The double dagger or, Nat Ridley's Mexican trail
"Guess I'll give that merry party the once over," decided the detective
as the noise of laughter, singing, and the tinkle of glasses and
bottles became more distinct. "I might pick up some information."
Keeping close to the wall and treading softly, at the same time casting
a look behind him now and then to make sure he was not followed, Nat
advanced toward that part of the cellar whence issued the noise of
merrymaking.
It came from what seemed to be a wine vault, but in which a table was
set with food, and about this were grouped a number of men and women
who were evidently servants of the club.
At this hour of the morning their duties were pretty much over, and it
was plain that they had gathered to enjoy, though in a more limited
way, the same fun as that indulged in by the patrons upstairs.
"I don't believe I care to mingle with them," thought Nat. "It might
arouse suspicion. But it's queer they don't go up to see what all that
row is over their heads."
For the Cordova Club seemed undergoing a raid or something of that
sort. Men and women were rushing about and occasionally a shot was
fired. The band had stopped playing, and Nat could only account for the
indifference of the servants on the assumption that they were used to
all sorts of queer antics on the part of the jazz-mad patrons.
"They don't want to mix in it," reasoned Nat.
He turned aside from the room where the early morning meal was in
progress, and started back the other way. As he turned a corner he
collided, full tilt, with a man.
In an instant Nat had his automatic out and pressed it against the
stranger's ribs, with a whispered order to keep silent. But in the
light that filtered around the turn in the corridor, the sleuth saw
that he had little to fear from the unknown.
He was an old man with white hair and a bent and stooped
back--evidently an aged servant, perhaps the keeper of the hidden store
of wine and liquor.
"Pardon, señor," said the old man in a low voice. "It was my fault--I
did not see you coming."
"Nor I you," admitted Nat, glad that the fellow spoke English. Then
with a happy thought the detective added: "El Capitan sent me----"
He let the sentence end there. It was better not to be too explicit.
And, in a manner of speaking, El Capitan had sent Nat to the cellar.
For had not the messenger made the disclosure, and had not the former
army officer made so threatening a gesture, Nat would still be upstairs.
"Ah, El Capitan--yes, señor. He sends many down here. You are welcome."
Nat was wondering what the answer was to this when the old man whom the
detective had released from the first grip he had taken on his arm,
walked away, making a sign to Nat to follow.
"I wonder where he wants to take me?" mused the sleuth, and he was in
half a mind to refuse to go. But then he wanted to get out of this
cellar before those above discovered that he had come down, and he
thought the old man might show him an exit.
But the man had something else in view, for, muttering to himself, he
led the way until he stopped before a small room fitted with a small
table and two chairs. The table was set for a meal, though there were
no viands on it.
"Pleased to be seated, señor," invited the old man with a deferential
bow. "I will order the food prepared. Doubtless the lady will be here
soon?"
It was a question, and Nat could not conceal his surprise as he asked:
"What lady?"
"Why, señor, the one you are to dine with."
"I haven't any appointment to dine here with a lady," said Nat, with a
grim smile. "There must be some mistake."
"Pardon, señor, no mistake," murmured the old man. "El Capitan said he
would send to me this evening an Americano who would dine in seclusion
with a lady. I made ready this rendezvous, and you come. I but ask
where the lady is."
"And I tell you--" began Nat, and then he held his tongue. He began to
see it now. Doubtless the Mexican had plans concerning another American
and things had gone wrong. The old servant had naturally supposed Nat
was the one expected.
"Let it ride that way," decided the sleuth. "I may find out something
this way. I'm taken for somebody else. Well, I'll play the game." Then
to the old man he said: "The lady--she will be here soon. Get the food
ready. And show me the way out--I mean how to emerge without the need
of climbing the stairs."
"Of a surety, señor, yes, there is another way out. See, you have
but to press here," and he indicated a certain stone in the cellar
wall, leaning against it. At once what seemed to be a section of the
foundation swung back and a short flight of steps was disclosed.
"So that's the way out?" asked Nat.
"That is the way out, after one has dined here with the lady," said the
old man, smiling.
Nat watched him walk out and along the cellar, doubtless toward the
kitchen, for the smell of cooking was plain to the nose of the sleuth.
Nat looked about the room. Aside from the secret staircase, the opening
to which had been closed, there was nothing about it different from
other basement rooms, many of which are used in New York for night
clubs.
"All the same I want to see if I can work that secret door," murmured
Nat. He found, to his satisfaction, that the operation was simple once
it was known what stone to press, and he opened and closed the stone
door.
Then, desiring to make sure he was not being spied upon, the detective
stepped outside the private room. He moved a little away from the
entrance and as he did so he heard, near at hand, a girl's voice crying:
"Oh, don't! Don't strike me again! I can't stand it!"
The heavy tones of a negro woman snarled:
"I's done got to beat yo' ef yo' don't sign dem papers for de captain!
Stand up now an' take yo' medicine!"
"No! No!" pleaded the other voice.
Nat Ridley leaped into action. The voices seemed to come from behind
the cellar wall, but he flashed his light and saw a heavy wooden door
in the wall near the door of the private room.
It was the work of but a moment for the detective to swing back the
door, which was closed but not locked, and then he found himself
looking into a veritable stone dungeon, in the middle of which knelt a
beautiful, blonde girl.
Standing over her, with a blacksnake whip upraised, was a powerful
negro wench.
"Don't! Don't beat me again!" pleaded the girl. But the lash fell with
stinging force across her back.
CHAPTER XIV
THE BOMB
"Stop!" cried Nat Ridley in a ringing voice as he leaped forward and
stood in the circle of light cast by an electric bulb suspended from
the ceiling.
"Stop!" he cried again, and the Negress who had raised the lash let
it fall as she turned in astonishment to look at the intruder. "Hit
her again," hissed Nat in a low voice, "and I'll tie you up, you black
wench, and cut you into ribbons with that same whip!" It was no time
for polite talk, the sleuth reasoned.
"Oh, save me! Save me!" pleaded the girl, and she started to crawl
toward Nat, for she had slumped over at the first blow.
"I'll save you all right!" returned Nat grimly, as he took out his
automatic. "What is it all about, anyhow?"
"Oh, I don't know! I was kidnapped a few days ago and brought here to
this terrible place! Some Mexicans visited me several times and wanted
me to sign some papers. When I wouldn't they said they would make me.
And this is the beginning of that, I suppose," the girl sobbed.
"What sort of papers did they want you to sign?" asked Nat, wondering
if he was going to be involved in another mystery. The double dagger
and the oil wells were enough for one man at a time, he thought.
"They were papers--" began the girl, when the Negress who had backed
away at Nat's entrance seemed to recover her courage. She lurched
forward and snarled:
"Keep yo' mouth shet, white girl, ef yo' wants to see daylight ag'in.
Don't talk!"
"Don't mind her," advised Nat. "I am here to help you if I can."
His interference seemed to anger the Negress, for she took a step
nearer her captive, again raising the lash as she exclaimed:
"White man, ef yo' knows whut's good fo' yo', beat it!"
Before the lash could fall Nat Ridley leaped at the hideous black
creature and tore it from her grasp. He brought it down with stinging
force across her shoulders, causing her to scream with pain and rage.
The next moment Nat had put his hand over her mouth, for he did not
want her to give the alarm. With the other hand he caught up a rag he
saw on the floor and in a trice had gagged the Negress.
"Oh, to think I am no longer in her power!" murmured the girl, who rose
to her feet and sat down in one of the chairs. "Can you help me get out
of here?"
"I'm going out myself," declared Nat, "and I'll take you with me. So
that's your game, is it?" he exclaimed as, having gagged the black
woman he leaped aside in time to escape a kick from one of her big feet
clad in a heavy shoe. "Well, I know a trick worth two of yours."
A skillful motion of his foot and he had tripped the wench. She fell
heavily and before she could roll over Nat had tied her hands and feet,
with the long lash of the black snake whip. Then he rolled her into a
corner and proceeded to take stock of the dungeon and the girl captive
he had saved.
"How strong you are!" murmured the girl, clasping her hands. "I never
thought I would be saved. You came in the nick of time."
"You have to--in this business!" returned Nat grimly. "Now then, if you
can tell me something about yourself and why you were brought here,"
he went on, "I may be better able to help you. We can't stay here too
long. I expect some of that crowd will be down before long, looking for
me," and he pointed upward. The noise of the crowd in the Cordova Club
was still audible, though, as yet, none of those from above seemed to
have come down into the basement.
"My name is Cora Ardell," said the girl, who had recovered some of her
composure. "I live in New York, but for the past six months I have been
acting as a stenographer and typist for my cousin in Rolamotaza."
"In Mexico?" asked Nat, as he recognized the name of the town, and also
recalled having seen the name Ardell in some of the Lemberg reports.
"Yes."
"What line of business is your cousin in?" asked Nat.
"He was in the oil business--he owned oil wells," replied Miss Ardell.
"But he doesn't any more."
"Did he sell out?"
"He was killed," was the simple answer.
"Was your cousin's name Carl Lemberg?"
"Why, yes!" exclaimed the girl in surprise. "How did you know!"
"No matter--please answer my questions," said Nat.
"He is my cousin, surely," Miss Ardell answered. "But I didn't mean him
when I said he was killed. I was speaking of his brother Henry. They
are both my cousins, of course. But Carl wasn't killed."
"I am sorry to inform you that he was--a few days ago," said Nat gently.
"What, Carl killed too?" burst out Cora Ardell. "Oh, how terrible! How
did it happen?"
"By the double dagger," whispered Nat, so the negress would not hear.
"The double--" began the girl.
"Hush!" cautioned the sleuth. "She may be listening. Yes, Carl Lemberg
was murdered in New York by the double-dagger gang. They killed Henry,
didn't they, and also August Lemberg?"
"They were both murdered. That is all I know," said the girl. "They had
bought some oil wells in Mexico and, as I was out of a position in New
York, they offered me a good one here. So I came on. Then everything
seemed to happen at once. For several days I noticed that my cousin and
his uncle were worried about certain letters they received. But the
business went on and was paying well. They gave me some shares in the
oil wells in addition to my salary.