Chapter IX: The Death Chamber

Nick opened his eyes in darkness.

Not a ray of light could be seen at any point in the surrounding gloom, and a silence as of the grave reigned all around.

Under him was a hard stone floor, and from the dank, moldy smell of the place he thought he must be in a cellar--presumably the basement under Boucicault’s.

His head was throbbing painfully, and he was lying on his bound arms and wrists.

His ankles were also bound.

“Well, here’s a go!” he exclaimed, aloud.

The words echoed hollowly through the place, and had hardly left Nick’s lips before another voice came from a little distance.

“Hello! Is that you, Nick?”

“Chick! What are you doing here?”

“Not a thing. Can’t.”

“Trussed up?”

“Wrist and ankle.”

“The same gang that laid me out took care of you.”

“We had an enemy in our rear, and he set the longshoremen onto us.”

“The enemy in the rear was Ramsay.”

“Sure,” said Chick. “And that’s one good thing about this little adventure--we have learned that Yasmar is really Ramsay. He has shaved off his beard since we knew him in the West.”

“Where was Patsy that he couldn’t take care of Ramsay?” asked Nick.

“Something may have happened to the boy. These Westerners weren’t born yesterday.”

“They’re clever in their way; but they overshot the mark when they put you and me in the same cell.”

“You bet! If I can’t get you loose with my teeth, I’ll write myself down as a has-been. Roll over this way.”

Nick rolled toward the point from which Chick’s voice came.

As his body turned, he felt something in his pocket.

It was his pocket lamp, undoubtedly, and its presence proved that Ramsay and his pals hadn’t had time for a very exhaustive search through their victims’ clothes.

“This must be the cellar under Boucicault’s,” remarked Chick, as he twisted his body around until it lay parallel with Nick’s, and directly behind.

“When Ramsay and his pals brought us down here,” returned Nick, “they evidently planned that we weren’t to leave until we were carried feet first.”

“Ramsay wants you out of the way, Nick, so he can work his million-dollar graft without being bothered.”

Chick’s hands were bound behind him, just as Nick’s were, and he had to locate the cords by brushing his face against his chief’s arms.

Presently he got to work with his teeth.

“This will be a good, long job,” he said, pausing. “Some sailor put on this rope, and the easiest way to get it off is to chew it in two.”

“All right,” answered Nick.

After half an hour of hard labor, Nick pulled his hands apart and brought them around in front of him.

“Now for a little light,” said he.

Sitting upon the stone floor, he brought out his little pocket lamp--which was one of the things he always carried with him--and pressed the spring that released the electric current.

A shaft of bright light pierced the gloom.

Nick flashed the gleam slowly around.

He and his assistant saw that they were in a vaulted chamber, perhaps a dozen feet square.

The walls and roof were of stone.

There were no openings anywhere--that is, none that could be seen.

“How the dickens did they get us in here?” asked Chick.

“Possibly they lowered us down from the top. There may be a trap in the roof of the vault. Hello! What’s this? A knife, by George!”

In sweeping the ray of light across the floor, it had struck upon a gleaming object that lay less than a half-dozen feet away.

Nick reached for it.

It was a pearl-handled knife, such as gentlemen carry.

On a piece of silver set into the pearl there were two initials.

“‘W. H.,’” said Nick, reading the letters. “Thunder!”

“What now?” inquired Chick.

Nick turned the knife over so that the position of the two letters were reversed.

“Upside down,” said he, “W. H. becomes H. M.”

“What of it?”

“Nothing now,” Nick answered, quietly, opening the knife’s largest blade. “One of the men who brought us here must have dropped the knife. Turn over, Chick, and I’ll cut off your ropes.”

Chick whirled over, and was soon freed of the bonds about his wrists and ankles.

Nick then cut the cords from his own feet, and the two detectives arose and stretched their cramped limbs.

“Wonder if I shot anybody up there during the set-to?” Nick muttered, closing the knife blade and slipping the knife into his pocket.

“Give it up,” answered Chick. “I was down and out about as soon as you were. The instant the light was turned off, somebody let me have it full from behind. Great Scott! My head’s buzzing yet.”

“Mine, too.”

“I wonder if I’ve been touched?” Chick began, turning his pockets inside out. “Oh, no, I haven’t been touched,” he remarked, dryly; “I’ve been grabbed. I haven’t got so much as a toothpick left. Those longshoremen probably got the rake-off for their trouble.”

“I have nothing left but the pocket lamp,” said Nick. “In some way they overlooked that. The thing for us to do is to get out. I have a pressing engagement at Montgomery’s house, in Forty-fourth Street, to-morrow morning at ten. What time do you think it is now?”

“No idea.”

“It can’t be more than nine or ten.”

Picking up a small piece of stone that lay on the floor, Nick started along one of the walls, tapping on every rock.

Chick took his cue, and began doing likewise.

Suddenly Nick paused.

“Smell anything, Chick?”

“I was just going to ask you the same question.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Gas.”

“That’s what I think.”

Nick flashed the light on his assistant’s face and saw that it had become exceedingly grave.

Chick realized what the game was, and it was enough to make him sober.

“They intend to kill us with that gas,” said he.

“And they’ll do it,” answered Nick, grimly, “if we can’t find the jet and plug it up.”

The incandescent light in the pocket lamp, of course, would not ignite the escaping gas, and Nick flashed the penciled beam to every point of the side walls, the floor and the roof.

Not a sign of a gas pipe could be seen.

But the gas was coming from somewhere, and coming in a quantity that would soon fill the chamber.

Breathing was already exceedingly difficult.

“Go on tapping the walls,” gasped Nick. “If we don’t find a way to escape, or get next to that gas plug, we’ll be laid out cold.”

Goaded by the foul atmosphere, which was rapidly becoming more and more poisonous, the two detectives hastily tapped the walls to their full extent.

They found nothing.

“It must come from the roof,” said Nick.

His voice was hoarse and rasping, and his lungs felt as though compressed under a ton’s weight.

“How are we going to do any searching up there?” queried Chick, rising on his tiptoes and stretching his arms. “I can’t come within three feet of the ceiling.”

“Take me on your shoulders,” said Nick.

This plan was carried out without loss of time.

Sitting astride Chick’s broad shoulders, Nick was able to reach the roof.

Beginning at one of the end walls, they proceeded to cover the flat stones of the ceiling with the utmost care.

“I can’t stand this much longer,” said Chick, staggering, and only saving himself and Nick a fall by a quick effort. “This gas seems to sap all my strength.”

“Hang to it, old man,” returned Nick. “By Jupiter! I’ve struck it! Let me down, Chick.”

“If you’ve found the pipe, Nick, plug it up.”

“I haven’t found the pipe, and we can’t stop the escaping gas.”

“Can’t?” echoed Chick.

“No.” Nick jumped from his assistant’s shoulders. “It comes between the joints of those roof stones. If we had tow, and could calk up every crack in the roof, we might save ourselves. But that’s out of the question.”

“What a devilish contrivance!” exclaimed Chick.

“It’s devilish enough to do for us if we can’t find our way out of this hole.”

“You might look for a trap in the roof.”

“As soon as you’re able to bear my weight again, I’ll try.”

“Try now, old man. Every second is worth its weight in gold.”

Nick tried to mount Chick’s shoulders, but Chick was too far gone and could not hold him up.

“You get on my back,” said Nick.

But the deadly fumes had already weakened the detectives so that it was impossible for them to continue their search for an exit.

“Slip off your coat, wrap it around your head, and get down on your knees, your face to the floor.”

Nick made the suggestions in a quick voice, at the same time carrying them into effect himself.

In this manner a temporary relief was obtained.

The foulest air lay near the roof.

It would be only a question of time, however, until every particle of air in the chamber would be too deadly to sustain life.

The light was still burning, and Nick, with an awkward movement, turned the ray upon his companion.

Chick had straightened out along the floor, and was lying still and motionless.

“I guess it’s all day with us,” thought Nick. “To think that we are to be done to death like this, and die like rats in a trap!”

He felt his senses going and fell from his knees.

As he did so, and just at the last moment of consciousness, he thought he saw one of the blocks in the floor begin to rise.

Was it an illusion of his disordered senses?

It could not be!

For, as the stone arose, a draught of fresh air came through the opening it left in the floor.

Nick inhaled a great draught of it, and started to his knees once more.

The ray from the pocket lamp was focussed upon the stone.

Nick turned the ray slightly, and saw the face of a man standing with head and shoulders through the trap.

“Patsy!” he called, in a hoarse voice.

“Nick, by gum!”