“There are a hundred and fifty in the town of Great Bradley itself,” said Ela calmly; “half of them local constabulary, and half of them our own men.”
“Send a man down to order them to take up a position round the Secret House, allow nobody to leave it, stop all motorcars approaching or departing from the house, and above all things no car is to leave Great Bradley without its occupants being carefully scrutinized. What’s that?” he turned suddenly.
A sudden muffled scream had broken into the conversation and it had come from the inside of the cottage.
“Quick!” snapped T. B.
He sprang into the passage of the cottage, reached the door of the room where he had left his prisoner, slipped the key in the lock with an unerring hand and flung open the door.
The room was empty.
XIX
Farrington and Dr. Fall were closeted together in the latter’s office. Something had happened, which was responsible for the gloom on the face of the usually imperturbable doctor, and for the red rage which glowered in the older man’s eyes.
“You are sure of this?” he asked.
“Quite sure,” said Dr. Fall briefly; “he is making every preparation to leave London. His trunks went away from Charing Cross last night for Paris. He has let his house and collected the rent in advance, and he has practically sold the furniture. There can be no question whatever that our friend has betrayed us.”
“He would not dare,” breathed Farrington.
The veins stood out on his forehead; he was controlling his passionate temper by a supreme effort.
“I saved this man from beggary, Fall; I took the dog out of the gutter, and I gave him a chance when he had already forfeited his life. He would not dare!”
“My experience of criminals of this character,” said Dr. Fall calmly, “is that they will dare anything. You see, he is a particularly obnoxious specimen of his race; all suaveness, treachery, and remorseless energy. He would betray you; he would betray his own brother. Did he not shoot his father—or his alleged father, some years ago? I asked you not to trust him, Farrington; if I had had my way, he would never have left this house.”
Farrington shook his head.
“It was for the girl’s sake I let him go. Yes, yes,” he went on, seeing the look of surprise in the other’s face, “it was necessary that I should have somebody who stood in fear of me, who would further my plans in that direction. The marriage was necessary.”
“You have been, if you will pardon my expressing the opinion,” said Dr. Fall moodily, “just a little bit sentimental, Farrington.”
The other turned on him with an oath.
“I want none of your opinions,” he said gruffly. “You will never understand how I feel about this child. I took her from her dead father, who was one of my best friends, and I confess, that in the early days the thought of exploiting her fortune did occur to me. But as the years passed she grew towards me—a new and a beautiful influence in life, Fall. It was something that I had never had before, a factor which had never occurred in my stormy career. I grew to love the child, to love her more than I love money, and that is saying a lot. I wanted to do the right thing for her, and when my speculations were going wrong and I had to borrow from her fortune I never had any doubt but what I should be able to pay it back. When all the money went,”—his voice sank until it was little more than a whisper—“and I realized that I had ruined the one human being in the world whom I loved, I took the step which of all my crimes I have most regretted. I sent George Doughton out of the way in order that I might scheme to marry Doris to the Tollington millionaire. For I knew the man we were seeking was Doughton. I killed him,” he said defiantly, “for the sake of his son’s wife. Oh, the irony of it!” He raised his hand with a harsh laugh. “The comedy of it! As to Poltavo,” he went on more calmly, “I let him go because, as I say, I wanted him to further my object. That he failed, or that he was remiss, does not affect the argument. Doris is safely married,” he mused; “if she does not love her husband now, she will love him in time. She respects Frank Doughton, and every day that passes will solidify that respect. I know Doris, and I know something of her secret thoughts and her secret wishes. She will forget me,”—his voice shook—“please God she will forget me.”
He changed the subject quickly.
“Have you heard from Poltavo this morning?”
“Nothing at all,” said Fall; “he has been communicating with somebody or other, and the usual letters have been passing. Our man says that he has a big coup on, but upon that Poltavo has not informed us.”
“If I thought he was going to play us false—”
“What would you do?” asked Fall quietly. “He is out of our hands now.”
There was a little buzz in one corner of the room, and Fall turned his startled gaze upon the other.
“From the signal tower,” he said. “I wonder what is wrong.”
High above the house was one square solitary tower, in which, day and night, a watcher was stationed. Fall went to the telephone and took down the receiver. He spoke a few words and listened, then he hung up the receiver again and turned to Farrington.
“Poltavo is in Great Bradley,” he said; “one of our men has seen him and signalled to the house.”
“In Great Bradley!”
