CHAPTER XLII.

IN THE TRAP

Larry sat on the iron bedstead of the cell, his aching head between

his hands. He had anticipated many ends to that night’s adventure, but

never did he imagine that he would be trapped like a rat, and that the

mystery of Box A would be solved in so startling a fashion. So that

was the explanation of Gordon Stuart’s death. He had accepted the

invitation of Dr. Judd to go with him in his box, and there had met

the sinister figure of Dearborn. He had either been drugged or clubbed

to insensibility and had been carried in John Dearborn’s strong arms

through the emergency door in the passage and whisked away to the

House of Death.

If he had not anticipated such an end to the evening, he thought, he

had at least made some preparations. Instinctively he had known that

of all places on the face of the earth where his quarry would be run

down and “Finis” might be written to the Stuart case, no other spot

was so likely as in this terrible mansion which the Judds had built

for themselves, and the object of his visit that morning had been

twofold. He desired to know and to see with his own eyes the evidence

of the men’s wickedness; but he had also a wish to understand the

ultimate danger to himself and to the girl.

He smiled as he thought of Diana, sitting snugly at home, and wondered

what she would feel if she knew his position.

His captor had taken from him every weapon he carried, but that did

not worry Larry overmuch. He got up from the bed and walked about the

room, but the weight of chain at his ankle made it necessary that he

should gather a yard of it slack in his hand. He gave one glance at

the black holes in the wall near the floor, for it was from these that

danger would come. Well and truly had these men planned their

execution-room. No cry for help, no sound he might make, would

penetrate through these concrete walls. The light in the ceiling was

protected by a thick and heavy globe of glass. It reminded him of a

bulkhead light.

He wanted to test the length of the chain, for he had ample time, he

thought. Dearborn would be in the house by now. He heard the click of

the trap-door above and looked up, but saw nothing. He waited for

another half-hour, then pushed over the big block of stone to which

the chain was fastened. Before his eyes could fall upon the bag he had

left there in his earlier visit, the light went out.

Curiously enough, he had not provided for that contingency, and he

drew a sharp breath. The bag was there: his fingers touched and pulled

it out, and he groped inside for the keys. Had there been light, there

would have been no difficulty in selecting that which unlocked the

anklet; but now he tested three, and none of them fitted the bronze

clamp about his ankle.

He heard a sound, a low, gurgling sound, such as water makes when it

is poured from a bottle; and then about his feet came an eddy of cold

air. He tried another key, and that, too, failed him. Worse still, it

remained fixed in the lock, and he could not pull it out.

He heard the rush of the water coming through the small holes in the

wall, and the dull throb of a pump. He tugged at the key, great beads

of sweat running down his cheeks, and then, with a sigh of relief, it

came out. The water was over his boots now and rising rapidly.

There was only one more key to try; the rest were too big for the

purpose. He drew that out, but the ward caught in the string of the

bag in which he had put them, and the key fell into the water. He

groped down; it had gone! Again and again he flung his hand through

the swirling water, and his fingers groped along the rough concrete

floor. Presently with a cry he felt it and, lifting his ankle with an

effort, he inserted the key. It turned. The anklet opened, and he was

free.

There were still the two doors, and he knew that, with the pressure of

water, it would require his utmost efforts to open them.

The water was up to his waist now, and he waded along the passage and

up the two steps, holding the waterproof bag between his teeth. The

key turned easily enough, but there was no handle to pull, and every

second increased the pressure of the water. He set his teeth and,

gripping the key in both hands, he pulled steadily, steadily.…

The dark eyes of London · 第 42 / 45 章