first
floor; and another--that was the ground floor, but still the lift did
not stop. It went on falling slowly, evenly, without jar or haste, and
suddenly it came to a stop before a door made of a number of thin steel
bars placed horizontally. As the lift stopped, the steel-barred doorway
opened noiselessly. All Poltavo's senses were now alert; he, a past
master in the art of treachery, had been at last its victim. He did not
leave the tiny lift for a moment, but prepared for eventualities. He
took a pencil out of his pocket and wrote rapidly on the wooden
panelling of the elevator, and then he stepped out into the
semi-darkness. He saw a large apartment, a bed and chair, and above a
large table one dim light. A number of switches on the wall facing him
promised further illumination. Anyway, if the worst came to the worst,
he could find a way by the lift well to safety again. He searched his
pockets with feverish haste. He usually carried one or two pistol
cartridges in case of necessity, and he was rewarded, for, in his top
waistcoat pocket, he discovered two nickel-pointed shapes. Hastily he
removed the dummy magazine from the butt of his pistol. The removal of
the magazine must have been effected by his servant, and the servant,
now he came to give the matter consideration, was possibly in the pay of
Farrington, and had probably warned the occupants of the Secret House of
Poltavo's departure.

It was but natural that the big man would take no chances, and Poltavo
cursed himself for a fool for allowing himself to be lured into a sense
of security. He stepped out of the lift; there was enough light to guide
him across the room. He reached the switchboard and pulled one of the
little levers. Three lights appeared at the far end of the room; he
pulled over the rest and the room was brilliantly illuminated.

It was an underground chamber, with red, distempered walls, artistically
furnished. The small bed in the corner was of brass; the air was
conveyed to his gloomy chamber by means of ventilators placed at
intervals in the wall.

Not an uncomfortable prison, thought Poltavo. He was making his
inspection when he heard a clang, and swung round. The steel door of the
lift had closed and he reached it just in time to see the floor of the
little cage ascending out of sight. He cursed himself again for his
insensate folly; he might have fixed the door with a chair; it was an
elementary precaution to take, but he had not re