“Well, if it’s a choice of ways to die,” Horace said grimly, “I think I’d rather die digging.”
“So would I,” agreed Judy, “but aren’t we being a little too morbid? Peter wouldn’t let us drown. Dad wouldn’t—”
“But they don’t know!”
“That’s what I mean,” insisted Judy. “We’ll have to get help. If we call loud enough someone may hear us.”
“She’s right,” agreed Dick. “Got to…take…chance. Funny, though. Your dog…didn’t bark.”
“Blackberry isn’t a dog,” Judy explained. “He’s a cat.”
“No good…calling him then.”
Judy feared Dick was right. Already she could see the water backing up, filling the low places in the uneven cement floor. Soon it would spread to the corner where Dick’s cot was. It would creep under the cot and finally over it. Judy shuddered as she thought of what would happen after that.
“There has to be a way out,” she told Horace as they started toward the furnace, wading in water over their ankles. “We’ll be back,” she called reassuringly to Dick Hartwell.
He seemed not to care whether they came back or not. “Forget…about me,” he replied. “Save yourselves…if you can.”
Judy and Horace looked at each other in the dimming light from her flash.
“We couldn’t do that, could we, sis?”
“No,” she replied. “It’s Dad’s business to save lives, and so I guess it’s our business to get Dick to him. We’ll be back.”
The water swirling about them became warmer as they neared the furnace. They heard it sizzle against the hot iron. Before long there would be neither light nor heat in the tunnel. The water would rise to the level of the open grate and put out the fire. The batteries in their flashlights would wear out. Horace had left his with Dick Hartwell. Now Judy used hers to look for the shovel.
“I see it!” she exclaimed at last. “It’s there in the coal bin. I’m going to climb up on the coal and look around. There must be a coal chute.”
Finally, standing on top of the piled-up coal, Judy discovered a tiny shutter that slid open and let in a little daylight. It was about the width of the shovel and only a few inches high.
“Even Blackberry couldn’t squeeze through that,” she told Horace.
Just the same they both called, “Here, kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” in their most coaxing tones.
Soon the cat peered in at them and yowled in what Judy called his asking voice. “Open it a little wider,” he seemed to be saying.
“We can’t! Oh, Blackberry! Help us!” cried Judy. “Somebody please hear us! Help! Help!”
“We’ll have to keep calling from time to time.” Horace spoke as if her frantic cry had been just plain common sense. “What do you see outside?” he asked.
“Nothing much except cement. Oh dear! I hoped we’d be under the garden.”
Horace climbed up and looked out. He had a good sense of direction. “We must be under the outer wall of the pool,” he said. “That’s about where Blackberry was sitting. No doubt he jumped down in a hurry when the fountain went on. This tunnel seems to go around it and then underneath the main fountain. I’m afraid the shovel won’t be much of a help, sis. We can’t widen the coal chute without cracking the cement and letting in more water.”
“I guess you’re right,” Judy admitted. “And it’s probably reinforced with something so we couldn’t get through anyway. But maybe we can send Blackberry—”
“That’s an idea!” Horace interrupted. “I’ll write a note while you collar him. It should be easy. He’s trying to get in.”
While Judy struggled to get hold of the cat, Horace tore a page from his notebook and scribbled a hasty message. Judy read it without comment, fastened it to Blackberry’s collar, and sent him off. The note said:
SEND HELP! CALL PETER DOBBS AND DR. BOLTON. DICK HARTWELL, MY SISTER JUDY, AND I ARE TRAPPED UNDER FOUNTAIN ON BRANDT ESTATE. IN DANGER OF DROWNING. HURRY OR WE MAY NOT GET OUT OF HERE ALIVE.
HORACE BOLTON
CHAPTER XVII
A Daring Attempt
Judy hoped Blackberry would head straight for the main road where he would be apt to find someone who might read the note attached to his collar. Time was of the utmost importance. Horace must feel, as she did, that it was rapidly running out.
“This story is burning a hole in my pocket,” he said now. “I’ve got to get it to the Herald. Well, at least we’re trying—”
“Trying what?” cried Judy. “We’re just standing here on the coal pile doing nothing. I don’t call that trying.”
“Maybe not,” Horace said, “but it is serving. ‘He also serves who only stands and waits.’”
“You and your quotations! Maybe it is serving, but I don’t like it. Maybe you like the thought of someone finding a big story in your pocket after you’re dead, but I like the thought of being alive a lot better—even with empty pockets. Why is your story so important, anyway?” asked Judy. “What, exactly, did Dick Hartwell tell you?”
“He told me plenty,” replied Horace. “Enough to convict the whole Falco gang of extortion as well as robbery. His story should solve Lorraine’s problem—”
“Bother Lorraine!” exclaimed Judy. “If it hadn’t been for her and her childish idea that she could wish away her troubles in the fountain we might not have come here—”
“And Dick Hartwell might not have been found.”
Judy hadn’t thought of that. But what was the good of finding him if there was no way to help him? Blackberry was, as Dick had pointed out, only a cat. The note attached to his collar might be lost or disregarded, probably the latter. Even if he delivered it to the right people it might be much too late. As for Lorraine’s problem, Judy announced that, whatever it was, it couldn’t compare with the problem of life and death that she and Horace and Dick were facing here inside the tunnel with the water rising.
“Perhaps not,” Horace admitted, “but it is pretty serious. Dick told me that one of the signatures he forged was that of Arthur Farringdon-Pett!”
“It was!” This information really surprised Judy. “That would mean trouble for him, wouldn’t it? I suppose Dick was forced to copy it?”
“Yes, it was one of the first names Falco gave him,” Horace explained. “He didn’t think it was too serious until he learned how it was being used. It wasn’t on a bond or anything of value, Dick told me. It was only on a sales contract.”
“I see. And how was it being used?”
“Dick didn’t say. Shall we go back and ask him?”
“We did promise to come back.”
Judy knew they had to keep that promise before the water rose much higher. It continued to pour in from the broken pipes. Apparently whoever had turned it on had no intention of shutting it off. Dick had said the fountain was controlled from the tower.
“Horace,” Judy suddenly remembered, “you didn’t mention the tower in your note.”
“I didn’t think of it,” he admitted.
“That’s all right,” Judy told him. “I didn’t think of it either until just now. Whoever finds the note will figure out something. I hope Blackberry doesn’t go back to the Brandt house with it. Oh, Horace! Suppose he goes back to that room where we found him and just sits there staring at those fish!”
“They should remind him of us. Seriously,” Horace pointed out, “he is only a cat. We can’t expect him to have human intelligence.”
“We have it. We know the fountain is turned off from the tower. If we could get out there—”
“We can’t, sis. There’s no use thinking about it.”
“I’d like to see it once more, anyway,” Judy said. “I’d like to stand up there behind those cupids and look out at the back of the waterfall. I’d like to make a wish or say a prayer or something before we go back to where Dick is. Please, Horace!�
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“Well, okay,” he agreed. “I’ll boost you up there if you think it will do any good. You might yell for help once more while you’re at it. Maybe we can still make ourselves heard.”
“We can try. Even if the crooks hear us, it’s better than nobody.”
Horace wasn’t so sure of that.
“But anyway,” he said, “you’ll be safer up there than down here. The water is getting deeper all the time.”
Judy climbed down from the coal pile and waded bravely into the water with Horace following close behind her. They were surprised to find the water almost warm.
“You see what does it,” Horace pointed out as they passed the furnace.
Judy heard it sputter as if protesting against the water that was pouring into it through the eye-like grate. It came out warm, but that wouldn’t last long for the fire would soon be out. Then, thought Judy with a shudder, cold and darkness would descend upon them. The water would creep up, unseen, until it covered them.…
“Oh, Horace!” she cried, clinging to him. “I can’t bear to think of what will happen. It’s colder now—and so swift!”
The drain, they saw as they approached it, was still clear. Water rushed down it in a whirlpool. It was all they could do to keep their footing. But finally they were past the worst of it. Daylight came in faintly from the opening overhead.
“Lift me, Horace!” Judy said at last. She had to raise her voice above the roaring noise from the fountain which was now directly above them. “Do you think anyone can hear me if I stand up there behind the cupids and call for help?” she shouted.
Horace doubted it and told her so.
“Down here there’s an echo, but up there your voice would be drowned out by the roar of the fountain. It’s haunted all right. I never expect to hear anything more frightening than that roaring water above us.”
“It scares me, too,” Judy admitted, “but not as much as the water from that broken pipe. If you lift me up we might yell together, me from up there and you from down here. Then, if nobody hears us, there’s one more thing I might try. You won’t stop me, will you?”
“That depends on what you have in mind,” Horace told her. “You’re the only sister I have. Don’t try anything impossible.”
“I won’t,” Judy promised, “not if I’m sure I can’t make it. But I’m a pretty strong swimmer. I think I can dive through that cascade and get to the rim. Now lift me up!”
“No!” Horace protested. “It’s too dangerous. What if you don’t make it? The fountain will knock the breath out of you and suck you under.”
“I don’t think so,” Judy said. “Besides, I’m so cold now that being a little colder won’t matter, and I’m already soaking wet. Please, Horace, I’ll have to try it.”
“I don’t like it a bit,” Horace said. “But what can I do? I’ll look after Dick Hartwell and keep his head above water if it comes to that. He wouldn’t make the effort to save himself.”
“No,” Judy answered, “I suppose he wouldn’t.”
Suddenly she threw her arms around her brother’s neck and kissed him.
“Cut it out!” he exclaimed. “This isn’t a last farewell. Go ahead, climb up on my shoulder. I’m getting used to it by now. When you see the water you may change your mind—”
“And yell for help!” Judy finished. “I think we ought to yell, anyway, don’t you?”
Horace needed no urging. He waited until Judy was standing behind the cupids with the waterfall all around her. Then, while she called, “Help! Help! Help!” from her high perch, he joined in from below. They both shouted and called until they were hoarse, but nobody answered.
“Is it because nobody hears us or because nobody cares?” Judy wondered.
Then, suddenly, she remembered what her grandmother had once told her. “There’s always Someone who cares.” This thought renewed the determined spirit within her.
“Go back!” she called down to her brother. “I’ll yell to you as soon as I’m safe. Oh, Horace! It will be harder for you waiting down there with the water pouring in than it will be for me going through it.”
“Pick yourself up fast,” he shouted. “Get to the edge of the pool and then yell good and loud. I’ll be listening!”
“I will! I’ll make it. I’m sure I will.”
Judy kicked off her wet shoes and threw them to test the force of the water. They immediately disappeared in the foam. Now she was not so sure.
“Suppose it does knock me out,” she thought with a shiver. She had left her coat behind to cover Dick Hartwell. For a moment she stood there in her sweater and slacks, hesitating. Then, hurling herself forward with all her strength, she plunged into the fountain.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Haunted Tower
What happened immediately after her daring plunge into the roaring water Judy never knew. She held her breath as it struck her full force and sucked her under. Blackness and a heavy weight closed over her.
A moment later she was fighting, struggling and kicking, not knowing which way was up. The water seemed to be knocking her about as if she were a rag doll. She felt no pain when her body slapped against something hard and was then washed away from it.
“The base of the fountain!” she thought.
That meant she was through the worst of it. She could see nothing, but she could feel the hard cement base the next time the force of the water threw her against it. Doubling herself up and then giving a tremendous push away from it, she was again at the mercy of the foaming spray. Fighting, fighting, she came at last to the surface of the water and gulped a breath of fresh air.
“How did I get way out here?” she wondered, opening her eyes and blinking in the unexpected sunshine. To her surprise, she was already halfway across the pool that surrounded the main fountain. She had been fighting and thrashing around in the water without realizing that she was swimming. Now it seemed too much of an effort. She still had to pass the stone lions.
“They’re roaring at me,” she thought unreasonably.
She tried to swim around the cold shower from the lion’s mouth, but now the roaring noise grew louder, and she realized it must be inside her own head.
“I’m hurt! I can’t swim another stroke!” one part of her seemed to be saying.
But another part of her mind kept urging, “You must swim! You must get help! Horace and Dick Hartwell are still down there in the tunnel with the water pouring in! You must hurry, hurry and turn off the fountain!”
The sight of the tower encouraged her. It did not seem so far away. Once she was out of the water she had only to run a short distance and turn whatever had to be turned.
“How will I know?” she wondered.
The sickening thought came to her that she knew nothing of pipes and valves and would have no idea what to turn. It made her feel weak. “It’s no use,” she told herself. “I won’t know!”
“You must know! Hurry, hurry!” the second voice inside her persisted until finally she struck out with a few long strokes that took her quickly to the edge of the pool. Pulling herself up with a final, determined effort, she cupped her hands and shouted hoarsely, “I made it, Horace! I’m—all—right!”
But was she? It had hurt her to call. It even hurt to breathe. She had held her breath for so long that now it was easier not to let it out. A great weight seemed to be sitting on her chest. Her whole body was stiff and numb with cold. Her torn clothing seemed to be plastered to it. She shook herself like a wet puppy and tilted her head first one way and then another to get rid of the roaring in her ears. Hearing no answer to her call, she called again.
“This is Judy! I got through! Can you hear me down there? Are you all right?”
Still she could hear nothing but the roaring of the fountain with its stone lions glaring angrily at her and spitting out foam.
“I
got through it!” she cried, her voice cracking with the effort. “Can you hear me?”
“Hear you!” sounded faint and far away as if it came from the fountain itself.
“The spirit!” whispered Judy. It gave her a shivery feeling of excitement. The fountain, in spite of its terrors, was still beautiful. It was hard to imagine Horace trapped under it. “That must be his voice,” she told herself. “I know who the spirit is this time, but who was it the other time so long ago?”
She couldn’t just sit beside the pool wondering. Pulling herself to her feet, she found it hurt her to stand. And yet she must hurry to the tower and turn off the water before it was too late.
“Is Dick all right?” she shouted, and the shout came back like an echo.
“All—right!”
Was it an echo? Judy did not know and decided not to take time to find out. Time was precious. She couldn’t waste it, and yet, oh, how it hurt her when she tried to walk! It felt as if she had icicles attached to her body instead of legs. And yet she must move them. She must make herself do it.
“Hurry! Hurry!” she whispered as if the words were enough to speed her along the path to the tower. She ran stiffly with a limp that grew worse as she neared the tall stone edifice.
“It mustn’t be locked!” she cried. “That would be too cruel.”
She found the lock broken and the great door sagging on rusty hinges that creaked as she opened it. Inside there was nothing except a great, gloomy round room that looked as if it had been built on purpose to house witches and owls and bats. She even fancied she could hear them fluttering. It reminded her of a giant bell tower only, instead of a bell, she looked up to see a huge tank supported by steel girders.
Was the thing she had to turn up there? The tank could be reached by narrow, wooden steps that wound up and up until, near the top, there was only a ladder.
“This is the end!” thought Judy. “I can never climb it.”
But would it be necessary to climb all the way up to the tank in order to turn off the fountain? A steady, whispering noise drew her attention to what looked like an electric motor with a switch above it. Not at all sure what would happen, she reached up and turned off the switch.
The Third Girl Detective Page 24