"You would be sorry," said Farrington, grimly; "you may be sorry that you even threatened as much."
"I not only threaten," snarled Poltavo, "but I will carry out my threat, and you interfere with me at your peril!" He shook his clenched fist in Farrington's face. The elder man looked at him with a long, earnest glance in which his keen eyes seemed to search the very soul of the Russian.
"I wish this had not happened," he said, half to himself. "I had hoped that there was the making of a useful man in you, Poltavo, but I have been mistaken. I never thought that sentiment would creep in. Is it money—her fortune?" he asked, suddenly.
Poltavo shook his head.
"Curse the money," he said, roughly; "I want the girl. I tell you, Farrington, every day she grows more precious and more desirable to me."
"Other women have become precious and desirable to you," said Farrington in a low, passionate voice, "and they have enjoyed the fleeting happiness of your favour for—how long? Just as long as you wanted, Poltavo, and when you have been satisfied and sated yourself with joy, you have cast them out as they had been nothing to you. I know your record, my man," he said. "All that I want now is to assure myself that you are in earnest, because if you are——" He paused.
"If I am——?" sneered Poltavo.
"You will not leave this house alive," said Farrington.
He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, and the full significance of his speech did not dawn upon the Russian until long after he had said it.
For the space of a second or two his lips were smiling, and then the smile suddenly froze. His hand went back to his hip pocket and reappeared, holding a long-barrelled automatic pistol.