und."

Nicol Brinn spread his feet more widely upon the hearthrug. "Detective
Sergeant Stokes," he said, "you are not playing the game. Inspector
Wessex passed his word to me that for twenty-four hours my movements
should not be questioned or interfered with. How is it that I find you
here?"

Stokes thrust his hands in his pockets and coughed uneasily. "I am not a
machine," 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 affairs
of mine, Detective Sergeant. See here, there is no lady in these
chambers. Secondly, I have an appointment at nine o'clock, and you are
detaining me."

"What's more," answered Stokes, who had now quite lost his temper, "I
intend to go on detaining you until I have searched these chambers and
searched them thoroughly."

Nicol Brinn glanced at his watch. "If I leave in five minutes, I'll be
in 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 closest
scrutiny must have failed to detect any difference between the dummy
books with which it was decorated, and the authentic works which filled
the shelves to right and to left of it. Within was a small and cosy
study. In contrast with the museum-like room out of which it opened, it
was furnished in a severely simple fashion, and one more experienced in
the study of complex humanity than Detective Sergeant Stokes must have
perceived that here the real Nicol Brinn spent his leisure hours. Above
the mantel was a life-sized oil painting of Mrs. Nicolas Brinn; and
whereas 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 the
way back from the lobby, through the small study, and into the famous
room where the Egyptian priestess smiled eternally. He resumed his place
upon the hearthrug. "Are you satisfied, Detective Sergeant?"

"I am!" Stokes spoke angrily. "While you kept me talking, she slipped
out through that study, and down into the street."

"Ah," murmured Nicol Brinn.

"In fact, the whole business looks very suspicious to me," continued the
detective.

"Sorry," drawled Brinn, ag