Followed an interval of unbroken silence. Not even the ticking of a clock could be heard in that long, singularly furnished apartment. Then, as the detective continued to gaze upon the back of Mr. Nicol Brinn, suddenly the latter turned.
“Detective Inspector Wessex,” he said, “there has been a cloud hanging over my head for seven years. That cloud is going to burst very soon, and it looks as if it were going to do damage.”
“I don’t understand you, sir,” replied the detective, bluntly. “But I have been put in charge of the most extraordinary case that has ever come my way and I’ll ask you to make yourself as clear as possible.”
“I’ll do all I can,” Nicol Brinn assured him. “But first tell me something: Why have you come to me for information in respect to Mr. Paul Harley?”
“I’ll answer your question,” said Wessex, and the fact did not escape the keen observing power of Nicol Brinn that the detective’s manner had grown guarded. “He informed Mr. Innes, his secretary, before setting out, that he was coming here to your chambers.”
Nicol Brinn stared blankly at the speaker. “He told him that? When?”
“Yesterday.”
“That he was coming here?”
“He did.”
Nicol Brinn sat down again upon the settee. “Detective Inspector,” said he, “I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that I last saw Mr. Paul Harley at ten-fifteen on Wednesday night. Since then, not only have I not seen him, but I have received no communication from him.”