Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane

by Clarence Young

  Chapter XVI

  THE TUNNEL

  Dorothy walked slowly back to Will-o'-the-Wisp and climbed into thecockpit. From the pilot's seat she had an unobstructed view of the fieldand the two other airplanes. Overhead, fluffy wind clouds began toappear from out of the northwest. Near the stone wall, three smallrabbits sported in the sunshine; and presently a groundhog waddledacross the field.

  She glanced at her watch. The hands marked five past five. Bill had beengone twenty minutes.

  "And he told me not to get nervous," she thought indignantly. "Thiswaiting around is enough to set anybody off--I'll give him just tenminutes more!"

  Dorothy counted those ten minutes quite the longest she had everexperienced. Fifteen minutes past five and still no Bill. He had toldher to wait half an hour and then to fly home for help! But she was notthe sort of girl who permits herself to be quietly wiped off the pictureby an order from a boy friend! She just wasn't made that way. Bill mightbe worried about the safety of the planes; it was his safety thatworried her.

  Determinedly she transferred the small revolver from its holster to apocket of the jodhpurs she was wearing. Should she pack a flash light,too? No need of that, she decided. Figuring on daylight saving time, itwouldn't be dark until after eight o'clock. Without more ado, she gotout of the plane and crossed the field toward the wood.

  After she had climbed the wall at the spot where she had seen Billdisappear on the trail of the bearded aviator, she came upon a path.Narrow it was, and overgrown, yet certainly a path, leading through thetrees at a diagonal from the stone fence. Without hesitation, Dorothyfollowed it.

  She was soon certain that her idea of the wood from the air was correct,and that it covered no great acreage. Hurrying along the windingfootpath, she began to catch glimpses of blue sky between the treetrunks, and less than three hundred yards from the wall she came intothe open.

  The trees ended at the edge of a broad gully, apparently the bed of ashallow stream in the spring or after a shower; but now, except for apuddle or two, it was dry. On the farther side, cows were grazing in ameadow.

  "Nice pastoral landscape," she said aloud. "Doesn't look like much of aspot for mischief--"

  In spite of her bravado, Dorothy felt a lump in her throat. If Bill weremissing, too, and she could not find him....

  The pasture sloped gently upward over a hill, perhaps a quarter of amile away. And on the horizon above the hilltop, the Castle reared itspointed turrets skyward. For a little while she watched the huge, greypile of stone, whose narrow leaded windows reflecting the late afternoonsun, winked at her with many mocking eyes. What a dreary-looking placeit was, she thought. Ugly and forbidding, it was entirely out of placein this New England countryside. The Castle seemed utterly deserted. Itprobably was. At least the path ended at the gully; there was no sign ofit across the meadow.

  Where was the bearded aviator--and above all, where was Bill?

  "Bill distinctly said he would not snoop around the Castle," shethought. "I wonder if he really came this far?"

  So eager had she been to reach the edge of the wood that she had paidvery little attention to the ground she was covering. As this newthought struck her, she turned and gazed back over the way she had come.There were her own footprints clearly defined in the damp earth--butthere was no sign that either Bill or the smuggler had passed that way.

  Back along the path she trudged, walking slowly this time.

  "I'm a pretty poor woodsman," she told herself. "They must have turnedoff somewhere."

  Her eyes searched the soft earth of the narrow trail and the thickbushes through which it wandered. But it was not until she had gone halfway back to the stone wall that she discovered traces of footprints. Andwhere the prints left the path, a ragged remnant of a handkerchief swungfrom a twig near the ground.

  "There!" she pounced upon it joyfully. "How could I have been so stupidas to miss it--I might have known!"

  The initials, "W. B." embroidered in one corner of the dirty fragment oflinen banished any doubt she may have had as to its ownership. Leavingit tied to the bush, she struck into the wood.

  Now that she was intent upon her stalking, there was no mistaking thetrail left by the other two. A broken twig, heel marks on the soft mold,a trampled patch of moss; all these signs bespoke a hasty passagethrough the brush.

  She had not gone far, when suddenly in a clearing she came upon the endof the trail. The earth here was bare of undergrowth and sloped sharplydown into a marshy ravine. In the center of the little clearing a pileof brush was heaped with dead grass and rubbish,--tin cans, old shoes,automobile fenders, rusty bed-springs, boxes and weathered newspapers.

  For a moment Dorothy stared at the rubbish dump. Then she noticedfootprints circling the heap and followed them down to the ravine. Here,as if to bulwark the miscellaneous junk and to keep it from sliding, wasa buttress of boxes and barrels.

  Dorothy got down on her knees and examined these carefully. At the verybottom, almost on a level with the tussocky surface of the marsh, abarrel lay on its side, its depth leading inward. A sudden inspirationmade her pull a long stick from the pile and run it into the barrel. Shegave a little gurgle of astonishment. The barrel had no bottom.

  Still on her knees she peered inside. Just beyond the rim lay a scrap ofpaper. She picked it up and scrawled upon it were the words "Thisway"....

  "Another message!" she whispered jubilantly.

  She tried to move the barrel but found that it was securely nailed tothe bulwark of packing-cases. The soft earth about its mouth was heavilymarked with footprints.

  "Well, there's no doubt about it now--'this way'--" she murmured andwithout further waste of time wormed her way into the barrel.

  As she crawled through the other end, she found herself in a narrowtunnel. The daylight appearing through its ingenious entrance was strongenough to show her that the rubbish had been built over a frame oftwo-by-fours and chickenwire, which formed the roof and sides of thetunnel under the dump.

  Dorothy got to her feet. A short distance ahead the tunnel led straightinto the high ground over which she had come from the wood path. Herethe sides were timbered with stout posts, and ceiled with cross beams toprevent the earthen roof from falling.

  "Gee, if this isn't like Alice in Wonderland! Why, I might meet theWhite Rabbit any minute now." She giggled, then shivered as sheremembered why she was there.

  For a moment she considered returning to the plane for her flash light,but decided it would take too much precious time, and passed oncautiously, stopping now and then to listen. She could hear nothing butthe squashy sound of her footsteps on the marshy floor of the tunnel.

  After proceeding about fifteen feet, the dark passage turned slightly inits course. Just beyond the turn, as Dorothy was groping to find whichway it led, her hands touched a wooden surface. This proved to be aheavy door, standing partly open. As she shoved it back with hershoulder, she tripped over a heavy object which lay across the sill.Dorothy reached down in the darkness and picked up a crowbar.

  She advanced, dragging the crowbar after her. The floor of the passageat this point began to slope up hill. But after a few paces ahead, shefound it went abruptly downward at a considerable angle, took a sharpturn to the right, then began to slope gently upward again.

  By this time she had lost all sense of direction. She progressed slowly,feeling along the wall with her left hand, resting it on one timberuntil she had advanced half way to where she supposed the next would be.In this manner she crept on for nearly a quarter of a mile withoutmeeting any obstruction. The air, though cold and lifeless, wasbreathable; but the darkness and the horrid feeling of being shut inbegan to get on her nerves. Once more she stopped to listen. Absolutestillness. Dorothy could hear nothing but the beating of her heart asshe strained her eyes to pierce the black passage. She seemed completelyshut off from everything on earth.

  Feeling that inaction was even more unbearable
than running head-on intodanger, she recommenced her slow advance. Presently, she came to a placewhere the tunnel widened out. Here, even with outstretched arms, shecould not reach both walls at once.

  As she swung to follow the left hand wall, her right arm struck a freetimber which seemed to have no connection with either side of thepassage. From this she deduced that she was now in a sort ofsubterranean chamber, and that this free post was one of the supports ofits roof. Continuing along the left wall, with her right armoutstretched, she soon reached another post. The heavy crowbar which shewas endeavoring to carry at arm's length, struck against the base of theupright and made a loud, cavernous sound.

  "Bloomp!"

  Dorothy was prepared for the next timber, some three feet farther on.She took the crowbar in her left hand and extended her right to graspthe post, with the intention to discover the size of the chamber.

  Suddenly she recoiled in horror. She could feel a chill rush up and downher spine. For she had touched, not the splintered wood of the post,but, unmistakably, human flesh.

  Dodging quickly to one side, she dropped the crowbar and drew herrevolver. Holding it straight before her, ready to fire at the firstsign of a hostile advance, she listened breathlessly.

  To her amazement, there was no sound; not the slightest indication ofmovement in the awful darkness. She supposed the enemy must bemaneuvering to take her from some unexpected quarter. But she could notunderstand how it could be managed in that inky blackness without givingher some audible sign.

  Feeling that she must have something firmer than mere space behind her,Dorothy retreated, keeping her pistol leveled. With her left hand shegroped behind her and when she felt the solid timber, she leaned backagainst it, waiting.

  Seconds dragged like hours and still there was no sound. Gradually,Dorothy's nerves were beginning to quiet down.

  "Well, this is darned queer," she thought, "maybe that person is makingtracks out of here. I can't just stand still and do nothing, anyway."

  She began to move forward very cautiously. When she had covered tenshort paces, she stopped and listened again. Absolute stillnesseverywhere, stillness pervaded by the strange, dank smell of unsunnedearth and the musty rot of roots and wood.

  But this time Dorothy fancied she could hear a faint, very faint soundof breathing. At first she thought it was her own, reechoing from thewalls of the dark cavern. Then she held her breath and listened oncemore. _There_ was some one else in this subterranean chamber.

  "Well, here goes," she said with closed lips. "It's now or never. Ican't stand this much longer!"

  But she had only taken a single step when the same chill of horror andfright raced over her again. Her revolver muzzle had touched somethingapparently alive and yielding, the clothed body of someone who stoodmotionless as before.

  "Hold it! hold it!" she cried, her teeth chattering. "Don't move or I'llplug you!"

  With her gun firmly pressed against the body, she raised her other armto ward off any blow that might be directed against her. As she did so,it became evident that the body still had not moved, that the breath wascoming regularly and faintly, but there was no stir of limbs, no shiftof muscle or of weight.

  Such mysterious behavior filled Dorothy with terror. She bit her lipsand dug the mouth of her Colt forward into the body.

  "Stick 'em up--do you hear? Over your head!" she said viciously betweenher teeth.

  The figure remained motionless and as silent as before. Dorothy felt herheart beats mount to a violent thunder. She felt she could stand thestrain no longer.

  Still holding her pistol against the flesh of this mysterious being, shelowered her arm from her forehead and reached slowly forward. Shetouched something. Her whole body was convulsed with horror, anguish andsurprise.

  Her trembling fingers had descended upon the smooth, cool softness of aleather helmet. They slipped, cold and damp, from the helmet to the faceand over the warm cheek.

  In that moment everything was changed. Now Dorothy understood why thefigure was motionless and quiet. She touched a fold of cloth that boundthe mouth and slipping her hand to the shoulder, she felt a twist ofthin rope.

  She slipped the pistol into her belt without hesitation. Bill alwayscarried several packets of matches in his pockets. She found one andstruck a light.

  When the little puff of smoke and the obscuring haze of the first flashsettled down to a fitful flame, Dorothy got a glimpse of her friend. Hewas gagged and bound to one of the upright supports. His eyes wereclosed and his head drooped to one side.

  In less than a second Dorothy had flung away the match and was cuttingthe young fellow's bonds with her knife, groping for them in the darkand supporting his released body against her own as she worked. At lastshe was able to lift him out of the loosened loop that had held his feetand stepping back, laid him on the earthen floor.

  Then she knelt beside him, rubbing his wrists and cheeks with her grimypalms. For some minutes her ministrations seemed of no avail. Butpresently, under her fingers she felt his head move. At first she couldonly catch groans and sighs. Then, as consciousness began to assertitself, Bill raised his head a little and said faintly:

  "Who's that?"

  "It's me--Dorothy."

  She lifted his head into her lap. As she did so Bill gave a start andstruggled feebly.

  "Let me go!" he muttered. "Let me alone!"

  "Just keep quiet, Bill," she soothed. "You'll be better soon."

  Bill lay back in her arms and was still.

  "Who are you?" he asked again and this time in a firmer voice.

  "It's Dorothy, your pardner!"

  "Dorothy? Thank Heaven for that." He caught at her hand and squeezed it."We're in the tunnel, aren't we?"

  "Yes--where it widens out into a kind of room."

  "I remember now--that guy slugged me when I was making for the candle onthe table over there."

  "Who slugged you? The bearded aviator?"

  "That's right. I was coming along, lighting matches to see by when hestepped from behind one of the uprights--and that's all I remember.Knocked me out, I guess."

  "He certainly did! You've a bump on your head like an egg. The helmetprobably saved your life. Feel pretty rotten, don't you?"

  "You said it! Dizzy as blazes--and my head's as sore as a boil. But Iguess I'll be all right in a minute if I can just lie still. Do youmind?"

  "Of course not, silly. Take your time. I suppose you followed thefootprints to the barrel, like I did."

  "Yep. But how come you went after me?" he chuckled. "I thought the ideawas to beat it home in the plane."

  "Oh, Bill, I just couldn't!"

  Bill sat up. "Well, I suppose I was crazy to ever think you would--but Ihonestly didn't think I'd get into such close quarters with that fellow.As it is, I'm mighty glad you didn't take my fool suggestion," headmitted. "Where would I be now, if you hadn't shown up? By the taste inmy mouth and the feel of my wrists, that galoot must have tied me up andgagged me!"

  "He did that. You were bound to an upright. Have you any idea where thistunnel comes out?"

  "Ten dollars to counterfeit two-cent piece, your Castle is the answer tothat question," he said, and lit a match. "Oh, there's the table,Dorothy. Do you mind lighting that candle? I'm too dizzy to stand up yetor--"

  He stopped short and Dorothy saw his eyes widen in startled surprise.

  "_Look out!_" he yelled and the match went out.

  Dorothy felt a hand grip the back of her neck and immediately afterwardits fellow clutched her throat. In a fierce frenzy of terror, she shotto her feet, gasping and choking and flinging her arms wildly backwardsas she rose.