"Now, my friend," said T. B., "we have a chance of mutual understanding. I do not wish to disguise from you the fact that you are liable to a very heavy sentence. That you are only an agent I am aware, but in this particular case you were acting entirely on your own account. You have made elaborate and thorough preparations for leaving England." Poltavo smiled. "That is true," he said, frankly. T. B. nodded. "I have seen your trunks all beautifully new, and imposingly labelled," he smiled, "and I have searched them." Poltavo sat, his elbows on his knees, reflectively smoothing his moustache with his manacled hands. "Is there any way I can get out of this?" he asked, after a while. "You can make things much easier for yourself," replied T. B. quietly. "In what way?" "By telling me all you know about Farrington and giving me any information you can about the Secret House. Where, for instance, is Lady Constance Dex?" The other shrugged his shoulders. "She is alive, I can tell you that. I had a letter from Fall in which he hinted as much. I do not know how they captured her, or the circumstances of the case. All I can tell you is that she is perfectly well and being looked after. You see Farrington had to take her--she shot at him once--hastened his disappearance in fact, and there was evidence that she was planning further reprisals. As to the mysteries of the Secret House," he said, frankly, "I know little or nothing. Farrington, of course, is----" "Montague Fallock," said T. B. quietly. "I know that also." "Then what else do you want to know?" asked the other, in surprise. "I am perfectly willing, if you can make it easy for me, to tell you everything. The man who is known as Moole is a half-witted old farm labourer who was picked up by Farrington some years ago to serve his purpose. He is the man who unknowingly poses as a millionaire. It is his estate which Farrington is supposed to be administering. You see," he explained, "this rather takes off the suspicion which naturally attaches to a house which nobody visits, and it gives the inmates a certain amount of protection." "That I understand," said T. B.; "it is, as you say, an ingenious idea--what of Fall?" Poltavo shrugged his shoulders. "You know as much of him as I. There are, however, many things which you may not know," he went on slowly, "and of these there is one which you would pay a high price to learn. You will never take Farrington." "May I ask why?" asked T. B. interestedly. "That is my secret," said the other; "that is the secret I am willing to sell you." "And the price?" asked T. B. after a pause.