The unknown seven A detective story
some time, and of late he had noticed a change in him. He understood
now why the professor had seemed excited and ill at ease the last few
days. His comings and goings had been more frequent and there had been
several signs of something unusual on foot about the house on Bleecker
Street.
“So that you may feel quite reassured in the matter,” Carlin went on,
“let me tell you that Mr. Reeves is under excellent care. A specialist
is studying his condition, and there’s a chance, though a very remote
one, that he may recover his mental faculties, wholly or in part. If he
does, I fancy he will have a very entertaining story to tell.”
He looked sharply at Cole just then, as if trying to measure the effect
of his words, but Cole’s face showed nothing but deep thought. He had
obtained a glimpse into the working methods of The Unknown Seven, and
he had found fresh proof of the efficiency and the resources of the
organization. A splitter of hairs might not have found its methods
strictly legal, but there was such a thing as the end justifying
the means. Quite likely Carlin was right in saying that Reeves had
been rescued from certain death at the hands of Professor Carmody.
Probably, too, a great deal more could be accomplished by this informal
course of procedure than by strict adherence to the letter of the law.
Cole was so deeply impressed that for the moment he forgot that he was
under suspicion.
“If Reeves ever tells his story, I’d like to be there,” he declared.
“You may have an opportunity to do so,” dryly remarked the lawyer.
“Until we have satisfied ourselves on one or two little points we shall
have to ask you to remain here as our guest. In the meantime——”
A medley of mutters and hushed exclamations interrupted him.
Instinctively Cole glanced at the indicator. A tongue of green flame
was shooting up and down in the glass globe. Fascinated, he watched the
darting flashes.
“Get back!” ordered Carlin, waving a hand at the men who stood huddled
into a knot before the indicator. In his other hand gleamed the barrel
of a pistol. Cole admired the ease and coolness with which he was
taking charge of the situation. Following the direction of his pointing
finger, the men crowded into a corner of the room. Miss Brown followed
them, and, as she crossed the floor, she gave Cole a glance that
stabbed within him.
Carlin touched a button; the room went dark. Keeping Cole close at his
side he took up a position a few feet in front of the others. “I must
warn you not to move,” he whispered in Cole’s ear.
“Have no fear,” Cole whispered back. “I’m as anxious to see this
through as you can possibly be.”
The lawyer’s strategy was simple. If the intruder’s aim was to get
hold of some of the documents in the filing cases he would probably
come straight to this room. The fact that he had mastered the mechanism
of the elevator and the hidden door seemed to indicate that he was
fairly well familiar with the lay of the establishment. Evidently the
lawyer’s plan was to catch him red-handed and take him by surprise.
Cole was conscious of a growing disquietude as he stood beside the
lawyer, looking in the direction of the door through which the intruder
must pass. He had a hazy feeling that Carlin’s plan was too simple, but
he could not tell exactly what was wrong with it. Not a sound was heard
in the room. The door had been left open a crack, and a narrow wedge of
light filtered in, but most of the room was an impenetrable blur.
A minute passed. In vain Cole strained his ears to catch the sound of
approaching footsteps. His uneasiness grew, but he could not understand
why. As if his misgivings had been communicated to the lawyer, the
latter mumbled something under his breath. The moments flew, and still
no sound was heard in the corridor. Either the intruder’s footfalls
were thoroughly muffled, or else——
Cole did not finish the thought. A vagrant suspicion held his senses
spellbound. For a moment longer he listened for footfalls that did not
come, and then his vague apprehensions crystallized in a flash. He
gripped the lawyer’s arm so violently that Carlin gasped.
“You were wrong!” he whispered hoarsely. “The fellow isn’t after any
papers. He came here to get Reeves.”
Cole, with his hand tightly gripping Carlin’s arm, felt a sudden shock
shooting through the man at his side. In a twinkling the lawyer seemed
to have grasped his meaning. Now, muttering something, he sprang
forward. In an instant the lights were on again, and Carlin was running
toward the door. Cole followed, but in a moment the two men came to a
dead stop.
A short, piercing cry sounded. It died abruptly, leaving a curious
emptiness in the air. The two men stared at each other, and Cole saw a
gray film creep over the lawyer’s face.
“Too late!” he exclaimed.
CHAPTER X
PURSUIT
The scream had ended with a certain grim abruptness that to the
listeners could mean only one thing. It had seemed to stop in the
middle; yet it had been punctuated with an ominous finality. It was as
if death itself had stepped in and placed an exclamation point after an
unfinished cry.
Then came utter silence. It seemed as though every sound and every
breath of life had been sucked out of the air. Carlin, his lips drawn
apart at one side, looked fixedly at the door. His head, shoulders and
chest were straining forward; he appeared to be maintaining his balance
by sheer mental tension. A few moments passed, and then Cole shook
himself free of the insidious horror that attacks even the strongest.
Less than thirty seconds had elapsed since the cry sounded.
“Where is he?” he asked, shaking the lawyer’s arm.
“He?” Carlin seemed to be trying to shake off a spell. “Oh, Reeves, you
mean. Back there.” He pointed indefinitely toward the corridor.
“Brace up, man!” Cole shouted. “Go to him. Maybe something can be done.
Hurry!”
He bounded to the door and out in the hall. His words had voiced a hope
that he did not feel. The cry had told him only too eloquently that
Reeves was beyond help. But there might still be time to catch the
murderer, if he made haste. Heedless of Carlin’s belated shout to him
to stop, he hurried down the long and dimly-lighted corridor. Confused
cries and scurrying footfalls sounded behind him, signifying that the
others had come out of their temporary stupor.
Cole shut his ears to the bedlam. All he saw and heard was a shadow
darting toward the end of the hall and a patter of swift feet. At the
farther end of the corridor, at the point where Miss Brown and himself
had entered the headquarters of The Unknown Seven, was an opening. He
came up to it just in time to see the fleeing shadow slip through.
“Stop, or I’ll wing you!” he cried, jerking his pistol out of his hip
pocket, but the fugitive paid no heed. Crouching low, he ran with
zigzagging motions across the open space toward the elevator shaft.
Cole aimed low and pulled the trigger. The bullet thudded against the
flagged flooring, and through the smoke he saw the fugitive spring into
the cage. Already the door was clanking shut. He plunged forward and
kicked his foot into the opening, just in time to stop the sliding door
from closing. He caught a glimpse of a stiff felt hat, a sallow face
with a mocking grin, a lean and slightly hunchbacked figure, and then
the cage shot downward.
Cole, standing with his right foot caught between the door and the
steel jamb, muttered a malediction, but it was aimed mostly at himself.
The little hunchback had eluded him with an agility that aroused his
admiration, even while it made him grit his teeth. He flung the
door wide open. Only a few moments had passed since the cage started
downward, and it had not got far. There was something tantalizing about
the swiftness with which it increased the distance between himself and
the fleeing man.
For a moment Cole gauged his chances. He gazed at two sets of cables
that glided up and down inside the shaft. His next move would have
seemed foolhardy to an onlooker, but Cole had carefully measured the
risk. It was one of those tense moments in which the mind leaps quickly
to decisions. The time it took him to determine what to do was only a
matter of seconds.
He flexed his muscles and then he leaped. For an instant his form
hurtled through space, then his hands closed tightly around the
downward gliding cable. He wound his legs about it and clamped it
between his feet. The swift descent made him feel as if he were sucking
ice-cold air into his lungs. The cage, some twenty-five or thirty feet
below, was dropping like a rock, but now Cole was following at an equal
rate of progress.
Ten floors slipped past, then fifteen, finally twenty. Cole’s hands
were raw and bleeding. Hot and cold flashes were chasing up and down
his back. His lungs were straining, and a treacherous numbness was
creeping into his limbs. He looked down at the roof of the cage and
smiled. No doubt the fleeing man felt that his escape was already as
good as accomplished.
The cage stopped so suddenly that the vibration of the cable almost
made Cole lose his hold. He slipped a little farther down, then
checked his descent opposite the level of the second floor. The shaft
was narrow, and he could easily reach the door with one hand, while he
clung to the cable with the other. Installed for private and secret
use the elevator equipment lacked several safety devices that would
have acted as a hindrance to Cole. As it was the door slid open easily.
Seizing the jamb with one hand he swung free of the cable and landed on
the floor.
He felt a trifle dizzy, but the thrill of pursuit acted as a stimulant.
Just around the shaft was a stairway, and he hurried down. Only a few
moments ago a metallic clanking had signified that the fugitive was
getting out of the cage. As Cole reached the lower steps he saw a long
open space in front of him, and at its farther end he caught a glimpse
of the hunchback, slipping out through the door. His ears caught
the sound of throbbing motors, warning him that a car was waiting
outside to speed the fugitive to safety. Conscious of nothing but the
exhilaration of the hunter he bounded to the door and emerged on the
sidewalk, just as a tail light gave him a mocking wink and disappeared
around the corner.
There was a fine mist in the air. On all sides the tops of the tall
office buildings reared their heads in a translucent haze. The streets,
which in the daytime swarmed with humanity, were now deserted. Cole
guessed that it must be about two o’clock, but he did not take time to
look at his watch. The taunt of the tail light egged him on. He threw
his head back and his chest out and broke into a sprint. Rounding the
corner at full speed he once more caught a glimpse of the jeering tail
light. But it was only a glimpse, for a moment later it was out of
sight.
Cole tried to run faster, but he realized that, unless something
unforeseen happened, he was running a losing race. The car had the
advantage in speed and endurance. With scarcely a stop, save for the
possible interference of a traffic officer, it might travel all the way
from one end of Manhattan to the other. He kept up the pursuit only
because he hated to cry quits. Besides, as long as he could continue
the chase, there was always the possibility that chance might come to
his aid.
Once more he caught sight of the tail light, this time quite a distance
ahead. Letting out the final ounce of energy he succeeded in quickening
his speed a little. He ran and ran, but his breathing became alarmingly
heavy. It would not be long before his wind gave out, but at least he
would have the satisfaction of knowing that he had done his best. His