Wallace Edgar
The Secret House

"I need hardly say that there will be no funds available from the estate for carrying out the wishes of the deceased gentleman in this respect, since they are all contingent upon Mr. Farrington possessing a certain sum at his death which I fear he did not possess. The will goes on to say," he continued reading:

"'Knowing that my dear niece and ward is amply provided for, I can do no more than leave her an expression of my trust and love, and it may be taken as my last and final request that she marries with the least possible delay the person whom it is my most earnest desire she should take as a husband.'"

Two people in the audience felt a sudden cold thrill of anticipation.

"'That person,'" continued the lawyer, solemnly, "'is my good friend, Frank Doughton.'"

There was a gasp from Frank; a startled exclamation from the girl. Poltavo went red and white and his eyes glowed. T. B. Smith, to whom this portion of the will was known, watched the actors keenly. He saw the bewildered face of the girl, the rage in Poltavo's eyes, and the blank astonishment on the face of Frank as the lawyer went on:

"'Knowing the insecurity of present-day investments, and seized with the fear that the fortune entrusted to my keeping might be dissipated by one of those strange accidents of finance with which we are all acquainted, I have placed the whole of her fortune, to the value of eight hundred thousand pounds, in a safe at the London Safe Deposit, and in the terms of the power vested in me as trustee by her late father I have instructed my lawyers to hand her the key and the authority to open the safe on the day she marries the aforesaid Frank Doughton. And if she should refuse or through any cause or circumstance decline to carry out my wishes in this respect, I direct that the fortune contained therein shall be withheld from her for the space of five years as from the date of my death.'"

There was another long silence. T. B. saw the change come over the face of Poltavo. From rage he had passed to wonder, from wonder to suspicion, and from suspicion to anger again. T. B. would have given something substantial to have known what was going on inside the mind of this smooth adventurer. Again the lawyer's voice insisted upon attention.

"'To Frank Doughton,'" he read, "'I bequeath the sum of a thousand pounds to aid him in his search for the Tollington heir. To T. B. Smith, the assistant commissioner at Scotland Yard with whom I have had some acquaintance, and whose ability I hold in the highest regard, I leave the sum of a thousand pounds as a slight reward for his service to civilization, and I direct that on the day he discovers the most insidious enemy to society, Montague Fallock, he shall receive a further sum of one thousand pounds from the trustees of my estate.'"

The lawyer looked up from his reading.

"That again, Mr. Smith, is contingent upon certain matters."

T. B. smiled.

"I quite understand that," he said, drily, "though possibly you don't," he added under his breath.

This was a portion of the will about which he knew nothing for the document had been executed but a few days before the tragedy which had deprived the world of Gregory Farrington. There were a few more paragraphs to read; certain jewelleries had been left to his dear friend Count Ernesto Poltavo, and the reading was finished.

"I have only to say now," said the lawyer, as he carefully folded his glasses and put them away in his pocket, "that there is a very considerable sum of money at Mr. Farrington's bank. It will be for the courts to decide in how so far that money is to be applied to the liquidation of debts incurred by the deceased as director of a public company. That is to say, that it will be a question for the supreme judicature whether the private fortune of the late Mr. Farrington will be seized to satisfy his other creditors."

There was a haze and a babble of talk. Poltavo crossed with quick steps to the lawyer, and for a moment they were engaged in quick conversation; then suddenly the adventurer turned and left the room. T. B. had seen the move and followed with rapid steps. He overtook the Count in the open doorway of the house.

"A word with you, Count," he said, and they descended the steps together into the street. "The will was rather a surprise to you?"

Count Poltavo was now all smooth equanimity. You might not have thought from his smooth face and his smile, and his gentle drawling tone, that he had been affected by the reading of this strange document.

"It is a surprise, I confess," he said. "I do not understand my friend Farrington's action in regard to – " he hesitated.

"In regard to Miss Gray," smiled T. B.

Of a sudden the self-control of the man left him, and he turned with a snarling voice on the detective, but his wrath was not directed toward the cool man who stood before him.

"The treacherous dog!" he hissed, "to do this – to me. But it shall not be, it shall not be, I tell you; this woman is more to me than you can imagine." He struck his breast violently. "Can I speak with you privately?"

"I thought you might wish to," said T. B.

He lifted his hand and made an almost imperceptible signal, and a taxicab which had stood on the opposite side of the road, and followed them slowly as they walked along Brakely Square, suddenly developed symptoms of activity, and came whirring across the road to the sidewalk.

T. B. opened the door and Poltavo stepped in, the detective following. There was no need to give any instructions, and without any further order the cab whirled its way through the West End until it came to the arched entrance of Scotland Yard, and there the man alighted. By the time they had reached T. B.'s room, Poltavo had regained something of his self-possession. He walked up and down the room, his hands thrust into his pockets, his head sunk upon his breast.

"Now," said T. B., seating himself at his desk, "what would you like to say?"

"There is much I would like to say," said Poltavo, quietly, "and I am now considering whether it will be in my interest to tell all at this moment or whether it would be best that I should maintain my silence longer."

"Your silence in regard to Farrington I presume you are referring to," suggested T. B. Smith easily; "perhaps I can assist you a little to unburden your mind."

"I think not," said Poltavo, quickly; "you cannot know as much about this man as I. I had intended," he said, frankly, "to tell you much that would have surprised you; at present it is advisable that I should wait for one or two days in order that I may give some interested people an opportunity of undoing a great deal of mischief which they have done. I must go to Paris at once."

T. B. said nothing; there was no purpose to be served in hastening the issue at this particular moment. The man had recovered his self-possession, he would talk later, and T. B. was content to wait, and for the moment to entertain his unexpected guest.

"It is a strange place," said the Count calmly, scrutinizing the room; "this is Scotland Yard! The Great Scotland Yard! of which all criminals stand in terror, even with which our local criminals in Poland have some acquaintance."

"It is indeed a strange place," said T. B. "Shall I show you the strangest place of all?"

"I should be delighted," said the other.

T. B. led the way along the corridor, rang for the lift, and they were shot up to the third floor. Here at the end of a long passage, was a large room, in which row after row of cabinets were methodically arrayed.

"This is our record department," said T. B.; "it will have a special interest for you, Count Poltavo."

"Why for me?" asked the other, with a smile.

"Because I take it you are interested in the study of criminal detection," replied T. B. easily.

He walked aimlessly along one extensive row of drawers, and suddenly came to a halt.

"Here, for instance, is a record of a remarkable man," he said. He pulled open a drawer unerringly, ran his fingers along the top of a batch of envelopes and selected one. He nodded the Count to a polished table near the window, and pulled up two chairs.

"Sit down," he said, "and I will introduce you to one of the minor masters of the criminal world."

Count Poltavo was an interested man as T. B. opened the envelope and took out two plain folders, and laid them on the table.

He opened the first of these; the photograph of a military-looking man in Russian uniform lay upon the top. Poltavo saw it, gasped, and looked up, his face livid.

"That was the Military Governor of Poland," said T. B., easily; "he was assassinated by one who posed as his son many years ago."

The Count had risen quickly, and stood shaking from head to foot, his trembling hand at his mouth.

"I have never seen him," he muttered. "I think your record office is very close – you have no ventilation."

"Wait a little," said T. B., and he turned to the second dossier.

Presently he extracted another photograph, the photograph of a young man, a singularly good-looking youth, and laid it on the table by the side of the other picture.

"Do you know this gentleman?" asked T. B.

There was no reply.

"It is the photograph of the murderer," the detective went on, "and unfortunately this was not his only crime. You will observe there are two distinct folders, each filled with particulars of our young friend's progress along the path which leads to the gallows."

He sorted out another photograph. It was a beautiful girl in a Russian peasant costume; evidently the portrait of some one taken at a fancy dress ball, because both the refined face and the figure of the girl were inconsistent with the costume.

"That is the Princess Lydia Bontasky," said T. B., "one of the victims of our young friend's treachery. Here is another."

The face of the fourth photograph was plain, and marked with sorrow.

"She was shot at Kieff by our young and high-spirited friend, and died of her wounds. Here are particulars of a bank robbery organized five years ago by a number of people who called themselves anarchists, but who were in reality very commonplace, conventional thieves unpossessed of any respect for human life. But I see this does not interest you."

He closed the dossier and put it back into its envelope, before he looked up at the Count's face. The man was pale now, with a waxen pallor of death.

"They are very interesting," he muttered.

He stumbled rather than walked the length of the room, and he had not recovered when they reached the corridor.

"This is the way out," said T. B., as he indicated the broad stairs. "I advise you, Count Poltavo, to step warily. It will be my duty to inform the Russian police that you are at present in this country. Whether they move or do not move is a problematical matter. Your fellow-countrymen are not specially energetic where crimes of five years' standing are concerned. But this I warn you," – he dropped his hand upon the other's shoulder, – "that if you stand in my way I shall give you trouble which will have much more serious consequences for you."

Three minutes later Poltavo walked out of Scotland Yard like a man in a dream. He hailed the first cab that came past and drove back to his flat. He was there for ten minutes and emerged with a handbag.

He drove to the Grand Marylebone Hotel, and detective inspector Ela, who had watched his every movement, followed in another taxi. He waited until he saw Poltavo enter the hotel, then the officer descended some distance from the door, and walked nonchalantly to the entrance.

There was no sign of Poltavo.

Ela strolled carelessly through the corridor, and down into the big palm court. From the palm court another entrance led into the Marylebone Road. Ela quickened his steps, went through the big swing doors to the vestibule.

Yes, the porter on duty had seen the gentleman; he had called a taxi and gone a few minutes before.

Ela cursed himself for his folly in letting the man out of his sight.

He reported the result of his shadowing to T. B. Smith over the telephone, and T. B. was frankly uncomplimentary.

"However, I think I know where we will pick him up," he said. "Meet me at Waterloo; we must catch the 6:15 to Great Bradley."

CHAPTER XI

"You want to see Mr. Moole?" Dr. Fall asked the visitor.

"I wish to see Mr. Moole," replied Poltavo. He stood at the door of the Secret House, and after a brief scrutiny the big-faced doctor admitted him, closing the door behind him.

"Tell me, what do you want?" he asked. He had seen the curious gesture that Poltavo had made – the pass sign which had unbarred the entrance to many strange people.

"I want to see Farrington!" replied Poltavo, coolly.

"Farrington!" Fall's brow knit in a puzzled frown.

"Farrington," repeated Poltavo, impatiently. "Do not let us have any of this nonsense, Fall. I want to see him on a matter of urgency. I am Poltavo."

"I know just who you are," said Fall, calmly, "but why you should come here under the impression that the late Mr. Farrington is an inmate of this establishment I do not understand. We are a lunatic asylum, not a mortuary," he said, with heavy humour.

Still, he led the way upstairs to the drawing-room on the first floor.

"What is the trouble?" he asked, as he closed the door behind him.

Poltavo chose to tell the story of his identification by T. B. Smith rather than the real object of his journey. Fall listened in silence.

"I doubt very much whether he will see you," he said: "he is in his worst mood. However, I will go along and find out what his wishes are."

He was absent for ten minutes, and when he returned he beckoned to the visitor.

Poltavo followed him up the stairs till he came to the room in which the bedridden Mr. Moole lay.

A man turned as the two visitors came in – it was Farrington in the life, Farrington as he had seen him on the night of his disappearance from the box at the Jollity. The big man nodded curtly.

"Why have you come down here," he asked, harshly, "leading half the detectives in London to me?"

"I do not think you need bother about half the detectives in London," said Poltavo. He looked at Fall. "I want to see you alone," he said.

Farrington nodded his head and the other departed, closing the door behind him.

"Now," said Poltavo, – he crossed the room with two strides, – "I want to know what you mean – you treacherous dog – by this infernal will of yours!"

"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.

He turned; Doctor Fall was standing in the centre of the room. By what means he had arrived there was no evidence to show.

"I hope I did not surprise you," said the doctor, with his quiet smile; "I did not come the way you expected. There are three entrances to this room, and they are all equally difficult to negotiate."

"May I inquire the meaning of this outrage?" asked Poltavo.

"Your virtuous indignation does you credit, Count," said the doctor. He sat down by the table, took a cigar-case from his pocket, and offered it to his unwilling guest.

"You do not smoke; I am sorry. Would you like a cigarette?"

"Thank you, I have all the cigarettes I require," said Poltavo, briefly.

The doctor did not speak until he had leisurely bitten off the end of a cigar and lit it.

"As I say," he went on, "I admire your sang froid. The word 'outrage' comes curiously from you, Count, but I am merely carrying out Mr. Farrington's wishes, when I say that I am perfectly willing to explain your present unhappy position. In some way you have made our friend very angry," he went on, easily; "and at present he is disposed to treat you with considerable harshness, to mete out the same harsh justice, in fact, that he accorded to two of the people who were engaged in the building of this house, and who were predisposed to blackmail him with a threat of betrayal."

"I knew nothing of these," said Poltavo.

"Then you are one of the few people in London who do not," said Dr. Fall, with a smile. "One was an architect, the other a fairly efficient man of a type you will find on the continent of Europe, and who will be an electrician's assistant or a waiter with equal felicity. These men were engaged to assist in the construction of the house, they were brought from Italy with a number of other workmen, and entrusted with a section of its completion. Not satisfied with the handsome pay they received for their workmanship, they instituted a system of blackmail which culminated one night at Brakely Square in their untimely death."

"Did Farrington kill them?" gasped Poltavo.

"I will not go so far as to say that," said the suave secretary; "I only say that they died. Unfortunately for them, they were acting independently of one another and quarrelled violently when they found that they had both come upon a similar errand, having at last identified the mysterious gentleman, who had commissioned the house, with Gregory Farrington, a worthy and blackmailable millionaire."

"So that was it," said Poltavo, thoughtfully.

"What a fool I was not to understand, not to see the connection. They were shot dead outside Farrington's house. Who else could have committed the crime but he?"

"Again, I will not go so far as to say that," repeated the secretary; "I merely remark that the men died a most untimely death, as a result of their eagerness to extract advantages from Mr. Farrington, which he was not prepared to offer. You, Count Poltavo, are in some danger of sharing the same fate."

"I have been in tighter holes than this," smiled Poltavo, but he was uneasy.

"Do not boast," said the doctor quietly. "I doubt very much whether in your life you have been in so tight a hole as you are in now. We are quite prepared to kill you; I tell you that much, because Mr. Farrington does not ordinarily take risks. In your case, however, he is prepared, just so long as you are impressed with his power to punish, to give you one chance of life. Whether you take that chance or not entirely depends upon yourself. He will not extract any oaths or promises or pledges of any kind; he will release you with the assurance that if you will serve him you will be handsomely rewarded, and if you fail him you will be most handsomely killed; do I make myself clear?"

"Very," said Poltavo, and the hand that raised the cigarette to his lips trembled a little.

"I would like to add," began the doctor, when the shrill sound of a ringing bell rang through the vaulted apartment. Fall sprang up, walked quietly to the wall, and placed his ear against a portion which appeared to be no different to any other, but which, as Poltavo gathered, concealed a hidden telephone.

"Yes?" he asked. He listened. "Very good," he said.

He turned to Poltavo, and surveyed him gravely.

"You will be interested to learn," he said, "that the house is entirely surrounded by police. You have evidently been followed here."

A light sprang into Poltavo's eyes.

"That is very awkward for you," he said, with a laugh.

"More awkward for you, I think," said Doctor Fall, walking slowly to the farthermost wall of the room.

"Stop!" said Poltavo.

The doctor turned. He was covered by the black barrel of Poltavo's pistol.

"I beg to assure you," said the Count mockingly, "that this pistol is loaded with two small cartridges which I found in my waistcoat pocket, and which I usually carry in case of emergency. There is at any rate sufficient – "

He said no more, for suddenly the room was plunged in darkness, the lights were extinguished by an unseen hand as at some signal, and a mocking laugh came back to him from where Fall had stood.

"Shoot!" said the voice, but the two cartridges were too precious for Poltavo to take any risks in the dark. He stood waiting, suddenly heard a click, and then the lights came up again. He was alone in the room. He shrugged his shoulders; there was nothing to do but wait.