In the underground chamber where the little group awaited the return
of Larry time passed slowly. Labar could hear the ticking of his watch
above the whispered conversation that passed among the others. He was
not of a morbid cast of mind but he could not help reflecting on the
possibility that his life hung upon a hair.
Once finally convinced that they were cornered the views of the more
desperate of the gang that he was better out of the way were likely
to prevail. He had to face that probability, and he liked it the less
the more that he thought of it. He considered the situation from
another angle. It was just on the cards that the tunnel might remain
undiscovered by the men who were following him. In that case his
dilemma would be worse. His captors were scarcely likely to leave him
alive to take up the trail after them once more. Men of the habit of
thought of Billy Bungey would be liable to take a simple method of
ridding themselves of an embarrassment. Larry, the most dangerous of
them all, would not lift a finger to stay his sacrifice unless policy
dictated that he should remain alive. There would be little to hope for
from that direction. If he was to get clear of the predicament into
which he had fallen his own wit must save him.
No one now remained near him. The man who had hitherto been at his
elbow had moved over to the group to take part in the conversation. It
was a reasonable assumption that the detective, tied as he was, and
with all egress from the tunnel barred, could do no harm. Labar himself
realised his impotence, and with no conscious thought in his mind moved
quietly a pace or two so that he might place his back against the wall.
There he remained in the blackest of the shadows cast by the feeble oil
lamp.
A figure detached itself from the cluster and moved casually over to
him as though to assure herself of his security. If any of the others
noticed they showed no sign. He had no difficulty in recognising Sophie
Lengholm. She stood by him for a second saying no word and then he felt
her hand thrust something into his. It was a small open penknife.
Unhurriedly she returned to the others, and the astonished officer
remained stone still. It was no time to probe into motives. Whatever
had actuated her the fact was that he had in his hand the means of
comparative freedom. If the worst came to the worst now he need not be
butchered without some sort of a fight.
Very silently, very cautiously he set himself with much straining of
the wrist, and with some danger of gashing himself, to cut the lower
strand of the rope that held him. It was a slow and awkward business,
but at last he felt it fall apart. Thus far he had not thought what
the following move was to be. He paused, making no attempt to release
himself fully for the moment. He could scarcely hope to overpower all
the company with nothing for a weapon save a penknife. If he could lay
his hands on a revolver--but the only method of doing so was so wildly
desperate that he paused to consider before putting it into execution.
At that moment he heard the creak of the outer sliding door. It was,
he imagined, the return of Larry and there would be three more men to
reckon with.
The others also had heard and they were on their feet when Tom entered.
A volley of questions was fired at him. The valet shook his head.
"Don't eat a man. It's all right. Everything looks clear, but Mr.
Hughes and Bungey are scouting round to make sure. They'll be back in a
jiffy."
Labar judged that it might be time to create a diversion. A
half-suspicion had come into his mind, but he scarcely believed it
himself.
"Looks to me as though he had left the rest of you to hold the baby,"
he announced in level tones. "While you're monkeying about here like
a lot of sapheads Larry and Billy are on their way. They've played you
for a gang of suckers."
Tom wheeled upon him on the instant. "So you say," he retorted. "That's
one of the things the boss does not do. I've known him as long as
anyone and he always plays square with the boys. Mr. Hughes is a square
grafter."
"Huh!" said the detective. "Wait and see."
"It looks fishy to me," said someone, and Labar knew that he had
succeeded in instilling doubt into at least one mind.
"Tom's right," said Sophie Lengholm. "Larry has his little ways but he
doesn't snitch and he isn't a coward."
"But if he _has_ gone?" wailed a tearful voice, in which Labar
recognised the accents of Mrs. Gertstein. "What shall we do?"
"Don't snivel till you're hurt," snarled a gruff voice. "Gone or not
we're no worse off. No one can touch us here yet."
"We can't stay here and starve and if we go out they'll put us in
prison." Adèle Gertstein was becoming hysterical. "Oh, can't we do
something?"
Tom moved softly across to her and spoke low voiced. "If you can't keep
quiet we'll find a way that will settle you," he said. "Make yourself a
nuisance and someone will be sticking a bit of steel into you as likely
as not." He gripped her shoulder and shook her fiercely. "Now that will
be all from you."
She made some inarticulate protest and then fell cowed and silent.
Tom addressed the gang. "I'm going back now to wait for the boss. If
anyone likes to come along there's no reason against it."
One man volunteered, and with a final warning to the others to wait
in patience Tom moved off. With the aid of his knife the detective
set himself to dispose of the remainder of his bonds. He dropped them
at last noiselessly to his side, and marked one of Billy Bungey's
associates as the first object of attack.
Inch by inch holding to the shadows as far as possible he edged towards
his man. Speed was of the essence of his plan. If he guessed wrong he
knew himself as good as dead.
Suddenly he leapt. The full weight of his heavy body was behind his
fist which caught his man full on the point. The fellow fell like
a sack and almost simultaneously Labar was by the unconscious body
feeling feverishly in the right hand jacket pocket for the weapon he
believed to be there. His judgment was right and as he pulled himself
upright a heavy automatic was in his hand. He squeezed the trigger and
a spurt of flame and a heavy report which reverberated lengthily in
the confined space, told the others almost before they knew what had
happened that he was armed.
"Keep away from me," he ordered. "I'll shoot among you if anyone moves."
The answer was a shot which buried itself in the wall behind him,
missing him by a yard. He brought his own weapon to a level and fired
blindly. Someone screamed and there was a heavy fall. Unfamiliar as he
was with firearms it had been impossible to miss at that distance, and
with the target presented by a number of people.
"Do you want any more?" demanded the detective grimly.
There was no answer. Only the breathing of the group, and the muffled
sobs of Mrs. Gertstein broke the stillness that had descended on the
scene. Labar waited tensely alert for any menacing move. He was glad
for several reasons that no one of his opponents had had presence
of mind enough to put out the light. In the darkness it was highly
probable that someone would get killed.
"Some of you have electric torches," said Labar. "Throw one out here.
Quick's the word. I'm liable to get impatient." He flourished his
weapon significantly.
A man stepped a little forward and a torch thudded at the detective's
feet. Keeping a wary eye upon the group he picked it up with his left
hand and switched the beam upon them.
"Now boys," he said, "I don't want to hurt anyone, but if I do you'll
only have yourselves to blame. Throw any pistols or other weapons that
you have into the centre of the room. Don't try to hold anything out on
me or it will be the worse for you."
There were men facing him who would not have hesitated to fly at his
throat in many circumstances. So far the element of surprise had served
him well. He dominated them for the time, but he knew that it needed
only the slightest initiative on the part of one of them, and he would
have the whole mob about his ears. There was a perceptible hesitation
in complying with his last order. His trigger finger twitched.
Reluctant though he was to shoot he was resolved to do so rather than
run the risk of a combined attack.
"I'm going to count three," he said. "If those pistols aren't on the
floor by then I shoot. One--two----"
A weapon clattered to the ground and a second followed.
"Any more?" he asked.
A third pistol followed the others and, although he was convinced of
the probability that there were still more weapons on some of the men,
there was no way of making sure. He had to take a chance.
"I'm going to take you people back to 'Mope's Bottom,'" he said. "You
will keep well in front of me and if anyone looks back he will be
turned into something deader than a pillar of salt. Now march."
"What about Jim?" asked one of the prisoners, indicating the motionless
form of the man who had been shot.
Labar reflected. For all he knew time might be precious. If Tom or
Larry or Billy returned, as they might at any moment, he could hope
for nothing better than a fight to the death. He shook his head.
"I'll see that he's looked after later," he said. "Come. Get a move on."
He marshalled them into the dark tunnel, and with a stern order that
they were not to pass beyond the rays of his torch carried them to the
interior steel door. There they came to a halt.
Two of the men fiddled with the catch meeting with some apparent
difficulty. "It won't open," one of them declared. "Only Larry and Tom
know the secret."
Here was a predicament. It flashed across Labar's mind that these men
were scarcely likely to have submitted to be shut in the tunnel during
the absence of those who held the key to their release and at the risk
of accident unless they themselves knew the secret. He switched his
light off and fired at the floor of the tunnel.
"That will be unlucky for you," he declared ominously. "If that door
isn't opened in a matter of seconds I'll shoot my way through it--and
you."
Adèle Gertstein who had never ceased her subdued wailing now gave a
sharp cry of terror. And then the door creaked back.
There was no further attempt to evade the instructions of Labar. He
had convinced them, for the time, that he would stand at nothing, and
in that confined space even a bad shot could not fail to wreck deadly
execution. Yet until he had reached the open he felt far from secure.
There was a thrill down his spine, and once or twice he felt tempted
to look round. He had an uneasy feeling that he was being stalked from
behind. It would be the simplest thing in the world to follow along
that narrow passage and shoot him in the back.
So they came to the entrance to Larry's private room. At a touch the
panel slid aside and daylight illumined the opening. From the other
side came a sharp cry of surprise and a quick order. Bill Malone had
his wits about him.
"Reach for the ceiling, you."
One by one with their hands above their heads the prisoners filed into
the room. Labar stepped in behind them. At the far side of the room
stood Bill Malone and Detective Inspector Moreland with revolvers in
their hands.
"Criminy, if it ain't the guv'nor," ejaculated Bill.