“What was his car doing here the other day,” asked Fall, “when he kidnapped Frank Doughton? It was here to throw suspicion on us and take suspicion off himself, the most obvious thing in the world.”
Again the buzzer sounded, and again Fall carried on a conversation with the man on the roof in a low tone.
“Poltavo is on the downs,” he said; “he has evidently come to meet somebody; the lookout says he can see him from the tower through his glasses, and that there is a man making his way towards him.”
“Let us see for ourselves,” said Farrington.
They passed out of the room into another, opened what appeared to be a cupboard door, but which was in reality one of the innumerable elevators with which the house was furnished, and for the working of which the great electrical plant was so necessary.
They stepped into the lift, and in a few seconds had reached the interior of the tower, with its glass-paned observation windows and its telescopes. One of the foreign workmen, whom Farrington employed, was carefully scrutinizing the distant downs through a telescope which stood upon a large tripod.
“There he is,” he said.
Farrington looked. There was no mistaking Poltavo, but who the other man was, an old man doubled with age, his white beard floating in the wind, Farrington could not say; he could only conjecture.
Dr. Fall, searching the downs with another telescope, was equally in the dark.
“This is the intermediary,” said Farrington at last.
They watched the meeting, saw the exchange of the letters, and Farrington uttered a curse. Then suddenly he saw the other leap upon Poltavo and witnessed the brief struggle on the ground. Saw the glitter of handcuffs and turned with a white face to the doctor.
“My God!” he whispered. “Trapped!”
For the space of a few seconds they looked one at the other.
“Will he betray us?” asked Farrington, voicing the unspoken thoughts of Fall.
“He will betray us as much as he can,” said the other. “We must watch and see what happens. If he takes him into town, we are lost.”
“Is there any sign of police?” asked Farrington.
They scanned the horizon, but there was no evidence of a lurking force, and they turned to watch T. B. Smith and his prisoner making their slow way across the downs. For five minutes they stood watching, then Fall uttered an exclamation.
“They are going to the cottage!” he said, and again the men’s eyes met.
“Impossible,” said Farrington, but there was a little glint in his eye which spoke of the hope behind the word.
Again an interval of silence. Three pairs of eyes followed the men.
“It is the cottage!” said Fall. “Quick!”
In an instant the two men were in the lift and shooting downwards; they did not stop till they reached the basement.
“You have a pistol?” asked Farrington.
Fall nodded. They quitted the lift and walked swiftly along a vaulted corridor, lighted at intervals with lamps set in niches. On their way they passed a door made in the solid wall to their left.
“We must get her out of this, if necessary,” said Farrington in a low voice. “She is not giving any trouble?”
Dr. Fall shook his head.
“A most tactful prisoner,” he said, dryly.
At the end of the corridor was another door. Fall fitted a key and swung open the heavy iron portal and the two men passed through to a darkened chamber. Fall found the switch and illuminated the apartment. It was a little room innocent of windows, and lit as all the rest of the basement was by cornice lamps. In one corner was a grey-painted iron door. This Fall pushed aside on its noiseless runners. There was another elevator here. The two men stepped in and the lift sunk and sunk until it seemed as though it would never come to the end. It stopped at last, and the men stepped out into a rock-hewn gallery.
It was easy to see that this was one of the old disused galleries of the old mine over which the house was built. Fall found the switch he sought and instantly the corridor was flooded with bright light.
On a set of rails which ran the whole length of the gallery to a point which was out of sight from where they stood, was a small trolley. It was unlike the average trolley in that it was obviously electrically driven. A third rail supplied the energy, and the controlling levers were at the driver’s hand.
Farrington climbed to the seat, and his companion followed, and with a whirr of wheels and a splutter of sparks where the motor brush caught the rail, the little trolley drove forward at full speed.
They slowed at the gentle curves, increased speed again when any uninterrupted length of gallery gave them encouragement, and after five minutes’ travel Farrington pulled back the lever and applied the brake. They stepped out into a huge chamber similar to that which they had just left. There was the inevitable lift set, as it seemed, in the heart of the rock, though in reality it was a bricked space. The two men entered and the lift rose noiselessly.
“We will go up slowly,” whispered Fall in the other’s ear; “it will not do to make a noise or to arouse any suspicions; we must not forget that we have T. B. Smith to deal with.”
Farrington nodded, and presently the lift stopped of its own accord. They made no attempt to open whatever door was before them. They could hear voices: one was T. B.’s, and the other was unmistakably Poltavo’s, and Poltavo was speaking.
Poltavo was offering in his eager way to betray the men who sat in the darkness listening to his treachery. They heard the motorcar’s arrival outside, and presently T. B.’s voice announcing his temporary retirement. They heard the slam of the door, and the key click in the lock, and then Dr. Fall stepped forward, pressed a spring in the rough
