ow?"

"Montague Fallock is an inmate of the Secret House," said T. B.

"It seems pretty easy to take him, does it not?" asked Sir George, in
surprise. "Have you moved in the matter?"

T. B. shook his head.

"It is not so easy as you imagine," he said. "The Secret House contains
more secrets than we can at present unravel. It was built, evidently and
obviously, by a man of extraordinary mechanical genius as Farrington
was, and the primary object with which it was built was to enable him on
some future occasion to make his escape. I am perfectly certain that any
attempt to raid the house would result immediately in the bird flying.
We have got to wait patiently."

"What I cannot understand," said his chief, after awhile, "is why he
should make a dramatic exit from the world."

"That is the easiest of all to explain," smiled T. B. "He was scared; he
knew that I identified him with the missing Fallock; he knew, too, that
I strongly suspected him of the murder of the two men in Brakely Square.
Don't you see the whole thing fits together? He imported from various
places on the Continent, and at various periods, workmen of every kind
to complete the house at Great Bradley. Although he began his work
thirty years ago, the actual finishing touches have not been made until
within the last few years. Those finishing touches were the most
essential. I have discovered that the two men who were shot in Brakely
Square, were separately and individually employed in making certain
alterations to the house and installing certain machinery.

"One was a young architect, the other was a general utility man. They
were unknown to each other; each did his separate piece of work and was
sent back to his native land. By some mischance they succeeded in
discovering who their employer was, and they both arrived, unfortunately
for them, simultaneously at the door of Fallock or Farrington's house
with the object of blackmailing him. Farrington overheard the
conversation; he admitted as much.

"He stood at the door, saw them flourishing their pistols and thought it
was an excellent opportunity to rid himself of a very serious danger. He
shot them from the doorway, closed the doorway behind him, and returned
the revolver to its drawer in his study, and came down in time to meet
the policeman with energetic protestations of his terror. I smelt the
powder when I went into the house; there is no mistaking the smell of
cordite fired in so confined