Complete Works of William Hope Hodgson

by Hodgson, William Hope

  “Stop, Sandy!” he said, in a hoarse voice. “Stop!”

  But even as he spoke, Sandy Mech lurched forward once more, dragging at his sack, and swearing. As he did so, there was a curious rending sound, as the lining-boards gave way, and then a low roar, as something like a ton of earth poured down into a tunnel, a little behind Sandy, cutting him off completely from John Vardon and the Parson.

  John Vardon gasped, in an impenetrable smother of dust, and then backed rapidly, still carrying his grip-sack. His stern met the Parson’s head solidly, as he backed through the opening into the strong-room.

  “What the de’il’s wrong?” whispered the Parson, somewhat warmly. “What the de’il—”

  “The roof’s fallen in, Parson,” said John Vardon, husky with the dust, and the terror of the situation. “We’re trapped. It’s jail for us; just when I thought to win clear of all and start fresh. My goodness, Parson, we can’t clear the drift in the time we’ve got.”

  “Well, laddie,” said Parson Guyles, with peculiar earnestness, and growing more Scottish, “I ha’ always had ma doots that good should come out o’ evil; but the A’michty works in His ain way; and maybe He’s but lessoning ye a bit mair, to show ye the hard and bitter path that is the lot o’ the evil doer. Let us away in, an’ see how the tunnel looks. The A’michty loveth a man that’s na ower ready to cry ‘Lord I’m beat!’ He’s a sight more patience wi’ the weak-minded than wi’ the weak-hearted.... I’m feared though, that yon Sandy will fall to the temptation o’ the opportunity, an’ to his lack o’ courage, an’ run off. An’ the diggin’-tools is a’ in the cellar, I’m thinkin’! Whist! Hark!”

  The two men stood silent, John Vardon white and dust-smothered; but Parson Guyles calm, with bright, alert eyes.

  “Here’s the manager, with one of the emergency keys,” one of the muffled-sounding voices was saying. “If the other two buck up, we shall have the door open in a few minutes.”

  John Vardon quivered, and stared round the steel room, madly.

  “Steady, my lad! Steady!” said Parson Guyles. “We are not beat yet. Never ha’ I, by the mercy of the A’michty, seen the inside o’ jail yet; and never will I, while the life goes in and out between ma breast banes.... To work, laddie!”

  He thrust himself into the low mouth of the tunnel, and John Vardon followed, desperately. They came quickly to the place where the roof had collapsed, and the Parson threw himself at the loose bank of earth in which the tunnel vanished.

  “Something to shovel with?” he said. “The tools are all in the cellar.... Ha! thanks be, I ha’ the notion. To the side, man, smartly, while I go by you.”

  He crept quickly past the half stupefied engineer, and so into the strong-room. In a few seconds, he was back again, carrying something.

  “Here ye are, laddie. Dig now, like man never dug, or ye’ll dig soon at Portland.”

  He had brought two of the strong metal trays, in which the gold had been stored; and excellent makeshift shovels they proved. Vardon seized his, and, side by side, the two men worked like maniacs, sending the earth back between their knees in savage showers, and so filling the low drift with dust that they were almost blinded.

  For some ten minutes, they worked; and then John Vardon gasped out: —

  “Go back, Parson, a moment, and see if either of the other keys has come yet. I shall break up if I go on like this, feeling that they’ll open that door, and be on us any moment.”

  The Parson merely grunted assent; he was too breathless, and too choked with the earth-dust, to speak. But if he were going to get the best out of Vardon, right to the last bitter moment, he must ease the nerve strain from him as much as possible.

  He crept rapidly into the strong-room; and there, as he stood breathing heavily, he heard a confused chorus of greeting; and then one of the muffled-sounding voices say: —

  “Thank goodness! There’s only the third key to come now.”

  There was not a moment to lose, and the Parson dived head-foremost into the tunnel again.

  “God forgie me!” he muttered, “but the laddie’ll drop work the instant, if I tell him the truth.”

  He reached Vardon, through the blinding showers of earth which the engineer was heaving back between his knees. As he came alongside of him, he inadvertently gripped the man’s ankle, and Vardon whirled round on him, with a sick curse of fear.

  “Whist, laddie! Whist!” said the Parson. “It is I. The second key’s no arrived yet; and they’ve had a telephone message, saying the third man can no come for twenty minutes mair!”

  “Thank God! Thank God!” said John Vardon. “I can work now.” And work he did; and the Parson beside him. But Parson Guyles worked all the time with an ear cocked down the drift, knowing full well that any minute there might arrive the third key; for the minimum time that he had calculated out for the keys to arrive, was already reached. And then there would come the opening of the door, and they would be caught, literally like human rats.

  The minutes passed, like eternities, and suddenly the Parson could bear it no longer.

  “I’ll away back,” he muttered, with breathless huskiness, “an’ see if yon second key’s arrived yet.”

  As he crept out into the clearer air of the strong-room, he heard one of the muffled voices say, in a tone of authority:— “We are all here, gentlemen. Produce each your emergency key, and insert in the electrical combination to the right of the dial, in the order that I tell you....”

  The third key had arrived, and the officials were at that very moment proceeding to unlock the door.

  A desperate feeling took the Parson for an instant, across the chest and around the heart, and he stared with a sudden fierce intensity round about the room, to see whether he might not come upon some plan to win a little more delay. Abruptly, as he stared, he noticed the lines still stretched across the floor, and the ball of cord lying in the corner.

  Like lightning, an idea came to him, and he dashed at the ball; then went at a silent run to where the vast door of the strong-room fitted solidly into its rebates. It had the maker’s name-plate screwed on solidly to the otherwise smooth inner side of the door, and the Parson pulled a small, beautiful turn-screw from his pocket, as he ran. He reached the door, and fitted the turn-screw into the notch of the heavy steel screw; then applied all his strength and skill, and the screw moved. In less than five, noiseless, intense seconds, the screw head was sticking out half an inch from the door. He took a swift turn with the cord round the head of the screw, and then round the metal, electric light switch-lever, which was screwed into the left wall, near to the edge of the shut door. As the Parson took the turn with the cord, he caught the final directions from the muffled voice: —

  “Key 1 to the left; key 3 to the right; key 2 to the right. Withdraw Numbers 1 and 2 keys; reverse Number 3. That’s right. The door is unlocked. Pull it open.”

  As the muffled voice gave the final direction; the Parson, sweating until he was almost blind in that horrible moment, yet kept his nerve; and his swift fingers took turn after turn of the thin strong cord, from the screw head to the switch; back and forth; back and forth.

  “The door’s stuck,” came one of the voices. “Have we worked the combination right?”

  “Yes,” answered the previous voice. “Pull a bit.”

  “Praise be!” muttered the Parson, as he drew his sleeve across his forehead. That’ll hold a while; and they’ll keep guessing on the combination. Maybe, the A’michty has a mind to let us go this once mair.”

  He tested the tightly strung bundle of cord, with a heavy pull; then, without a second look, he dived again into the drift.

  “Look out, John!” he called, softly, as he approached. “It is I. We’re safe a bit mair. How goes it, laddie? How goes it?”

  “We — we’ll do it yet, Parson,” said Vardon, between shovelfuls, gasping as he spoke.

  “Whist!” said Parson Guyles, “Whist! What’s yon?”

  Vardon stopped, and th
ey both listened.... Someone was digging, on the other side of the piled up obstruction.

  “It’s yon honest de’il, Sandy,” said the Parson. “Man, I do praise the A’michty for the goodness o’ that.”

  “He’s close, Parson!” said the engineer, still gasping. “Close! Do you understand? Only a few feet ... My God, another few minutes, and we’ll be away clear.”

  They spoke not a word more; but dug fiercely together into the remaining mound of earth. As they threw the earth between their knees, they scrambled it backwards with their feet, in a very orgy of effort, so that it mounded up behind them, half-way to the roof of the tunnel.

  Suddenly, from the strong-room, there came a single sharp sound, like a rope snapping. “It’s gone!” gasped out the Parson, and whirled round. “They’re into the room!”

  In the same instant, John Vardon cried out, inarticulately, and Parson Guyles turned again swiftly, a thousand plans for action surging in him. He saw that a shovel, gripped by two grimy efficient hands, was stabbing through the earth that barred their escape. Sandy Mech had broken through!

  From the direction of the strong-room, rose a loud incoherent outcry — a dozen men speaking at once. And then an instantaneous silence, and the flash of a bull’s-eye lamp, along the drift.

  “They’re there, lads!” shouted a deep commanding voice. “After them! Follow me.”

  Sandy Mech’s head and shoulders were half through from the cellar side now; and he saw their instant need.

  “The roof, Parson!” he shouted. “Bring the roof down on ‘em. Catch!”

  He shot a short, heavy digging-spud, or flat ended bar, into the Parson’s hand. Then he made another swift sweep with his shovel.

  “There’s room, John,” he said. “Come on! Come on! Get clear out o’ the Parson’s road.”

  He literally hauled Vardon over the mound, by his head and shoulders, slithering him down on the cellar side, in a cloud of dust. Then back over the mound, to help the Parson; but the Parson needed no help. He was heaving mightily at the roof, with the spud. A big, bearded face had just loomed at him, over the mound that lay between him and the strong-room. And he had met it with all the weight of his body and fist.... The face had gone backwards, half-stunned; and he had attacked the roof ferociously again. Two other faces loomed, with lamps, and an automatic pistol was thrust at him.

  The Parson gave a final heave; there was a roar of falling earth, and the reiterated explosion of a pistol, smothered. Then he was being hauled back by Sandy, half suffocated, over the mound on the cellar side. Between them and the strong-room, lay a barrier that would take, maybe, an hour to dig away.

  “Sandy, lad,” were the Parson’s first words, as the three of them stood breathless and grimy in the cellar, “I owe ye apology for doubting ye. I told John, here, ye’d never ha’ power to resist the temptation o’ the moment. I ask pardon of ye, laddie. I’ll no forget how ye proved ye’rsel’ this night.”

  “Aw!” said Sandy Mech, “I ain’t no tin god! I did think of it; but you an’ me’s been through some jobs together, Parson; an’ I’d a’ hated you to get copped. And I’d a’ had a job to shunt this stuff by me lonesome.”

  “Now, we got to move smartly,” said Parson Guyles. “They’ll maybe stay diggin’ in the drift awhile; but they’ll sure have men into all these basements, inside ten minutes. Pick up the gold. I’ll take a bag and this sack o’ bonds and notes. I regret sair we’re leaving one in yonder. Now follow me.... Whist! Hear that now! Not a sound!”

  A thunderous knocking rose from the entrance door.

  “The police! They’re on our track a’ready!” whispered Parson Guyles.

  “... his ‘ands were all earthy!” they heard a heavy voice explaining excitedly. “I thought I’d keep an eye on ‘im.... Nothing to be suspicious about then, or I’d ‘ave watched him closer....”

  “I was right!” whispered the Parson. “Yon fat policeman must ha’ noticed things; and he’s brought ’em right on our heels. Come on!”

  As he spoke, there came a heavy blow on the door, that made the whole basement boom and echo.

  “Quick, after me,” said the Parson. “That door’ll be doon in a minute.”

  He went swiftly through the darkness towards the rear of the basement, and the two others followed, stumbling in the gloom, with the weight of precious metal each carried.

  There came the click of a lock. Then, faintly, they could see the outline of an open doorway, with the loom of the night beyond.

  “Smartly now!” said Parson Guyles. “Move quiet an’ noiseless as the de’il himsel.... Pause a wee, while I lock this door against them.... Hark to that!” as a crash resounded through the basement behind them. “They’re in!”

  He closed the door, quietly, and locked it, methodically withdrawing and pocketing the key.

  “This is no’ a proper way out, ye’ll understan’!” he whispered. “There’s no back entrances to this block; only this was a convenience that the last tenant of this basement arranged with the proprietor of the stable yard we’re in now; and where I gave John the hint to keep his car. Step quiet, laddies. This way. To the left.... Now right. Here we are. Put the bags in, smart. I bid yon Williams lad ha’ the lamps lit an’ a’ ready by two o’clock, an’ I’m glad he’s done as I told him. I explained that ma friend an’ I were away to Edinboro’ toon for the week end.... That you, Williams?” as a sleepy eyed yard-man appeared. “Here’s half-a-crown, my man. Open the gates, an’ let us away on oor holiday.”

  “Thank’ee, Sir,” said the man. “I’ve had the lights lit this half hour.”

  He shambled to the gates, and began slowly to open them; while Vardon got into the driver’s seat, and the Parson set the engine going.

  “Throttle her, man,” he said. “Not a sound more than need be.... What’s yon man so long for!”

  The man had the gates half open; but had apparently been spoken to by someone. As the car circled to approach the gates, the lamps showed something that sickened the three men in the car. Standing at the gate, questioning the man, whose replies sounded frightened and bewildered, were four big policemen, and the foremost one was the burly officer whose voice they had heard a few minutes earlier, explaining about the Parson’s hands.

  Abruptly, as the light showed them, the four officers barred the way.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen!” said the fat policeman, raising his bull’s-eye, “we shall not keep you a moment, if all is right; but — It’s him!” he ended in a shout. “Collar him! A good thing I thought to try round the back here! Shut the gates!”

  The four men, in a clump, turned to do so. In that instant, the Parson stooped swiftly, and pulled a large paper bag from under the seat. He sprang upright, and dashed it at the heads of the policemen. It burst against one of their helmets, and the car’s head-lights shone on a grey cloud of dust that filled the air around the police. The men in the car gasped for breath, and began to sneeze violently; but the policemen, caught literally in the thick of the cloud of pungent dust, reeled and staggered in all directions, gasping and sneezing hopelessly; for the Parson had burst a great paper bag of snuff and pepper right among them.

  The Parson leaped right out among the stupefied men, hitting right and left with his fists, and clearing a path for the car in half a dozen seconds. He seized the doors, and dashed them wide open.

  “Through wi’ her, John!” he shouted, sneezing fiercely. “Through wi’ her!”

  Vardon obeyed, and the car leapt through. The Parson sprang on the foot-board, as the car swung out into the road; and as he did so, there came a thunder of blows on a door somewhere up the yard.

  “To the left, John!” gasped the Parson. “Let her go!”

  Ten minutes later, at a reasonable speed, the car was traversing one of the bridges over the river. Here, where they could see no one was about, they stopped the car, and John Vardon jumped out. He slipped off the number-plates, and disclosed fresh ones underneath.

  “A good
notion that, John,” said Parson Guyles, as Vardon climbed back into his seat and re-started the car. “I flatter myself that notion o’ the snuff-mixture was good, too, laddies. I’ve tried that trick before; and it always comes off, and no one the worse for it, either. Also, I’m thinkin’ it’s as well I made ye both up sae careful, too. I wonder now how ye’re photos will turn out.”

  “What?” asked both men.

  “Why!” said the Parson. “Yon box o’ tricks we’ve just been emptyin’, had a deal o’ notions about it. Did ye not see yon flash, after the alarm rang? Well, I guess, laddies, that’s a photograph apparatus, that one, Jamie MacAllister (they’re a’ Scots men, ye notice) invented; and it’s to photograph any act o’ irregularity that may occur. Ye micht ca’ oor’s some, how irregular, maybe.” The two men laughed.

  “The Lord forgie me,” said Parson Guyles, growing more and more Scottish; “but I feel that licht hearted, I must crack a joke on ma ain sins!”

  “I’m that way, always, Parson, after a job,” said Sandy Mech, nodding in the darkness. “I don’t reckon much of conscience when you’ve got the oof safe away. That’s my way o’ lookin’ at it.”

  But John Vardon said nothing.

  X

  It was a week later, and Parson Guyles and John Vardon were walking up and down the platform of a provincial railway station.

  “John Vardon,” said the Parson, quietly, as the train steamed in, “I hold ye to ye’re given word.”

  “I’ll keep it, Parson,” said Vardon, looking squarely at Parson Guyles. “You’re a fine man, Parson—”

  “Na! Na ! Man! Oh dinna shame me mair! Dinna shame me mair!” cried out the Parson, in very distress. “God go with ye an’ guide ye.

  “An’ God help me,” he muttered, as they turned, each his own way.

  THE ADVENTURE WITH THE CLAIM JUMPERS

  “You don’t come that over me, my lad!” said Cargunka, owner of the “Dot-And-Carry-One” Saloon, on the Water Front, San Francisco. “Eat your whack of the free lunch, and welcome; but if I catches you grub-stakin’ your pockets, you’ll get put out here right smart!”