oser to the
ditch bordering the roadside. He shouted hoarsely and was about to apply
the brakes when the two cars touched!

A rending crash came--a hoarse scream--and the big limousine toppled
over into the ditch.

Harley felt himself hurled through space.

"Shall I follow on to Lower Claybury, sir?" asked Inspector Wessex,
excitedly.

Phil Abingdon's message had come through nearly an hour before, and
a party had been despatched in accordance with Brinn's instructions.
Wessex had returned to New Scotland Yard too late to take charge, and
now, before the Assistant Commissioner had time to reply, a 'phone
buzzed.

"Yes?" said the Assistant Commissioner, taking up one of the several
instruments: "What!"

Even this great man, so justly celebrated for his placid demeanour, was
unable to conceal his amazement.

"Yes," he added. "Let him come up!" He replaced the receiver and turning
to Wessex: "Mr. Nicol Brinn is here!" he informed him.

"What's that!" cried the inspector, quite startled out of his usual
deferential manner.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Came a rap at the door.

"Come in," said the Assistant Commissioner.

The door was thrown open and Nicol Brinn entered. One who knew him well
would have said that he had aged ten years. Even to the eye of Wessex he
looked an older man. He wore a shoddy suit and a rough tweed cap and his
left arm was bandaged.

"Gentlemen," he said, without other greeting, "I'm here to make a
statement. I desire that a shorthand-writer attend to take it down."

He dropped weakly into a chair which Wessex placed for him. The
Assistant Commissioner, doubtless stimulated by the manner of his
extraordinary visitor, who now extracted a cigar from the breast pocket
of his ill-fitting jacket and nonchalantly lighted it, successfully
resumed his well-known tired manner, and, pressing a bell:

"One shall attend, Mr. Brinn," he said.

A knock came at the door and a sergeant entered.

"Send Ferris," directed the Assistant Commissioner. "Quickly."

Two minutes later a man came in carrying a note book and fountain pen.
The Assistant Commissioner motioned him to a chair, and:

"Pray proceed, Mr. Brinn," he said.

CHAPTER XXX. NICOL BRINN'S STORY OF THE CITY OF FIRE

"The statement which I have to make, gentlemen, will almost certainly
appear incredible to you. However, when it has been transcribed I will
sign it. And I am going to say here and now that there are points