Chapter XXVII: The Way Out

Doctor Latham stroked his beard thoughtfully as the door closed behind the invalid and his retinue. “It worked like magic,” he remarked.

“It worked,” Cole amplified, “because we were dealing with a logical mind, one that deals mainly with reason and fails to consider the human equation. We know that Englebreth means to kill us in the end, and he knows that we know it. That being the case, it wasn’t hard for him to put himself in your place a little while ago. He would have done what you threatened to do, because it was the logical move under the circumstances. I wonder what deviltry Englebreth will be planning next.”

“A seven-course dinner, I hope,” said the doctor wistfully. “I’m famished.”

Cole regarded him musingly, marveling at the resiliency of his spirits. Latham appeared to have shaken off all external cares the moment he saw that Miss Brownell was no longer in immediate danger.

“You might as well restrain your appetite, doctor,” he murmured. “You heard what Englebreth said, that a man is most amenable to argument when he is hungry. At any rate, it is worth something to know that he doesn’t want you to die just yet. He showed that plainly when you made that monumental bluff with the stick pin. I saw him turn white as a ghost.”

“Thanks to the seventh ingredient,” said Latham with a chuckle. “It’s the best kind of life insurance, but I fear it won’t last long. Any more tricks in your repertory, Cole?”

“One more, I think.” Cole glanced toward the shadowy corner where he had stood during Englebreth’s presence in the room. “I understand,” he went on casually, “that Dutchess Point was once a very gay place.”

“If so, its gayety hasn’t improved with age.”

Cole ignored his flippancy. “I’ve been told it was once a notorious gambling resort. Places of that kind are usually equipped with contrivances for making hasty exits—trapdoors, sliding panels and that sort of thing.”

Latham raised his brows. “What are you getting at?”

But Cole seemed in no hurry to approach his subject. “Ever notice, Latham, that many people find it very hard to remain motionless when they are in a state of deep mental concentration? Physical movement of some sort seems a necessary relief from mental effort. One man I know is always plucking at his watch chain when he is absorbed in some mental task. Another taps his desk with a pencil. My own favorite diversion on such occasions is to beat a tattoo with my knuckles.”

“Highly interesting,” remarked Latham, “but I fail to see the point. It is either very shallow or very deep.”

“Neither, Latham. A little while ago, while you were enacting that highly dramatic scene for Englebreth’s benefit, I stood back there in the corner, with my hands behind my back, tapping the wall with my knuckles. No one noticed me, for you held the attention of everybody in the room. I didn’t realize what I was doing myself until suddenly I became aware that my knuckles were producing a hollow sound.”

Doctor Latham gasped. “You mean that——”

“We shall see,” said Cole; and in an instant he was back in the corner, crouching low while his knuckles hammered the wall, each tap producing a dull, hollow sound. The doctor, visibly excited, stood behind him, watching every move he made. Cole continued the tapping until he had determined the boundaries of the hollow space, extending about five feet from the corner, and then he got down on his knees and ran his hands along the beveled joint between wall and floor. A little cry of elation escaped him as his fingers encountered a small protuberance. Almost instantly a portion of the wall turned back as if swinging on a central pivot. In front of them extended a long, dark hall.

“Great!” exclaimed Latham, his voice shaking a little. “You deserve a harp and a halo, Cole. Now let’s make the hasty exit you spoke of.”

He pressed forward, but Cole pulled him back. “I don’t want a harp and a halo just yet,” he declared, “and that’s why we are going to stay in this room a while longer. You forget that it’s still broad daylight outside. If we went out now, we would doubtless run into one of Englebreth’s sluggers. We must wait till dark.”

Latham groaned as Cole closed the opening. He glanced at his watch. “Only half past three. That means a wait of several hours.”

“I know. That will give us ample time to lay our plans. Don’t forget that we are both unarmed, and that we’ll cut a sorry figure if we should be caught. We don’t want to waste the only advantage we have.”

“You are right, of course,” admitted the doctor. “What do you suggest?”

Cole reflected. “It isn’t likely Englebreth knows anything about the hidden exit. If he did, he would have chosen a different cell for us. We’ll treat him to a little surprise after dark, Latham. Its exact nature will be determined by whatever developments come along in the meantime.”

“Wish they would hurry,” mumbled the doctor, all impatience now that a way out had been found. He sat down, lighted a cigarette, and made ostentatious efforts to compose himself for a wait. An hour dragged by. The beam of light coming through the narrow rift in the shutter grew thin and pale. Another hour passed, and it disappeared altogether. Latham got up and began pacing the floor with long, lunging strides. For a long time not a word had been uttered between the two men.

“Isn’t it about time to make a move?” asked Latham suddenly.

Cole started. The subterranean pulsations, sounding clear and exultant in the stillness, had cast a spell over his senses. Now he looked at his watch in the light of the electric bulb overhead.

“Better wait another hour,” he suggested.

Doctor Latham swore under his breath, then lighted another cigarette.

“Queer we haven’t heard from Englebreth,” Cole remarked. “I expected another call from him before dark.”

“He is probably meditating over his next move. I imagine he is planning a very brilliant stroke. But we’ll checkmate him, eh, Cole?”

Latham’s impatience was beginning to communicate itself to Cole. He took his watch from his pocket, and in the same instant a noise sounded outside the door. In a moment it opened, and two huskies, with leveled automatics, appeared in the room.

“Miss Brownell wants you,” announced one of them, addressing Doctor Latham.

The physician, evidently in a quandary, looked questioningly at Cole. For only a moment Cole hesitated. Doubtless the summons meant that Englebreth was trying a new mode of attack and that the reference to Miss Brownell was only a subterfuge.

Cole nodded in response to the physician’s unspoken question. “If Miss Brownell wants you, you must go to her,” he declared, conscious that one of the guards was watching him intently. In an undertone he added: “If you get into a pinch, keep stalling till I show up.”

Latham nodded and walked out, accompanied by the two gangsters. Cole watched him until the door closed behind him.

“Wonder what Englebreth is up to this time,” he muttered; and then, moving quickly, he stepped into the corner and, opening the hidden door, stepped out into the dark hall beyond.