ake it," said Mr. Brinn, suddenly, "that you are up against a stiff
proposition."

Paul Harley, accepting a cigarette from an ebony box (once the property
of Henry VIII) which the speaker had pushed across the coffee table in
his direction, stared up curiously into the sallow, aquiline face. "You
are right. But how did you know?"

"You look that way. Also--you were followed. Somebody knows you've come
here."

Harley leaned forward, resting one hand upon the table. "I know I was
followed," he said, sternly. "I was followed because I have entered
upon the biggest case of my career." He paused and smiled in a very grim
fashion. "A suspicion begins to dawn upon my mind that if I fail it will
also be my last case. You understand me?"

"I understand absolutely," replied Nicol Brinn. "These are dull days.
It's meat and drink to me to smell big danger."

Paul Harley lighted a cigarette and watched the speaker closely the
while. His expression, as he did so, was an odd one. Two courses were
open to him, and he was mentally debating their respective advantages.

"I have come to you to-night, Mr. Brinn," he said finally, "to ask you a
certain question. Unless the theory upon which I am working is entirely
wrong, then, supposing that you are in a position to answer my question
I am logically compelled to suppose, also, that you stand in peril of
your life."

"Good," said Mr. Brinn. "I was getting sluggish." In three long strides
he crossed the room and locked the door. "I don't doubt Hoskins's
honesty," he explained, reading the inquiry in Harley's eyes, "but an A1
intelligence doesn't fold dress pants at thirty-nine."

Only one very intimate with the taciturn speaker could have perceived
any evidence of interest in that imperturbable character. But Nicol
Brinn took his cheroot between his fingers, quickly placed a cone of ash
in a little silver tray (the work of Benvenuto Cellini), and replaced
the cheroot not in the left but in the right corner of his mouth. He was
excited.

"You are out after one of the big heads of the crook world," he said.
"He knows it and he's trailing you. My luck's turned. How can I help?"

Harley stood up, facing Mr. Brinn. "He knows it, as you say," he
replied, "and I hold my life in my hands. But from your answer to the
question which I have come here to-night to ask you, I shall conclude
whether or not your danger at the moment is greater than mine."

"Good," said Nicol Brinn.

In that u