eve 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 merely--" He tapped his brow
significantly.

"But in the whole of your knowledge of Sir Charles," cried Harley,
exhibiting a certain irritation, "have you ever known him to suffer from
delusions of that kind or any other?"

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

"Ah!" said Harley. "Good-night, Doctor McMurdoch."

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: "Fire-Tongue"--"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 him
again intimately.

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 stretching out, mysterious
and menacing, over himself.

CHAPTER IV. INTRODUCING MR. NICOL BRINN

At about nine o'clock on the same evening, a man stood at a large window
which overlooked 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 room with its two large
windows overlooking Piccadilly.

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