"Sorry to be so late," greeted the bank's cashier. "My car broke down.
I've had to walk five miles, at least--" He broke off, catching sight of
Dorothy and Bill for the first time.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, "what are you two doing here?"
"They are waiting for you to bump them off," replied Sadie with a sneer.
"Why, what do you mean?" Perkins gazed breathlessly around the room.
"Just what I said. You are going to stop their mouths for good--and do
it right now. We've been shilly-shallying over this business long
enough!"
Perkins' glance took in the others seated at the table.
"Has she gone nuts?" he asked.
"We have decided that you are to do what my daughter has just
mentioned," said the Doctor smoothly.
"And I," retorted Perkins angrily, "tell you here and now that I will be
no party to murder!"
Sadie drew her revolver.
"Well--if he won't, I will!" she began when her wrist was caught in a
grip of steel, then twisted up and backward.
"Drop it, little one--drop it--or I'll break your arm," said Mike.
Sadie shrieked with pain, but she dropt her revolver and Mike pocketed
it.
"I'll get you for that!" she screamed.
Her father leaned forward in his chair. "Shut up, you idiot!" he said
coldly and deliberately slapped her across the mouth with his open hand.
"We've had enough from you for one evening. Mike was perfectly right to
stop you. Perkins is going to do this job, and you know _why_ he is
going to do it. I'll have no more argument from you. Keep still now,
until you have my permission to speak."
"But I tell you I'll have nothing to do with it," repeated Perkins, and
attempted to light with trembling fingers the half-burned cigar he was
chewing.
Doctor Martinelli swung round in his chair. "You'll do as you're told,"
he said through clenched teeth. "A little persuasion of the kind I have
in mind has been known to make braver men than you change their
opinions, Mr. Harry Perkins!" He glared at the cashier, who dropped his
eyes--and the cigar--at one and the same moment.
"That's the way, Doc," applauded Mike, getting to his feet. "We've been
sittin' round this table so long we're all getting stale. What we need's
a little excitement."
He pointed to Dorothy and Bill.
"I'll take these two down stairs and stick them in the old wine cellar.
They'll keep fine and dandy down there. Later, when Mr. Perkins sees
reason he can run down and finish them off. While I'm gone, Johnny, you
beat it out to the woodshed and fetch in a length of garden hose." He
guffawed--"I guess you know that trick--the bulls have made it pretty
popular?"
The lame man smiled and nodded.
"O.K. Doc?"
"It's a good plan, Mike. Go ahead with it."
Mike took a flashlight from his pocket and beckoned to the prisoners.
Sadie pushed back her chair and jumped up. "Tie that girl or she'll get
away!" she ordered.
"Pipe down!" thundered the gangster and there was an ugly gleam in his
eyes as he glared at her. "Give me any more of your lip, Sadie, and
you'll take a trip downstairs yourself. Some day when you ain't got a
thing to do fer a couple of weeks, try gettin' outa that place with the
door locked. Run along now--murder yourself, if you have to--you
red-headed bag of hot wind!"
He turned his back on the furious woman and motioned Bill and Dorothy to
walk before him into the kitchen.
"Well, of all the nerve--" Dorothy heard Sadie cry sharply as Harry
Perkins broke in with--"Look here, Doctor Martinelli, do you really mean
to--"
Mike shut the door, cutting the argument in the front room to a mere
mumble of voices.
"Down those stairs to the right and then straight ahead, you two," he
directed, pointing the way with his flashlight--"No tricks, either,
unless you want your buddie hurt worse than he is now, Miss Wildcat!"
Dorothy, with her arm about Bill's shoulders, stopped at the head of the
cellar stairs.
"I think you told me you were getting two thousand dollars for your
share in the New Canaan robbery," she murmured.
"That's right--a coupla grand," he acknowledged. "Not much, but when I
made the deal, I wasn't as strong with Doc as I am now."
"If you let us go, my father will pay you ten thousand!"
"Nothing doing!"
"And I promise you he'll use his influence in your behalf, as well. It
seems to me a mighty easy way to make a lot of money--"
Mike shrugged his shoulders.
"Maybe it is," he admitted. "But then you see, I've never double-crossed
a pal yet, and I'm not going to start at this late day. Cut the chatter
now--there's nothing doing."
"You won't regret it, Mike."
The door behind them opened slowly, revealing Doctor Martinelli's slight
figure.
"My judgment of human nature is rarely at fault," the little man went on
rather pompously. "I believed I could trust you--now I know it. There's
a full share coming to you on this deal, Mike. Cut along now, but hurry
back. As soon as you've locked them up, I'll need your help with
Perkins."
The door closed once more and Mike waved toward the gaping black of the
cellar stairs.
"You heard what Doc said--down you go!"
"Over there to the left," he directed when his two prisoners reached the
bottom and Dorothy helped Billy to hobble across the damp, earthern
floor, in the shifting rays of Mike's torch.
Ahead in the wall of native stone that formed the foundation of the
house, they could see a door of heavy wood, at least six inches thick.
Mike pushed it fully open. For a moment Dorothy thought of jumping him,
but now she saw he carried a revolver in his free hand.
"In you go!" he said roughly, elbowing them over the threshold. But
instead of locking them in, he stepped over the sill and gently pulled
the door shut behind him.
Bill, anticipating the end, stepped between Dorothy and their captor.
"Let her go, Mike. Her father and mine will give you anything you ask.
Shoot me if you must--but let her go. Use two shots, and the others will
think--tell them--"
"Quiet, please," whispered Mike fiercely, and Dorothy started, for he
spoke now with the voice of a well bred Englishman.
"Neither of you will be shot tonight, if you do as I tell you.
Here--take this automatic, Miss Dixon. And listen carefully, both of
you. I've only a minute. You'll find a few useful articles under the
pile of sacking in that far corner," he went on, pointing into the gloom
behind them. "Then, get out of the window as quickly as you can--the
bars are sawn through. Your car is still parked where you left it. Go
straight home. That, I think, will be all at present."
Bill and Dorothy stared at him in wide-eyed amazement.
"Who are you, anyway?" the girl whispered, peering up at him.
"To ease your minds," he smiled, "I'm not exactly what I pretend to be.
And I want to apologize to you, Miss Dixon, for the exceedingly crude
game I was forced to play with you. The Doctor had his suspicions of me,
until just a few moments ago, I believe, and he has had us watched ever
since I brought you here. But now he has proved his judgment to be
sound--" he chuckled to himself--"and has ceased his strict
surveillance."
He paused a moment then went on, more seriously. "My name is Michael
Conway. I am a detective-inspector in the Criminal Investigation
Department of New Scotland Yard. I've trailed certain members of the
Martinelli gang all the way from London. My plans seem to have
miscarried this evening; otherwise, you need not have been put to all
this inconvenience. Remember that the house has ears, and be as quiet as
possible. Good night--and good luck!"
The door swung shut behind him. They heard him turn the key in the lock
and he was gone.
"Gee Whiz!" muttered Bill, "and I thought--"
"Sh--Bill!" cautioned Dorothy. "Never mind now. Stand where you are, or
you'll break your neck in this darkness."
Her voice came from farther off now. He knew she was feeling her way
across the room toward the corner.
Presently a light appeared and she spoke again.
"I've found the things," she told Bill. "Besides this flash, there's
another automatic, a small ax, and a chisel."
"Thank heaven for that," said Bill. "Now I've a chance of getting these
handcuffs off!"
"But we can't do it in here," Dorothy objected. "Remember what Mike said
about making a noise. We'll have to wait till we get outside. There's
the window. It's going to be a tight squeeze."
Her light showed them they were standing in a narrow room, walled like
the cellar in native stone. Along the sides, piled one on top of the
other were wine casks, which proved to be empty. The damp air was heavy
with the fumes of evaporating lees. High to one side was a small barred
window.
"Lean against this barrel, so it won't slip," whispered Dorothy, and
clambered up to the window. "Yes, the bars are loose!"
She removed the short lengths of rusty iron from the open frame and
carefully laid them on the ground outside.
"Now the paraphernalia--" She placed ax, chisel and revolver beside the
bars on the grass and descended to Bill's side.
"Guess I'll have to go first," observed Bill. "We'll never make it,
otherwise. Give me a boost, will you?"
They were both breathless and nearly exhausted by the time Bill had been
pushed up and out of the window. Dorothy was so tired it took every
ounce of her waning strength to drag herself through the narrow aperture
after him. They rested for some minutes in the long, dewy grass,
gathering strength and courage for the waiting ordeal.
As soon as they began to move away from the house, Dorothy realized that
Bill was near collapse. Even with her supporting arm, he lurched and
stumbled through the tangled undergrowth.
"It's that old hole in my leg," he grumbled in answer to her question.
"It's opened up again--been bleeding pretty freely. You'd better leave
me here."
He sank wearily to the ground behind a cluster of elder bushes, about
two hundred yards from the house, the weight of his body pulling Dorothy
to her knees beside him.
"I'll do nothing of the kind!" she whispered fiercely.
"But you must--I can't go any further," his voice trailed off weakly.
With a quick movement she felt for his wound in the darkness and
tightened the bandage.
"We'll wait here till you're strong enough to walk, that's all. If I try
to run the car up here, they'll hear it from the house. There's no use
to try to cut off your handcuffs, either. The least sound will bring
that gang down on us."
"Not the car--" he mumbled. "The amphibian--beat it for the Loening--and
bring help."
Dorothy bit her lip. With Bill delirious there was nothing she could do
but remain with him.
"That's all right," she said, trying to calm him--"We'll stay here till
you feel stronger, Bill. Then I'll help you down to the car."
Bill had been lying on his side, his head pillowed on her knees. Now he
wriggled into a sitting position.
"I'm pretty well all in," he admitted, "but I'm not off my head--not
yet--if that's what you're thinking.--Didn't I tell you about the
amphibian?"
"You certainly did not----" Dorothy's tone was relieved, yet excited.
"Well, here's the dope, then. She's parked in the next valley--over that
hill behind the house. You'll find her under the trees at the edge of a
wood lot. I flew up here several nights ago. Wanted a means of quick
getaway, if it became necessary. Frank met me over there and drove me
home. It's a rotten landing place. You'll find it worse for the take
off. You'll be taking an awful chance to do it."
Dorothy got to her feet. "You certainly are the one and only
life-saver," she breathed joyfully. "Every time we get really up against
it--you've a plane up your sleeve or something. Don't worry--I'll fly it
all right!"
"Hop it for Danbury, then. When you get there, land in the fair grounds.
Phone the police and tell them to run down in a car and that you'll fly
them back here. You can land on the lake. The bus has a searchlight--"
He broke off as the sharp detonation of an automatic came from the
direction of the house. This was followed by shouts and the sound of a
scuffle. Presently all was quiet once more.
"Something's up!" said Dorothy.
Bill nodded gravely. "I wonder if they haven't found we're not in the
wine cellar--if they've charged Mike Conway with our escape?"
"Well, I'm going over to see."
"No, you're not--I'll go."
But by the time Bill had struggled to his feet, Dorothy had run to the
house and was peering between the shutters of the side window. She stood
there for a moment, then ran back to him.
"The Doctor has been shot," she gasped. "Not badly hurt, I
think--evidently took it in the shoulder. But they've got Mike. He's
tied hand and foot and bound to a chair!"
"That's bad," said Bill slowly.
"It's awful! They'll surely shoot him before I can get the police here!"
Bill hobbled back toward the shelter of the bushes with Dorothy's arm
about his waist.
"Some break!" he said disgustedly, as he sank to the ground. "I'm out of
the running and you can't hold up that bunch single handed--"
"I can try it though, Bill."
"Not if I have anything to say, you won't. There are too many of
'em--it's impossible. But what we're going to do now, I haven't the
slightest idea!"
_Chapter XVII_