Trapped
"'Tain't quite all ship-shape, is it, sir?" enquired Petty Officer
Chalmers, who, ignorant of the Russian language, could only base his
surmise upon the fact that Klostivitch had suspiciously made himself
scarce.
"I'm afraid not, Chalmers," replied Fordyce. "We took too much for
granted, and pal Vladimir has sold us a dog. Don't move till I strike
a match; there may be boobytraps about."
The glimmer of the lighted match revealed the lamp. Either by
accident or design Klostivitch had left it on the floor.
"Proper Tower o' London sort of show," commented Chalmers, examining
his surroundings by the feeble glare. "Look, sir, that's where the
old rascal shinned up."
He indicated a number of iron rungs clamped into the wall, while
immediately above was a square opening in the stone ceiling, over
which had been lowered a huge block of granite.
"Come along, sir," continued the petty officer. "Let's get back to
the steps. Maybe the slippery reptile hasn't had time to shut the
door."
Quickly the two men ascended the flight of steps, only to find their
exit barred by a securely bolted door. Vainly the burly petty officer
thrust with his shoulder against the firmly-held barrier.
"Hist!" exclaimed Fordyce.
From the other side of the door came the Russian's mirthless laugh.
Then, finding that his captives had at least temporarily desisted
from their efforts he shouted:
"Don't forget to keep the stove burning, you English imbeciles--that
is, _if the diamonds are what you think they are._"
Fordyce did not deign to reply, but, followed by his companion,
descended the steps and gained the level passage. There was little
here that called for examination beyond the iron clamps set in the
wall; but at the farthermost end was a low, metal-bound door. It was
ajar. There were bolts on both sides, but these had apparently not
been used for a considerable time, since they were thickly encrusted
with rust.
Entering the cellar, the Sub found that it was a spacious place,
measuring, roughly, 50 feet by 20, the vaulted roof being supported
by a row of four stone columns. In one corner was a large stove, the
one to which Klostovitch had recently referred. A large portion of
the floor was occupied by bundles of faggots and logs hewn into short
lengths, so that there was no lack of fuel.
Seven feet from the ground was a heavily-barred window through which
a cold current of air was pouring. Obviously communicating with the
open air, the aperture itself admitted no light.
"Let me give you a leg-up, sir," suggested Chalmers. "There doesn't
seem much chance of being able to shin through that window, but
there's no harm done in finding out what's outside."
Agilely Fordyce scrambled upon the broad back of the resourceful
petty officer, steadying himself by grasping the iron bars, and
allowed the lamplight to shine upon the scene without.
The opening communicated with an arched tunnel through which flowed a
small stream but at present the water was frozen hard. If it were
possible to remove the retaining bars and crawl through the aperture,
the ice would form a safe way of escape, since the stream was bound
to emerge into the open air in one or both directions.
"Well, sir, what's to be done now?" enquired Chalmers, when the Sub
had made his report on his investigations. "It's no use sitting here
and doing a blessed stoker's job with that there fire. We can't
expect our chums to help us, or else old Klosytally, or whatever he
calls hisself, would bring up a crowd of his revolutionary pals."
"The Captain might appeal to the British Embassy," suggested Fordyce.
"I don't think that would be much good, sir," replied Chalmers. "From
what I've seen of this blessed country, British interest don't seem
to count for much. No, sir; it's no use trusting to others; we'll
have to work for ourselves."
"Quite so, Chalmers," agreed the Sub; "but I'm sorry I got you into
this mess."
"Don't you worry about me, sir," protested the imperturbable sailor.
"I'm quite content to follow my senior officer's movements without
asking questions. I'll just try my knife on that window."
"One moment," interposed Fordyce. "This lamp won't burn so very much
longer. Keep the door of the stove open, and throw on some more wood;
we'll have to work by fire-light."
This done, and the lamp blown out, Chalmers set to work to loosen the
mortar in which were set the iron bars of the window.
For nearly an hour he toiled diligently, until the sweat poured down
his face in spite of the cold blast of air through the opening. But
the effort was in vain. It was the blade of his knife that was
diminishing, not the cement, which was as hard as cast iron.
"I'll knock off, sir," he said, scratching his head in his
disappointment. "Might go on for a whole month of Sundays, and yet
get no forrader."
"We'll try to get those bars red-hot," declared Fordyce. "We've
plenty of wood. Once we get the iron soft we can knock them out by
using a log as a maul."
"Might be done, sir," admitted Chalmers. "No harm in trying; it'll
keep us out of mischief, in a manner of speaking."
Acting upon the Sub's suggestion, a quantity of wood was stacked
between the bars and set on fire. Fanned by the strong air-current,
the combustibles burned fiercely, but the result was far from
satisfactory. In less than five minutes the cellar was filled with
choking fumes, and had not the experimenters torn away the burning
wood they would have been suffocated.
[Illustration: IT WAS MINDIGGLE]
The hours passed slowly. Hunger and want of sleep were beginning to
assail the prisoners. For their personal comfort they kept the big
heating-stove well supplied, as they had not the slightest fear that
a fall in temperature would affect the contents of the dummy packet
which Fordyce still retained.
The two men were almost on the point of falling into a fitful slumber
when Klostivitch's voice hailed them. Lighting the lamp, Fordyce made
his way to the passage. A sense of dignity forbade him to hurry, but
curiosity prompted him to ascertain the cause of the interruption.
The place was deserted. The Russian had removed the stone covering to
the trap, for on the floor was a basket containing food and a jar of
water.
"He evidently doesn't mean to starve us," commented the Sub as he
carried the basket to the cellar. "I wonder if the stuff's drugged."
"I'll risk it, anyway," declared Chalmers. "I'm fair famished, sir.
How goes the enemy, sir?"
Fordyce consulted his watch.
"A quarter-past nine," he replied. "You turn in, Chalmers. I'll take
first trick."
The petty officer, having eaten his share of the scanty repast, was
soon sound asleep. Fordyce, having made up the fire, prepared to keep
watch, not knowing what move his captor might make.
It was close on midnight when he heard his name called. Hardly able
to credit his senses, the Sub started to his feet. The voice seemed
familiar, yet he could not fix the speaker's identity.
Relighting the lamp, and without disturbing his sleeping companion,
the Sub hastened along the passage. Suddenly he halted. The trap-door
above his head was opened, and through the aperture could be seen the
head and shoulders of a man. His features were muffled in a turned-up
fur collar, while an astrakhan cap was drawn well down over his
forehead; but, in spite of this, Fordyce was now able to recognize
the man.
It was Mindiggle.