It took the form, first, of the tinkling3 of a silver bell, and then of the coming of a dim light at the end of what was evidently a long apartment. The light grew brighter, assuming the form of a bluish flame burning in a little flambeau. Nicol Brinn watched it fascinatedly.
Absolutely no sound was discernible, until a voice began to speak, a musical voice of curiously4 arresting quality.
“You are welcome,” said the voice. “You are of the Bombay Lodge5, although a citizen of the United States. Because of some strange error, no work has been allotted6 to you hitherto. This shall be remedied.”
Of the weird7 impressiveness of the scene there could be no doubt. It even touched some unfamiliar8 chord in the soul of Nicol Brinn. The effect of such an interview upon an imaginative, highly strung temperament9, could be well imagined. It was perhaps theatrical10, but that by such means great ends had already been achieved he knew to his cost.
The introduction of Maskelyne illusions into an English country house must ordinarily have touched his sense of humour, but knowing something of the invisible presence in which he stood in that darkened chamber11, there was no laughter in the heart of Nicol Brinn, but rather an unfamiliar coldness, the nearest approach to fear of which this steel-nerved man was capable.
“Temporarily,” the sweet voice continued, “you will be affiliated12 with the London Lodge, to whom you will look for instructions. These will reach you almost immediately. There is great work to be done in England. It has been decided13, however, that you shall be transferred as quickly as possible in our New York Lodge. You will await orders. Only Fire is eternal.”
Again the voice ceased. But, Nicol Brinn remained silent:
“Your reply is awaited.”
“Fire is life,” replied Nicol Brinn.
The blue tongue of flame subsided14, lower and lower, and finally disappeared, so that the apartment became enwrapped in absolute darkness. A faint rustling15 sound suggested that a heavy curtain had been lowered, and almost immediately the doors behind Nicol Brinn were opened again by Rama Dass.
“We congratulate you, brother,” he said, extending his hand. “Yet the ordeal16 was no light one, for all the force of the Fire was focussed upon you.”
Nicol Brinn reentered the room where the shaded lamp stood upon the writing table. In the past he had moved unscathed through peril17 unknown to the ordinary man. He was well acquainted with the resources of the organization whose agents, unseen, surrounded him in that remote country house, but that their pretensions18 were extravagant19 his present immunity20 would seem to prove.
If the speaker with the strangely arresting voice were indeed that Fire-Tongue whose mere21 name was synonymous with dread22 in certain parts of the East, then Fire-Tongue was an impostor. He who claimed to read the thoughts of all men had signally failed in the present instance, unless Nicol Brinn stared dully into the smiling face of Rama Dass. Not yet must he congratulate himself. Perhaps the Hindu’s smile concealed23 as much as the mask worn by Nicol Brinn.
He performed the secret salutation, which Nicol Brinn automatically acknowledged. Then, without another word, Rama Dass led the way to the door.
Out into the dark hallway Nicol Brinn stepped, his muscles taut, his brain alert for instant action. But no one offered to molest25 him. He was assisted into his coat, and his hat was placed in his hands. Then, the front door being opened, he saw the headlights of the waiting car shining on a pillar of the porch.
A minute later he was seated again in the shuttered limousine26, and as it moved off, and the lights leapt up above him, he lay back upon the cushions and uttered a long sigh.
Already he divined that, following a night’s sleep, these scenes would seem like the episodes of a dream. Taking off his hat, he raised his hand to his forehead, and discovered it to be slightly damp.
“No wonder,” he muttered.
Drawing out a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, he wiped his face and forehead deliberately27. Then, selecting a long black cigar from a case which bore the monogram28 of the late Czar of Russia, he lighted it, dropped the match in the tray, and lolling back in a corner, closed his eyes wearily.
Thus, almost unmoving, he remained throughout the drive. His only actions were, first, to assure himself that both doors were locked again, and then at intervals29 tidily to place a little cone30 of ash in the tray provided for the purpose. Finally, the car drew up and a door was unlocked by the chauffeur31.
The chauffeur closed the door, and returned again to the wheel. Immediately the car moved away. At the illuminated33 number Nicol Brinn scarcely troubled to glance. Common sense told him that it was not that under which the car was registered. His interest, on the contrary, was entirely34 focussed upon a beautiful Rolls Royce, which was evidently awaiting some visitor or member of the club. Glancing shrewdly at the chauffeur, a smart, military-looking fellow, Nicol Brinn drew a card from his waistcoat pocket, and resting it upon a wing in the light of one of the lamps, wrote something rapidly upon it in pencil.
Returning the pencil to his pocket:
“Whose car, my man?” he inquired of the chauffeur.
“Colonel Lord Wolverham’s, sir.”
“Good,” said Nicol Brinn, and put the card and a ten-shilling note into the man’s hand. “Go right into the club and personally give Colonel Lord Wolverham this card. Do you understand?”
The man understood. Used to discipline, he recognized the note of command in the speaker’s voice.
“Certainly, sir,” he returned, without hesitation35; and stepping down upon the pavement he walked into the club.
Less than two minutes afterward36 a highly infuriated military gentleman—who, as it chanced, had never even heard of the distinguished37 American traveller—came running out hatless into Piccadilly, holding a crumpled38 visiting card in his hand. The card, which his chauffeur had given him in the midst of a thrilling game, read as follows:
MR. NICOL BRINN RALEIGH HOUSE, PICCADILLY, W. I.
And written in pencil beneath the name appeared the following:
Borrowed your Rolls. Urgent. Will explain tomorrow. Apologize. N.B.
点击收听单词发音
1 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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2 taut | |
adj.拉紧的,绷紧的,紧张的 | |
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3 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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4 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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5 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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6 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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8 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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9 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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10 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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11 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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12 affiliated | |
adj. 附属的, 有关连的 | |
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13 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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14 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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15 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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16 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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17 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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18 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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19 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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20 immunity | |
n.优惠;免除;豁免,豁免权 | |
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21 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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22 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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23 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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24 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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25 molest | |
vt.骚扰,干扰,调戏 | |
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26 limousine | |
n.豪华轿车 | |
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27 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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28 monogram | |
n.字母组合 | |
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29 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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30 cone | |
n.圆锥体,圆锥形东西,球果 | |
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31 chauffeur | |
n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机;v.为…开车 | |
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32 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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33 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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34 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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35 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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36 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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37 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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38 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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