The Secret House

"You can sit down," said Farrington, coolly, "and you can learn right now, Poltavo, that I do not stand for any man questioning me as to why I should do this or that, and I certainly do not stand for any human being in the world speaking to me as you are doing."

"You know that you are in my power," said Poltavo, viciously. "Are you aware that I could raise my finger and tumble your precious plot into the dust?"

"There are many things I know," said Farrington, "and if you knew them too you would keep a civil tongue in your head. Sit down. What is the trouble?"

"Why did you leave that instruction in your will? That Doris was to marry this infernal Doughton?"

"For a very good reason."

"Explain the reason!" stormed the angry man.

"I shall do nothing so absurd," smiled Farrington, crookedly; "it is enough when I say I want this girl's happiness. Don't you realize," he went on rapidly, "that the only thing I have in my life, that is at all clean, or precious, or worth while, is my affection for my niece? I want to see her happy; I know that her happiness lies with Doughton."

"You are mad," snarled the other; "the girl is half in love with me."

"With you," Farrington's eyes narrowed; "that is absolutely impossible."

"Why impossible?" demanded Poltavo loudly; "why impossible?" He thumped the table angrily.

"For many reasons," said Farrington. "First, because you are unworthy to be her under-gardener, much less her husband. You are, forgive my frankness, a blackguard, a thief, a murderer, a forger and a bank robber, so far as I know." He smiled. "Yes, I was an interested listener to your conversation with Fall. I have all sorts of weird instruments here by which I can pick up unguarded items of talk, but fortunately I have no need to be informed on this subject. I have as complete a record of your past as our friend Smith, and I tell you, Poltavo, that whilst I am willing that you shall be my agent, and that you shall profit enormously by working hand in hand with me, I would sooner see myself dead than I should hand Doris over to your tender mercies."

An ugly smile played about the lips of Poltavo.

"That is your last word?" he asked.

"That is my last word," said Farrington; "if you will be advised by me, you will let the matter stand where it is. Leave things as they are, Poltavo. You are on the way to making a huge fortune; do not let this absurd sentiment, or this equally absurd ambition of yours, step in and spoil everything."

"And whatever happens you would never allow Doris to marry me?"

"That is exactly what I meant, and exactly what I still say," said Farrington, firmly.

"But, suppose," – Poltavo's hands caressed his little moustache, and he was smiling wickedly, – "suppose I force your hand?"

Farrington's eyebrows rose. "How?" he demanded.

"Suppose I take advantage of the fact that Miss Doris Gray, an impressionable young English girl, receptive to sympathetic admiration and half in love with me – suppose, I say, I took advantage of this fact, and we marry in the face of your will?"

"You would be sorry," said Farrington, grimly; "you may be sorry that you even threatened as much."

"I not only threaten," snarled Poltavo, "but I will carry out my threat, and you interfere with me at your peril!" He shook his clenched fist in Farrington's face. The elder man looked at him with a long, earnest glance in which his keen eyes seemed to search the very soul of the Russian.

"I wish this had not happened," he said, half to himself. "I had hoped that there was the making of a useful man in you, Poltavo, but I have been mistaken. I never thought that sentiment would creep in. Is it money – her fortune?" he asked, suddenly.

Poltavo shook his head.

"Curse the money," he said, roughly; "I want the girl. I tell you, Farrington, every day she grows more precious and more desirable to me."

"Other women have become precious and desirable to you," said Farrington in a low, passionate voice, "and they have enjoyed the fleeting happiness of your favour for – how long? Just as long as you wanted, Poltavo, and when you have been satisfied and sated yourself with joy, you have cast them out as they had been nothing to you. I know your record, my man," he said. "All that I want now is to assure myself that you are in earnest, because if you are – " He paused.

"If I am – ?" sneered Poltavo.

"You will not leave this house alive," said Farrington.

He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, and the full significance of his speech did not dawn upon the Russian until long after he had said it.

For the space of a second or two his lips were smiling, and then the smile suddenly froze. His hand went back to his hip pocket and reappeared, holding a long-barrelled automatic pistol.

"Don't you try any of your tricks on me," he breathed. "I am quite prepared for all eventualities, Mr. Farrington; you make a mistake to threaten me."

"Not such a mistake as you have made," smiled Farrington. "You may fire your pistol to see if it will go off. My own impression is that the magazine has been removed."

One glance at the weapon was sufficient to demonstrate to the other that the man had spoken the truth. He went deathly white.

"Look here," he said, genially, "let us make an end to this absurd breach of friendship. I have come down to see what I can do for you."

"You have come down now to force me to grant your wishes regarding Doris," said Farrington. "I think the matter had better end." He pressed the bell, and Fall came in after a few moments' interval.

"Give the Count some refreshment before he goes," he said; "he is going to London."

The very matter-of-factness of the instructions reassured Count Poltavo, who for one moment had stood in a panic of fear; there was that in this big silent house which terrified him. And with the removal of this fear his insolent assurance returned. He stood in the doorway.

"You have made up your mind about Doris?" he said.

"Absolutely," said Farrington.

"Very good," said Poltavo.

He followed Fall along the corridor, and the doctor opened a small door and illuminated a tiny lift inside, and Poltavo stepped in. As he did so the door clicked.

"How do I work this lift?" he asked through the ornamental ironwork of the doorway.

"I work it from outside," said Dr. Fall, cheerfully, and pressed a button. The lift sank. It passed one steel door – that was the first floor; and another – that was the ground floor, but still the lift did not stop. It went on falling slowly, evenly, without jar or haste, and suddenly it came to a stop before a door made of a number of thin steel bars placed horizontally. As the lift stopped, the steel-barred doorway opened noiselessly. All Poltavo's senses were now alert; he, a past master in the art of treachery, had been at last its victim. He did not leave the tiny lift for a moment, but prepared for eventualities. He took a pencil out of his pocket and wrote rapidly on the wooden panelling of the elevator, and then he stepped out into the semi-darkness. He saw a large apartment, a bed and chair, and above a large table one dim light. A number of switches on the wall facing him promised further illumination. Anyway, if the worst came to the worst, he could find a way by the lift well to safety again. He searched his pockets with feverish haste. He usually carried one or two pistol cartridges in case of necessity, and he was rewarded, for, in his top waistcoat pocket, he discovered two nickel-pointed shapes. Hastily he removed the dummy magazine from the butt of his pistol. The removal of the magazine must have been effected by his servant, and the servant, now he came to give the matter consideration, was possibly in the pay of Farrington, and had probably warned the occupants of the Secret House of Poltavo's departure.

It was but natural that the big man would take no chances, and Poltavo cursed himself for a fool for allowing himself to be lured into a sense of security. He stepped out of the lift; there was enough light to guide him across the room. He reached the switchboard and pulled one of the little levers. Three lights appeared at the far end of the room; he pulled over the rest and the room was brilliantly illuminated.

It was an underground chamber, with red, distempered walls, artistically furnished. The small bed in the corner was of brass; the air was conveyed to his gloomy chamber by means of ventilators placed at intervals in the wall.

Not an uncomfortable prison, thought Poltavo. He was making his inspection when he heard a clang, and swung round. The steel door of the lift had closed and he reached it just in time to see the floor of the little cage ascending out of sight. He cursed himself again for his insensate folly; he might have fixed the door with a chair; it was an elementary precaution to take, but he had not realized the possibilities of this house of mystery.

Perhaps the chairs were fixed. He tried them, but found he was mistaken, except in one case. The great chair at the head of the table, solid and heavy, was immovable, for it was clamped to the floor.

In one corner was a framework, and he guessed it to be the slide in which the small provision lift ran.

His surmise was accurate, for even while he was examining it, a trap opened in the ceiling, and there slid down noiselessly between the oiled grids a tiny platform on which was a tray filled with covered dishes. He lifted the viands from the little elevator to the table and inspected them. There was a note written in pencil.

"You need have no fear in consuming the food we provide for you," it ran. "Dr. Fall will personally vouch for its purity, and will, if necessary, sample it in your presence. If you should need attendance you will find a small bell fixed on the under side of the table."

Poltavo looked at the dinner. He was ravenously hungry; he must take the chance of poison; after all, these people had him so completely in their power that there was no necessity to take any precaution so far as his food was concerned. He attacked an excellent dinner without discomfort to himself, and when he had finished he bethought himself of the bell, and finding it under the edge of the table, he pressed the button. He had not long to wait; he heard the faint hum of machinery and walked across to the barred gate of the lift, his pistol ready. He waited, his eyes fixed up at the black square through which he expected the lift to sink, and heard himself suddenly called by name.