A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT.
Patsy held his breath.
It was a novel and, at times, a thrilling sensation, that of riding
at thirty miles an hour enclosed in a wicker hamper on the rear of an
automobile.
At times the car ran smoothly and swiftly; at others it jolted heavily
over a rougher road.
It was not dark in the basketlike receptacle into which Patsy had
fairly crammed himself, yet the wickerwork was so compact that he could
not see out unless he raised the cover, and that he did not venture to
do.
Neither could he hear anything that was said by the two women on the
front seat of the car, owing to the constant noise of the vehicle.
He knew, however, that he was on the road to Badger’s place, and
speeding to the assistance of Nick Carter, and that was good enough for
Patsy up to that time.
After half an hour’s run, as nearly as he could judge, the cramped and
twisted young detective felt the car sweep in a swift curve out of the
direct road it had been following, and speed along a much less smooth
and even way.
“We have entered Laurel Road,” he rightly conjectured. “In five more
minutes we should arrive at Badger’s house. Providing that I am not
discovered in this infernally tight box, I there may hear something to
serve my purpose. If I can learn definitely that Nick is out here, and
then discover just where he is located, the rest of the job should be
fairly easy.”
For his own peril, let it be what it might, the brave youngster had not
even a passing thought.
Presently the car turned again, and began to slow down, and a moment
later, when the noise of the motor abated, Patsy could plainly hear Vic
Clayton addressing her companion.
“There is Amos on the side veranda, Claudia,” she cried, in satisfied
tones.
“So I see, Vic,” was the reply.
“Things must still be all right out here, old girl, since he appears to
be taking it easy, and is smoking a cigar.”
“I will round that side of the house before running the car to the
stable,” said Claudia.
“You can drop me there, too.”
“We’ll both stop there, and let Amos put the car under cover. Yes, I
judge that things are all right out here, as you say.”
“They’ll soon take a turn for the worse, I’ll wager my life on that,”
thought Patsy, with grim anticipations.
It was then nearly seven o’clock, and the dusk of the early evening had
begun to fall.
As the car approached the side veranda and came to a stop, Badger rose
out of a chair in which he was seated, and strode to the steps leading
down to the driveway.
Though his dark features wore a look of evil complacency, he at once
addressed his wife in rather uneasy tones.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” he asked.
“Nothing wrong, Amos,” she cried, as both women came down from the car.
“Did you stop at your rooms, Vic?”
“Certainly,” laughed the latter. “Don’t you notice that I have changed
my coat?”
“Ah, yes, I see.”
“I did that only to indicate that we had some motive for visiting the
rooms,” she glibly added. “We had a visitor, too, while we were there.”
“Who was that?”
“A chap named Henderson.”
“Henderson?”
“That’s what he said, Amos, and whom do you think he inquired after?”
“Not Nick Carter!” cried Badger, with brows quickly knitting.
“None other.”
“The devil you say! There may be something back of that.”
“Nothing that involves us, I reckon,” declared Vic confidently.
“Why do you feel so sure of it?”
“Because he was sent to my rooms by the clerk in the hotel where Carter
was stopping, and to whom he had mentioned coming to my place. He
merely wanted to see him on business, Amos, and couldn’t locate him.”
The last was said with much significance and a loud, derisive laugh, in
which Amos Badger now joined.
“Not locate him, eh?” he cried, with a shrug. “Well, if anybody locates
him after to-morrow, Vic, I’ll take a permanent seat in the back row.”
As may be inferred, this conversation took place some little time
before the interview with Nick himself, as related in a previous
chapter.
“You’ll take a seat in that stone hotel in Charles Street, you mean,
along with all the rest of us,” Vic bluntly rejoined.
“You’ll soon be there!” thought Patsy, who was listening intently to
all that was being said.
Not so much as a glance had been bestowed upon the hamper, which
externally presented no unusual appearance, and Patsy felt tolerably
safe in his concealment.
The end was not yet, however.
“What have you done with him, Amos?” Claudia now asked, as Badger came
down the steps to run the car to cover.
“With Carter?”
“Yes, of course. We started for town, you know, the moment we had him
safely landed here.”
“Conley now has charge of him,” said Badger.
“Where?”
“In the old wine-vault.”
“Are you going to confine him there?”
“Yes, till I do worse to him.”
“Has he come to himself?”
“Not yet,” Badger promptly replied. “Those were three ugly blows that
Vic gave him.”
“I was taking no chances by falling short of my duty,” put in Vic, with
a cruel laugh.
“They’d have killed him for sure, Vic, if his head were not as tough
and hard as a darky’s.”
“He would then have been out of our way, at all events.”
“Conley will soon have him revived, I think, and then we will have a
talk with him, and force him to confess what is being done against us,”
added Badger, approaching the automobile. “I’ll stow the machine while
you two go in and eat your dinner. It’s already on the table.”
“Had yours?”
“Yes.”
“Send Jerry in here to tell us when his patient revives,” called Vic
Clayton, as she mounted the steps. “I want to go out there and have a
look at him.”
“All right,” growled Badger, as he sprang into the car.
Then the two women entered the house.
In another moment the car started again with a whir and rumble, and
Patsy mentally sized up the situation as he saw it.
“We have hit the nail on the head, all right,” he said to himself.
“These crooks are all that we have suspected, and they have Nick
imprisoned out here, after knocking him on the head. They shall be paid
with interest for the blows given him, however, as surely as the sun
sets in the west.
“Confined in the old wine-vault, eh? I wonder where that is located.
Evidently it is not connected with the cellar of the house, since that
she devil of a fortune-teller wants to go ‘out’ somewhere to see Nick.
“Conley, plainly enough, is the stableman we saw to-day, and, since he
has Nick in charge, it’s a good bet that the vault mentioned is either
in the basement of the stable or that long carriage-house which adjoins
it. I’ll wager that I speedily find it, give me half a chance.”
“Hello! what’s the meaning of this?”
Patsy had suddenly felt the car lurch heavily, and sway to one side,
then plunge forward as if it were going down a steep incline.
“We cannot be going directly into the stable,” he quickly reasoned.
“The run into that is on the level, but we’re descending some short,
steep place.”
“By Jove! I have it. Badger is taking the car into some place from
which Conley brought that one this noon, which Chick felt sure had not
come out of the stable. These crooks must have some secret hiding-place
for their several cars and horses, and Badger is about taking this one
into it. Fortunately, I shall now know all about it.”
Patsy was correct in these conjectures.
Badger had run the car around a corner of the stable, then down to a
short fence enclosing the space below the building, which stood on a
slope of the land.
In this fence was a door about wide enough to admit the car, and Badger
quickly sprang down to open it.
As the latter did so, there fell upon Patsy’s ears a sound that chilled
his blood, despite the strong nerves and invincible courage of the
young detective.
The sound was the sudden threatening barking of a dog, then confined in
this basement garage.
“By thunder! it’s that Cuban bloodhound!” was Patsy’s mental
exclamation.
He felt a thrill of dismay when he now recalled the huge beast, which
he had not once thought of since undertaking the hazardous venture in
which he was at present helplessly launched.
“If I escape detection by his ugly nostrils I shall be lucky,” he said
to himself. “If he scents me before I can make some kind of a move to
escape from this basket, I shall be a gone goose for sure.”
These thoughts passed quickly through Patsy’s mind while Badger was
opening the door mentioned.
Then out came the dog, nearly as large as a small calf, leaping about
his rascally master, and barking furiously.
“Gee whiz! that’s a pleasant sound,” murmured Patsy, with an
irrepressible shudder.
“Down, Pluto!” roared Badger angrily. “Keep down, I say! Close that
trap of yours, you brute, or I’ll break every bone in your ugly body.
Get out, you cur!”
With the last of these exclamations, the huge dog was dealt a
resounding kick in the ribs, which sent him yelping out across the
lawn, at which Patsy breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m safe for a few minutes, at least,” he decided.
Then he heard Badger shout commandingly:
“Here you, Conley! Come here with the lantern, so I can see to run in
this car. Look lively, old pal!”
Patsy wondered why he had shouted so lustily, and now he ventured to
raise the wicker lid about half an inch and peer out.
A dimly lighted basement met his gaze. It was not more than twenty feet
square, with the stone foundation walls of the stable on two sides, the
open door on a third, while the fourth and interior side appeared to be
a solid wooden bulkhead.
The floor was the bare ground, and the place was evidently designed for
stowing away an automobile.
“This is where that car came from this noon, that’s plain enough,”
thought Patsy. “Yet Nick must be wrong in thinking the rascals own so
many cars, for I’ve seen only two. There’s not room in there for more
than that number.”
The last thought had barely crossed his mind, however, when Patsy
discovered his mistake, and also why Badger had shouted so loudly.
A secret sliding door in the interior bulkhead wall suddenly flew open,
revealing a long extension of the basement, running even under the
carriage-house adjoining the stable above.
In this secret extension, which was so cleverly constructed as to defy
detection either from within or without, Patsy now caught sight of
half a score of motors lined up against one of the side walls, each of
a different make from the others, and all apparently in first-class
condition.
“By thunder! this does settle it, and Nick was right,” he mused. “Those
are the different cars these knaves have used for their night hold-ups.
This exterior basement is only a blind for concealing the other.”
The chief figure that at once claimed Patsy’s attention, however, was
that of Jerry Conley.
He had appeared in the secret doorway in response to Badger’s shout,
and he carried in one hand a lighted lantern, and in the other a flask
of brandy.
“Well, what do you say, Jerry?” demanded Badger, as the other strode
out to join him.
“He’s all right now,” growled Conley, setting down the lantern.
“Got him back to earth?”
“Pretty nearly. He’ll be himself in a few minutes.”
“Thank God!” thought Patsy fervently. “That refers to Nick.”
“Then he’ll not croak?” inquired Badger, as if somewhat disappointed.
“Not this time; though I reckon ’twould be a good thing for us if he
did,” snarled Conley.
“Help me run this car in, then I’ll go and have a talk with him.”
Patsy ducked his head and dropped the hamper lid.
Then he sensed that the two men had seized the sides of the car and
drawn it well into the exterior basement.
“Things all right in town?” queried Conley.
“Yes.”
“Did both women come out?”
“Sure.”
“I’m thinking ’twould be a good scheme to hold up some party to-night,”
Conley now declared.
“Why so?” inquired Badger.
“It would go to show the police that the unknown road robbers have not
been interfered with by any move of Nick Carter, and when he is found
to be missing, no suspicion, naturally, would fall upon us.”
“There’s something in that.”
“Sure there is.”
But Badger presently shook his head.
“Not to-night, Jerry,” said he decisively. “We already have enough on
for to-night with this infernal detective. Besides, I’m about all in,
with what I’ve had to do to-day.”
“I don’t much wonder,” grinned Conley.
“We’ll cut out the hold-up until to-morrow,” added Badger. “You go over
to the house and tell Vic that Carter has revived. She wants to come
out and see him. Meantime, I’ll take the lantern, and go and have a
talk with him.”
“What’s the matter with lighting this wall lamp?”
“No harm in it, Jerry. Light it, if you like.”
Badger took up the lantern while speaking, and strode into the interior
basement, closing the sliding door after him.
Conley struck a match and lighted an oil-lamp in a bracket on the wall,
then hastened out of doors and across the lawn.
“Now is my time!” thought Patsy. “If I can get into that inner cellar,
and down Amos Badger, the rest will be dead easy!”
He raised his head a little to lift the lid of the hamper.
Then he suddenly stopped, holding his breath.
The patter of soft feet on the ground near-by had reached his ears.
Then came a furious sniffing about the wickerwork of the hamper.
It was followed immediately by a long, low, threatening growl, enough
to have sent a chill through a brass image.
“That infernal bloodhound again!” thought Patsy, with an ugly creeping
of his every nerve. “By thunder! this is worse than being headed off by
a man—or by half a dozen men! What’s the cursed brute about to do?”