He took his prisoner by the arm and led him across the downs.
“What are you going to do with me?” asked Poltavo.
“I shall first of all take you to Great Bradley police station, and then I shall convey you to London,” said T. B. “I have three warrants for you, including an extradition warrant issued on behalf of the Russian Government, but I think they may have to wait a little while before they obtain any satisfaction for your past misdeeds.”
The direction they took led them to Moor Cottage. In a quarter of an hour a force of police would be on the spot, for T. B. had timed his arrangements almost to the minute. He opened the door of the cottage and pushed his prisoner inside.
“We will avoid the study,” he smiled; “you probably know our mutual friend Lady Constance Dex disappeared under somewhat extraordinary circumstances from that room, and since I have every wish to keep you, we will take the drawing-room as a temporary prison.”
He opened the door of the little room in which the piano was, and indicated to his captive to sit in one of the deep-seated chairs.
“Now, my friend,” said T. B., “we have a chance of mutual understanding. I do not wish to disguise from you the fact that you are liable to a very heavy sentence. That you are only an agent I am aware, but in this particular case you were acting entirely on your own account. You have made elaborate and thorough preparations for leaving England.”
Poltavo smiled.
“That is true,” he said, frankly.
T. B. nodded.
“I have seen your trunks all beautifully new, and imposingly labelled,” he smiled, “and I have searched them.”
Poltavo sat, his elbows on his knees, reflectively smoothing his moustache with his manacled hands.
“Is there any way I can get out of this?” he asked, after a while.
“You can make things much easier for yourself,” replied T. B. quietly.
“In what way?”
“By telling me all you know about Farrington and giving me any information you can about the Secret House. Where, for instance, is Lady Constance Dex?”
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“She is alive, I can tell you that. I had a letter from Fall in which he hinted as much. I do not know how they captured her, or the circumstances of the case. All I can tell you is that she is perfectly well and being looked after. You see Farrington had to take her—she shot at him once—hastened his disappearance in fact, and there was evidence that she was planning further reprisals. As to the mysteries of the Secret House,” he said, frankly, “I know little or nothing. Farrington, of course, is—”
“Montague Fallock,” said T. B. quietly. “I know that also.”
“Then what else do you want to know?” asked the other, in surprise. “I am perfectly willing, if you can make it easy for me, to tell you everything. The man who is known as Moole is a half-witted old farm labourer who was picked up by Farrington some years ago to serve his purpose. He is the man who unknowingly poses as a millionaire. It is his estate which Farrington is supposed to be administering. You see,” he explained, “this rather takes off the suspicion which naturally attaches to a house which nobody visits, and it gives the inmates a certain amount of protection.”
“That I understand,” said T. B.; “it is, as you say, an ingenious idea—what of Fall?”
Poltavo shrugged his shoulders.
“You know as much of him as I. There are, however, many things which you may not know,” he went on slowly, “and of these there is one which you would pay a high price to learn. You will never take Farrington.”
“May I ask why?” asked T. B. interestedly.
“That is my secret,” said the other; “that is the secret I am willing to sell you.”
“And the price?” asked T. B. after a pause.
“The price is my freedom,” said the other boldly. “I know you can do anything with the police. As yet, no charge has been made against me. At the most, it is merely a question of attempting to obtain money by a trick—and even so you will have some difficulty in proving that I am guilty. Yes, I know you will deny this, but I have some knowledge of the law, Mr. Smith, and I have also some small experience of English juries. It is not the English law that I am afraid of, and it is not the sentence which your judges will pass upon me which fills me with apprehension. I am afraid of my treatment at the hands of the Russian Government.”
He shivered a little.
“It is because I wish to avoid extradition that I make this offer. Put things right for me, and I will place in your hands, not only the secret of Farrington’s scheme for escape, but also the full list of his agents through the country. You will find them in no books,” he said with a smile; “my stay in the Secret House was mainly occupied from morning till night in memorizing those names and those addresses.”
T. B. looked at him thoughtfully.
“There is something in what you say,” he said. “I must have a moment to consider your offer.”
He heard a noise from the road without and pulled aside the blind. A car had driven up and was discharging a little knot of plain clothes Scotland Yard men. Amongst them he recognized Ela.
“I shall take the liberty of locking you in this room for a few moments whilst I consult my friends,” said T. B.
He went out, turned the key in the lock and put it in his pocket. Outside he met Ela.
“Have you got him?” asked the detective.
T. B. nodded.
“I have taken him,” he said; “moreover, I rather fancy I have got the whole outfit in my hands.”
“The Secret House?” asked Ela eagerly.
“Everything,” said T. B.; “it all depends upon what
