CHAPTER XII
A Mysterious Prisoner
“That,” announced Judy when she could find her voice, “was not a noisein the pipes. Someone’s in there, and I think he’s hurt. Shall I tryagain?”
Horace did not answer. He stood there as white as a ghost, with hismouth half open. The beam of his flashlight was directed upward. Judysaw a great many water pipes interlaced overhead. She supposed theycould carry sound as well as water. But someone had to be in the roomto make the sound, and she had a feeling it was someone who needed helpand needed it badly. She rapped again, and this time there was noanswer.
“Do you need help?” called Judy.
She didn’t know this man. She had no idea who he was. But, being Judy,she was ready to be a friend to anyone in trouble.
“Please answer me! I’m your friend,” she called again.
She had to call a third time before the man answered. His voice wasfainter now.
“I have no friends,” he replied. “Why can’t you just go away and let medie in peace?”
For a moment Judy didn’t know what to say. She was ready to help him.But how could she?
“He wants to die,” she whispered. “Oh, Horace! We must do something. Doyou think he’s a prisoner in there? Maybe he can’t open the door.”
“Ask him,” Horace suggested.
“Are you locked in?” called Judy. “We’ll get you out, somehow, if youare.”
“It’s no use,” the man replied. “I’d rather die here than in prison.Now go away!”
“I think we’d better. We’ll have a look around and then notify Peter.This is news, all right,” declared Horace. “Probably this man is one ofa gang. Maybe he was hurt escaping from the police.”
“But Horace,” Judy objected, “this man’s hurt, and he needs help. Weshould call Dad.”
“Maybe we should. Tell him we’ll bring a doctor.”
Judy told him, but “Leave me alone!” was the only answer.
“Who are you?” called Horace. To this and more questions both he andJudy asked there was no answer. The man was through talking and toldthem so by silence. The air became heavy and oppressive as they waited.From time to time they would call more questions or offer help only tohear their own echoes sounding hollow in the tunnel. There was, Judynoticed presently, one other sound.
“Hear it!” she whispered. “Let’s find out what it is. It sounds likesomeone breathing.”
“Maybe it’s a dragon breathing fire.” Horace was trying to be funny tokeep up his spirits. “I’m not feeling like St. George this morning.”
“You are a hero,” Judy reminded him. “It was in all the papers. ‘Heroof the Roulsville flood—’”
“Cut it out, sis! You know I was scared silly. I’m not wearing my suitof armor.” Judy knew he was remembering another equally shiveryadventure in a ruined castle. “I could use it, though,” he added. “Nowwhat are we up against?”
“It looks like another pipe,” replied Judy, turning on her ownflashlight to see it better. “There’s a brick wall beyond it. Butwhat’s beyond that?”
Led on by curiosity, Judy soon discovered another locked door. No moanscame from behind it, and when she knocked and called there was noanswer. There wasn’t a sound except—
Judy turned quickly. The sound now came from a definite direction. Wasit something burning? The air was suddenly warm against her face.
“Hey, sis! You know what?” Horace said in a whisper. “There’s heat downhere, and I don’t like it. What do you suppose makes it so warm?”
“It could be only a furnace,” Judy said.
She came upon it so unexpectedly that she let out a little shriek andthen laughed at herself for doing so. She had been right.
“It is!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Horace! That’s all it is. I don’t knowwhat I thought it was at first, but it’s a little pot-bellied stovewith pipes branching out in all directions. Come and see!”
Horace came at once and saw the furnace. There it sat like a squat,red-eyed demon in a little lair of its own. It was burning coal from abin beside it, and the fire showed through a grate in the door. Horaceopened it to show Judy the blaze.
“Comforting, isn’t it?” she said. “Though I wonder how they get thecoal down here. And who shovels it? I hope, whoever it is, he doesn’tshovel us in.”
“He might. How do we know he doesn’t have horns and a tail? This placeneeds more than heat to take the chill out of it,” Horace said with ashiver. “A little warm sunlight would help.”
“There is a little light where we dropped into the tunnel,” Judyremembered. “There may be other openings, too. A coal chute, maybe.There must be light of some kind in those locked rooms.”
“I hope there is,” agreed Horace. “It would be pretty dismal in therewhere that man is without any light at all.”
“He could live down here, I suppose, with light and heat,” Judy went onthinking aloud. “But why? Surely nobody would choose to liveunderground like a mole. If he’s hurt, Horace, why doesn’t he want usto help him? He said he wanted us to leave him alone to die. It doesn’tmake sense.”
“It does to me,” declared Horace. “Obviously, someone has imprisonedhim under the fountain for a reason. Maybe he thinks we’re his captorsand that’s why he doesn’t trust us.”
“But I told him we were his friends,” Judy protested.
“But are we? How friendly can we be if he’s a criminal?”
“Oh, Horace! He’s a human being,” cried Judy. “No matter what he’sdone, he has a right to decent care. We must get him out of there andcall Dad or else notify Peter—”
“And have him send the man back to prison?”
“I suppose he’d have to, wouldn’t he? If he’s an escaped prisoner, orif he’s being held here by criminals, Peter may be looking for him. Thepolice weren’t. They were looking for jewels. You don’t think they’rehidden in the room with him, do you? Maybe he is a thief. Maybe he washurt trying to escape from the police—or Peter.” This thought alarmedJudy. “You know, Horace,” she went on more urgently, “he does have toshoot at people sometimes. To make them halt, I mean. If he woundedthis man—but he couldn’t have done it! It isn’t like Peter at all. Ohdear! I’m all mixed up. If I help this prisoner escape I won’t behelping Peter, will I? Why do I get into these dreadful situations?”
“It’s your instinct to help people,” Horace told her with what soundedlike real sympathy. “I know how you feel about that man in there, butwhat can we do if he won’t cooperate?”
“We can keep trying,” replied Judy. “No matter who he is, we can’tleave him in there to die. I’ll call him again. Not you, Horace! Hemight think you were a policeman or something. We can’t even let himknow you’re a reporter. The thought of publicity might scare him, andthere’s enough down here to terrify him as it is.”
“You’re not just talking,” Horace agreed as they moved closer to thelocked door.
“Oh, mister!” Judy called out sweetly. “We’re still here, and we stillwant to help you if you’ll let us. We may be strangers, but we want tobe friends—”
“Yeah?” The voice behind the door was less polite. “I know. Friendslike Roger Banning—ready to jump on a guy when he’s already down.”
A friend? Roger Banning? That rang a bell in Judy’s mind, but for amoment the thought that followed didn’t register.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“You might tell me who _you_ are before I do any more talking,” the manreplied.
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The Haunted Fountain Page 13