Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady

by Stanley R. Matthews

  A FALL TO FORTUNE.

  "I say, mother, Mr. Carey's going to take me to the balloon ascent.Isn't it good of him?"

  Mrs. Keen turned to the kindly faced, bearded man who had followedher son into the cottage kitchen. "It is most kind of you, Mr. Carey.Clifford has been longing to go ever since he heard about ProfessorStarley. But"--sadly--"I couldn't even find the necessary quarter foradmission."

  "Won't you come, too, Mrs. Keen?" said Carey cheerily. "Do you no endof good."

  She shook her head. "No, I won't come," she said gently. "But perhapsyou will come back to tea with us afterward."

  Carey said he would gladly do so, and he and Clifford started for thefair ground, from which the famous a?ronaut, Professor Starley, wasgoing to make an ascent by balloon and a drop by parachute.

  "Wish your mother had come, Cliff," said Mr. Carey, as they walked upthe street.

  "Wish she had, too," echoed the boy. "But she never goes anywhere now.Tell you the truth," he went on, lowering his voice, "I believe she'safraid of any of our old friends recognizing her. You're the only onewe keep up with."

  "Oh, but that's foolishness!"

  "I've told her so lots of times," declared Clifford. "But you know it'spretty hard to come down from a nice house to a cottage like that. Notthat I care," he hastened to add. "But it's tough for mother. Fancy herhaving to do all the cooking! And she's got no nice clothes like sheused to have before dad was drowned."

  Mr. Carey shook his head gravely. "She's always fretting about him," hesaid. "I don't wonder. It was a terrible business altogether. And whatmade it worse was leaving her almost penniless."

  He paused. "Cliff, do you know I've always suspected that that fellowMoise didn't treat your mother squarely?"

  "Have you, Mr. Carey?" cried the boy eagerly. "D'you know, I've oftenthought the same thing myself. Seems a bit queer, after dad had alwayshad lots of money, that old Moise should swear there was nothing leftexcept about five hundred dollars. Don't you think there's somethingawfully queer about Moise's face? He never looks at you straight."

  "I've noticed that myself," said the other dryly. "But here we are.We'll talk about this again some other time."

  The crowd was tremendous. All Dunthorne seemed to have turned out. Asthey worked their way through the masses of people Clifford Keen couldsee over their heads the great varnished globe swaying in the breeze.

  Clifford was not the sort to be content with a back seat. He wormed hisway through the packed throng till he reached the very front row, wherea number of volunteers were holding the mooring ropes. The breeze wasbrisking, and the balloon tugged and leaped like a live thing.

  "Here, sonny, catch a hold!" came a quick voice as a powerfully builtman in tights and spangles caught sight of the boy's eager face. "Don'tlet go till I tell you. Mind!"

  Clifford seized the rope delightedly.

  Starley sprang back into the open space underneath the balloon. Theballoon had no car, only a trapeze. On this Starley seated himself,holding the side ropes tight with both hands. The parachute, Cliffordnoticed, was fastened up against the side of the balloon.

  "Now, gentlemen, when I give the word I want you all to release thecords at the same instant. The wind makes----"

  At that very moment came such a gust that Starley's speech was cutshort. The balloon came whirling over almost on top of Clifford, andtwo men who had hold of the same rope let go and sprang out of the waywith shouts of alarm.

  "Cowards!" muttered Clifford, holding on tighter than ever.

  He knew nothing whatever of the lifting power of a balloon. Nextinstant as the gust passed the balloon came back with a jerk to theperpendicular, and Clifford was swung completely off his feet.

  Before he could realize what had happened or make up his mind to let gohe was far above the heads of the crowd.

  From the whole fair ground rose an extraordinary sound--a deep groan.It was this that first made the boy realize the extreme peril of hisposition.

  Nineteen boys out of twenty finding themselves dangling at the end of arope in mid-air would have let go at once, and, of course, been smashedto atoms. Clifford happened to be the twentieth. The first thing he didwas to crook his right leg in the rope, the second to shut his eyes inorder to arrest the horrible dizziness which made his head swim likeseasickness.

  The next thing he was conscious of was a quiet voice from above.

  "Say, sonny, can you climb up here?"

  Clifford looked up. The a?ronaut, seated on the crossbar about ten feetabove him, was looking down with a cool expression, which helped torestore Clifford's confidence.

  "I'll try," he answered.

  "Come right along, then. Don't get flustered. It's just as easy asclimbing a tree. And say, you keep looking at me. Don't look down."

  "All right," replied Clifford briefly, and started to swarm up therope. He was rather indignant at Starley's suggestion as to his gettingflustered. Up to the time of his father's death he had always meant tobe a sailor. He prided himself he could climb and stand heights as wellas most chaps.

  All the same, he wished the rope wouldn't swing so. To climb a cordthat is describing great arcs in mid-air is rather different fromswarming one in a school playground.

  "That's first class," said Starley encouragingly. "Keep a good gripwith your legs. Come on."

  He held out an encouraging hand. Clifford found time to marvel at theairy ease with which the a?ronaut balanced on the thin bar of thetrapeze, holding by one hand only.

  Another yard, and strong fingers clutched his collar. Next moment hewas seated beside Starley on the trapeze.

  At first this was almost worse than the rope. For the life of him theboy couldn't help looking down, and it gave him a curious shock tosee men like black insects crawling among toy buildings, and littlecarriages moving down streets no wider than a window sill.

  For a moment his head reeled, and he felt that horrible impulse to letgo and fling himself down.

  Starley's strong arm was round him. "All right, sonny, you'll get overthat in a jiffy. When you feel fit again we must hold a council of war."

  "I'm all right," declared Clifford, half angrily. He was savage withhimself for giving way. "What are we going to do now?"

  "That's just the trouble," replied the American with a dry smile. "Itbeats me to know how we're going to get back to the solid."

  "Can't we both go down in your parachute?"

  Starley shook his head. "She'll take my weight, and not ten poundsmore. If we both hung on to her we'd rip the stuffing out of her, andthere'd just be a splash to show where we hit the floor."

  Clifford glanced at his companion with startled eyes.

  "There's worse than that, sonny," went on the other. "You see, thisisn't like a balloon that'll come down just when you like by pulling avalve cord. She's just an old thing I use for these descents, and trustto pick up wherever she happens to fall."

  "Then you and I can't go down together?" said Clifford sharply.

  Starley shook his head.

  "What'll happen, then?"

  "We'll go on up till we freeze and can't hold on any longer and dropoff, or else the balloon'll bust, and we'll both come down a bit tooquick for the good of our health."

  "Is there nothing else we can do?" cried the boy.

  "There's just one other chance," replied the a?ronaut. "If you've gotthe pluck to take the parachute, I'll climb up in the netting and putmy knife through the cover of the balloon. If I rip her enough she'llcome down all right."

  "That wouldn't be fair," returned Clifford sharply. "You take theparachute. I'll stick to the balloon."

  Starley hesitated a moment. "Have you got the nerve to climb upthere"--pointing aloft--"and cut the cover?"

  "Yes," said Clifford firmly.

  "Reckon he'd be safer that way," muttered the man to himself. Then,aloud: "If you can do it you'll be safe enough, sonny. Safer by chalksthan if you take the parachute. It's an ugly job, anyway you look atit, but the parachute's t
he worst for a beginner. The jerk when sheopens pretty near takes the arms out of you, and we're up all of threethousand already."

  He pulled out a big clasp knife, and handed it to Clifford. "Let's seeyou up on the ring before I let loose," he said. "You'll feel a bitsafer so long as you haven't got to climb it alone. But look sharp.We're still rising, and the wind's carrying us pretty sharp."

  Clifford took the knife, slipped it into his coat pocket, and,clutching the side rope of the trapeze, set his teeth and began toclimb.

  For a horrid moment the ghastly dizziness clutched him again. But heset his teeth, and swore he would not give way to it.

  Starley's weight kept the rope taut, and it was easier to climb thanthe other had been.

  At last he was clinging to the iron ring of the parachute, with thegreat globe of varnished silk immediately above him.

  "Are you right, sonny?" cried the a?ronaut, looking up.

  "Yes," called back Clifford with a cheeriness he was far from feeling.

  Then as he swung a leg over the ring and pulled himself up sitting,both hands clutching the netting, he saw Starley lean over and graspthe rope of the parachute.

  "Rip her well, and as high up as you can. And hang on till she reachesthe ground," were Starley's last words of advice.

  Then he gave the parachute rope a sharp jerk, there was a slightripping sound, and the man dropped like a plummet toward the distantearth.

  The balloon, relieved of his weight, made an enormous bound upward.

  For a full thirty seconds the boy clung there, unable to do anythingbut watch Starley shooting down into the awful depths below. He gave agasp of relief as the parachute at last opened like an umbrella, andwent sailing away earthward as gently as a feather.

  Then he got out his knife. "Now for it," he muttered bravely.

  By this time the balloon was nearly a mile above the earth, and thebreeze had long ago carried it clear of the town. It was sailing overwhat looked to Clifford like a patchwork quilt of little fields andwoods and farmsteads, with here and there the silver ribbon of a river.

  The whole position was so amazing that Clifford found it sheerlyimpossible to believe that one brief half hour before he had beenone of those ants that he now saw crawling at such an enormous depthbeneath him.

  Clinging here close to the side of the balloon envelope the boy feltsafer. He had something more or less solid to hold on to. He was sointerested and excited that for the moment he almost forgot about theknife.

  It was the cold that brought him to himself again. Down below it hadbeen a warm if breezy September afternoon. Up here Clifford, in thinsummer clothes, was rapidly chilling to the bone. His fingers werealready blue.

  He looked at them blankly. "If I don't hurry up they'll be too stiff touse the knife," he said half aloud. He opened the knife with his teeth,and, taking a long breath, stabbed boldly at the silk.

  The blade flashed through with a ripping sound, and gas gushed out insuch volumes that Clifford, half suffocated, was forced to hastilyabandon his position and clamber a little way round out of reach of therush.

  Learning by experience, he reached as high as he could stretch, andmade a long, sideways gash, then dropped hastily back to the ring.

  "That's done it!" he cried delightedly. For the cut was followed by along, hissing tear. The envelope had split for several feet, and thelower part was rapidly crumpling like a burst bladder.

  He glanced down. It looked exactly as if fields and houses were rushingup to meet him. The balloon was dropping at tremendous speed.

  At the same time Clifford noticed that the shadow of the balloon wasswishing across the fields at almost the pace of an express train. Hehad dropped into a swift air current, and the rapidly deflating balloonwas actually traveling at more than thirty miles an hour.

  A small town loomed below, with a tall factory chimney stickingspike-like from its centre.

  "If I hit that I'm a gone coon," muttered the boy, but the balloonpassed far above its smoking summit, and swirled away over villas andgardens toward a wood.

  Clifford saw people looking up, heard shouts of surprise and alarm, buthe was past it all in a minute and swinging down toward the wood.

  A fresh spasm of fright seized him as he saw the tall trees bending inthe gale.

  But the balloon scudded just above their leafy tops, and swooped towarda large square building, which lay in its own grounds surrounded by ahigh brick wall.

  Even in the one flashing glance he caught of the place there wassomething sombre and forbidding about it. The tall gray walls, thebarred windows, the dark elms, and the heavy shrubbery.

  Now the balloon was flying straight for the outer wall.

  With a shout of alarm Clifford scrambled wildly into the netting.Just in time. With a loud clang the iron ring struck the top of thewall. It caught a second, the whole envelope heeled over, the branchesof a thick yew tore Clifford from his hold, and the last thing heremembered was the thump with which he reached the ground.

  A face was the first thing Clifford caught sight of when he opened hiseyes again.

  Such a face! Huge, dull, heavy, with deep, sunken eyes, which shone outwith a lurid light from under cavernous eyebrows.

  They were fixed upon the boy with such a beast-like glare thatClifford, sick and shaken with his heavy fall, could only lie and gazeand vaguely wonder whether he was awake or dreaming.

  Gradually as his senses came back he realized that he was lying on agrassy path, and the owner of the eyes, a tall, powerfully built man,was sitting on a moss-grown log leaning over him.

  But who and what he was, and why he glared in this ghastly fashion,never attempting to offer help, Clifford could not imagine.

  The fixed stare was slowly hypnotizing him. He made an attempt to rollout of reach of the horrible eyes.

  Instantly a long arm shot out, and fell on his shoulder with a grippainful in its vise-like strength.

  "You'll do," said the owner of the eyes in a queer, hoarse voice.

  "Do what?" muttered the boy faintly.

  "To kill," replied the man in the coolest tone imaginable.

  "Oh, I must be dreaming!" thought Clifford. But the painful grasp onhis shoulder was good proof he was doing nothing of the sort.

  "Nice and young and tender!" said the brute, licking his leathery lips.He let go of Clifford's shoulder, and suddenly produced from his pocketan ordinary table knife. Clifford saw with a shudder that its blade hadbeen ground to razor-like keenness.

  The man ran a finger along the sharp edge--ran it so carelessly thatthe thin steel ripped the skin, and blood dropped to the grass.

  At the sight of the blood his dull face turned to a mask of fury, andhe sprang to his feet with a howl resembling that of a wild beasthungry for its food.

  The movement broke the spell. Clifford bounded to his feet, and,ducking just in time to escape a vicious stab, ran for dear life towardthe house.

  With a scream of balked fury the man was after him.

  Bruised and shaken as he was, Clifford had never in his life before runso fast. At first he gained a little, but presently the long legs ofhis pursuer began to tell, and he heard the hot panting so close behindthat each moment he expected to feel the sharp steel buried in his back.

  The path ran right up under the blank windows of the silent house.Reaching the angle, Clifford swerved wildly to the right. A figure wasstanding by the door.

  With a wild yell of "Help!" Clifford dashed toward it.

  To his horror it vanished, slamming the door in his face.

  Once more Clifford dodged, and reached an opening in the thickshrubbery which bordered the drive. As he dashed in among the trees hisfoot caught in a root, and down he came with a crash that knocked theremaining breath out of him.

  His pursuer was so close that he could not stop, and, tripping over theboy, went over on his head, burying his knife deep in the ground.

  At the same moment a gaunt, middle-aged man with a gray beard andhair burst out of
the thick bushes alongside, and hurled himself uponClifford's assailant.

  Clifford, scrambling wildly to his feet, saw the big man struggling torise. He was howling with rage, and in his bull-like fury was throwingthe other about like a feather.

  Clifford glanced round. A dead branch lay close by. It was the work ofan instant to snatch it up and bring it with all his force across thegreat head of his would-be murderer.

  "Well done!" cried the gray-bearded man, as the other straightened outand lay still. "I've often told them that Prynne was dangerous. But howdid you get here?"

  He turned, and for the first time caught sight of Clifford's face.

  For a moment the two stared at one another in an amazement beyond anydescription.

  Then staggering back, with face white as chalk, the elder man muttered,"Clifford!"

  "Father!" replied the boy, unable to believe his eyes.

  At this moment footsteps crunched on the gravel of the drive.

  The gray-bearded man recovered himself. "They're coming," he hissed ina tense whisper. "Don't let on you know me. Moise put me here. TellCarey."

  It was all he had time to say before a wandering man burst upon them.

  "What's up here?" he cried gruffly. Then, catching sight of Clifford,"And what are you doing here?"

  "Dropped in a balloon," retorted Clifford sharply. The man's tone wasmost offensive. "This brute"--pointing to the insensible man--"tried tokill me. He must be mad."

  The warder burst into a hoarse guffaw. "Mad--of course he's mad.They're all mad here."

  Then like a thunder clap the truth burst on Clifford. His scoundrellypartner had immured his father in this horrible place. The boy blazedwith fury. It was all he could do to keep down the rage which consumedhim.

  But he did it. He turned to the warder. "The sooner I'm clear of theplace, the better I shall be pleased," he said. "Perhaps you'll kindlyshow me the way out."

  "The sooner you're out the better, my lad," returned the man with anugly grin. He led the way to a tall iron-spiked gate, unlocked it, and,with a sigh of intense relief, Clifford found himself on the highroad.

  That the first passer-by told him he was eighteen miles from home,every step of which he would have to tramp, hardly made the slightestimpression on the eager excitement with which Clifford looked forwardto the release of his father.

  * * * * *

  Three days later Mr. Keen and his wife met once more. As for Moise,when he found that his villainy was discovered, he took what ready cashhe could lay hands on, and vanished with all speed. Clifford is nevertired of hearing his father tell of the shipwreck and the injury to hishead, which gave his ex-partner the opportunity to declare him mad, andimprison him under a false name in the private asylum from which he wasso wonderfully rescued.

  Since his liberation Mr. Keen has made use of a part of his recoveredfortune to force an investigation of the methods employed in theprivate asylum. And the owner of the house with the barred windowsfound himself in such extremely hot water that he followed Moise'sexample and cleared out of the country.