Apparently they all worked on the pick system, a method which medieval conspirators favoured, and which the Italian workmen probably imported from the land of their birth; a land which has given the world the Borgias and the Medicis and the Visconti.
“Stay here,” said T. B. in a low voice, and Lady Constance shrank back against the wall.
Ela pressed in his little needle and again the result was satisfactory. The door opened slowly and T. B. stepped in.
He stood for a moment trying to understand all that the terrible scene signified. The limp body on the floor; the two remorseless men standing close by; Farrington with folded arms and his eye glowering down upon the dead man at his feet. Fall at the switchboard.
Then T. B.’s revolver rose swiftly.
“Hands up!” he said.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the room was plunged in darkness, his companion was flung violently backward as the electrical control came into operation and the door slammed in Ela’s face. He pressed it without avail. He brought to his aid the little needle, but this time the lock would not move.
Ela’s face went chalk white.
“My God!” he gasped, “they’ve got T. B.!”
He stood for a moment in indecision. He had visualized the scene and knew what fate would befall his chief.
“Back to the gallery,” he said harshly, and led the way, holding the woman’s arm in support. He found his way without difficulty to the lift, sprang into it, after Lady Constance, and pressed the button. … Now they were speeding along the sparking rail … now they were in the lift rising swiftly to the room in Moor Cottage. T. B.’s car was outside.
“You had better come with me,” said Ela quickly.
Lady Constance jumped into the car after him.
“To the Secret House,” said Ela to the chauffeur, and as the car drove forward he turned to the woman at his side.
“I will put you amongst your friends in a few moments,” he said; “at present I dare not risk the loss of a second.”
“But what will they do?”
“I pretty well know what they will do,” said Ela grimly. “Farrington is playing his last hand, and T. B. Smith is to be his last victim.”
In the darkness of the underground chamber T. B. faced his enemies, striving to pierce the gloom, his finger in position upon the delicate trigger of his automatic pistol.
“Do not move,” he said softly; “I will shoot without any hesitation.”
“There is no need to shoot,” said the suave voice of the doctor; “the lights went out, quite by accident, I assure you, and you and your friends have no need to fear.”
T. B. groped his way along the wall, his revolver extended. In the gloom he felt rather than saw the bulky figure of the doctor and reached out his hand gingerly.
Then something touched the outstretched palm, something that in ordinary circumstances might have felt like the rough points of a bass broom. T. B. was flung violently backwards and fell heavily to the ground.
“Get him into the chair quick,” he heard Farrington’s voice say. “That was a good idea of yours, doctor.”
“Just a sprayed wire,” said Dr. Fall complacently; “it is a pretty useful check upon a man. You took a wonderful assistant when you pressed electricity to your aid, Farrington.”
The lights were all on now, and T. B. was being strapped to the chair. He had recovered from the shock, but he had recovered too late. In the interval of his unconsciousness the body of Poltavo had been removed out of his sight. They were doing to him all that they had done to Poltavo. He felt the electrodes at his calf and on his wrists and clenched his teeth, for he knew in what desperate strait he was.
“Well, Mr. Smith,” said Farrington pleasantly, “I am afraid you have got yourself into rather a mess. Where is the other man?” he asked quickly. He looked at Fall, and the doctor returned his gaze.
“I forgot the other man,” said Fall slowly; “in the corridor outside.” He went to the invisible door and it opened at his touch. He was out of the room a few minutes, and returned looking old and drawn.
“He has got away,” he said; “the woman has gone too.”
Farrington nodded.
“What does he matter?” he asked roughly; “they know as much as they are likely to know. Put the control on the door.”
Fall turned over a switch and the other renewed his attention to T. B.
“You know exactly how you are situated, Mr. Smith,” said Farrington, “and now I am going to tell you exactly how you may escape from your position.”
“I shall be interested to learn,” said T. B. coolly, “but I warn you before you tell me that if my escape is contingent upon your own, then I am afraid I am doomed to dissolution.”
The other nodded.
“As you surmise,” he said, “your escape is indeed contingent upon mine and that of my friends. My terms to you are that you shall pass me out of England. I know you are going to tell me that you have not the power, but I am as well acquainted with the extraordinary privileges of your department as you are. I know that you can take me out of the Secret House and land me in Calais tomorrow morning, and there is not one man throughout the length and breadth of England who will say you nay. I offer you your life on condition that you do this, otherwise—”
“Otherwise?” asked T. B.
“Otherwise I shall kill you,” said Farrington briefly, “just as I killed Poltavo. You are the worst
