"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 die?"
"He died to-night and the last words that he uttered were 'Fire-Tongue'" He paused, never for a moment removing that fixed gaze from the other's face.
"Go on," prompted Mr. Brinn.
"And 'Nicol Brinn.'"
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 respecting the future that life may depend. Paul Harley watched him in silence.
"Give me the whole story," said Mr. Brinn, "right from the beginning." He looked up. "Do you know what you have done to-night, Mr. Harley?"
