“Are you Dick Hartwell? Please, whoever you are, answer! We want to get out of here and bring help. Do you know how to turn off the fountain?”
There was a little pause. Then came the answer.
“Outside…the tower!”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Judy. “Then we are trapped unless— Is there some way to get outside from in there?” she called.
“No…no way.” The man was evidently growing weaker. “If you really…want to…help me,” he began and then broke off with a moan.
“We do want to help. Oh, Horace! We have to,” cried Judy. “All three of us will be drowned if we don’t get out of here!”
Horace’s reply was reassuring. “Not if we succeed in opening that drain.”
Another moan from behind the door spurred them to action. Horace brought a beam to push against one side of the drain cover while Judy pried up the other edge with a plank. At last it yielded to their tugging, and the water rushed and gurgled down the open drain.
The sound cheered Judy less than she had thought it would. “We’re no longer in immediate danger of being drowned,” she told Horace, “but you can still hear that running water in the pipes overhead. What are we supposed to do? Just wait here until they turn it off?”
“I don’t like waiting any better than you do,” her brother replied, “but I don’t know what else we can do. It gives me the chills just to listen to that water. I don’t trust those rusty pipes.”
“You mean they might leak?”
“Some of them are already leaking,” declared Horace. “But as long as the drain is in good working order I guess we don’t have to worry too much. The next thing to do is get dry. My feet are wet, and I’m cold all over.”
“You are shivering. Come on back to that furnace,” Judy suggested, “before you catch your death of cold.”
She knew, from experience, that Horace caught cold more easily than she did. But her feet were wet, too. For a little while they stood close to the heat of the furnace, drying themselves and wondering how long it would be before anyone turned off the fountain.
“Maybe they leave it on all day and turn it off at night,” Horace commented.
“No, they turn it on and off whenever they feel like it,” Judy said. “When we were here yesterday it was off in the daytime and then went on just when it began to get dark. There’s no rhyme or reason to it unless—”
“Unless what?” asked Horace.
Judy had been afraid to say what she was thinking.
“Unless someone really is trying to drown us. If the fountain is controlled from the tower, that dark man who warned me to keep away from here might be the one who turned it on. If he saw us he knows we suspect something.”
“It’s news, too,” lamented Horace, “but now it’s too late for today’s paper. It’ll be in tomorrow, though. You’ll see!”
“By tomorrow we’ll know a lot more than we do today,” Judy encouraged him. “We’ll know who that prisoner is, and why he’s down here. Horace, do you think he really is Dick Hartwell? Do you suppose he still wants us to go away?”
“Ask him,” Horace suggested. “He should be willing to tell us who he is.”
Again Judy rapped on the locked door only to hear nothing but the echo of her tapping and that unearthly rushing sound overhead.
“There is a leak,” Horace told her, squinting upwards. “I knew there must be. The water would be up to our necks by now if we hadn’t succeeded in opening that drain.”
“Cheerful thought!” commented Judy.
She rapped on the door again—gently at first and then a little louder.
“Please answer us,” she and Horace both begged.
A long, gasping moan finally came from behind the locked door.
“Are you hurt?” asked Judy. “Are you Dick Hartwell, Roger Banning’s friend?”
“He’s—no friend. He did it,” was the confused reply.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Horace whispered. “He is willing to talk.”
Judy was not so sure. “Did what?” she asked. “Did Roger Banning hurt you?”
“The time…what time is it?”
“He must be delirious,” Horace whispered. “He doesn’t understand what you said.”
“What time is it?” the voice from behind the door was asking again.
Horace told him the exact time, adding that his watch was accurate. “I checked it with my car radio this morning.”
“What day?”
“It’s Tuesday, the third of December.”
This simple statement was greeted with a moan of despair. “Eleven o’clock…Tuesday…the very day…the very hour!”
“Is something timed?” asked Judy, thinking that the fountain might be turned off and on by some sort of a timing device.
This sudden hope was soon dashed. The noise overhead continued the same as before except that now there was added to it a steady dripping sound from the leaky pipes. First it was in one place and then in another. Judy tried not to listen to it, but she couldn’t help the feeling of panic that was mounting inside her. Horace was outwardly calm.
“What difference does it make what time it is?” Horace called.
“Too late.…” was the only reply.
“Too late for what?” asked Judy. “Surely we can still do something.”
“Report,” came the voice, fainter now. “Parole officer…eleven today. Now they’ll send me…back.…”
At last Judy understood.
“You are Dick Hartwell, aren’t you?” she asked. “You wanted to report to your parole officer, but someone shut you down here so you couldn’t. Is that it?”
The answer was barely more than a sigh.
“Who did it?” asked Horace. “Was it the work of a gang of jewel thieves? I suppose they were afraid that you would report their activities, too?”
“No,” the prisoner said. “They wanted.…”
“Yes?” Horace prompted him.
Judy heard a gasp as if the man had tried to say something but hadn’t breath enough left to make himself heard. He moaned, but that was all.
“It’s no use, Horace,” she told her brother. “He’s too weak to talk.”
“What do you say, sis?” he asked. “Shall I bring that beam? The least we can do is smash our way in there and make the poor guy comfortable.”
“You could try it,” agreed Judy. “But you’ll need a bigger beam than the one we used to open the drain.”
“This will do.”
The beam Horace found was so big he could hardly lift it. But together he and Judy managed to bring it. Holding the big beam between them, they both shouted, “Keep back, Dick Hartwell! We’re coming through the door!”
CHAPTER XV
A Broken Water Pipe
Judy hesitated only a minute. Somehow, she felt she and Horace ought to have Dick’s permission before they did anything as drastic as breaking down the door to his prison.
“Is it all right?” she called, but there was no answer.
They waited a moment more. The beam was ready, but was the prisoner ready to meet their onslaught? When there was no sound other than the rushing of water overhead and the constant drip, drip from the leaky pipes, they shouted a second warning.
“Keep away from the door!”
With this they rushed ahead, but on the first try they succeeded only in cracking a lower door panel. A moan from inside told them the prisoner had been disturbed by the commotion. But still he said nothing in answer to their calls.
A second assault brought forth more moans. Judy became worried. “Let’s not try that again, Horace,” she pleaded. “If he’s fallen against the door we could really hurt him. There must be a better way.”
“If there is,” her brother said, “I’m sure I can’t think of it. We
won’t hurt him if he keeps back—”
“But can he? I’m afraid he may have fainted. The floor is all wet from those dripping pipes. If he’s fallen face down in the water—”
“We have to get him out,” Horace finished. “We agree on that.”
“But not by hurting him.” Judy’s suspicions of the prisoner were forgotten. She was all sympathy now. She called gently, “We’re sorry, Dick! We didn’t mean to frighten you. We were just trying to get in and help—”
“Help!”
The cry sounded so faint and far away that it puzzled Judy.
“Was that only an echo?” she asked.
Horace did not answer. He was examining the crack in the lower panel. Presently he stood up, flashlight in hand.
“You may be right, sis,” he said. “There may be a better way. Watch this.”
Horace placed the flat of his hand against the cracked door panel and pushed with all his might. Judy heard a crack as a piece of the panel gave way and left a narrow opening through which her brother beamed his flashlight.
“Horrors!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I hope we’re not too late.”
“Is he Dick Hartwell?”
“Take a look for yourself,” he suggested, moving away from the opening. “He’s in pretty bad shape, whoever he is. Dick’s young, but this man looks old. Or is he? It’s hard to tell under all that brush.”
Judy couldn’t be sure of the man’s identity either. She peered through the opening in the door panel while Horace held the flashlight. There was no window in the cell-like room. There was no light at all, not even a candle. A small table, one chair and a cot in the corner were its only furnishings. Across the uncovered springs of the cot the man was sprawled, his bearded face turned toward the wall. His clothing was in tatters. He lay there motionless.
“Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he is dying,” Judy whispered.
“Get hold of the beam and we’ll smash the other door panel,” Horace said urgently. “We can’t hurt him if he stays over there in the corner, and maybe we can still help him. Ready?”
“I’m ready, Horace!”
“Let her go!”
This time they rammed the beam against the door with such force that both panels shattered and the beam went up like one end of a seesaw. It banged one of the pipes, and water began to pour out of it in a steady stream. Horace stared at it, his face turning pale.
“Now what have we done?” gasped Judy. “We tried to help, but just look what we’ve done! The tunnel will surely be flooded now!”
“The drain—will take care of it.” Horace spoke jerkily and without conviction. Judy could tell that he feared the worst.
The water from the broken pipe did seem to be running toward the drain. It was icy cold. Judy wet her handkerchief in it and hurried over to the cot where the prisoner lay. She placed the handkerchief on his forehead, wiping away the beads of cold perspiration that stood there.
“He is Dick Hartwell,” she told Horace.
Her brother was about to follow her through the opening they had broken in the door, but she called to him, “Warm your coat to wrap around him. Take it over to the furnace and get it good and warm. He’s in shock, I think. Poor Dick! What have they done to you?”
She took his hand and found it cold. He seemed to have collapsed, perhaps from fear when the water pipe burst. The thing to do was to revive him quickly. Judy began to rub his hands, trying to start the circulation. His breath came in shallow gasps. She could scarcely feel his pulse.
“Hurry, Horace!” she called.
But Horace was already there with the warm coat. Judy threw her own coat on top of it.
“Dick! Dick!” she called. “Wake up! You have to wake up and help us. The water is pouring in here. We have to get you out!”
The man let out a long, gasping breath and opened his eyes. Judy’s face must have looked like the face of an angel as the beam from Horace’s flashlight fell upon it. “Where am I?” Dick asked. “Is this heaven?”
“It is not!” Horace had to laugh in spite of their predicament. “My sister says it’s too far down. Is there a way out—besides that hole under the cupids, I mean? How did you get in?”
“They…pushed me.”
“Into the fountain, you mean? We heard you moaning and thought it must be haunted. How long have you been here?” asked Judy.
“Days.” Evidently Dick didn’t remember how many, but Judy could imagine how long it must have seemed. He had been without food or any other comfort. This much he told them in a hoarse, whispery voice. It was hard to make out what he said.
“Who locked you in?” questioned Horace.
“Roger. You know him. He’s…no friend…made me…lose job. Told them…my record. That…fixed me…gave me…no peace…anywhere. Now…too late!”
Talking seemed to be too much of an effort, and he broke off here, looking beseechingly at Judy.
“It’s all right, Dick. We understand. You don’t have to tell us any more.”
“But I want to,” he protested in a louder tone. “They made me…sign papers. When I…refused…they beat me up.… Bad shape. Can’t walk.”
“We’ll get you out of here somehow,” Horace promised. “Who did it? Roger and Cubby?”
Dick nodded. After taking another deep breath, he added, “and Falco. He’s…boss. He made me…copy signatures…important men.”
“Can you remember any of the names you copied?”
Dick did remember a few of them. He whispered them in such a low tone that Horace had to lean close to him in order to hear. Judy heard only the water.
“It’s rising!” she exclaimed. “The drain isn’t carrying it away as fast as it comes in. I didn’t think it would. I—”
She stopped. Horace wasn’t listening. He was busy taking notes, getting Dick’s story down in black and white. He had his flashlight propped up on the table. But Judy, flashing hers in the direction of the broken water pipe, saw the flood he seemed to be ignoring.
“What’s the matter with you?” she cried. “Didn’t you hear me? How can you sit there with your little black notebook when water is pouring in all around us? No story is that important!”
“This one is,” replied Horace. He calmly removed a piece of chocolate from his pocket, unwrapped it, and handed it to the man on the cot. “Eat it slowly,” he urged. “It will give you strength. You say they brought food, but wouldn’t give it to you. Then what happened?”
CHAPTER XVI
A Frantic Appeal
Dick Hartwell finished the bit of chocolate before he answered. Now he wanted to talk. He spoke as if he were unaware of any present danger. All that he was telling Horace was in the past.
“They…beat…me…Falco…inhuman…no pity. If he wants anything…he gets it…no matter who’s hurt. It’s what he wants. The great Falco!” Dick’s voice, weak at first, was stronger now, in derision of the gang leader. “He has no use…for weaklings. He says I’m a weak sister!”
“Once I was called weak,” Horace told him. “The boys at the newspaper office nicknamed me Sister, but I made them change their minds.”
“I guess we all…have weak moments.”
“I’m having one right now,” confessed Judy. “I’m scared, and I don’t care who knows it. Maybe there’s an exit to the other room. If we broke down that door—”
“No use,” Dick said. “I saw…inside. Things stored there. They…showed me…papers—”
“The ones you signed?”
“Yes…and more. I gave in to them…at first…before I knew…what they were up to. When I refused…to sign any more names…they beat me. Now they will drown me. I don’t care. I want to die.”
“Well, I don’t,” declared Judy, “and I don’t want you to die, either, Dick Hartwell. You’re young. You h
ave a good life ahead of you—”
“Not now,” he interrupted. “Not…any more.”
“You do if you go straight. But first we have to get you away from this man, Falco,” Judy told him. “He’s the dark man, isn’t he? He warned me to keep away from here, but I’m not afraid of him. Peter won’t let him hurt me. You remember Peter Dobbs, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, as if it didn’t matter any more. “I…remember.”
“We’re married now. I guess you knew that. Peter was here last night with another man. They’ll come back—”
“To take me to prison? No! I’d rather die here.… Forget me. Save yourselves. Get outside.…”
“Is there a way outside? Is there?” asked Judy eagerly.
But Dick said he knew of no other door out of the tunnel. He knew of no openings at all except the chimney to the furnace and the space under the cupids. He had been pushed in between them and down into the tunnel when the fountain was off.
“Have to turn it off,” was all he could advise.
“But you say it’s turned off from the tower?”
“That’s right…get outside…to the tower.”
“We can’t,” Horace protested. “Can’t you see how impossible it is? There’s no way out of here except through the water, and the force of it would knock us unconscious.”
“Then we’ll all…drown,” the imprisoned man gasped and fell back on the cot as if he wished it would soon be over.
“We won’t drown if I can help it,” declared Judy. “We’ll haunt the fountain ourselves. We’ll yell until somebody comes and shuts it off!”
“It won’t work,” Horace predicted. “Nobody will hear us except those thugs, and they’ll just laugh and let us drown.”
“Blackberry’s out there. He may hear us.”
“You’re right, sis!” exclaimed Horace. “He may be able to find another opening.”
“Is Blackberry…a dog?” Dick asked from the cot. “A dog…might dig…to meet you. Shovel…out there…by the furnace. Watch it, though! Roof might…cave in. Better…to drown.”
The Third Girl Detective Page 23