The Mansion of Mystery Part 42

The counterfeiters had started to draw lots, to see who should be the one to do the detective to death. Then had come an interruption, in the shape of an important message, and the detective had been bundled off by himself, while the communication was under discussion.

Adam Adams knew that his situation was a desperate one. The counterfeiters were a gang who would stop at nothing to keep their secrets. The only one who appeared to be at all timid was the fellow known as Number Four. Possibly if he could get this fellow alone and work on his feelings Number Four might aid him. But just now such a course seemed out of the question.

The detective listened attentively, but only a faint murmur of voices reached his ears. The counterfeiters were having an animated discussion over something, but they were on their guard so that not even their prisoner might hear.

"Wonder why they are so careful?" mused the detective grimly. "If they are going to take my life I don't see what difference it will make whether I know their secrets or not."

Adam Adams was not the man to give in easily. Upon every case where his services were called for, he usually "kept at it" until every possibility was exhausted. He did not give in now, yet it must be confessed, being but human, his heart was somewhat heavy.

"I'll have to take chances," he told himself. "Anything is better than to let them kill me in cold blood."

He waited for a few minutes, to find out if anybody was coming to watch him. One of the counterfeiters came in, looked him over in silence, and then pa.s.sed out again, this time closing the door more tightly than before.

As soon as the fellow had departed, Adam Adams commenced to work on his bonds. He had studied all sorts of handcuffs, and knew well how to manage his hands and wrists when being fastened. He had not been able to get the better of the fellow at the cottage, but now it was different, and, with a twist of his wrists, he withdrew first one hand and then the other.

With his hands free, it was an easy matter to untie his feet. This done, he arose and tiptoed his way to the door. He opened the barrier with caution, and peered out.

The sight that met his gaze was not a rea.s.suring one. The counterfeiters sat on all sides of the room, and each had a pistol where it could be gotten at with ease.

"It's got to be done!" Matlock Styles was saying. "It should have been done long ago."

"All right, I'll do it," grumbled another member of the band. "But I'll be running a big risk."

"Not half the bloomin' risk I've been running," grumbled the Englishman.

"What about the word from Buffalo?" asked another.

"We'll settle that to-night--after we have settled about our prisoner."

"I've got to get back to New York."

"How soon?"

"Just as soon as possible."

"Do you want to take the letter along?"

"Yes; I gave my word I'd bring the letter."

"All right, then; we'll have to write the letter, and each man sign it," said Matlock Styles. "But, I must say, I don't like this way of doing things."

"No more do I," growled another of the band.

"It's putting a fellow's head under the axe," came from Number Four.

"Oh, don't get scared!" came from another. "I know Luffer--he's O.K."

"Everybody is O.K. until he gets in a tight corner and squeals,"

grumbled Number Four.

"Kicking again, eh?" roared Matlock Styles, glaring sourly at Number Four.

"Oh, no; I'll do as the others say!" answered the big-boned young man, but with a slight tremble in his voice. Then all of the counterfeiters gathered around a table, to dictate and sign a certain letter some outside party had demanded.

Adam Adams did not stop to listen to all of this conversation. He felt that if he was to get away he must lose no time in making the attempt.

For a moment he thought to rush past the counterfeiters and try to gain the regular entrance to the den, but then he realized the foolishness of such an attempt. Before he got a dozen steps, they would fire at him, and, most likely, kill him.

He closed the door gently, and, seeing a small stick of wood on the floor, stuck this under the barrier and shoved it as tight as possible.

Then he took up the bench and braced this under the handle of the door, so that to shove the door inwards would be all but impossible.

"Now, then, to see if there is some other way out," he mused.

A lantern, hanging on a nail, lit up the stone chamber. Taking the light in hand, he commenced a rapid but thorough investigation of his prison.

The walls were practically solid, the only break being at the door and on the opposite side, where there had once been another door. This second doorway had been bricked up to within six inches of the top, which had been left open, probably for ventilation.

Standing on tiptoes, Adam Adams held up the lantern and looked through the ventilating s.p.a.ce. Some cool air coming in, told him that the pa.s.sageway beyond must lead to the outer world.

"If that opening was only a bit larger a fellow might crawl through,"

was what he told himself.

He set the lantern down and felt of the wall, putting his arm through the opening. It was about a foot thick, and the bricks were well laid, in good cement.

"Not much show there," he reasoned grimly. "If a fellow had time, it could be done. But it would take hours--with only a pocketknife--and they'd be sure to hear the noise. I must see if there isn't some other way."

He listened at the door for a moment. The counterfeiters were still at work over the letter, and another angry discussion was in full sway.

Then he held up the lantern, looking at the flooring over his head.

The planks were heavy but old, and several of them looked to be pretty well rotted. Picking up a stick that was handy, he poked at one plank after another. It was not long before he came to one that was so far decayed that the end of the stick went through it with ease.

There was nothing to stand upon but the bench, and so he took it away from the door and placed it directly under the decayed plank. Then he stood up and pushed on the plank with both hands. It gave way, sending down a shower of dust and mold in his face, and almost blinding him.

He had made considerable noise, but angry words between the men in the other chamber drowned out the sounds. Catching up the lantern once more, he lifted it through the opening over his head, and tried to look around.

He could see but little, excepting boxes and barrels, some as decayed as was the floor. Evidently the apartment above had once been a store-room, but had not been used for years.

Adam Adams did not speculate long over what to do next. He felt that the farther he got from the counterfeiters the better off he would be.

Setting the lantern on the floor above, he took a firm hold on a plank that looked fairly strong, and drew himself up. It was a tight squeeze, but he had been through many tight squeezes before, so did not mind it.

Once in the storeroom, his next move was to place what was left of the broken plank into position, and on it he piled several empty boxes and barrels.

"That may keep them guessing as to how I got out of the room below," he thought. "They'll find out sooner or later--but the later the better."

Lantern in hand, he moved cautiously around the old storeroom. There were many empty boxes and barrels, and also sacks that contained musty flour. Rats were in evidence, and they scurried hither and thither as the detective moved around.

It was not long before he discovered two doors. One was nailed up, and where it led to, he could not surmise. The other stood partly open, and through it came a whiff of fresh air.

"That smells like liberty," he thought, as he breathed in the fresh air.