The unknown seven A detective story
“Highly interesting,” remarked Latham, “but I fail to see the point. It
is either very shallow or very deep.”
“Neither, Latham. A little while ago, while you were enacting that
highly dramatic scene for Englebreth’s benefit, I stood back there in
the corner, with my hands behind my back, tapping the wall with my
knuckles. No one noticed me, for you held the attention of everybody
in the room. I didn’t realize what I was doing myself until suddenly I
became aware that my knuckles were producing a hollow sound.”
Doctor Latham gasped. “You mean that——”
“We shall see,” said Cole; and in an instant he was back in the corner,
crouching low while his knuckles hammered the wall, each tap producing
a dull, hollow sound. The doctor, visibly excited, stood behind him,
watching every move he made. Cole continued the tapping until he had
determined the boundaries of the hollow space, extending about five
feet from the corner, and then he got down on his knees and ran his
hands along the beveled joint between wall and floor. A little cry of
elation escaped him as his fingers encountered a small protuberance.
Almost instantly a portion of the wall turned back as if swinging on a
central pivot. In front of them extended a long, dark hall.
“Great!” exclaimed Latham, his voice shaking a little. “You deserve a
harp and a halo, Cole. Now let’s make the hasty exit you spoke of.”
He pressed forward, but Cole pulled him back. “I don’t want a harp
and a halo just yet,” he declared, “and that’s why we are going to
stay in this room a while longer. You forget that it’s still broad
daylight outside. If we went out now, we would doubtless run into one
of Englebreth’s sluggers. We must wait till dark.”
Latham groaned as Cole closed the opening. He glanced at his watch.
“Only half past three. That means a wait of several hours.”
“I know. That will give us ample time to lay our plans. Don’t forget
that we are both unarmed, and that we’ll cut a sorry figure if we
should be caught. We don’t want to waste the only advantage we have.”
“You are right, of course,” admitted the doctor. “What do you suggest?”
Cole reflected. “It isn’t likely Englebreth knows anything about the
hidden exit. If he did, he would have chosen a different cell for us.
We’ll treat him to a little surprise after dark, Latham. Its exact
nature will be determined by whatever developments come along in the
meantime.”
“Wish they would hurry,” mumbled the doctor, all impatience now that
a way out had been found. He sat down, lighted a cigarette, and made
ostentatious efforts to compose himself for a wait. An hour dragged
by. The beam of light coming through the narrow rift in the shutter
grew thin and pale. Another hour passed, and it disappeared altogether.
Latham got up and began pacing the floor with long, lunging strides.
For a long time not a word had been uttered between the two men.
“Isn’t it about time to make a move?” asked Latham suddenly.
Cole started. The subterranean pulsations, sounding clear and exultant
in the stillness, had cast a spell over his senses. Now he looked at
his watch in the light of the electric bulb overhead.
“Better wait another hour,” he suggested.
Doctor Latham swore under his breath, then lighted another cigarette.
“Queer we haven’t heard from Englebreth,” Cole remarked. “I expected
another call from him before dark.”
“He is probably meditating over his next move. I imagine he is planning
a very brilliant stroke. But we’ll checkmate him, eh, Cole?”
Latham’s impatience was beginning to communicate itself to Cole. He
took his watch from his pocket, and in the same instant a noise sounded
outside the door. In a moment it opened, and two huskies, with leveled
automatics, appeared in the room.
“Miss Brownell wants you,” announced one of them, addressing Doctor
Latham.
The physician, evidently in a quandary, looked questioningly at Cole.
For only a moment Cole hesitated. Doubtless the summons meant that
Englebreth was trying a new mode of attack and that the reference to
Miss Brownell was only a subterfuge.
Cole nodded in response to the physician’s unspoken question. “If Miss
Brownell wants you, you must go to her,” he declared, conscious that
one of the guards was watching him intently. In an undertone he added:
“If you get into a pinch, keep stalling till I show up.”
Latham nodded and walked out, accompanied by the two gangsters. Cole
watched him until the door closed behind him.
“Wonder what Englebreth is up to this time,” he muttered; and then,
moving quickly, he stepped into the corner and, opening the hidden
door, stepped out into the dark hall beyond.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE ENEMY STRIKES
Silent as a shadow, Cole hurried down the hall, which seemed to extend
endlessly in an undeviating direction. Believing it had once been used
as an emergency exit he supposed it would eventually lead into the
open. He had made no plans beyond the immediate present, but it was
his intention to join Doctor Latham as soon as possible and, taking
advantage of the sensation his unexpected appearance would create,
make the most of his opportunity. Beyond doubt the physician was in
desperate danger. The murderous glance Englebreth had thrown over his
shoulder as he left them a few hours ago had left an ominous imprint on
Cole’s mind.
Soon he brought up against an obstruction, apparently a blank stretch
of wall. He fumbled with his hands along the surface expecting to find
a contrivance similar to the one at the other end of the wall. Soon
his fingers encountered the little knob at the bottom which told him
his surmise had been correct. Cautiously he pressed outward and the
obstruction gave. A breath of cool night air fanned his face as he
stepped out.
Hugging close to the wall he looked about him. Evidently he was in the
rear of the house, in a wide recess formed by two projecting wings.
Above him and to the sides were several lighted windows, while ahead
of him was a sloping, rock-strewn stretch of landscape. Carefully
picking his way, he stepped along the nearest wall, all his senses
on the alert against an interruption. He reached the corner, looked
around the edge of the wall, and then drew back. A stalwart individual,
evidently one of Englebreth’s lookouts, was coming toward him.
Cole shrank back against the wall, waited until the man rounded the
corner, then swung out with his right hand and landed a smashing blow
on the fellow’s jaw. Without a sound the sentry dropped to the ground,
and Cole dragged him into the shadows along the wall. It took him but a
few moments to undo the man’s shoe laces and secure his hands and feet.
Next he ripped out the lining from his coat, folded it into a narrow
strip, and firmly applied it as a gag. Last of all he extracted an
automatic from the unconscious man’s hip pocket.
“I’m in luck so far,” he told himself, making certain that the weapon
was loaded before he continued his interrupted progress. He breathed
more easily now, for the possession of a firearm had a soothing effect
on his nerves. He crawled forward along the wall, exercising infinite
care, until he reached a window in the wing. It was dark, and no sound
came from within, signifying that this part of the building was not
used by the gang. He placed his elbow against the pane, pressing firmly
until the glass cracked. Dislodging several of the splinters, he pushed
a hand through the opening and released the catch. In a moment he was
inside and began to pick his way cautiously across the floor. At the
farther side he opened a door, traversed another dark and deserted
room, then still another. Soon he found himself in a hall, and after
a glance up and down its length selected a door at random. The moment
he stepped inside voices reached his ears. Along the side, diagonally
across the floor from where he stood, a narrow streak of light showed
the location of the door.
He tiptoed across the floor, placed his hand on the knob, turned it
carefully, and opened the door an infinitesimal crack. In an instant
he recognized the room. It was the office that had been the scene of
his short-lived triumph the night before. Englebreth was seated at
the desk, occupying the same wheel chair in which he had sat while
witnessing Cole’s abortive ruse. The door before which Cole now stood
was the one that had so abruptly opened while he was on the point of
telephoning Carlin. He was vaguely aware that the scene had changed
since last night, but he had no time to observe details. His attention
was instantly engrossed by the little drama taking place before his
eyes.
On a cot placed along the farther side of the room lay Latham, and,
save for an occasional turn of the head, he lay so still that Cole,
although he could not see distinctly, guessed that he must be strapped
to the cot. Over him, bending slightly, with a wicked smile playing
about his bearded lips, stood Doctor Ballinger, and in his hand was a
small object which Cole could not distinguish. The only other occupants
of the room were Englebreth and two of the stalwart bodyguards who
always seemed to be hovering about him.
“Yes, it was clever, Latham,” the cripple was saying. “You played your
cards just right. Whether you were serious or whether you were bluffing
is beside the point. Your death would have been ill-timed from my point
of view. I don’t think you are afraid to die, Latham. There is one
thing you are afraid of, however.”
He stopped. For several moments the room was very still. Ballinger,
straightening his back, looked meditatively at the object in his hand,
which, as Cole now perceived, was a small bottle.
“That one thing is blindness, Latham,” added the cripple impressively.
“Tell him, Ballinger.”
Ballinger held the vial before the recumbent man’s eyes. “One small
particle of this fluid dropped into each of your eyes will blind you
for life,” he announced. “Not a pleasant thing to contemplate, eh,
Latham?”
Cole started as he saw the diabolical form of persuasion that was being
employed by the conspirators to make Latham reveal what he was supposed
to know. It was a threat far more hideous than death itself. He saw
Latham’s chest heave upward as he strained against the fetters that
held him to the cot.
“What do you say, Latham?” asked the cripple, bending slightly out of
his chair.
“I’ll say that you and Ballinger are a pair of scurvy blackguards,” was
the physician’s retort. “I take solemn oath that I will send each of
you to jail with a black eye.”
Ballinger laughed derisively.
“Still stubborn, I see,” Englebreth remarked. “I am warning you for
the last time, Latham. If you think Cole can come to your rescue, you
are mistaken. Between you and me, that infernal meddler will never
leave Dutchess Point alive. With you it is different. You can make
yourself useful to us, and that is why I am offering you terms. But you
must decide quickly.”
“Go to blazes!” said Latham, but there was a catch in his voice,
scarcely audible even to Cole’s keen ears, which told that his courage
was faltering.
“He thinks we are bluffing, Ballinger,” said Englebreth. “We must
convince him that we are serious. Drop a little of the fluid into his
left eye. The result will prove to him that we mean business.”
A muffled groan came from the man on the cot. Ballinger stepped closer
to the light, uncorked the little vial, cautiously inserted a small
syringe through the neck, his brows contracting as he pumped the
requisite amount of fluid into the glass tube. Now he set the bottle
down, replaced the cork, and with the syringe in his hand turned again
toward the man on the cot. A faint grin hovered about his bearded lips,