The Poisoned Pen

by Arthur B. Reeve

  VI

  THE SAND-HOG

  "Interesting story, this fight between the Five-Borough and theInter-River Transit," I remarked to Kennedy as I sketched out the draftof an expose of high finance for the Sunday Star.

  "Then that will interest you, also," said he, throwing a letter down onmy desk. He had just come in and was looking over his mail.

  The letterhead bore the name of the Five-Borough Company. It was fromJack Orton, one of our intimates at college, who was in charge of theconstruction of a new tunnel under the river. It was brief, as Jack'sletters always were. "I have a case here at the tunnel that I am surewill appeal to you, my own case, too," it read. "You can go as far asyou like with it, but get to the bottom of the thing, no matter whom ithits. There is some deviltry afoot, and apparently no one is safe.Don't say a word to anybody about it, but drop over to see me as soonas you possibly can."

  "Yes," I agreed, "that does interest me. When are you going over?"

  "Now," replied Kennedy, who had not taken off his hat. "Can you comealong?"

  As we sped across the city in a taxicab, Craig remarked: "I wonder whatis the trouble? Did you see in the society news this morning theannouncement of Jack's engagement to Vivian Taylor, the daughter of thepresident of the Five-Borough?"

  I had seen it, but could not connect it with the trouble, whatever itwas, at the tunnel, though I did try to connect the tunnel mystery withmy expose.

  We pulled up at the construction works, and a strapping Irishman metus. "Is this Professor Kennedy?" he asked of Craig.

  "It is. Where is Mr. Orton's office?"

  "I'm afraid, sir, it will be a long time before Mr. Orton is in hisoffice again, sir. The doctor have just took him out of the medicallock, an' he said if you was to come before they took him to the'orspital I was to bring you right up to the lock."

  "Good heavens, man, what has happened?" exclaimed Kennedy. "Take us upto him quick."

  Without waiting to answer, the Irishman led the way up and across arough board platform until at last we came to what looked like a hugesteel cylinder, lying horizontally, in which was a floor with a cot andsome strange paraphernalia. On the cot lay Jack Orton, drawn andcontorted, so changed that even his own mother would scarcely haverecognised him. A doctor was bending over him, massaging the joints ofhis legs and his side.

  "Thank you, Doctor, I feel a little better," he groaned. "No, I don'twant to go back into the lock again, not unless the pain gets worse."

  His eyes were closed, but hearing us he opened them and nodded.

  "Yes, Craig," he murmured with difficulty, "this is Jack Orton. What doyou think of me? I'm a pretty sight. How are you? And how are you,Walter? Not too vigorous with the hand-shakes, fellows. Sorry youcouldn't get over before this happened."

  "What's the matter?" we asked, glancing blankly from Orton to thedoctor.

  Orton forced a half smile. "Just a touch of the 'bends' from working incompressed air," he explained.

  We looked at him, but could say nothing. I, at least, was thinking ofhis engagement.

  "Yes," he added bitterly, "I know what you are thinking about, fellows.Look at me! Do you think such a wreck as I am now has any right to beengaged to the dearest girl in the world?"

  "Mr. Orton," interposed the doctor, "I think you'll feel better ifyou'll keep quiet. You can see your friends in the hospital to-night,but for a few hours I think you had better rest. Gentlemen, if you willbe so good as to postpone your conversation with Mr. Orton until laterit would be much better."

  "Then I'll see you to-night," said Orton to us feebly. Turning to atall, spare, wiry chap, of just the build for tunnel work, where fat isfatal, he added: "This is Mr. Capps, my first assistant. He will showyou the way down to the street again."

  "Confound it!" exclaimed Craig, after we had left Capps. "What do youthink of this? Even before we can get to him something has happened.The plot thickens before we are well into it. I think I'll not take acab, or a car either. How are you for a walk until we can see Ortonagain?"

  I could see that Craig was very much affected by the sudden accidentthat had happened to our friend, so I fell into his mood, and we walkedblock after block scarcely exchanging a word. His only remark, Irecall, was, "Walter, I can't think it was an accident, coming so closeafter that letter." As for me, I scarcely knew what to think.

  At last our walk brought us around to the private hospital where Ortonwas. As we were about to enter, a very handsome girl was leaving.Evidently she had been visiting some one of whom she thought a greatdeal. Her long fur coat was flying carelessly, unfastened in the coldnight air; her features were pale, and her eyes had the fixed look ofone who saw nothing but grief.

  "It's terrible, Miss Taylor," I heard the man with her say soothingly,"and you must know that I sympathise with you a great deal."

  Looking up quickly, I caught sight of Capps and bowed. He returned ourbows and handed her gently into an automobile that was waiting.

  "He might at least have introduced us," muttered Kennedy, as we went oninto the hospital.

  Orton was lying in bed, white and worn, propped up by pillows which thenurse kept arranging and rearranging to ease his pain. The Irishmanwhom we had seen at the tunnel was standing deferentially near the footof the bed.

  "Quite a number of visitors, nurse, for a new patient," said Orton, ashe welcomed us. "First Capps and Paddy from the tunnel, thenVivian"--he was fingering some beautiful roses in a vase on a tablenear him--"and now, you fellows. I sent her home with Capps. Sheoughtn't to be out alone at this hour, and Capps is a good fellow.She's known him a long time. No, Paddy, put down your hat. I want youto stay. Paddy, by the way, fellows, is my right-hand man in managingthe 'sandhogs' as we call the tunnel-workers. He has been a sand-hog onevery tunnel job about the city since the first successful tunnel wascompleted. His real name is Flanagan, but we all know him best asPaddy."

  Paddy nodded. "If I ever get over this and back to the tunnel," Ortonwent on, "Paddy will stick to me, and we will show Taylor, myprospective father-in-law and the president of the railroad companyfrom which I took this contract, that I am not to blame for all thetroubles we are having on the tunnel. Heaven knows that--"

  "Oh, Mr. Orton, you ain't so bad," put in Paddy without the faintesttouch of undue familiarity. "Look what I was when ye come to see mewhen I had the bends, sir."

  "You old rascal," returned Orton, brightening up. "Craig, do you knowhow I found him? Crawling over the floor to the sink to pour thedoctor's medicine down."

  "Think I'd take that medicine," explained Paddy, hastily. "Not much.Don't I know that the only cure for the bends is bein' put back in the'air' in the medical lock, same as they did with you, and bein' broughtout slowly? That's the cure, that, an' grit, an' patience, an' time.Mark me wurds, gintlemen, he'll finish that tunnel an' beggin' yerpardon, Mr. Orton, marry that gurl, too. Didn't I see her with tears inher eyes right in this room when he wasn't lookin', and a smile when hewas? Sure, ye'll be all right," continued Paddy, slapping his side andthigh. "We all get the bends more or less--all us sand-hogs. I was thatdoubled up meself that I felt like a big jack-knife. Had it in the arm,the side, and the leg all at once, that time he was just speakin' of.He'll be all right in a couple more weeks, sure, an' down in the airagain, too, with the rest of his men. It's somethin' else he has on hismoind."

  "Then the case has nothing to do with your trouble, nothing to do withthe bends?" asked Kennedy, keenly showing his anxiety to help our oldfriend.

  "Well, it may and it may not," replied Orton thoughtfully. "I begin tothink it has. We have had a great many cases of the bends among themen, and lots of the poor fellows have died, too. You know, of course,how the newspapers are roasting us. We are being called inhuman; theyare going to investigate us; perhaps indict me. Oh, it's an awful mess;and now some one is trying to make Taylor believe it is my fault.

  "Of course," he continued, "we are working under a high air-pressurejust now, some days as high as forty pounds. You see,
we have struckthe very worst part of the job, a stretch of quicksand in theriver-bed, and if we can get through this we'll strike pebbles and rockpretty soon, and then we'll be all right again."

  He paused. Paddy quietly put in: "Beggin' yer pardon again, Mr. Orton,but we had intirely too many cases of the bends even when we werewurkin' at low pressure, in the rock, before we sthruck this sand.There's somethin' wrong, sir, or ye wouldn't be here yerself like this.The bends don't sthrike the ingineers, them as don't do the hard work,sir, and is careful, as ye know--not often."

  "It's this way, Craig," resumed Orton. "When I took this contract forthe Five-Borough Transit Company, they agreed to pay me liberally forit, with a big bonus if I finished ahead of time, and a big penalty ifI exceeded the time. You may or may not know it, but there is somedoubt about the validity of their franchise after a certain date,provided the tunnel is not ready for operation. Well, to make a longstory short, you know there are rival companies that would like to seethe work fail and the franchise revert to the city, or at least gettied up in the courts. I took it with the understanding that it wasevery man for himself and the devil take the hindmost."

  "Have you yourself seen any evidences of rival influences hindering thework?" asked Kennedy.

  Orton carefully weighed his reply. "To begin with," he answered atlength, "while I was pushing the construction end, the Five-Borough wasworking with the state legislature to get a bill extending thetime-limit of the franchise another year. Of course, if it had gonethrough it would have been fine for us. But some unseen influenceblocked the company at every turn. It was subtle; it never came intothe open. They played on public opinion as only demagogues of highfinance can, very plausibly of course, but from the most selfish andulterior motives. The bill was defeated."

  I nodded. I knew all about that part of it, for it was in the articlewhich I had been writing for the Star.

  "But I had not counted on the extra year, anyhow," continued Orton, "soI wasn't disappointed. My plans were laid for the shorter time from thestart. I built an island in the river so that we could work from eachshore to it, as well as from the island to each shore, really from fourpoints at once. And then, when everything was going ahead fine, and wewere actually doubling the speed in this way, these confoundedaccidents"--he was leaning excitedly forward--"and lawsuits and delaysand deaths began to happen."

  Orton sank back as a paroxysm of the bends seized him, following hisexcitement.

  "I should like very much to go down into the tunnel," said Kennedysimply.

  "No sooner said than done," replied Orton, almost cheerfully, at seeingKennedy so interested.

  "We can arrange that easily. Paddy will be glad to do the honours ofthe place in my absence."

  "Indade I will do that same, sor," responded the faithful Paddy, "an'it's a shmall return for all ye've done for me."

  "Very well, then," agreed Kennedy. "Tomorrow morning we shall be onhand. Jack, depend on us. We will do our level best to get you out ofthis scrape."

  "I knew you would, Craig," he replied. "I've read of some of your andWalter's exploits. You're a pair of bricks, you are. Good-bye,fellows," and his hands mechanically sought the vase of flowers whichreminded him of their giver.

  At home we sat for a long time in silence. "By George, Craig," Iexclaimed at length, my mind reverting through the whirl of events tothe glimpse of pain I had caught on the delicate face of the girlleaving the hospital, "Vivian Taylor is a beauty, though, isn't she?"

  "And Capps thinks so, too," he returned, sinking again into his shellof silence. Then he suddenly rose and put on his hat and coat. I couldsee the old restless fever for work which came into his eyes wheneverhe had a case which interested him more than usual. I knew there wouldbe no rest for Kennedy until he had finished it. Moreover, I knew itwas useless for me to remonstrate with him, so I kept silent.

  "Don't wait up for me," he said. "I don't know when I'll be back. I'mgoing to the laboratory and the university library. Be ready early inthe morning to help me delve into this tunnel mystery."

  I awoke to find Kennedy dozing in a chair, partly dressed, but just asfresh as I was after my sleep. I think he had been dreaming out hiscourse of action. At any rate, breakfast was a mere incident in hisscheme, and we were over at the tunnel works when the night shift weregoing off.

  Kennedy carried with him a moderate-sized box of the contents of whichhe seemed very careful. Paddy was waiting for us, and after a hastywhispered conversation, Craig stowed the box away behind theswitchboard of the telephone central, after attaching it to the variouswires. Paddy stood guard while this was going on so that no one wouldknow about it, not even the telephone girl, whom he sent off on anerrand.

  Our first inspection was of that part of the works which was aboveground. Paddy, who conducted us, introduced us first to the engineer incharge of this part of the work, a man named Shelton, who had knockedabout the world a great deal, but had acquired a taciturnity that wasSphinx-like. If it had not been for Paddy, I fear we should have seenvery little, for Shelton was not only secretive, but his explanationswere such that even the editor of a technical journal would have had toblue pencil them considerably. However, we gained a pretty good idea ofthe tunnel works above ground--at least Kennedy did. He seemed verymuch interested in how the air was conveyed below ground, the tank forstoring compressed air for emergencies, and other features. It quitewon Paddy, although Shelton seemed to resent his interest even morethan he despised my ignorance.

  Next Paddy conducted us to the dressing-rooms. There we put on oldclothes and oilskins, and the tunnel doctor examined us and extracted awritten statement that we went down at our own risk and released thecompany from all liability--much to the disgust of Paddy.

  "We're ready now, Mr. Capps," called Paddy, opening an office door onthe way out.

  "Very well, Flanagan," answered Capps, barely nodding to us. We heardhim telephone some one, but could not catch the message, and in aminute he joined us. By this time I had formed the opinion, which Ihave since found to be correct, that tunnel men are not as a ruleloquacious.

  It was a new kind of thrill to me to go under the "air," as the mencalled it. With an instinctive last look at the skyline of New York andthe waves playing in the glad sunlight, we entered a rude constructionelevator and dropped from the surface to the bottom of a deep shaft. Itwas like going down into a mine. There was the air-lock, studded withbolts, and looking just like a huge boiler, turned horizontally.

  The heavy iron door swung shut with a bang as Paddy and Capps, followedby Kennedy and myself, crept into the air-lock. Paddy turned on avalve, and compressed air from the tunnel began to rush in with a hissas of escaping steam. Pound after pound to the square inch the pressureslowly rose until I felt sure the drums of my ears would burst. Thenthe hissing noise began to dwindle down to a wheeze, and then itstopped all of a sudden. That meant that the air-pressure in the lockwas the same as that in the tunnel. Paddy pushed open the door in theother end of the lock from that by which we had entered.

  Along the bottom of the completed tube we followed Paddy and Capps. Onwe trudged, fanned by the moist breath of the tunnel. Every few feet anincandescent light gleamed in the misty darkness. After perhaps ahundred paces we had to duck down under a semicircular partitioncovering the upper half of the tube.

  "What is that?" I shouted at Paddy, the nasal ring of my own voicestartling me.

  "Emergency curtain," he shouted back.

  Words were economised. Later, I learned that should the tunnel start toflood, the other half of the emergency curtain could be dropped so asto cut off the inrushing water.

  Men passed, pushing little cars full of "muck" or sand taken out frombefore the "shield"--which is the head by which this mechanical moleadvances under the river-bed. These men and others who do theshovelling are the "muckers."

  Pipes laid along the side of the tunnel conducted compressed air andfresh water, while electric light and telephone wires were strung allabout. These and the tools
and other things strewn along the tunnelobstructed the narrow passage to such an extent that we had to becareful in picking our way.

  At last we reached the shield, and on hands and knees we crawled outinto one of its compartments. Here we experienced for the first timethe weird realisation that only the "air" stood between us anddestruction from the tons and tons of sand and water overhead. At somepoints in the sand we could feel the air escaping, which appeared atthe surface of the river overhead in bubbles, indicating to thosepassing in the river boats just how far each tunnel heading below hadproceeded. When the loss of air became too great, I learned, scowswould dump hundreds of tons of clay overhead to make an artificialriver bed for the shield to stick its nose safely through, for if theriver bed became too thin overhead the "air" would blow a hole in it.

  Capps, it seemed to me, was unusually anxious to have the visit over.At any rate, while Kennedy and Paddy were still crawling about theshield, he stood aside, now and then giving the men an order andapparently forgetful of us.

  My own curiosity was quickly satisfied, and I sat down on a pile of thesegments out of which the successive rings of the tunnel were made. AsI sat there waiting for Kennedy, I absently reached into my pocket andpulled out a cigarette and lighted it. It burned amazingly fast, as ifit were made of tinder, the reason being the excess of oxygen in thecompressed air. I was looking at it in astonishment, when suddenly Ifelt a blow on my hand. It was Capps.

  "You chump!" he shouted as he ground the cigarette under his boot."Don't you know it is dangerous to smoke in compressed air?"

  "Why, no," I replied, smothering my anger at his manner. "No one saidanything about it."

  "Well, it is dangerous, and Orton's a fool to let greenhorns come inhere."

  "And to whom may it be dangerous?" I heard a voice inquire over myshoulder. It was Kennedy. "To Mr. Jameson or the rest of us?"

  "Well," answered Capps, "I supposed everybody knew it was reckless, andthat he would hurt himself more by one smoke in the air than by ahundred up above. That's all."

  He turned on Kennedy sullenly, and started to walk back up the tunnel.But I could not help thinking that his manner was anything butsolicitude for my own health. I could just barely catch his words overthe tunnel telephone some feet away. I thought he said that everythingwas going along all right and that he was about to start back again.Then he disappeared in the mist of the tube without even nodding afarewell.

  Kennedy and I remained standing, not far from the outlet of the pipe bywhich the compressed air was being supplied in the tunnel from thecompressors above, in order to keep the pressure up to the constantlevel necessary. I saw Kennedy give a hurried glance about, as if tonote whether any one were looking at us. No one was. With a quickmotion he reached down. In his hand was a stout little glass flask witha tight-fitting metal top. For a second he held it near the outlet ofthe pipe; then he snapped the top shut and slipped it back into hispocket as quickly as he had produced it.

  Slowly we commenced to retrace our steps to the air-lock, our curiositysatisfied by this glimpse of one of the most remarkable developments ofmodern engineering.

  "Where's Paddy?" asked Kennedy, stopping suddenly. "We've forgottenhim."

  "Back there at the shield, I suppose," said I. "Let's whistle andattract his attention."

  I pursed up my lips, but if I had been whistling for a million dollarsI couldn't have done it.

  Craig laughed. "Walter, you are indeed learning many strange things.You can't whistle in compressed air."

  I was too chagrined to answer. First it was Capps; now it was my ownfriend Kennedy chaffing me for my ignorance. I was glad to see Paddy'shuge form looming in the semi-darkness. He had seen that we were goneand hurried after us.

  "Won't ye stay down an' see some more, gintlemen?" he asked. "Or haveye had enough of the air? It seems very smelly to me this mornin'--Idon't blame ye. I guess them as doesn't have to stay here is satisfiedwith a few minutes of it."

  "No, thanks, I guess we needn't stay down any longer," replied Craig."I think I have seen all that is necessary--at least for the present.Capps has gone out ahead of us. I think you can take us out now, Paddy.I would much rather have you do it than to go with anybody else."

  Coming out, I found, was really more dangerous than going in, for it iswhile coming out of the "air" that men are liable to get the bends.Roughly, half a minute should be consumed in coming out from each poundof pressure, though for such high pressures as we had been under,considerably more time was required in order to do it safely. We spentabout half an hour in the air-lock, I should judge.

  Paddy let the air out of the lock by turning on a valve leading to theoutside, normal atmosphere. Thus he let the air out rapidly at firstuntil we had got down to half the pressure of the tunnel. The secondhalf he did slowly, and it was indeed tedious, but it was safe. Therewas at first a hissing sound when he opened the valve, and it grewcolder in the lock, since air absorbs heat from surrounding objectswhen it expands. We were glad to draw sweaters on over our heads. Italso grew as misty as a London fog as the water-vapour in the air wascondensed.

  At last the hiss of escaping air ceased. The door to the modern dungeonof science grated open. We walked out of the lock to the elevator shaftand were hoisted up to God's air again. We gazed out across the riverwith its waves dancing in the sunlight. There, out in the middle, was awreath of bubbles on the water. That marked the end of the tunnel, overthe shield. Down beneath those bubbles the sand-hogs were rooting. Butwhat was the mystery that the tunnel held in its dark, dank bosom? HadKennedy a clue?

  "I think we had better wait around a bit," remarked Kennedy, as wesipped our hot coffee in the dressing-room and warmed ourselves fromthe chill of coming out of the lock. "In case anything should happen tous and we should get the bends, this is the place for us, near themedical lock, as it is called--that big steel cylinder over there,where we found Orton. The best cure for the bends is to go back underthe air--recompression they call it. The renewed pressure causes thegas in the blood to contract again, and thus it iseliminated--sometimes. At any rate, it is the best-known cure andconsiderably reduces the pain in the worst cases. When you have a badcase like Orton's it means that the damage is done; the gas hasruptured some veins. Paddy was right. Only time will cure that."

  Nothing happened to us, however, and in a couple of hours we dropped inon Orton at the hospital where he was slowly convalescing.

  "What do you think of the case?" he asked anxiously.

  "Nothing as yet," replied Craig, "but I have set certain things inmotion which will give us a pretty good line on what is taking place ina day or so."

  Orton's face fell, but he said nothing. He bit his lip nervously andlooked out of the sun-parlour at the roofs of New York around him.

  "What has happened since last night to increase your anxiety, Jack?"asked Craig sympathetically.

  Orton wheeled his chair about slowly, faced us, and drew a letter fromhis pocket. Laying it flat on the table he covered the lower part withthe envelope.

  "Read that," he said.

  "Dear Jack," it began. I saw at once that it was from Miss Taylor."Just a line," she wrote, "to let you know that I am thinking about youalways and hoping that you are better than when I saw you this evening.Papa had the chairman of the board of directors of the Five-Boroughhere late to-night, and they were in the library for over an hour. Foryour sake, Jack, I played the eavesdropper, but they talked so low thatI could hear nothing, though I know they were talking about you and thetunnel. When they came out, I had no time to escape, so I slippedbehind a portiere. I heard father say: 'Yes, I guess you are right,Morris. The thing has gone on long enough. If there is one more bigaccident we shall have to compromise with the Inter-River and carry onthe work jointly. We have given Orton his chance, and if they demandthat this other fellow shall be put in, I suppose we shall have toconcede it.' Mr. Morris seemed pleased that father agreed with him andsaid so. Oh, Jack, can't you DO something to show them they are wrong,and
do it quickly? I never miss an opportunity of telling papa it isnot your fault that all these delays take place."

  The rest of the letter was covered by the envelope, and Orton would nothave shown it for worlds.

  "Orton," said Kennedy, after a few moments' reflection, "I will take achance for your sake--a long chance, but I think a good one. If you canpull yourself together by this afternoon, be over at your office atfour. Be sure to have Shelton and Capps there, and you can tell Mr.Taylor that you have something very important to set before him. Now, Imust hurry if I am to fulfil my part of the contract. Good-bye, Jack.Keep a stiff upper lip, old man. I'll have something that will surpriseyou this afternoon."

  Outside, as he hurried uptown, Craig was silent, but I could see hisfeatures working nervously, and as we parted he merely said: "Ofcourse, you'll be there, Walter. I'll put the finishing touches on yourstory of high finance."

  Slowly enough the few hours passed before I found myself again inOrton's office. He was there already, despite the orders of hisphysician, who was disgusted at this excursion from the hospital.Kennedy was there, too, grim and silent. We sat watching the twoindicators beside Orton's desk, which showed the air pressure in thetwo tubes. The needles were vibrating ever so little and tracing ared-ink line on the ruled paper that unwound from the drum. From themoment the tunnels were started, here was preserved a faithful recordof every slightest variation of air pressure.

  "Telephone down into the tube and have Capps come up," said Craig atlength, glancing at Orton's desk clock. "Taylor will be here prettysoon, and I want Capps to be out of the tunnel by the time he comes.Then get Shelton, too."

  In response to Orton's summons Capps and Shelton came into the office,just as a large town car pulled up outside the tunnel works. A tall,distinguished-looking man stepped out and turned again toward the doorof the car.

  "There's Taylor," I remarked, for I had seen him often atinvestigations before the Public Service Commission.

  "And Vivian, too," exclaimed Orton excitedly. "Say, fellows, clear offthese desks. Quick, before she gets up here. In the closet with theseblueprints, Walter. There, that's a little better. If I had known shewas coming I would at least have had the place swept out. Puff! look atthe dust on this desk of mine. Well, there's no help for it. There theyare at the door now. Why, ivian, what a surprise."

  "Jack!" she exclaimed, almost ignoring the rest of us and quicklycrossing to his chair to lay a restraining hand on his shoulder as hevainly tried to stand up to welcome her.

  "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" he asked eagerly. "I wouldhave had the place fixed up a bit."

  "I prefer it this way," she said, looking curiously around at thesamples of tunnel paraphernalia and the charts and diagrams on thewalls.

  "Yes, Orton," said President Taylor, "she would come--dropped in at theoffice and when I tried to excuse myself for a business appointment,demanded which way I was going. When I said I was coming here, sheinsisted on coming, too."

  Orton smiled. He knew that she had taken this simple and direct meansof being there, but he said nothing, and merely introduced us to thepresident and Miss Taylor.

  An awkward silence followed. Orton cleared his throat. "I think you allknow why we are here," he began. "We have been and are havingaltogether too many accidents in the tunnel, too many cases of thebends, too many deaths, too many delays to the work.Well--er--I--er--Mr. Kennedy has something to say about them, Ibelieve."

  No sound was heard save the vibration of the air-compressors and anoccasional shout of a workman at the shaft leading down to theair-locks.

  "There is no need for me to say anything about caisson disease to you,gentlemen, or to you, Miss Taylor," began Kennedy. "I think you allknow how it is caused and a good deal about it already. But, to beperfectly clear, I will say that there are five things that must, aboveall others, be looked after in tunnel work: the air pressure, theamount of carbon dioxide in the air, the length of the shifts which themen work, the state of health of the men as near as physicalexamination can determine it, and the rapidity with which the men comeout of the 'air,' so as to prevent carelessness which may cause thebends.

  "I find," he continued, "that the air pressure is not too high forsafety. Proper examinations for carbon dioxide are made, and the amountin the air is not excessive. The shifts are not even as long as thoseprescribed by the law. The medical inspection is quite adequate and asfor the time taken in coming out through the locks the rules arestringent."

  A look of relief crossed the face of Orton at this commendation of hiswork, followed by a puzzled expression that plainly indicated that hewould like to know what was the matter, if all the crucial things wereall right.

  "But," resumed Kennedy, "the bends are still hitting the men, and thereis no telling when a fire or a blow-out may occur in any of the eightheadings that are now being pushed under the river. Quite often thework has been delayed and the tunnel partly or wholly flooded. Now, youknow the theory of the bends. It is that air--mostly the nitrogen inthe air--is absorbed by the blood under the pressure. In coming out ofthe 'air' if the nitrogen is not all eliminated, it stays in the bloodand, as the pressure is reduced, it expands. It is just as if you takea bottle of charged water and pull the cork suddenly. The gas rises inbig bubbles. Cork it again and the gas bubbles cease to rise andfinally disappear. If you make a pin-hole in the cork the gas willescape slowly, without a bubble. You must decompress the human bodyslowly, by stages, to let the super-saturated blood give up itsnitrogen to the lungs, which can eliminate it. Otherwise these bubblescatch in the veins, and the result is severe pains, paralysis, and evendeath. Gentlemen, I see that I am just wasting time telling you this,for you know it all well. But consider."

  Kennedy placed an empty corked flask on the table. The others regardedit curiously, but I recalled having seen it in the tunnel.

  "In this bottle," explained Kennedy, "I collected some of the air fromthe tunnel when I was down there this morning. I have since analysedit. The quantity of carbon dioxide is approximately what it shouldbe--not high enough of itself to cause trouble. But," he spoke slowlyto emphasise his words, "I found something else in that air besidecarbon dioxide."

  "Nitrogen?" broke in Orton quickly, leaning forward.

  "Of course; it is a constituent of air. But that is not what I mean."

  "Then, for Heaven's sake, what did you find?" asked Orton.

  "I found in this air," replied Kennedy, "a very peculiar mixture--anexplosive mixture."

  "An explosive mixture?" echoed Orton.

  "Yes, Jack, the blow-outs that you have had at the end of the tunnelwere not blow-outs at all, properly speaking. They were explosions."

  We sat aghast at this revelation.

  "And, furthermore," added Kennedy, "I should, if I were you, call backall the men from the tunnel until the cause for the presence of thisexplosive mixture is discovered and remedied."

  Orton reached mechanically for the telephone to give the order, butTaylor laid his hand on his arm. "One moment, Orton," he said. "Let'shear Professor Kennedy out. He may be mistaken, and there is no usefrightening the men, until we are certain."

  "Shelton," asked Kennedy, "what sort of flash oil is used to lubricatethe machinery?"

  "It is three-hundred-and-sixty-degree Fahrenheit flash test," heanswered tersely.

  "And are the pipes leading air down into the tunnel perfectly straight?"

  "Straight?"

  "Yes, straight--no joints, no pockets where oil, moisture, and gasescan collect."

  "Straight as lines, Kennedy," he said with a sort of contemptuousdefiance.

  They were facing each other coldly, sizing each other up. Like askilful lawyer, Kennedy dropped that point for a moment, to take up anew line of attack.

  "Capps," he demanded, turning suddenly, "why do you always call up onthe telephone and let some one know when you are going down in thetunnel and when you are coming out?"

  "I don't," replied Capps, quickly recovering his comp
osure.

  "Walter," said Craig to me quietly, "go out in the outer office. Behindthe telephone switchboard you will find a small box which you saw mecarry in there this morning and connect with the switchboard. Detachthe wires, as you saw me attach them, and bring it here."

  No one moved, as I placed the box on a drafting-table before them.Craig opened it. Inside he disclosed a large disc of thin steel, likethose used by some mechanical music-boxes, only without anyperforations. He connected the wires from the box to a sort ofmegaphone. Then he started the disc revolving.

  Out of the little megaphone horn, sticking up like a miniaturetalking-machine, came a voice: "Number please. Four four three o,Yorkville. Busy, I'll call you. Try them again, Central. Hello, hello,Central--"

  Kennedy stopped the machine. "It must be further along on the disc," heremarked. "This, by the way, is an instrument known as thetelegraphone, invented by a Dane named Poulsen. It recordsconversations over a telephone on this plain metal disc by means oflocalised, minute electric charges."

  Having adjusted the needle to another place on the disc he tried again."We have here a record of the entire day's conversations over thetelephone, preserved on this disc. I could wipe out the whole thing bypulling a magnet across it, but, needless to say, I wouldn't dothat--yet. Listen."

  This time it was Capps speaking. "Give me Mr. Shelton. Oh, Shelton, I'mgoing down in the south tube with those men Orton has sent nosingaround here. I'll let you know when I start up again. Meanwhile--youknow--don't let anything happen while I am there. Good-bye."

  Capps sat looking defiantly at Kennedy, as he stopped the telegraphone.

  "Now," continued Kennedy suavely, "what COULD happen? I'll answer myown question by telling what actually did happen. Oil that was smoky ata lower point than its flash was being used in the machinery--notreally three-hundred-and-sixty-degree oil. The water-jacket had beentampered with, too. More than that, there is a joint in the pipeleading down into the tunnel, where explosive gases can collect. It isa well-known fact in the use of compressed air that such a condition isthe best possible way to secure an explosion.

  "It would all seem so natural, even if discovered," explained Kennedyrapidly. "The smoking oil--smoking just as an automobile often does--ispassed into the compressed-air pipe. Condensed oil, moisture, and gasescollect in the joint, and perhaps they line the whole distance of thepipe. A spark from the low-grade oil--and they are ignited. What takesplace is the same thing that occurs in the cylinder of an automobilewhere the air is compressed with gasoline vapour. Only here we havecompressed air charged with vapour of oil. The flame proceeds down thepipe--exploding through the pipe, if it happens to be not strongenough. This pipe, however, is strong. Therefore, the flame in thiscase shoots out at the open end of the pipe, down near the shield, andif the air in the tunnel happens also to be surcharged with oil-vapour,an explosion takes place in the tunnel--the river bottom is blownout--then God help the sand-hogs!

  "That's how your accidents took place, Orton," concluded Kennedy intriumph, "and that impure air--not impure from carbon dioxide, but fromthis oil-vapour mixture--increased the liability of the men for thebends. Capps knew about it. He was careful while he was there to seethat the air was made as pure as possible under the circumstances. Hewas so careful that he wouldn't even let Mr. Jameson smoke in thetunnel. But as soon as he went to the surface, the same deadly mixturewas pumped down again--I caught some of it in this flask, and--"

  "My God, Paddy's down there now," cried Orton, suddenly seizing histelephone. "Operator, give me the south tube--quick--what--they don'tanswer?"

  Out in the river above the end of the heading, where a short timebefore there had been only a few bubbles on the surface of the water, Icould see what looked like a huge geyser of water spouting up. I pulledCraig over to me and pointed.

  "A blow-out," cried Kennedy, as he rushed to the door, only to be metby a group of blanched-faced workers who had come breathless to theoffice to deliver the news.

  Craig acted quickly. "Hold these men," he ordered, pointing to Cappsand Shelton, "until we come back. Orton, while we are gone, go over theentire day's record on the telegraphone. I suspect you and Miss Taylorwill find something there that will interest you."

  He sprang down the ladder to the tunnel air-lock, not waiting for theelevator. In front of the closed door of the lock, an excited group ofmen was gathered. One of them was peering through the dim, thick, glassporthole in the door.

  "There he is, standin' by the door with a club, an' the men's crowdin'so fast that they're all wedged so's none can get in at all. He'sbeatin' 'em back with the stick. Now, he's got the door clear and hasdragged one poor fellow in. It's Jimmy Rourke, him with the eightchilder. Now he's dragged in a Polack. Now he's fightin' back a bigJamaica nigger who's tryin' to shove ahead of a little Italian."

  "It's Paddy," cried Craig. "If he can bring them all out safely withoutthe loss of a life he'll save the day yet for Orton. And he'll do it,too, Walter."

  Instantly I reconstructed in my mind the scene in the tunnel--theexplosion of the oil-vapour, the mad race up the tube, perhaps thefailure of the emergency curtain to work, the frantic efforts of themen, in panic, all to crowd through the narrow little door at once; therapidly rising water--and above all the heroic Paddy, cool to the last,standing at the door and single-handed beating the men back with aclub, so that they could go through one at a time.

  Only when the water had reached the level of the door of the lock, didPaddy bang it shut as he dragged the last man in. Then followed aninterminable wait for the air in the lock to be exhausted. When, atlast, the door at our end of the lock swung open, the men with a cheerseized Paddy and, in spite of his struggles, hoisted him on to theirshoulders, and carried him off, still struggling, in triumph up theconstruction elevator to the open air above.

  The scene in Orton's office was dramatic as the men entered with Paddy.Vivian Taylor was standing defiantly, with burning eyes, facing Capps,who stared sullenly at the floor before him. Shelton was plainlyabashed.

  "Kennedy," cried Orton, vainly trying to rise, "listen. Have you stillthat place on the telegraphone record, Vivian?"

  Miss Taylor started the telegraphone, while we all crowded aroundleaning forward eagerly.

  "Hello. Inter-River? Is this the president's office? Oh, hello. This isCapps talking. How are you? Oh, you've heard about Orton, have you? Notso bad, eh? Well, I'm arranging with my man Shelton here for the finalact this afternoon. After that you can compromise with the Five-Boroughon your own terms. I think I have argued Taylor and Morris into theright frame of mind for it, if we have one more big accident. What'sthat? How is my love affair? Well, Orton's in the way yet, but you knowwhy I went into this deal. When you put me into his place after thecompromise, I think I will pull strong with her. Saw her last night.She feels pretty bad about Orton, but she'll get over it. Besides, thepater will never let her marry a man who's down and out. By the way,you've got to do something handsome for Shelton. All right. I'll seeyou to-night and tell you some more. Watch the papers in the meantimefor the grand finale. Good-bye."

  An angry growl rose from one or two of the more quick-witted men.Kennedy reached over and pulled me with him quickly through the crowd.

  "Hurry, Walter," he whispered hoarsely, "hustle Shelton and Capps outquick before the rest of the men wake up to what it's all about, or weshall have a lynching instead of an arrest."

  As we shoved and pushed them out, I saw the rough and grimy sand-hogsin the rear move quickly aside, and off came their muddy, frayed hats.A dainty figure flitted among them toward Orton. It was Vivian Taylor.

  "Papa," she cried, grasping Jack by both hands and turning to Taylor,who followed her closely, "Papa, I told you not to be too hasty withJack."