. "Go back, Naida!" he said. "Go
back! You have my promise, now, and I'm helpless. But at last I see a
way, and I'm going to take it."

"What do you mean?" she cried, standing up and clutching his arm.

"Never mind." His tone was cool again. "Just go back."

"You would not--" she began.

"I never broke my word in my life, and even now I'm not going to begin.
While you live I stay silent."

In the growing light Naida looked about her affrightedly. Then, throwing
her arms impulsively around Brinn, she kissed him--a caress that was
passionate but sexless; rather the kiss of a mother who parts with a
beloved son than that which a woman bestows upon the man she loves; an
act of renunciation.

He uttered a low cry and would have seized her in his arms but, lithely
evading him, she turned, stifling a sob, and darted away through the
trees toward the house.

For long he stood looking after her, fists clenched and his face very
gray in the morning light. Some small inner voice told him that his new
plan, and the others which he had built upon it, must crumble and fall
as a castle of sand. He groaned and, turning aside, made his way through
the shrubbery to the highroad.

He was become accessory to a murder; for he had learned for what reason
and by what means Sir Charles Abingdon had been assassinated. He had
even learned the identity of his assassin; had learned that the dreaded
being called Fire-Tongue in India was known and respected throughout the
civilized world as His Excellency Ormuz Khan!

Paul Harley had learned these things also, and now at this very hour
Paul Harley lay a captive in Hillside. Naida had assured him that Paul
Harley was alive and safe. It had been decided that his death would lead
to the destruction of the movement, but pressure was being brought upon
him to ensure his silence.

Yes, he, Nicol Brinn, was bound and manacled to a gang of assassins;
and because his tongue was tied, because the woman he loved better than
anything in the world was actually a member of the murderous group, he
must pace the deserted country lanes inactive; he must hold his hand,
although he might summon the resources of New Scotland Yard by phoning
from Lower Claybury station!

Through life his word had been his bond, and Nicol Brinn was incapable
of compromising with his conscience. But the direct way was barred to
him. Nevertheless, no task could appal the inflexible spirit of the man,
and he had registered a s