“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 worthwhile, 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.
