THROUGH THE TUNNEL
At the foot of the stairway was another door, and this stood open. It
gave upon another hallway, carpeted richly, and dim, yet not so dark
but what Captain Folsom could see his way. This faint illumination
came up a great open stairway from a wide and deep living room below
into which descended another stairway at the far end of the hall.
A male voice, not unmusical, singing a rousing chorus in Italian, and
peering circumspectly through an open balustrade into that lower room,
Captain Folsom saw the singer seated at a great square piano, a giant
of a man with a huge shock of dark brown hair and ferocious mustaches,
while a coal black negro, even huger in size, lolled negligently at
one end of the keyboard, his red lips parted wide in a grin of
enjoyment and ivory white teeth showing between, and at the other end
of the piano, with his elbows planted on the instrument and his head
pressed between his hands, stood or rather leaned a rough-looking man
of medium height, his grizzled hair all awry where he had run his
fingers through it, and wearing a khaki shirt open at the throat.
"Sing that again, Pete. What d'ye call it? The Bull Fighter Song, hey?
Well, I don't know much about music, but that gits under my skin. Come
on."
The man called Pete was about to comply, and the Negro was nodding his
head in violent approval, when the door from the outside gallery was
burst open unceremoniously, and a villainous looking individual
whirled into the room in a state of great excitement. Others were
behind him but, evidently not daring to venture within, stood grouped
in the open doorway.
"Here, Mike, wot d'ye mean, comin' in like this? Into a gentleman's
house, too. Don't ye know any better, ye scut?" demanded the first
speaker, he who had asked for a repetition of the song.
Evidently, thought Captain Folsom, here was the leader, for the other
deferred to him, although it was apparent he was a privileged
character.
"Ah, now, Paddy Ryan," said the man called Mike; "ah, now, Paddy Ryan,
sure an' I know 'tis a gentleman's house since you rule it. But do
them fellers on the roof know it?"
"Fellers on the roof?" said Ryan, advancing a step, threateningly.
"Mike, ye been drinkin' again. An' the night's work not done yet. Out
on ye, ye--ye----"
"Listen," said Mike, holding up a hand. "Listen. 'Tis all I ask. Sure
an' wid Pete caterwaulin', 'tis no wonder at all ye cannot hear wot's
goin' on. Hear the shootin' now, don't ye?"
As if he were a magician calling the demonstration into being at
command, the shooting and shouting of the trio on the roof, which for
the moment had died down, was now violently renewed. Ryan's lower jaw
dropped open grotesquely.
"Now will ye believe me?" demanded Mike, triumphantly.
"Who--who is it?" asked Ryan, still in the grip of his astonishment.
"How should we know?" asked Mike. "We was comin' up from the beach wid
another cargo o' the stuff when we hear it."
"Mistuh Higginbotham went up to de roof wid two men," interposed the
gigantic negro. "Leastways, he done went up to see 'bout dem prisonahs
an' ax 'em a few quistions."
"You're right, George," said Ryan. "I'd forgotten. Listen to that.
There they go again. Come on."
He darted for the outer door, the negro George, Pete and Mike at his
heels. The crowd of mixed whites and blacks in the doorway gave 'way
before him. In a trice they all were gone. The room was deserted.
"Now is our chance," said Captain Folsom, to the three boys and Tom
Barnum, crouching beside him. "Come on. We must get downstairs and out
of the house before they return, for return they will as soon as they
understand what the fellows on the roof have to tell of our mysterious
disappearance."
He darted down the stairs, two at a time, with the four others close
behind him. Halfway across the big room, however, he halted abruptly
and groaned:
"Too late. They're coming back."
"Here," cried Jack, seizing him by an arm, and pushing him along.
"Quick, fellows, through this door. It's a chance."
Jack had observed a closed door, near the piano, and the others
followed pell-mell behind him and Captain Folsom. Frank, the last to
enter, closed the door and, finding his hand encounter a key, turned
it in the lock.
None too soon. They could hear shouts and curses, as the mob surged up
the stairway.
Jack, meanwhile, had been flashing Tom's torch about and, discovering
a wall switch, had pressed a button. At once an electric light in the
ceiling flashed on, revealing that they were in a large pantry.
Bottles of liquor stood about and, on a tray, were a number of
sandwiches.
"That black butler was preparing to feed his boss," surmised Frank.
"Well, those chicken sandwiches look all right. I'm goin' to have one.
Hungry."
And without more ado, Frank took a sandwich and began eating.
"Great stuff," he said.
"Say, you, come on," called Jack, smiling a little, nevertheless,
despite his anxiety. "Think of eating at a time like this!"
"Why not?" said Frank, polishing off the first sandwich and taking
another. "Well, lead on, Macduff. Where you going?"
"There's no way out of this except by the cellar," Jack replied,
already having opened the other door of the pantry and shot the rays
of his searchlight down the stairway. "Shall we try it?"
"We can't stay here," answered Captain Folsom. "They're searching the
rooms above us right now, by the sound of it. Soon they'll be down
here. And we can't go out through the living room, because I've
withdrawn the key and peeped through the keyhole in the door and can
see two men on guard at the foot of the stairway."
Tom Barnum up to this moment had had little to say. Now, however, he
came forward with a remark that caused the others to stare in
amazement.
"There's said to be a secret passage from the cellar to Starfish Cove
or thereabouts," he said. "I don't know nothin' about it, but that's
what folks say. They say as how old Pirate Brownell was afraid his
sins would catch up with him some day, and hoped to escape by the
passage when the avengers came. He couldn't do it, however. He wasn't
quick enough."
"A secret passage?" said Jack. "Come on. Last man closes the cellar
door and locks it from the inside."
Frank was the last to go. Before quitting the pantry, he stuffed the
remaining sandwiches into his trousers pockets, seized on a tremendous
butcher knife which was lying on the butler's cabinet, and switched
off the light. Then he locked the cellar stairway door, and descended
to where the others awaited him at the foot.
They stood, as well as they could discern, in the midst of a huge
cellar piled high with cases upon cases of bottles and barrels, too.
"Whew," said Captain Folsom, "this looks like a bonded liquor
warehouse. If we could only raid this place right now, it would be the
richest haul in the history of the country since the nation went
dry."
"Is all this liquor?" asked Frank, incredulously.
"It is," said Captain Folsom, pulling a bottle from the nearest case
and examining the label critically. "And it's the genuine stuff, too.
Brought in from the Bahamas. English and Scotch whiskey."
Louder shouts overhead and the noise of many feet descending stairs
warned them the pursuit had drawn to the ground floor, and that they
were in momentary danger of discovery.
"Those two doors won't hold long," said Jack, anxiously. "If we can't
find that tunnel entrance, we are out of luck. I think myself, we had
better look for a door to the outside and try to escape that way."
At that moment, Tom Barnum's voice, low but tense and thrilling with
excitement, came out of the darkness ahead.
"Mister Jack, Mister Jack, come here. Here where ye see my light."
The others had not missed Tom before. But immediately on reaching the
cellar, he had gone exploring by the light of the matches he had
found in his pockets, without troubling Jack for the flashlight.
Hurriedly, the others now made their way to where a dim gleam of light
which went out before they reached it only to be succeeded by another,
showed where Tom was awaiting them. When they reached his side, they
found him crouched at the foot of a wall, pushing and straining at a
big barrel.
"Lend a hand," he panted. "The entrance is back here."
Almost over their heads on the floor above, an attack was made at this
moment on the door connecting living room and pantry. They could hear
the shouts to surrender, to unlock the door, and the blows being
rained upon the barrier.
"Push. It's a-movin'."
The barrel did move aside sufficiently to admit of a man getting
between it and the wall, and in the rays of the flashlight appeared a
small, door-like opening in the stone.
"In with ye, every one," said Tom. "I'll pile a couple o' these cases
on top of each other to cover up the entrance, an' climb over it."
The door above, the first of the two impeding pursuit, fell with a
splintering crash. There was a shout of triumph, giving way to
surprise when the pantry was found untenanted. Captain Folsom and the
boys without more delay crawled into the opening. They could hear Tom
piling cases over the entrance, then a thud as, having climbed his
barricade, he dropped to the cellar floor on the inside. Then he
joined them.
Once more, Jack called the precious flashlight into play, and all
could see they stood in a narrow, brick-walled tunnel, with a vaulted
roof above. It was some four feet high, preventing them from standing
upright, and the walls were a yard apart. The next moment the
flashlight flickered and died.
"Gone," said Jack. "Burned out. Now we are ditched."
"Not yet," said Captain Folsom, resolutely. "Barnum, how many matches
have you?"
"About a dozen left in this packet," answered Tom's voice in the
darkness. "But they're them paper things the cigar companies give
away. Got 'em the other day when I was to the village. They're not
much good."
"They're better than nothing," answered the captain. "They were good
enough to enable you to find this tunnel. Come, there's no need to
despair. I've got some matches myself, big ones. I'll give them to
you, and do you lead the way."
Striking a match, he located Tom behind him. Handing him a dozen big
matches which he had found in a trousers pocket, he pressed against
the wall to permit of Tom's passing him. The others did likewise.
"Keep right behind me an' touchin' each other," said Tom. "I can feel
the wall on each side with my hands, an' so can the rest of ye as we
go along. I'll save the matches till we need them."
Without more ado, he set out, Jack, Bob, Frank and Captain Folsom at
his heels in the order mentioned. They found that, despite the
pitchy-black darkness, they were able to make good progress, for the
narrow confines of the tunnel permitted of no going astray. All kept
listening with strained attention for sounds of pursuit, but none came
for so long they began to feel more hopeful. Perhaps, their pursuers
did not know of the secret passage. No, that was unlikely, inasmuch as
one or other of the smugglers must have seen the tunnel mouth when he
placed that barrel before it. Faint shouts from the cellar came to
their ears, indicating a search for them was in progress there. The
smugglers probably would look to see whether they were hidden among
the barrels and cases, and not until that search had been thoroughly
prosecuted would they investigate the tunnel.
These reflections were exchanged among them as they proceeded.
Suddenly the air, which had been remarkably fresh, although
earthy-smelling, became cleaner. All felt they were approaching an
exit. The next moment Tom Barnum stumbled and fell forward.