by Paul Capon
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE END OF THE TUNNEL (originally published as THE CAVE OF CORNELIUS, UK copyright © 1959)
Copyright © 1959 by Paul Capon
Published by arrangement with the Paul Capon literary estate.
All rights reserved.
Edited by Dan Thompson
A Thunderchild eBook
Published by Thunderchild Publishing
1898 Shellbrook Drive
Huntsville, AL 35806
First Edition: 1959
First Thunderchild eBook Edition: April 2015
Cover by Dan Thompson
DEDICATION
To David and Graham
CHAPTER 1
To have lunch on the train was always the first treat of the holidays, and Tom and Ruth did themselves proud. They had iced melon, lobster salad, cheese and crackers and lemonade. Realizing that they still had time before the train was due at Stowbridge, they each had ice cream and another lemonade.
Tom let out his belt a notch and grinned across the table at his sister. “Have a good term?” he asked.
“Wonderful! Did Mummy tell you I was chosen to play Portia in The Merchant of Venice?”
“No. How did it go?”
“Well, I didn’t actually play the part because I had a sore throat, but at least I was chosen.”
“Who did play it, then?”
“My understudy, and she made an awful mess of it. Forgot all her lines, even the ‘quality of mercy is not strained’ bit, and then she tripped over her robe and nearly fell off the stage — ”
“Sour grapes,” suggested Tom good-humoredly.
“No, Tom, she really was dreadful. Ask anybody. What sort of term did you have?”
“Pretty fair — ” began Tom, then his voice was drowned by the train’s roar as it entered Stowbridge tunnel and both children jumped up to retrieve their suitcases.
They left the compartment and stood in the corridor. The tunnel’s black walls, swaying past the windows, reminded Ruth of Orleigh Cave. She grabbed Tom’s arm excitedly.
“Tom, the cave!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been thinking about it all through school. This vacation, we’ll be able to explore it properly, won’t we?”
“Well, yes. Anyway, we shall if Boyd and Jane come.”
“Won’t we if they don’t?”
“I suppose we could. I don’t know.”
The cave was a frightening place, and Tom did not feel eager to tackle it with only his sister for company. If the two Wheatleys were with them, it would be a different matter. Then it would be fun. Tom reflected that Boyd Wheatley was about the strongest chap he knew.
“I don’t think they’re coming to England this year,” said Ruth. “I had a long letter from Jane, and she didn’t say a thing about it. She did talk about the cave, though, and she wrote all that part of her letter in code — you know, because of the secret we discovered. It took me hours to work it out.”
The tunnel’s blackness gave way to daylight and the train slowed.
“Here we are, Ruth. Got your case?”
“Yes.”
The big express was pulling up, and, as it rumbled into Stowbridge station, they caught a glimpse of their father waiting on the platform. Dr. Risdon was a huge, red-faced, cheerful man; his most striking feature was an enormous mustache which he had acquired during the war when he had been a medical officer with Fighter Command. He was an extremely efficient man, and now, as soon as he had greeted his son and daughter, things started to happen. He had their trunks and bicycles off the train and into his Ford station wagon before most of the passengers had so much as found a porter.
“There’s a nice surprise waiting for you two,” he told them as he swung the car through the narrow, twisting streets of Stowbridge. “Your mother will tell you about it as soon as you get home.”
“Oh, Daddy!” cried Ruth, beside herself with impatience. “Why can’t you tell us?”
“No, no. I promised your mother that she could tell you.
“Well, what sort of surprise? I mean, is it a thing, like a pony? Or is it something that’s happened?”
Dr. Risdon merely laughed and started humming a tune, his habit when he had said as much as he intended to say.
Ruth had not long to wait. Harefield, the Risdons’ home, was ten miles from Stowbridge, and her father was a fast and skillful driver who had been known to make the drive in twelve minutes. Today he took a little longer, but, even so, in a quarter of an hour they were greeting their mother with strenuous hugs and noisy kisses.
“Mummy, Daddy says you have a surprise for us!” said Ruth. “What is it?”
“A surprise? Have I? Let me think — what can it be?”
“Oh, Mummy, tell us quickly.”
“Steady, darling. If you pull me to pieces, you’ll never know what the surprise is,” said Mrs. Risdon, struggling to restrain her daughter’s exuberance. “Tom, help Daddy get the trunks out of the car. He’s enormously strong, but those trunks are heavy.”
“All right, but don’t tell Ruth a thing until I’m there to hear it, will you?”
“I won’t,” promised Mrs. Risdon, and took Ruth to the veranda at the back of the house where homemade cakes and a big jug of lemonade were waiting for the family. There were also bottles of Coca-Cola and, noticing them, Ruth was curious.
“Mummy, why Coke?” she asked. “You know Tom and I never drink it.”
“Well, you’re not the only pebbles on the beach, you know.”
Ruth’s eyes grew wide, and she gave a whoop that would have done credit to a Comanche brave.
“Boyd and Jane!” she exclaimed. “That’s the surprise, isn’t it, Mummy?”
“Sh-h-h, dear,” said Mrs. Risdon. “Don’t let Tom hear you or he’ll think I’ve broken my promise. Yes, Mr. Wheatley had to make an unexpected business trip to Europe, and Boyd and Jane talked him into bringing them with him. They’re staying with their granny at White Gates, so everything will be just as it was last summer.”
Just then Tom’s head appeared at an upstairs window. “What was that bloodcurdling yell I heard?” he demanded.
Ruth looked up, shading her eyes. “Tom, I know what the surprise is, and Mummy didn’t tell me. I guessed.”
For a moment Tom didn’t understand, then he grinned broadly and yelled that he would be right down. As he thundered down the stairs, Ruth and Mrs. Risdon heard him shout, “Well, what d’you know about that! The all-American twins are back!”
“When did they arrive?” asked Ruth, but before Mrs. Risdon could answer, Tom burst out the door, demanding to know how long they were staying.
“One thing at a time.” Mrs. Risdon laughed. “They arrived yesterday, and they’re staying a month or six weeks — ”
“J.g.s.,” said Tom, meaning “jolly good show.”
“Mummy, may we bike over to White Gates this afternoon to say ‘Hello’?”
Ruth gave him a scornful look. “Tom, you really are dumb. Who do you think the Cokes are for? Mummy, you’ve invited them here, haven’t you?”
“Yes, darling, and you haven’t long to wait. I told them three o’clock.”
“It’s nearly that now,” said Tom, looking at his watch. “Gol
ly, we must get changed. I’d drop dead rather than have the twins see me in my school things!”
“Me, too,” said Ruth.
“I know,” said Mrs. Risdon. “I’ve put out your jeans and T-shirts. Now hurry up.”
Tom and Ruth raced off, and a moment later Dr. Risdon sauntered out and lowered his bulk into a deck chair. Taking out his pipe, he observed mildly, “Chaos is come again. Having the children home is about the same as letting a hurricane into the house.”
“Yes, but I don’t suppose we’ll see much of them now that the Wheatley twins are back. Remember last summer?”
“That’s the trouble with children,” said the doctor, striking a match. “No happy medium. Either they’re all around you like whirling dervishes, or they’re completely invisible. Nothing in between.”
“Last year Orleigh Cave was the great attraction. I wonder what it will be this year.”
“Orleigh again, I dare say. After all, they can fish and swim there, and mess around with the rubber dinghy. In fact, we’re lucky to have such a safe stretch of river so near.”
“Yes, but what about that dreadful cave? I hope they won’t play there.”
“Oh, it’s safe enough, my dear. I explored it when I was Tom’s age, and, as I remember, it’s a very dull cave. And perfectly safe.”
“Then why does it have such a bad reputation among the local people? None of them will go near it!”
Dr. Risdon laughed. “It doesn’t have a bad reputation for being dangerous but for being haunted. I can’t imagine either Tom or Boyd being much frightened of ghosts. Or the girls either, if it comes to that.”
Then, noticing that his wife continued to look uneasy, he added, “No, really, my dear, I can promise you there is nothing to worry about. Orleigh Cave is simply a tunnel in the cliff that runs back for about fifty yards, then comes to a stop. It’s no more dangerous than this garden.”
Mrs. Risdon smiled wanly. “Well, I’ll take your word for it, but I still don’t like to think of their playing in the cave. I know it’s silly, but there it is!”
At the bottom of the Risdon’s garden stood a ramshackle summerhouse. If it hadn’t been for Tom and Ruth, Dr. Risdon would have had it pulled down long ago. No grownup ever used it. It was too dilapidated. The roof leaked, and most of the windows were broken. It was an ideal place for secret conferences, and the foursome went there as soon as they had had their tea.
It was easy to see that Boyd and Jane were twins, for they both had fair hair, snub noses and freckles and looked as much alike as a boy and a girl can. They were thirteen, a year younger than Tom and a year older than Ruth. Boyd had the makings of a heavyweight boxer, and his recently acquired butch haircut made him look even more rugged than he had the previous summer. He was stronger than Tom, so strong that he could lift a fifty-six-pound dead weight and hoist it above his head. He moved more slowly than Tom; and, when it came to running, swimming and climbing trees, Tom had him licked hands down. Tom was considered the leader of the foursome, and for the most part what he said, went.
“The cave — did you visit it last vacation?” asked Jane as they settled themselves on rickety rustic chairs around the warped table.
“No, we couldn’t,” Tom told her. “Both of us had chicken pox. But we did go over to Orleigh during the Christmas holidays, only we couldn’t get near the cave because the river was in flood and there was water right up to the cliff.”
“You could’ve swum,” said Boyd, grinning.
“What, in January?” cried Ruth. “Have a heart!”
“Say, let’s jump on our bikes and ride over to Orleigh right now,” suggested Boyd impetuously.
“It’s too late,” said Tom, “and there’s no point in going until we have our gear together and are properly organized.”
“O.K., but let’s get going early. I don’t mind getting up at five in the morning.”
Jane stared at her brother in astonishment. “Why, Boyd! Who ever heard of your getting up that early?”
“Now, you two,” said Tom, laughing. “Let’s say we all meet at the Devil’s Well at half past six. We can have a picnic breakfast at the well and get to Orleigh soon after seven.”
The others quickly agreed. His mention of breakfast raised the question of what they should take in the way of food and drink.
“Ruth and I can bring sandwiches,” said Tom. “And a vacuum bottle of lemonade. And some fruit, I expect — bananas and oranges.”
“I guess we can bring one of those meat pies Grandma’s cook makes,” said Boyd. “She put in a stock of them when she heard we were coming. Sandwiches, too.”
“And plums,” said Jane. “They have so many plums at White Gates that they’re giving them away to all comers.”
“Well, it looks as if we’ll be all right for food,” said Tom. “Now, what do we want in the way of gear? The knotted rope, of course.”
“And I know where it is,” said Ruth, jumping up and going to an old toy box in one corner of the summerhouse. She produced a sixty-foot length of knotted rope with a small three-pronged boat anchor fastened to one end to serve as a grappling iron.
“Is our clothesline there?” asked Tom.
“Yes, I’m getting it, and we’ll need these, too,” said Ruth, unfolding a large square of heavy, plastic-coated, waterproof material.
Boyd gave her a puzzled glance. “Why should we want the ground cloths?”
“Don’t you remember how we tied up the ground cloths to make waterproof bags? See, all four of them are here.”
“Gee, I must be crazy. Sure, I remember. Another thing — shouldn’t we take the rubber dinghy?”
On that point opinion was divided, but in the end they decided to take it.
“Fine,” said Tom. “Now, what’s next?”
“Bathing suits,” said Jane. “And your flashlight, Boyd.”
“I have one, so that makes two,” Tom said. “Only shouldn’t we take some candles too?”
“We’d better not ask Mummy for too much,” Ruth said. “It would be awful if she made us promise not to play in the cave. Boyd, can’t you get some candles?”
“I guess so. Now, what else?”
“Rucksacks, obviously,” said Tom.
“String, pocketknives,” suggested Ruth.
“A compass,” said Boyd since he happened to have one.
“What about a spade?” asked Jane. “You know, in case we come to a place where the roof’s fallen in or something.”
“No, a spade would be too heavy,” said Tom regretfully. “But we should have something to dig with. A garden trowel, for instance.”
Ruth had a better idea. “That entrenching tool Daddy had when he was in the Home Guard,” she said. “It’s in the tool shed.”
“Fine,” said Tom. “Now, can anyone think of anything else?”
The four young people thought for a few minutes, but nothing else was suggested.
“Come on, then!” cried Ruth, jumping up. “Let’s get the stuff together, then we’ll still have time to play some tennis before dark.”
Final preparations — making the sandwiches, collecting the gear and packing everything into the rucksacks — took some time, but the foursome managed to fit in a set of tennis, wherein the United States beat England seven games to five.
The twins stayed for supper but left soon after, for it was growing dark.
“Half past six tomorrow morning,” whispered Jane as they said good-by. “The Devil’s Well.”
“We’ll be there,” Tom assured her. “Boyd, check watches.”
Carefully the boys compared watches and set them, then the twins jumped on their bicycles and pedaled furiously toward White Gates.
CHAPTER 2
Ruth was the first to awake the next morning. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew something tremendously exciting was about to happen. Then she remembered the cave, and in a flash she was out of bed and at the window.
She jerked back the curtains and gazed out at th
e morning’s first light. Thin wreaths of mist hung over the garden and the meadows; dew as white as frost covered the lawn and sparkled on the trees and bushes. The birds were starting to sing, and it promised to be a wonderful day.
Ruth ran to her brother’s room. He was snoring faintly, and she tugged at his pillow until he opened his eyes.
“Go away,” he mumbled, turning over. “Want to sleep.”
“The cave, Tom! We promised to meet the twins and go to the cave!”
“Too early. Go away.”
“It’s not too early. It’s broad daylight and the birds are singing.”
Sleepily, Tom looked at his watch, then sat up with a jerk. “Gosh, it’s nearly six o’clock!” he cried. “Step on it, Ruth, or we’ll be late. What a lazy girl you are!”
“Hey, just a minute. Who was it who — ”
“Don’t argue. Get some clothes on. And hurry.”
Ruth dodged the pillow he threw at her, paused long enough to throw it back, then scampered off.
Ten minutes later they were dressed and in the bicycle shed helping each other on with the rucksacks; twenty minutes later they were coasting down the long hill that led to the crossroads and the Devil’s Well.
“No sign of the twins,” said Ruth. “I suppose we mustn’t start breakfast before they turn up.”
“Better not, but we can spread the ground cloths and unpack the sandwiches.”
The Devil’s Well was not impressive to look at. It had more legend than history, but all the local guidebooks mentioned it, and it had become a favorite spot for picnics. It was simply a large flat rock with a hole in its center. The rock was nearly circular and stood a few inches above the surrounding turf. The hole, only about a foot across, was the well, but there was no record of its ever having held water. For hundreds of years it had remained unplumbed because there was a legend that the Devil would gain power over anyone who plumbed it. Some years earlier an archaeologist braved the superstition and plumbed the well. He found it to be a natural shaft running vertically down through the rock to a depth of about two thousand feet.