"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——"