Farrington was in the room now, Farrington with his trusty lieutenant, and behind them the one-eyed Italian desperado whom Poltavo remembered seeing in the power house one day, when he had been allowed the privilege of inspection.
Some slight change had been made in the room since he was there last. Poltavo’s nerves were in such a condition that he was sensitive to this variation. He saw now what the change was. The table had been drawn back leaving the chair where it was fixed.
Yes, it was a fixed chair, he remembered that and wondered why it had been screwed to the wood block floor. Dr. Fall and the engineer grasped him roughly and hurried him across the room, thrusting him into the chair.
“What are you going to do?” asked Poltavo, white as death.
“That you shall see.”
Deftly they strapped him to the chair; his wrists and elbows were securely fastened to the arms, and his ankles to the legs of the massive piece of furniture.
From where he sat Poltavo confronted Farrington, but the big man’s mask-like face did not move, nor his eyes waver as he surveyed his treacherous prisoner. Then Fall knelt down and did something, and Poltavo heard the ripping and tearing of cloth.
They were slitting up each trouser leg, and he could not understand why.
“Is this a joke?” he asked with a desperate attempt at airiness.
No reply was made. Poltavo watched his captors curiously. What was the object of it all? The two men busy at the chair lifted a number of curious-looking objects from the floor; they clamped one on each wrist, and he felt the cold surface of some instrument pressing against each calf. Still he did not realize the danger, or the grim determination of these men whose secret he would have betrayed.
“Mr. Farrington,” he appealed to the big man, “let us have an understanding. I have played my game and lost.”
“You have indeed,” said Farrington.
They were the first words he had spoken.
“Give me enough to get out of the country,” Poltavo appealed, “just the money that I have in my pocket, and I promise you that I will never trouble you again.”
“My friend,” said Farrington, “I have trusted you too long. You forced yourself upon me when I did not desire you, you thwarted me at every turn, you betrayed me whenever it was possible to betray me, or whenever it was to your advantage to do so, and I am determined that you shall have no other chance of doing me an injury.”
“What is this foolery?” asked Poltavo, in a mixture of blind fear and rage. They had unlocked the handcuffs and taken them off him, and now for the first time Poltavo noticed that the curious bronze clamps on his wrists were attached by thick green cords to a plug in the wall.
He shrieked aloud as he saw this, and the full horror of the situation flashed upon him.
“My God,” he screamed, “you are not going to kill me?”
Farrington nodded slowly.
“We are going to kill you painlessly, Poltavo,” he said. “It was your life or ours. We do not desire to cause you unnecessary suffering, but here is the end of the adventure for you, my friend.”
“You are not going to electrocute me?” croaked the man in the chair, in a hoarse cracked voice. “Don’t say that you are going to electrocute me, Farrington! It is diabolical, it is terrible. Give me a chance of life! Give me a pistol, give me a knife, but fight me fair. Treat me as you will; hand me to the police, anything but this; for God’s sake, Farrington, don’t do this!”
The doctor reached down and lifted a leather helmet from the floor and placed it gently over the doomed man’s head.
“Don’t do it, Farrington.” Poltavo’s muffled voice came painfully from behind the leather screen. “Don’t! I swear I will not betray you.”
Farrington made a little signal and the doctor walked to the wall and placed his hand upon a black switch.
“I will not betray you,” said the man in the chair in hollow tones. “Give me a chance. I will not tell them anything that you—”
He did not speak again, for the black switch had been pressed down and death came with merciful swiftness.
They stood watching the figure. A slight quivering of the hands and then Farrington nodded and the doctor turned the switch over again.
Rapidly they unfastened the straps, and the limp thing which was once human, with a brain to think and a capacity for life and love, slipped out of the chair in an inanimate heap upon the ground.
So passed Ernesto Poltavo, an adventurer and a villain, in the prime of his life.
Farrington looked down upon the body with sombre eyes and shrugged his shoulders.
He had opened his mouth to speak and Fall had walked to the switchboard and was about to put the deadly apparatus out of gear, when a sharp voice made them both turn.
“Hands up!” it said.
The stone door, through which Poltavo had passed to his doom from the corridor without, was wide open, and in the doorway stood T. B. and a little behind him Ela, and in T. B.’s hand was a pistol.
XX
T. B. Smith’s inspection of the Secret House had yielded nothing satisfactory; he had not expected that it would; he was perfectly satisfied that the keen, shrewd brains which dominated the ménage would remove any trace there was of foul play.
“Where now?” asked Ela, as they turned out of the house.
“Back to Moor Cottage,” said T. B., climbing into the car. “I am certain that we are on the verge of our big discovery. There is a way out of the cottage by some underground chamber, a way by which first Lady Constance and then Poltavo were smuggled, and if it is necessary I am going to smash every panel in those two ground
