A Frantic Appeal
Dick Hartwell finished the bit of chocolate before he answered. Now he
wanted to talk. He spoke as if he were unaware of any present danger.
All that he was telling Horace was in the past.
“They ... beat ... me ... Falco ... inhuman ... no pity. If he wants
anything ... he gets it ... no matter who’s hurt. It’s what _he_ wants.
The great Falco!” Dick’s voice, weak at first, was stronger now, in
derision of the gang leader. “He has no use ... for weaklings. He says
I’m a weak sister!”
“Once I was called weak,” Horace told him. “The boys at the newspaper
office nicknamed me Sister, but I made them change their minds.”
“I guess we all ... have weak moments.”
“I’m having one right now,” confessed Judy. “I’m scared, and I don’t
care who knows it. Maybe there’s an exit to the other room. If we broke
down that door—”
“No use,” Dick said. “I saw ... inside. Things stored there. They ...
showed me ... papers—”
“The ones you signed?”
“Yes ... and more. I gave in to them ... at first ... before I knew ...
what they were up to. When I refused ... to sign any more names ...
they beat me. Now they will drown me. I don’t care. I want to die.”
“Well, I don’t,” declared Judy, “and I don’t want you to die, either,
Dick Hartwell. You’re young. You have a good life ahead of you—”
“Not now,” he interrupted. “Not ... any more.”
“You do if you go straight. But first we have to get you away from this
man, Falco,” Judy told him. “He’s the dark man, isn’t he? He warned me
to keep away from here, but I’m not afraid of him. Peter won’t let him
hurt me. You remember Peter Dobbs, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, as if it didn’t matter any more. “I ... remember.”
“We’re married now. I guess you knew that. Peter was here last night
with another man. They’ll come back—”
“To take me to prison? No! I’d rather die here.... Forget me. Save
yourselves. Get outside....”
“Is there a way outside? Is there?” asked Judy eagerly.
But Dick said he knew of no other door out of the tunnel. He knew of no
openings at all except the chimney to the furnace and the space under
the cupids. He had been pushed in between them and down into the tunnel
when the fountain was off.
“Have to turn it off,” was all he could advise.
“But you say it’s turned off from the tower?”
“That’s right ... get outside ... to the tower.”
“We can’t,” Horace protested. “Can’t you see how impossible it is?
There’s no way out of here except through the water, and the force of
it would knock us unconscious.”
“Then we’ll all ... drown,” the imprisoned man gasped and fell back on
the cot as if he wished it would soon be over.
“We won’t drown if I can help it,” declared Judy. “We’ll haunt the
fountain ourselves. We’ll yell until somebody comes and shuts it off!”
“It won’t work,” Horace predicted. “Nobody will hear us except those
thugs, and they’ll just laugh and let us drown.”
“Blackberry’s out there. He may hear us.”
“You’re right, sis!” exclaimed Horace. “He may be able to find another
opening.”
“Is Blackberry ... a dog?” Dick asked from the cot. “A dog ... might
dig ... to meet you. Shovel ... out there ... by the furnace. Watch it,
though! Roof might ... cave in. Better ... to drown.”
“Well, if it’s a choice of ways to die,” Horace said grimly, “I think
I’d rather die digging.”
“So would I,” agreed Judy, “but aren’t we being a little too morbid?
Peter wouldn’t let us drown. Dad wouldn’t—”
“But they don’t _know_!”
“That’s what I mean,” insisted Judy. “We’ll have to get help. If we
call loud enough _someone_ may hear us.”
“She’s right,” agreed Dick. “Got to ... take ... chance. Funny, though.
Your dog ... didn’t bark.”
“Blackberry isn’t a dog,” Judy explained. “He’s a cat.”
“No good ... calling him then.”
Judy feared Dick was right. Already she could see the water backing up,
filling the low places in the uneven cement floor. Soon it would spread
to the corner where Dick’s cot was. It would creep under the cot and
finally over it. Judy shuddered as she thought of what would happen
after that.
“There has to be a way out,” she told Horace as they started toward the
furnace, wading in water over their ankles. “We’ll be back,” she called
reassuringly to Dick Hartwell.
He seemed not to care whether they came back or not. “Forget ... about
me,” he replied. “Save yourselves ... if you can.”
Judy and Horace looked at each other in the dimming light from her
flash.
“We couldn’t do that, could we, sis?”
“No,” she replied. “It’s Dad’s business to save lives, and so I guess
it’s our business to get Dick to him. We’ll be back.”
The water swirling about them became warmer as they neared the furnace.
They heard it sizzle against the hot iron. Before long there would be
neither light nor heat in the tunnel. The water would rise to the level
of the open grate and put out the fire. The batteries in their
flashlights would wear out. Horace had left his with Dick Hartwell. Now
Judy used hers to look for the shovel.
“I see it!” she exclaimed at last. “It’s there in the coal bin. I’m
going to climb up on the coal and look around. There must be a coal
chute.”
Finally, standing on top of the piled-up coal, Judy discovered a tiny
shutter that slid open and let in a little daylight. It was about the
width of the shovel and only a few inches high.
“Even Blackberry couldn’t squeeze through that,” she told Horace.
Just the same they both called, “Here, kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” in their
most coaxing tones.
Soon the cat peered in at them and yowled in what Judy called his
asking voice. “Open it a little wider,” he seemed to be saying.
“We can’t! Oh, Blackberry! Help us!” cried Judy. “Somebody please hear
us! Help! Help!”
“We’ll have to keep calling from time to time.” Horace spoke as if her
frantic cry had been just plain common sense. “What do you see
outside?” he asked.
“Nothing much except cement. Oh dear! I hoped we’d be under the garden.”
Horace climbed up and looked out. He had a good sense of direction. “We
must be under the outer wall of the pool,” he said. “That’s about where
Blackberry was sitting. No doubt he jumped down in a hurry when the
fountain went on. This tunnel seems to go around it and then underneath
the main fountain. I’m afraid the shovel won’t be much of a help, sis.
We can’t widen the coal chute without cracking the cement and letting
in more water.”
“I guess you’re right,” Judy admitted. “And it’s probably reinforced
with something so we couldn’t get through anyway. But maybe we can send
Blackberry—”
“That’s an idea!” Horace interrupted. “I’ll write a note while you
collar him. It should be easy. He’s trying to get in.”
While Judy struggled to get hold of the cat, Horace tore a page from
his notebook and scribbled a hasty message. Judy read it without
comment, fastened it to Blackberry’s collar, and sent him off. The note
said:
SEND HELP! CALL PETER DOBBS AND DR. BOLTON.
DICK HARTWELL, MY SISTER JUDY, AND I ARE
TRAPPED UNDER FOUNTAIN ON BRANDT ESTATE. IN
DANGER OF DROWNING. HURRY OR WE MAY NOT
GET OUT OF HERE ALIVE.
HORACE BOLTON
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