That a Park Lane drawing-room should be transformed into the interior of
a log-built house of the Russian steppe was surely unsuspected by any of
those who passed up and down that renowned thoroughfare every day.
The popular idea associated that long row of millionaires' houses facing
Hyde Park with luxuriant saloons, priceless paintings, old Persian
carpets, and exquisite furniture. Who would believe that behind those
windows with their well-kept curtains, and _brise-brise_ of silk and
lace, was a room arranged with such care, with the snowy road and
moonlight shown beyond the false window?
"With what object, I wonder, is all this?" asked Charlie, speaking in an
undertone, as though to himself. There was something weird and uncanny
about the scene with that white streak of brilliance falling like a bar
across the place, an indescribable something which made it plain that
all had been arranged with some evil design by the old man.
No second glance was needed to show that every bit of furniture, and
every article in the place was genuine. They were no stage properties,
but real things, brought from some far-distant spot in Eastern Russia.
But with what motive?
Ay, that was the question!
They had turned, and were about to withdraw from the place, Max leading
the way, when suddenly he halted, for his quick ears caught some sound.
It was a curious, low, whirring noise, followed almost instantly by a
swift swish close to him, so near, indeed, that it caused a current of
air in his face as some object passed him from above.
At the same moment the noise of mechanism ceased.
For a few seconds both intruders hesitated.
Charlie asked breathlessly what it could be, whereupon his friend turned
on the light, and the truth stood revealed.
By an ace he had escaped with his life!
At the door, in order to prevent the egress of any intruder, a cunning
but dastardly mechanical device had been placed. A long iron lever, to
which was attached a keen-edged Japanese cutlass, had come forth from
its hiding-place in the lintel of the door, and, descending with
terrific force, had only just escaped cutting Max down.
Both men saw the means by which old Statham guarded the secret of that
room, and shuddered. To enter was easy, but it was intended that he who
entered might not emerge alive.
Apparently one of the floor boards just within the door was loose, and,
being trodden upon, the weight released the spring or mechanism, and the
razor-edged cutlass shot forth with murderous force.
"By Jove!" gasped Charlie. "I had no idea the old man set traps for the
unwary. We'd better be careful!"
"Yes. That was indeed a narrow escape!" whispered Max. "It would have
been certain death. Let's get out of it."
The steel lever was down, the point of the cutlass touching the floor.
Therefore they were both compelled to step over the death-trap in order
to leave the remarkable apartment.
Then with careful hands Charlie tried the next door. It was locked.
Brief examination showed it to be the door of the back drawing-room,
which had been thrown into the larger room with the mysterious purpose
of constructing that striking rural interior.
So they crossed to the third door, on the opposite side of the landing,
and, with greatest caution lest another pitfall should lurk there,
opened it.
That night of investigation was full of surprises.
The instant Max flashed on his light the pair drew back with low
exclamations of horror.
The small apartment was unfurnished. It contained only one object--
gruesome and unexpected. In the centre of the place, upon the black
trestles, stood a coffin of polished oak with shining electro handles
and fittings.
The lid, they noticed, was screwed down. Was it possible that it
contained an unburied corpse. Did that white-enamelled door upon the
stairs conceal from the world the evidence of a crime?
For a moment both men stood in that bare, uncarpeted room, rooted to the
spot.
The secret of Sam Statham stood revealed.
Then with a sudden effort Charlie crept forward, nearer the coffin, and
read upon its plate the words, plainly engraved: