Chapter VIII: A Sinister Cell

That conviction made Patsy cringe more than ever.

Had they done anything to relieve the girl’s sufferings or close the gaping wound they had made in her breast?

Or had they thrown her in there just as she was, to die?

Again the young detective’s speculations were interrupted, however; this time in a different, and, at first, more puzzling way.

The air suddenly became still closer and more oppressive, as if they had been shut in a confined space; but that was not all.

The sound of shoveling began at once, and lumps of something hard struck and rolled, with a hollow sound, just above Patsy’s head.

What was happening?

Nick’s assistant did not take long to penetrate the mystery, although he had only his ears to aid him.

He concluded that a wooden cover had been placed over their place of confinement, and that coal was being shoveled in on top of it. They were probably in an old coal bin, he reasoned, with a false bottom, and when the space above was filled, there would be nothing to indicate that the whole bin was not full of coal.

It was a clever arrangement--altogether too clever for comfort. Nick and his assistants had encountered its like more than once, and it could not have deceived them for long; it might easily prove too much for the police, however, even if they made an investigation.

Nick’s other assistants could be counted on to solve the problem when they finally obtained access to the house--if they could--but it would probably be too late then. Much too late, in fact.

The hole into which the prisoners had been thrown could hardly be more than eight feet square, if that much, and it was not likely that it was more than four feet deep.

It was closed at the top now, and the sides were doubtless fairly tight, in order that no cracks of any size should reveal the hollow space behind.

That meant an appallingly small number of cubic feet of air--and bad air at that--for five people to breathe, assuming that the young Jewess was not yet dead.

As Patsy analyzed his sensations, he became aware of a peculiar and sinister odor, which pervaded the place. For some time he could not identify it, but at length, with a start of horror, he realized its nature.

There was no doubt about it in his mind now, or about the criminality of their captors.

For the odor was that of lime, mingled with a faint stench of decaying animal matter.

That was the way that Patsy put it to himself, at any rate, but he more than suspected that the “animal matter” had been human flesh.

In other words, he was convinced that the place where they had been thrown had previously been used for the purpose of destroying the bodies of previous victims of the vivisectionists. The bodies had apparently been thrown into the old bin and covered with quicklime, which had afterward been removed.

There was only a little fine dust on the concrete floor of the bin now, as Patsy easily ascertained with his bound hands. It must either be lime or coal dust, perhaps a combination of the two; for the young detective had felt the latter sifting down through the cracks above his head as the coal was shoveled over the false bottom.

He could not resist a shudder as he came to this ghastly conclusion. He and his friends were in a veritable charnel house, and if Doctor Grantley had his way, there was little doubt but that quicklime would be heaped over their dead bodies--perhaps over their living ones--before long.

Something must be done, if possible. But what?

Whatever it was to be, it looked as if Patsy must attempt it unaided. Some one else was moving--some one whose body lay partly over Patsy’s. The latter believed it was his chief, but he could not be sure. Moreover, even if it was Nick, Patsy had been in full possession of his senses throughout, and was therefore in a better position to go ahead.

He wished he could communicate with Nick and get the benefit of the great detective’s advice, but that was out of the question--for the time being, at least.

Patsy was quite used to going ahead alone and relying upon his own keen wits. He did so now.

His first thought concerned his bonds themselves. Could he wriggle out of them?

His captors were not experienced criminals of the ordinary sort. Perhaps they had failed to tie him securely. Certainly they had shown their ignorance by binding his hands in front of him instead of behind.

He went to work at once, slipping his wrists back and forth and making his hands as small as possible in an effort to draw them out of the loops of rope.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that he had doubled his fists and made his wrists as large as possible while the ropes were being fastened, he found it impossible to free his hands. The knots did not give to any appreciable extent, and it was obvious that they had been tied with greater skill than Patsy had supposed.

Nick’s assistant next tried his teeth on them. This would have been out of the question if his hands had been secured behind his back, but, fortunately, they were not.

His teeth were sharp and strong, and had often been put to a similar use. It was tedious work at best, but gradually one strand after another was gnawed away.

Victory was in sight, when, to his supreme disgust, his teeth encountered something hard. He ran his tongue investigatingly over the place. The rope had a core of strong, flexible wire.

Patsy’s teeth, efficient as they were, were powerless against such an obstacle. This setback would have discouraged ninety-nine out of a hundred detectives, to say nothing of other men, but the young Irishman was not daunted.

He put his brain to work again, with the result that, after a few moments of hard thinking, he twisted his fettered hands about until the fingers of one of them could fish into the inside breast pocket of his coat.

Siebold had disarmed him, but he had not made a general search of Patsy’s pockets; consequently Nick’s assistant was still in possession of his pocket kit of folding burglars’ tools.

He drew it out, opened it awkwardly, and felt about until he located the desired article, a thin file.

The combined weight of more than one of his companions in misfortune held down his legs, but the upper part of his body was free, and one shoulder was against one of the wooden walls of the bin.

Holding the file, Patsy raised his hands and felt about for a crack. He found a small one at once, a few inches above his head. In this he pushed the handle end of the file.

He was ready for work.

He put one hand on one side of the file and the other hand on the other side, to prevent the tool from slipping away from him as he pressed against it. That done, he began to draw the exposed wire to and fro over the file.

The sound could not be muffled, but it was slight. In any case, it was not likely to bring disaster, for Patsy felt sure that the cellar had been vacated by their captors after the coal was thrown into place.

He kept his ears open for sounds of approach, however, and went at his task with a will. The wire was not more than an eighth of an inch in diameter, and was soon filed through.

That did not mean release, however, and Nick’s assistant kept on sawing away at the rope itself until it frayed out and gave access to another core of wire.

That, too, was severed in the course of time, and, after a few jerks, the ropes on Patsy’s wrists fell away.

His hands were free, and with them once more fully at his command, he made short work of his gag.

“Chief!” he whispered cautiously, “I’m loose--partly--and I’m going to make a stab at getting you out of here. Are you all right?”

There came a muffled sound in reply to Patsy’s question.