“Look!” whispered Naida. “It is the dawn. I must go!”
“You promised,” she said, and although her voice was very tender she strove to detach his arm, which was locked about her shoulders.
He nodded grimly.
“I’ll keep my word. I made a contract with hell with my eyes open, and I’ll stick to it.” He stood up suddenly. “Go back, Naida!” he said. “Go back! You have my promise, now, and I’m helpless. But at last I see a way, and I’m going to take it.”
“Never mind.” His tone was cool again. “Just go back.”
“You would not—” she began.
“I never broke my word in my life, and even now I’m not going to begin. While you live I stay silent.”
In the growing light Naida looked about her affrightedly. Then, throwing her arms impulsively5 around Brinn, she kissed him—a caress6 that was passionate7 but sexless; rather the kiss of a mother who parts with a beloved son than that which a woman bestows8 upon the man she loves; an act of renunciation.
He uttered a low cry and would have seized her in his arms but, lithely9 evading10 him, she turned, stifling11 a sob12, and darted13 away through the trees toward the house.
For long he stood looking after her, fists clenched and his face very gray in the morning light. Some small inner voice told him that his new plan, and the others which he had built upon it, must crumble14 and fall as a castle of sand. He groaned15 and, turning aside, made his way through the shrubbery to the highroad.
He was become accessory to a murder; for he had learned for what reason and by what means Sir Charles Abingdon had been assassinated16. He had even learned the identity of his assassin; had learned that the dreaded17 being called Fire-Tongue in India was known and respected throughout the civilized18 world as His Excellency Ormuz Khan!
Paul Harley had learned these things also, and now at this very hour Paul Harley lay a captive in Hillside. Naida had assured him that Paul Harley was alive and safe. It had been decided19 that his death would lead to the destruction of the movement, but pressure was being brought upon him to ensure his silence.
Yes, he, Nicol Brinn, was bound and manacled to a gang of assassins; and because his tongue was tied, because the woman he loved better than anything in the world was actually a member of the murderous group, he must pace the deserted20 country lanes inactive; he must hold his hand, although he might summon the resources of New Scotland Yard by phoning from Lower Claybury station!
Through life his word had been his bond, and Nicol Brinn was incapable21 of compromising with his conscience. But the direct way was barred to him. Nevertheless, no task could appal22 the inflexible23 spirit of the man, and he had registered a silent vow24 that Ormuz Khan should never leave England alive.
Not a soul was astir yet upon the country roads, and sitting down upon a grassy25 bank, Nicol Brinn lighted one of his black cigars, which in times of stress were his food and drink, upon which if necessary he could carry-on for forty-eight hours upon end.
In connection with his plan for coercing26 Harley, Ormuz Khan had gone to London by rail on the previous night, departing from Lower Claybury station at about the time that Colonel Lord Wolverham came out of the Cavalry27 Club to discover his Rolls Royce to be missing. This same Rolls Royce was now a source of some anxiety to Nicol Brinn, for its discovery by a passing labourer in the deserted barn seemed highly probable.
However, he had matters of greater urgency to think about, not the least of these being the necessity of concealing29 his presence in the neighbourhood of Hillside. Perhaps his Sioux-like face reflected a spirit allied30 in some respects to that of the once great Indian tribe.
His genius for taking cover, perfected upon many a big-game expedition, enabled him successfully to accomplish the feat31; so that, when the limousine32, which he had watched go by during the morning, returned shortly after noon, the lack-lustre eyes were peering out through the bushes near the entrance to the drive.
Instinct told him that the pretty girl with whom Ormuz Khan was deep in conversation could be none other than Phil Abingdon, but the identity of her companion he could not even guess. On the other hand, that this poisonously handsome Hindu, who bent33 forward so solicitously34 toward his charming travelling companion, was none other than the dreaded Fire-Tongue, he did not doubt.
He returned to a strategic position which he had discovered during the night. In a measure he was nonplussed36. That the presence of the girl was primarily associated with the coercion37 of Paul Harley, he understood; but might it not portend38 something even more sinister39?
When, later, the limousine departed again, at great risk of detection he ran across a corner of the lawn to peer out into the lane, in order that he might obtain a glimpse of its occupant. This proved to be none other than Phil Abingdon’s elderly companion. She had apparently40 been taken ill, and a dignified41 Hindu gentleman, wearing gold-rimmed pince-nez, was in attendance.
Nicol Brinn clenched his jaws42 hard. The girl had fallen into a trap. He turned rapidly, facing the house. Only at one point did the shrubbery approach the wall, but for that point he set out hot foot, passing from bush to bush with Indian cleverness, tense, alert, and cool in despite of his long vigil.
At last he came to the shallow veranda43 with its four sightless windows backed by fancifully carven screens. He stepped up to the first of these and pressed his ear against the glass.
Fate was with him, for almost immediately he detected a smooth, musical voice speaking in the room beyond. A woman’s voice answered and, listening intently, he detected the sound of a closing door.
Thereupon he acted: with the result, as has appeared, that Phil Abingdon, hatless, without her furs, breathless and more frightened than she had ever been in her life, presently found herself driving a luxurious44 Rolls Royce out of a roofless barn on to the highroad, and down the slope to Claybury station.
It was at about this time, or a little later, that Paul Harley put into execution a project which he had formed. The ventilator above the divan45, which he had determined46 to be the spy-hole through which his every movement was watched, had an ornamental47 framework studded with metal knobs. He had recently discovered an electric bell-push in the centre panel of the massive door of his prison.
Inwardly on fire, imagining a thousand and one horrors centring about the figure of Phil Abingdon, but retaining his outward calm by dint48 of a giant effort, he pressed this bell and waited.
Perhaps two minutes elapsed. Then the glass doors beyond the gilded49 screen were drawn50 open, and the now-familiar voice spoke51:
“Mr. Paul Harley?”
“Yes,” he replied, “I have made my final decision.”
“And that is?”
“I agree.”
“You are wise,” the voice replied. “A statement will be placed before you for signature. When you have signed it, ring the bell again, and in a few minutes you will be free.”
Vaguely52 he detected the speaker withdrawing. Thereupon, heaving a loud sigh, he removed his coat, looked about him as if in quest of some place to hang it, and finally, fixing his gaze upon the studded grating, stood upon the divan and hung his coat over the spy-hole! This accomplished53, he turned.
The table was slowly sinking through the gap in the floor beneath.
Treading softly, he moved forward and seated himself cross-legged upon it! It continued to descend54, and he found himself in absolute darkness.
Nicol Brinn ran on to the veranda and paused for a moment to take breath. The window remained open, as Phil Abingdon had left it. He stepped into the room with its elegant Persian appointments. It was empty. But as he crossed the threshold, he paused, arrested by the sound of a voice.
“A statement will be placed before you,” said the voice, “and when you have signed it, in a few minutes you will be free.”
Nicol Brinn silently dropped flat at the back of a divan, as Rama Dass, coming out of the room which communicated with the golden screen, made his way toward the distant door. Having one eye raised above the top of the cushions, Nicol Brinn watched him, recognizing the man who had accompanied the swooning lady. She had been deposited, then, at no great distance from the house.
He was to learn later that poor Mrs. McMurdoch, in her artificially induced swoon, had been left in charge of a hospitable55 cottager, while her solicitous35 Oriental escort had sped away in quest of a physician. But at the moment matters of even greater urgency engaged his attention.
Creeping forward to the doorway57 by which Rama Dass had gone out, Nicol Brinn emerged upon a landing from which stairs both ascended58 and descended59. Faint sounds of footsteps below guided him, and although from all outward seeming he appeared to saunter casually60 down, his left hand was clutching the butt61 of a Colt automatic.
He presently found himself in a maze62 of basements—kitchens of the establishment, no doubt. The sound of footsteps no longer guided him. He walked along, and in a smaller deserted pantry discovered the base of a lift shaft63 in which some sort of small elevator worked. He was staring at this reflectively, when, for the second time in his adventurous64 career, a silken cord was slipped tightly about his throat!
He was tripped and thrown. He fought furiously, but the fatal knee pressure came upon his spine65 so shrewdly as to deprive him of the strength to raise his hands.
“My finish!” were the words that flashed through his mind, as sounds like the waves of a great ocean beat upon his ears and darkness began to descend.
Then, miraculously66, the pressure ceased; the sound of great waters subsided67; and choking, coughing, he fought his way back to life, groping like a blind man and striving to regain68 his feet.
“Mr. Brinn!” said a vaguely familiar voice. “Mr. Brinn!”
The realities reasserted themselves. Before him, pale, wide-eyed, and breathing heavily, stood Paul Harley; and prone69 upon the floor of the pantry lay Rama Dass, still clutching one end of the silken rope in his hand!
“Mr. Harley!” gasped70 Brinn. “My God, sir!” He clutched at his bruised71 throat. “I have to thank you for my life.”
He paused, looking down at the prone figure as Harley, dropping upon his knees, turned the man over.
“I struck him behind the ear,” he muttered, “and gave him every ounce. Good heavens!”
He had slipped his hand inside Rama Dass’s vest, and now he looked up, his face very grim.
“Good enough!” said Brinn, coolly. “He asked for it; he’s got it. Take this.” He thrust the Colt automatic into Harley’s hand as the latter stood up again.
“What do we do now?” asked Harley.
“Search the house,” was the reply. “Everything coloured you see, shoot, unless I say no.”
“Miss Abingdon?”
“She’s safe. Follow me.”
Straight up two flights of stairs led Nicol Brinn, taking three steps at a stride. Palpably enough the place was deserted. Ormuz Khan’s plans for departure were complete.
Into two rooms on the first floor they burst, to find them stripped and bare. On the threshold of the third Brinn stopped dead, and his gaunt face grew ashen72. Then he tottered73 across the room, arms outstretched.
“Naida,” he whispered. “My love, my love!”
Paul Harley withdrew quietly. He had begun to walk along the corridor when the sound of a motor brought him up sharply. A limousine was being driven away from the side entrance! Not alone had he heard that sound. His face deathly, and the lack-lustre eyes dully on fire, Nicol Brinn burst out of the room and, not heeding74 the presence of Harley, hurled75 himself down the stairs. He was as a man demented, an avenging76 angel.
“There he is!” cried Harley—“heading for the Dover Road!”
Nicol Brinn, at the wheel of the racer—the same in which Harley had made his fateful journey and which had afterward77 been concealed78 in the garage at Hillside—scarcely nodded.
Nearer they drew to the quarry79, and nearer. Once—twice—and again, the face of Ormuz Khan peered out of the window at the rear of the limousine.
Paul Harley glanced at the granite81 face of his companion with an apprehension82 he was unable to conceal28. This was a cool madman who drove. What did he intend to do?
Inch by inch, Nicol Brinn edged the torpedo83 body nearer to the wheels of the racing84 limousine. The Oriental chauffeur85 drew in ever closer to the ditch bordering the roadside. He shouted hoarsely86 and was about to apply the brakes when the two cars touched!
Harley felt himself hurled through space.
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 Commissioner90 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 celebrated91 for his placid92 demeanour, was unable to conceal his amazement93.
“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 deferential94 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 aged56 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 stimulated95 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.
“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.
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收听单词发音
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1
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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3
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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5
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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6
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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7
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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8
bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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9
lithely
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| adv.柔软地，易变地 | |
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10
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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11
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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12
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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13
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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14
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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15
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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16
assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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17
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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18
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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19
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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20
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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21
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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22
appal
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| vt.使胆寒，使惊骇 | |
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23
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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25
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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26
coercing
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| v.迫使做( coerce的现在分词 )；强迫；（以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段）控制；支配 | |
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27
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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28
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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30
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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31
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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32
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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33
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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34
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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35
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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36
nonplussed
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| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
coercion
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| n.强制，高压统治 | |
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38
portend
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| v.预兆，预示；给…以警告 | |
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39
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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40
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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41
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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42
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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43
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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44
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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45
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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46
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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47
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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48
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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49
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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50
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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51
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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52
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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53
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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54
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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55
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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56
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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57
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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58
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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60
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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61
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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62
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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63
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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64
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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65
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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66
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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67
subsided
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| 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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68
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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69
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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70
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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71
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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72
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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73
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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77
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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78
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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79
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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80
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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81
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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82
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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83
torpedo
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| n.水雷，地雷；v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
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84
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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85
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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88
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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93
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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