THE CHILD’S AIR-BALL
When at last I regained consciousness, after an interval I could not
measure, my half-opened eyes fell upon a strange scene, one which at
first seemed to be fantastic and unreal.
The room was unfamiliar, of good size and well-furnished but dimly lit,
only one light showing in the electrolier in the centre. Even by that
light I recognized that it was neglected and evidently had been long
closed, for a strange close smell greeted my nostrils and I saw that
dust lay thickly upon the round polished table in the centre.
Upon the table a small piece of candle was set upon a plate.
I tried to make out where I was and what had happened. But all I could
tell was that I was seated in a cramped position, tied hand and foot.
My limbs ached intolerably as though I had remained there many hours.
Suddenly I heard a movement in the shadow, the opening and closing of a
door, and a moment later I saw silhouetted before me the figure of old
Humphreys.
“Well?” he asked in a hard, sarcastic voice, “and how are you getting
on now--eh?”
“I--I don’t know,” I replied so faintly that I could scarcely hear my
own voice. “Where am I?”
“You are in my hands at last, Rex Yelverton,” he snarled. “You chose to
interfere in matters that did not concern you. You have had plenty of
warning. But as you refused to heed them I have decided to act.”
“What do you mean?” I cried in dismay. “What harm have I done you?”
The old man merely chuckled exultantly at the way I had fallen into
the trap he had so cunningly prepared--with Feng’s aid, no doubt, I
thought. I had all along believed the old cosmopolitan financier to
be my friend. I sat aghast at the astounding discovery that he was my
enemy. For a few seconds I remained speechless.
“Now,” he said in a deep vindictive voice, “there is but little time
left. Look over yonder.”
He turned the switch and the room was instantly flooded with light, and
as I gazed, dazzled by the sudden brightness, I saw seated in a chair
within a few feet of me, a woman’s figure.
It was Thelma!
I shrieked her name, but only a faint sound escaped my lips, for my
throat was dry and sore, and I could scarcely raise my voice above a
hoarse whisper.
Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were closed, her face was white
as marble, and her head hung inertly on one side. She was clearly
unconscious.
It must have been her scream of terror that I had heard while we sat at
dinner!
“What does this mean?” I demanded trying to rise. But my hands were
secured tightly behind my back with a piece of rope, which had been
passed through a hole in the wall behind me and secured upon the
opposite side.
I was powerless to move more than six inches from the wall!
“It means that you have only five minutes more to live!” the old
man answered slowly, with diabolical grin. “You escaped once by a
miracle--but I have taken good care not to fail this time.”
“You assassin!” I cried, glaring at him and yet entirely powerless.
“That’s enough!” he cried, striking me a blow upon the cheek with his
open hand.
“But I can’t understand!” I cried. “What harm have I done--or what has
Thelma done?”
“It does not matter to either of you,” he laughed. “You love her.
You’ve told me so. Well--in five minutes’ time you will be married to
her--in death!”
My brain was clearing rapidly as the effect of the drug I had taken
wore off and I was cool enough to think keenly to desire some means of
escape. But, try as I would, I was powerless. The more I strained at my
bonds the more cruelly the rope cut into my tortured wrists.
A flood of questions poured through my mind. What could have happened?
Where was Stanley Audley? Was he in the hands of Feng, whom I now
looked upon as Humphreys’ fellow conspirator? But, above all, what had
I done--what had Thelma done to arouse Humphrey’s diabolical hatred?
Despite the pain I was suffering I made another furious effort to break
loose. I strained, till I felt my very wrists must give way, to go to
Thelma’s assistance. But I was held in a vise.
Thelma lay white as death. Was she, indeed, dead already at the hands
of the bearded fiend who, I now thought, must be a lunatic.
My attention was diverted to Humphreys’ proceedings. I watched him
closely, puzzled by what he was doing and utterly unable to comprehend
his purpose.
From a cupboard in the room he brought out a tin of petrol. From his
pocket he drew a large toy balloon of the kind which enterprising firms
use to advertise their goods. It was not inflated, but limp and I
remember that even in my bewilderment, I noticed that it was a bright
yellow and bore painted upon it the name of a famous West End firm.
Using a small funnel he began very carefully to fill the balloon with
petrol. I was surprised at the amount it held. The tin, which had been
full, was nearly empty before he had finished.
Then, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, understanding of his
horrible purpose burst upon my mind.
“My God!” I gasped, “you surely do not intend to burn us alive.”
“My dear young fellow, you have had every chance to escape, and yet
you have refused, because of your silly love for Audley’s wife,” he
said in hard, metallic tones. “This house, I may tell you, is ‘to let
furnished.’ The board is now hidden in the shrubbery. The dinner served
you was provided by a well-known firm of caterers who sent their man,
whom I have dismissed. In a few moments this place will be a roaring
furnace and a mystery-house to the Fire Brigade of the London County
Council.”
Then with diabolical coolness he went on with his preparations.
Above the table was a handsome electrolier. To this, by means of a
piece of string, he hung the petrol filled balloon so that it was
suspended about a foot above the candle I had noticed on the table.
“You see,” he explained with a grin, “I light the candle and put
it just below the balloon. You can spend the time--it might be
half-an-hour perhaps--in imagining what is about to happen. The heat
from this little candle will cause the petrol slowly to expand until it
bursts the balloon. Then down comes the petrol on the candle and the
whole house will be a roaring furnace in a couple of minutes. Do you
understand?” and he laughed in my face.
I ground my teeth, but made no reply.
“Well, good-bye, Yelverton,” he said in a voice of affected cheeriness,
and yet in triumph. “I wish you both a merry journey into the next
world. Perhaps you’ll find her your soul-mate there. Who knows?”
Next instant he had switched off all the lights and left us alone.
Only that fatal candle flickered as gradually its heat was causing the
fragile yellow balloon to expand to bursting point.
Soon it would explode and then we should both be burned alive. Nothing
could possibly save us!
My heart sank. Once again, however, hope revived within me. I strove to
tear myself free from my bonds. But it was useless.
I heard the front door close with a bang and then knew that the man who
had entrapped us had left. No doubt he would be lurking in the vicinity
in order to make sure of the result of his devilish handiwork.
I tried to rouse Thelma by calling to her. Apparently Humphreys had
not troubled to bind her and if I could only awaken her she might be
able to get help before it was too late. But I could not raise my voice
above a hoarse whisper: no shrieks of mine could call assistance. And,
I reflected, Thelma, even if she were not dead, must have been heavily
drugged and would no doubt remain unconscious for some time. Humphreys
would never have run the risk of leaving her free to move if she came
to herself.
My brain whirling I gave up the struggle after one more ineffectual
attempt to free myself and resigned myself to my fate.
Horror froze the blood in my veins as I gazed in agony first at
Thelma, helpless and unconscious in her loveliness, and then at that
innocent-looking toy balloon, charged with the deadliest menace,
hanging only a few inches above the flickering candle. To my distorted
imagination it appeared to be swelling monstrously and hideously. I
felt myself stupidly wondering how much larger it would grow until it
split and let loose a flood of fire in that silent room.
I realized the devilish ingenuity of the scheme. It was clear that once
the balloon burst and the volatile spirit became ignited, the furniture
and hangings of the room would burn with terrific violence. The fire
could not be seen through the shuttered windows until practically
the entire house was ablaze, even if at that late hour a chance
passerby should come along. And before help could possibly reach the
spot, the house would be a furnace. Every trace of the cause of the
fire would be consumed: only our bodies, charred beyond all possible
identification, would be found beneath the ruins. Our fate would remain
unsolved and the fire would be relegated to the ever-growing list of
London’s unsolved mysteries. I found myself dully speculating as to
the insurance, realizing that the owner of the house would be duly
recompensed, and that the assassin whom I had never even suspected
would go scot free.
And above all, even in those swiftly flying moments, I still speculated
as to Humphreys’ possible motive in a plot which, I was now convinced,
must have been originally formed amid the snows of Switzerland--a plot
between the mysterious doctor and the cosmopolitan financier who had
posed as my friend. How could Hartley Humphreys, reputed millionaire,
benefit by the extinction of two such humble lives as Thelma’s and my
own? Murder is seldom or never motiveless, except it be committed by
the homicidal maniac. Was Humphreys really insane or was he a cool,
calculating, ruthless criminal, working out to its logical end some
plan to which I had not the key?
At any rate, so far as we were concerned, we were faced by instant
peril. Humphreys had laid his plans well. We had no possible loophole
for escape. I was pinned and could not budge from the wall against
which I was held. If I had been handcuffed--and handcuffs can be bought
of many gun-makers in London--they would have remained as tell-tale
evidence amid the débris of the fire. That length of rope showed how
cleverly the plot had been devised so that all evidence of the murders
would be effaced by the roaring flames.
By the faint light of the candle I could scarcely discern more than
the marble face of the girl I had grown to love. My eyes ever and anon
wandered to that yellow globe suspended above the table.
At any second it might burst. Then the flames would run rioting through
the room and in a moment we should be enveloped.
Again I tried to shout for assistance.
All was silent. The candle flickered and then again grew brighter.
“Thelma!” I shrieked in my agony, but my voice was only a whisper.
“Thelma! Thelma! My God! _Thelma!_” I cried, trying in vain to arouse
her.
But she still remained there with her beautiful head drooped in a
manner which showed that either death or unconsciousness had overtaken
her.
I realized that death was very close to both of us. For myself I cared
little. I could face it. But Thelma! Must I, loving her as I did,
watch her die before my eyes?
Those moments of agony seemed like hours. Outside the circle of light
thrown by the candle the room seemed dark and cavernous. The smell of
motor-spirit hung heavily on the air and the silence was absolute.
I could even hear my watch ticking in my pocket. Unless a miracle
happened we were doomed. I had become too weak to make more than feeble
efforts to free myself and these, of course, were futile.
“How much longer?” I caught myself asking. How long would it be before
that innocent-looking globe splits asunder and lets loose its flood
of fire. As the slow moments passed the pressure of the vapor within
caused the thin film of rubber which held the inflammable spirit to
swell larger and larger.
At first, I had noticed, it sagged heavily, dragged down by the weight
of the liquid. Now the bright yellow globe was distended until it
seemed on the very point of bursting. The white printed words of the
advertisement on its sides danced mockingly before my eyes.
Now and again the flame of the candle flickered, caught by some stray
breath of air. Then it steadied and grew bright. I noticed that the wax
had begun to gutter into the plate. The evil flame fascinated me: held
my eyes fixed on it in helpless horror.
By this time the balloon had become distended to twice its original
size.
Suddenly the end came. The balloon split apart. A blaze of flame
momentarily lit up the room and in its lurid glow I caught a glimpse of
Thelma. At the same instant I heard a door open.
Then all was blackness and I knew no more.