“I guessed that much,” said T. B. “Do you realize that you might have made a fortune as a practical electrician?”
Farrington smiled.
“I very much doubt it,” he said coolly; “but my career and my wasted opportunities are of less interest to me at the moment than my future and yours. What are you going to do?”
T. B. smiled.
“I am going to do nothing,” he said cheerfully, “unless it be that I am going to die, for I can imagine no circumstance or danger that threatens me or those I love best which would induce me to loose upon the world such dangerous criminals as yourself and your fellow-murderers. Your time has come, Farrington. Whether my time comes a little sooner or later does not alter the fact that you are within a month of your own death, whether you kill me or whether you let me go.”
“You are a bold man to tell me that,” said Farrington between his teeth.
T. B. saw from a glance at the blanched faces of the men that his words had struck home.
“If you imagine you can escape,” T. B. went on unconcernedly, “why, I think you are wasting valuable time which might be better utilized, for every moment of delay is a moment nearer to the gallows for both of you.”
“My friend, you are urging your own death,” said Fall.
“As to that,” said T. B., shrugging his shoulders, “I have no means of foretelling, because I cannot look into the future any more than you, and if it is the will of Providence that I should die in the execution of my duty, I am as content to do so as any soldier upon the battlefield, for it seems to me,” he continued half to himself, “that the arrayed enemies of society are more terrible, more formidable, and more dangerous than the massed enemies that a soldier is called upon to confront. They are only enemies for a period; for a time of madness which is called ‘war’; but you in your lives are enemies to society for all time.”
Fall exchanged glances with his superior, and Farrington nodded.
The doctor leant down and picked up the leather helmet, and placed it with the same tender care that he had displayed before over the head of his previous victim.
“I give you three minutes to decide,” said Farrington.
“You are wasting three minutes,” said the muffled voice of T. B. from under the helmet.
Nevertheless Farrington took out his watch and held it in his unshaking palm; for the space of a hundred and eighty seconds there was no sound in the room save the loud ticking of the watch.
At the end of that time he replaced it in his pocket.
“Will you agree to do as I ask?” he said.
“No,” was the reply with undiminished vigour.
“Let him have it,” said Farrington savagely.
Dr. Fall put up his hand to the switch, and as he did so the lights flickered for a moment and slowly their brilliancy diminished.
“Quick,” said Farrington, and the doctor brought the switch over just as the lights went out.
T. B. felt a sharp burning sensation that thrilled his whole being and then lost consciousness.
XXI
There was a group of police officers about the gates of the Secret House as the car bearing Ela and the woman came flying up.
The detective leapt out.
“They have taken T. B.,” he said. He addressed a divisional inspector, who was in charge of the corps.
“Close up the cordon,” he went on, “and all men who are armed follow me.”
He raced up the garden path, but it was not toward the Secret House that he directed his steps; he made a detour through a little plantation to the power house.
A man stood at the door, a grimy-faced foreign workman who scowled at the intruders. He tried to pull the sliding doors to their place, but Ela caught the blue-coated man under the jaw and sent him sprawling into the interior.
In an instant the detective was inside, confronting more scowling workmen. A tall, good-looking man of middle age, evidently a decent artisan, was in control, and he came forward, a spanner in his hand, to repel the intruders.
But the pistol Ela carried was eloquent of his earnestness.
“Stand back,” he said. “Are you in charge?”
The detective spoke Italian fluently.
“What does this mean, signor?” asked the foreman.
“It means that I give you three minutes to stop the dynamo.”
“But that is impossible,” said the other. “I cannot stop the dynamo; it is against all orders.”
“Stop that dynamo,” hissed Ela between his teeth. “Stop it at once, or you are a dead man.”
The man hesitated, then walked to the great switchboard, brilliant with a score of lights.
“I will not do it,” he said sulkily. “There is the signal; give it yourself.”
A little red lamp suddenly glowed on the marble switchboard.
“What is that?” asked Ela.
“That is a signal from the lower rooms,” said the man sullenly; “they want more power.”
Ela turned on the man with a snarl, raised his pistol and there was murder in his eyes.
“Mercy!”
