Poltavo frowned.
“That is not a view that has been accepted by the authorities,” he said quickly. “The jury had no doubt that this was the body of Mr. Farrington, and brought in a verdict accordingly.”
Frank nodded.
“What a jury thinks and what Scotland Yard thinks,” he said, drily, “are not always in agreement. As a result of that letter,” he went on, “Miss Gray has reposed a great deal of trust in you, Count, and day by day my efforts to serve her have been made more difficult by her attitude. I am a plain-speaking Englishman, and I am coming to the point, right now,”—he thumped the table: “Doris Gray’s mind is becoming poisoned against one who has no other object in life than to serve her faithfully.”
Count Poltavo shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“My dear young man,” he said, smoothly, “you do not come to me, I trust, to act as your agent in order to induce Miss Gray to take any other view of you than she does. Because if you do,” he went on suavely, “I am afraid that I cannot help you very much. There is an axiom in the English language to which I subscribe most thoroughly, and it is that ‘all is fair in love and war.’ ”
“In love?” repeated Frank, looking the other straight in the eyes.
“In love,” the Count asserted, with a nod of his head, “it is not the privilege of any human being to monopolize in his heart all the love in the world, or to say this thing I love and none other shall love it. Those qualities in Miss Gray which are so adorable to you are equally adorable to me.”
He spread out his hands in deprecation.
“It is a pity,” he said, with his little smile, “and I would do anything to avoid an unpleasant outcome to our rivalry. It is a fact that cannot be gainsaid that such a rivalry exists. I have reason to know that the late Mr. Farrington had certain views concerning his niece and ward, and I flatter myself that those views were immensely favourable to me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Frank, harshly.
The Count shrugged again.
“I had a little conversation with Mr. Farrington in the course of which he informed me that he would like nothing better than to see the future of Doris assured in my hands.”
Frank went white.
“That is a lie,” he said, hoarsely. “The views of Mr. Farrington were as well known to me as they are to you—better, if that is your interpretation of them.”
“And they were?” asked the Count, curiously.
“I decline to discuss the matter with you,” said Frank. “I want only to tell you this. If by chance I discover that you are working against me by your lies or your cunning, I will make you very sorry that you ever came into my life.”
“Allow me to show you the door,” said Count Poltavo. “People of my race and of my family are not usually threatened with impunity.”
“Your race I pretty well know,” said Frank, coolly; “your family is a little more obscure. If it is necessary for me to go any farther into the matter, and if I am so curious that I am anxious for information, I shall know where to apply.”
“And where will that be?” asked the Count softly, his hand upon the door.
“To the Governor of Alexandrovski Prison,” said Frank.
The Count closed the door behind his visitor, and stood for some moments in thought.
It was a depressed little party which assembled an hour later in the drawing-room of the Brakely Square house. To the Count’s annoyance, Frank was one of these, and he had contrived to secure a place near the sad-faced girl and engage her in conversation. The Count did not deem it advisable at this particular moment to make any attempt to separate them: he was content to wait.
T. B. Smith was there.
He had secured an invitation by the simple process of informing those responsible for the arrangements that if that courtesy was not offered to him he would come in another capacity than that of a friend.
The senior partner of Messrs. Debenham & Tree, the great city lawyers, was also present, seated at a table with his clerk, on which paper and ink was placed, and where too, under the watchful eyes of his assistant, was a bulky envelope heavily sealed.
There were many people present to whom the reading of this will would be a matter of the greatest moment. Farrington had left no private debts. Whatever plight the shareholders of the company might be in, he himself, so far as his personal fortune was concerned, was certainly solvent.
T. B.’s inquiries had revealed, to his great astonishment, that the girl’s fortune was adequately secured. Much of the contents of the will, which was to astonish at least three people that day, was known to T. B. Smith, and he had pursued his investigations to the end of confirming much which the dead millionaire had stated.
Presently, when Doris left the young man to go to the lawyer for a little consultation, T. B. made his way across the room and sat down by the side of Frank Doughton.
“You were a friend of Mr. Farrington’s, were you not?” he asked.
Frank nodded.
“A great friend?”
“I hardly like to say that I was a great friend,” said the other; “he was very kind to me.”
“In what way was he kind?” asked T. B. “You will forgive me for asking these somewhat brutal questions, but as you know I have every reason to be interested.”
Frank smiled faintly.
“I do not think that you are particularly friendly disposed toward him, Mr. Smith,” he said; “in fact, I rather wonder that you are present, after what happened at the theatre.”
“After my saying that I wanted to arrest him,” smiled T. B. “But why not? Even millionaires get mixed up in curious illegal proceedings,” he said; “but I am rather curious to know what
