a murderer, a forger and a bank
robber, so far as I know." He smiled. "Yes, I was an interested listener
to your conversation with Fall. I have all sorts of weird instruments
here by which I can pick up unguarded items of talk, but fortunately I
have no need to be informed on this subject. I have as complete a record
of your past as our friend Smith, and I tell you, Poltavo, that whilst I
am willing that you shall be my agent, and that you shall profit
enormously by working hand in hand with me, I would sooner see myself
dead than I should hand Doris over to your tender mercies."

An ugly smile played about the lips of Poltavo.

"That is your last word?" he asked.

"That is my last word," said Farrington; "if you will be advised by me,
you will let the matter stand where it is. Leave things as they are,
Poltavo. You are on the way to making a huge fortune; do not let this
absurd sentiment, or this equally absurd ambition of yours, step in and
spoil everything."

"And whatever happens you would never allow Doris to marry me?"

"That is exactly what I meant, and exactly what I still say," said
Farrington, firmly.

"But, suppose,"--Poltavo's hands caressed his little moustache, and he
was smiling wickedly,--"suppose I force your hand?"

Farrington's eyebrows rose. "How?" he demanded.

"Suppose I take advantage of the fact that Miss Doris Gray, an
impressionable young English girl, receptive to sympathetic admiration
and half in love with me--suppose, I say, I took advantage of this fact,
and we marry in the face of your will?"

"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, pa