Chapter XIII: Three Millions at Stake

“And I tell you they were both detectives.”

“You are crazy on the subject of detectives.”

Gilmore sprang to his feet with an oath and pointed around the room.

“You’ll soon be telling me that no damage has been done here,” he said, “and that the hot fight those fellows put up was all by way of amusement.”

“And you’ll be telling me,” said Geary, “that the advance agent brought in was Nick Carter, and that the mechanic was Chick.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Geary laughed long and heartily.

The men were still in the chophouse.

The large dining room still showed that a desperate fight had taken place there, for the floor was covered with broken dishes.

The waiters and cooks had taken their departure for the night, and Parks and Nixon had gone out.

“What strikes me as peculiar,” said Geary, “is the way the fellows got out of the place.”

“The men you named a moment ago have a way of doing such things,” replied Gilmore.

“I stood right there by the stairs,” said Geary, “and I’ll take my oath that only one of them went in that rush.”

“Which one?”

“The advance agent.”

“Then, where did the other go?”

“I give it up.”

“I’m afraid the electric-drill scheme is busted,” said Gilmore. “If the detectives are onto us, we certainly can’t carry out the plans made in New York.”

“But there are three millions in that bank vault.”

“If we can’t get them out they may as well be in India.”

“We must get them out.”

“How?”

“By the old plan.”

“With those fellows watching us?” sneered Gilmore.

“I wish Parks had gone all the way to Sing Sing.”

“What’s he got to do with it?”

“The detectives followed him here. They have known where we were all the time,” said Geary, “and when Parks led them here, they guessed he was steering for some more of the ‘crooked’ family, and probably decided they’d look into our history, and run us in with the man they want.”

“Have you any idea they are watching the drill scheme?” questioned Gilmore, anxiously.

“How could they be?”

“There is no knowing what those fellows will find out.”

“The drill scheme is all right, notwithstanding what took place here to-night,” said Geary. “How much money have we?”

“Mighty little. Parks pulled out fifty to-night.”

“Then he must earn some and replace it.”

“How can he earn money, after what has happened to him?”

“In the old way, I guess.”

“Burglary?”

“Of course.”

“But will he do it?” asked Gilmore.

“Of course he will. Morton Parks is not Doc Helstone, leader of criminals, now. He’s just an everyday crook, willing to do anything for money till he gets another gang under his thumb, and that will take time. Didn’t he try to hold a man up in his own house to-night?”

“All right, then; just put him onto that South-Side scheme.”

During the short silence that followed the sound of a scuffle came from beyond the door leading to the cellar.

Then there was a faint cry, and all was still.

Geary started to his feet and turned pale.

“What was that?” he asked.

Gilmore walked to the door and swung it open.

There was the dark staircase leading to the equally dark cellar below, and nothing else.

The two men looked tremblingly in each other’s face for a moment. They were both longing, yet fearing, to ask the same question.

Finally Gilmore spoke.

“Can it be possible,” he asked, “that one of those fellows got down there during the fight?”

“It is possible,” replied Geary. “Get a candle and we’ll go down and look the place over.”

In the cellar everything looked as usual.

There was the double partition which had been built to shut the noise of the motor and the drill from the street, there were tools, pipes and iron bands lying around, and there, just beyond the broken cellar wall, was the heavy granite foundation of the bank vault.

The two men searched through every inch of the place, and then turned to the double wall.

“There is a door through here somewhere,” said Gilmore.

“Yes,” was the reply, “but it fastens from the other side as well as this, and we can never get through without breaking it down.”

“Well, if we can’t get through no one else can, that is one sure thing,” replied Gilmore. “It must have been the rats we heard.”

“Help! Help!”

The men were about to ascend the stairs to the room above when the cry reached their ears.

They drew their revolvers and stepped back.

Again the place was still.

There was no motion anywhere in the cellar.

“The place is haunted,” whispered Geary.

“I shall be glad if it turns out to be ghosts,” was the reply.

While the men waited and listened, the sound of blows and low-muttered curses came from the other side of the double partition.

“One of those detectives did get down here,” said Gilmore. “If he gets out there is an end of our scheme, and all the money we have put into it.”

“You stay here,” whispered Geary, “and I’ll go around in front and get into the other room that way.”

“Well, hurry.”

Geary darted away, and Gilmore stood watching the door.

Then the latter heard steps and voices in the dining room above, and for a single instant left his post of duty.

As he crept to the head of the stairs to look into the dining room, he thought he heard the creaking of a door behind him, and stopped to listen.

The noise was not repeated, and he went on.

Had he returned to the cellar at that instant, he would have found the door in the double partition wide open.

He would have seen the body of one of his pals lying for an instant on the narrow threshold.

He would have seen the body drawn through into the rear basement, and the door softly closed and fastened.

He would have seen a dark figure in the dress of an iron worker lift the body and carry it through the broken cellar wall.

Then he would have seen two figures, one always carrying the other through the almost pitchy darkness, hiding in a corner near the granite wall of the bank vault.

But he saw nothing of this.

He went on up the staircase and stood for a moment on the last step.

Parks and Nixon had returned, and were walking about the place.

The former had procured a new suit of clothes and looked more like himself, though his growing beard and mustache served as a sort of disguise.

“What’s up here?” he demanded. “Where’s Gilmore?”

“Here,” called that gentleman from the head of the stairs. “Did you see Geary as you came in?”

“Yes. What’s he rushing around in that way for? Anything wrong?”

“I should say so. Come into the cellar. Turn the key in the front door first.”

Parks did as requested, and then all three men hastened down the cellar stairs.

“Hello, there!”

It was Geary, calling from the other side of the double wall.

“Well?”

“Everything all right there?”

“Yes.”

“It’s O. K. here. I wonder what it was we heard?”

As he spoke, Geary placed his hand on the fastening of the door and opened it.

“It wasn’t fastened on this side,” he said, stepping through.

“It was on this side, though,” replied Gilmore, “so everything must be all right, after all.”

“Did you look in the space around the vault?”

“Yes; don’t you remember going in there with me?”

“Of course. Then the noise we heard must have been out on the street, or in some adjoining cellar.”

“I suppose so,” replied Gilmore.

Then he turned to Parks.

“Did you find out about that place?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you work it?”

“Yes; but it must be done to-night, and I must have help.”