one might have surmised that there was something unusual about the present

visitor, or in his having decided to call at those chambers; and that such was indeed his purpose an upward

The watcher, who had been standing in a dark recess formed by the presence of heavy velvet curtains draped

before the window, now opened the curtains and stepped into the lighted room. He was a tall, lean man

having straight, jetblack hair, a sallow complexion, and the features of a Sioux. A long black cigar

protruded aggressively from the left corner of his mouth. His hands were locked behind him and his large and

quite expressionless blue eyes stared straight across the room at the closed door with a dreamy and vacant

regard. His dinner jacket fitted him so tightly that it might have been expected at any moment to split at the

The door opened silently and a manservant appeared. He was spotlessly neat and wore his light hair cropped

close to the skull. His freshcoloured face was quite as expressionless as that of his master; his glance

possessed no meaning. Crossing to the window, he extended a small salver upon which lay a visiting card.

His servant silently retired, and following a short interval rapped again upon the door, opened it, and standing

The door being quietly closed behind him, Paul Harley stood staring across the room at Nicol Brinn. At this

moment the contrast between the types was one to have fascinated a psychologist. About Paul Harley, eagerly

alert, there was something essentially British. Nicol Brinn, without being typical, was nevertheless distinctly

a product of the United States. Yet, despite the stoic mask worn by Mr. Brinn, whose lacklustre eyes were

so unlike the bright gray eyes of his visitor, there existed, if not a physical, a certain spiritual affinity between

Harley, after that one comprehensive glance, the photographic glance of a trained observer, stepped forward

impulsively, hand outstretched. "Mr. Brinn," he said, "we have never met before, and it was good of you to

wait in for me. I hope my telephone message has not interfered with your plans for the evening?"

Nicol Brinn, without change of pose, no line of the impassive face altering, shot out a large, muscular hand,

seized that of Paul Harley in a tremendous grip, and almost instantly put his hand behind his back again.

"Had no plans," he replied, in a high, monotonous voice; "I was bored stiff. Take the armchair."

Paul Harley sat down, but in the restless manner of one who has urgent business in hand and who is impatient

of delay. Mr. Brinn stooped to a coffee table which stood upon the rug before the large open fireplace. "I am

"I shall accept your offer," returned Harley, smiling. "The 'N. B. cocktail' has a reputation which extends

Nicol Brinn, exhibiting the swift adroitness of that human dodo, the New York bartender, mixed the drinks.

Paul Harley watched him, meanwhile drumming his fingers restlessly upon the chair arm.

It was an odd toast, but Mr. Brinn merely nodded and drank in silence. Paul Harley set his glass down and

glanced about the singular apartment of which he had often heard and which no man could ever tire of

In this room the poles met, and the most remote civilizations of the world rubbed shoulders with modernity.

Here, encased, were a family of snowwhite ermine from Alaska and a pair of black Manchurian leopards. A

flying lemur from the Pelews contemplated swooping upon the head of a huge tigress which glared with

glassy eyes across the place at the snarling muzzle of a polar bear. Mycenaean vases and gold death masks

stood upon the same shelf as Venetian goblets, and the mummy of an Egyptian priestess of the thirteenth

dynasty occupied a sarcophagus upon the top of which rested a basrelief found in one of the shrines of the

Arrowheads of the Stone Age and medieval rapiers were ranged alongside some of the latest examples of the

gunsmith's art. There were elephants' tusks and Mexican skulls; a stone jar of water from the well of

ZemZem, and an ivory crucifix which had belonged to Torquemada. A mat of human hair from Borneo

overlay a historical and unique rug woven in Ispahan and entirely composed of fragments of Holy Carpets

"I take it," said Mr. Brinn, suddenly, "that you are up against a stiff proposition."

Paul Harley, accepting a cigarette from an ebony box (once the property of Henry VIII) which the speaker

had pushed across the coffee table in his direction, stared up curiously into the sallow, aquiline face. "You are

Harley leaned forward, resting one hand upon the table. "I know I was followed," he said, sternly. "I was

followed because I have entered upon the biggest case of my career." He paused and smiled in a very grim

fashion. "A suspicion begins to dawn upon my mind that if I fail it will also be my last case. You understand

"I understand absolutely," replied Nicol Brinn. "These are dull days. It's meat and drink to me to smell big

Paul Harley lighted a cigarette and watched the speaker closely the while. His expression, as he did so, was

an odd one. Two courses were open to him, and he was mentally debating their respective advantages.

"I have come to you tonight, Mr. Brinn," he said finally, "to ask you a certain question. Unless the theory

upon which I am working is entirely wrong, then, supposing that you are in a position to answer my question

I am logically compelled to suppose, also, that you stand in peril of your life."

"Good," said Mr. Brinn. "I was getting sluggish." In three long strides he crossed the room and locked the

door. "I don't doubt Hoskins's honesty," he explained, reading the inquiry in Harley's eyes, "but an A1

Only one very intimate with the taciturn speaker could have perceived any evidence of interest in that

imperturbable character. But Nicol Brinn took his cheroot between his fingers, quickly placed a cone of ash

in a little silver tray (the work of Benvenuto Cellini), and replaced the cheroot not in the left but in the right

"You are out after one of the big heads of the crook world," he said. "He knows it and he's trailing you. My

Harley stood up, facing Mr. Brinn. "He knows it, as you say," he replied, "and I hold my life in my hands.

But from your answer to the question which I have come here tonight to ask you, I shall conclude whether

In that unique room, at once library and museum, amid relics of a hundred ages, spoil of the chase, the

excavator, and the scholar, these two faced each other; and despite the peaceful quiet of the apartment up to

which as a soothing murmur stole the homely sounds of Piccadilly, each saw in the other's eyes recognition

"My question is simple but strange," said Paul Harley. "It is this: What do you know of 'FireTongue'?"

If Paul Harley had counted upon the word "FireTongue" to have a dramatic effect upon Nicol Brinn, he was

not disappointed. It was a word which must have conveyed little or nothing to the multitude and which might

have been pronounced without perceptible effect at any public meeting in the land. But Mr. Brinn, impassive

though his expression remained, could not conceal the emotion which he experienced at the sound of it. His

gaunt face seemed to grow more angular and his eyes to become even less lustrous.

"FireTongue!" he said, tensely, following a short silence. "For God's sake, when did you hear that word?"

"I heard it," replied Harley, slowly, "tonight." He fixed his gaze intently upon the sallow face of the

Closely as he watched Nicol Brinn while pronouncing this name he could not detect the slightest change of

"Sir Charles Abingdon," echoed Brinn; "and in what way is it connected with your case?"

"In this way," answered Harley. "It was spoken by Sir Charles a few moments before he died."

Nicol Brinn's drooping lids flickered rapidly. "Before he died! Then Sir Charles Abingdon is dead! When did

"He died tonight and the last words that he uttered were 'FireTongue'" He paused, never for a moment

Nicol Brinn stood still as a carven man. Indeed, only by an added rigidity in his pose did he reward Paul

Harley's intense scrutiny. A silence charged with drama was finally broken by the American. "Mr. Harley,"

he said, "you told me that you were up against the big proposition of your career. You are right."

With that he sat down in an armchair and, resting his chin in his hand, gazed fixedly into the empty grate. His

pose was that of a man who is suddenly called upon to review the course of his life and upon whose decision

"Give me the whole story," said Mr. Brinn, "right from the beginning." He looked up. "Do you know what

Paul Harley shook his head. Swiftly, like the touch of an icy finger, that warning note of danger had reached

Not another word did he speak while Paul Harley, pacing slowly up and down before the hearth, gave him a

plain account of the case, omitting all reference to his personal suspicions and to the measures which he had

He laid his cards upon the table deliberately. Whether Sir Charles Abingdon had uttered the name of Nicol

Brinn as that of one whose aid should be sought or as a warning, he had yet to learn. And by this apparent

frankness he hoped to achieve his object. That the celebrated American was in any way concerned in the

menace which had overhung Sir Charles he was not prepared to believe. But he awaited with curiosity that

"I may not look it," replied Brinn, "but at this present moment I am the most hopelessly puzzled and badly

"I said frightened, I also said puzzled; and I am far too puzzled to be able to express any opinion respecting

the death of Sir Charles Abingdon. When I tell you all I know of him you will wonder as much as I do, Mr.

He half turned in the big chair to face his visitor, who now was standing before the fireplace staring down at

"One day last month," he resumed, "I got out of my car in a big hurry at the top of the Haymarket. A fool on a

motorcycle passed between the car and the sidewalk just as I stepped down, and I knew nothing further until I

woke up in a drug store close by, feeling very dazed and with my coat in tatters and my left arm numbed from

the elbow. A man was standing watching me, and presently when I had pulled round he gave me his card.

"He was Sir Charles Abingdon, who had been passing at the time of the accident. That was how I met him,

and as there was nothing seriously wrong with me I saw him no more professionally. But he dined with me a

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

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

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

"Then I can only suppose," resumed Harley, deliberately, "that the cause of your fear lies in the term,

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

Nicol Brinn remained silentbut 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

FireTongue" (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

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

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, and because it seemed to Harley that the cloud which had stolen out across the house of

Sir Charles Abingdon now hung threateningly over those very chambers, he merely waited and wondered.

"He referred to an experience which had befallen him in India," came Nicol Brinn's belated reply.

"I have said so. But I'd give a lot more than you might believe to know that Abingdon had told you the story

"You are not helping, Mr. Brinn," said Harley, sternly. "I believe and I think that you share my belief that Sir

Charles Abingdon did not die from natural causes. You are repressing valuable evi dence. Allow me to

remind you that if anything should come to light necessitating a postmortem examination of the body, you

will be forced to di vulge in a court of justice the facts which you refuse to divulge to me."

He shot out one long arm and grasped Harley's shoulder as in a vice. "I'm counted a wealthy man," he

continued, "but I'd give every cent I possess to see 'paid' put to the bill of a certain person. Listen. You don't

think I was in any way concerned in the death of Sir Charles Abingdon ? It isn't thinkable. But you do think

"Not so loudnot so loud!" implored Brinn, re peating that odd, almost furtive glance around. "Mr.

Harleyyou know me. You've heard of me and now you've met me. You know my place in the world. Do

you believe me when I say that from this moment onward I don't trust my own servants?

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