what is the trouble? Did you see in the society news this morning
the announcement of Jack's engagement to Vivian Taylor, the daughter
of the president of the Five-Borough?"
I had seen it, but could not connect it with the trouble, whatever
it was, at the tunnel, though I did try to connect the tunnel
mystery with my expose.
We pulled up at the construction works, and a strapping Irishman met
us. "Is this Professor Kennedy?" he asked of Craig.
"It is. Where is Mr. Orton's office?"
"I'm afraid, sir, it will be a long time before Mr. Orton is in his
office again, sir. The doctor have just took him out of the medical
lock, an' he said if you was to come before they took him to the
'orspital I was to bring you right up to the lock."
"Good heavens, man, what has happened?" exclaimed Kennedy. "Take
us up to him quick."
Without waiting to answer, the Irishman led the way up and across
a rough board platform until at last we came to what looked like a
huge steel cylinder, lying horizontally, in which was a floor with
a cot and some strange paraphernalia. On the cot lay Jack Orton,
drawn and contorted, so changed that even his own mother would
scarcely have recognised him. A doctor was bending over him,
massaging the joints of his legs and his side.
"Thank you, Doctor, I feel a little better," he groaned. "No, I
don't want to go back into the lock again, not unless the pain gets
worse."
His eyes were closed, but hearing us he opened them and nodded.
"Yes, Craig," he murmured with difficulty, "this is Jack Orton.
What do you think of me? I'm a pretty sight. How are you? And
how are you, Walter? Not too vigorous with the hand-shakes, fellows.
Sorry you couldn't get over before this happened."
"What's the matter?" we asked, glancing blankly from Orton to the
doctor.
Orton forced a half smile. "Just a touch of the 'bends' from
working in compressed air," he explained.
We looked at him, but could say nothing. I, at least, was thinking
of his engagement.
"Yes," he added bitterly, "I know what you are thinking about,
fellows. Look at me! Do you think such a wreck as I am now has
any right to be engaged to the dearest girl in the world?"
"Mr. Orton," interposed the doctor, "I think you'll feel better if
you'll keep quiet. You can see your friends in the hospital
to-night, but for a few hours I think you had better rest.
Gentlemen, if you will be so good as to postpone your conversation
with Mr. Orton until later it would be much better."
"Then I'll see you to-night," said Orton to us feebly. Turning to
a tall, spare, wiry chap, of just the build for tunnel work, where
fat is fatal, he added: "This is Mr. Capps, my first assistant. He
will show you the way down to the street again."
"Confound it!" exclaimed Craig, after we had left Capps. "What do
you think of this? Even before we can get to him something has
happened. The plot thickens before we are well into it. I think
I'll not take a cab, or a car either. How are you for a walk until
we can see Orton again?"
I could see that Craig was very much affected by the sudden accident
that had happened to our friend, so I fell into his mood, and we
walked block after block scarcely exchanging a word. His only
remark, I recall, was, "Walter, I can't think it was an accident,
coming so close after that letter." As for me, I scarcely knew what
to think.
At last our walk brought us around to the private hospital where
Orton was. As we were about to enter, a very handsome girl was
leaving. Evidently she had been visiting some one of whom she
thought a great deal. Her long fur coat was flying carelessly,
unfastened in the cold night air; her features were pale, and her
eyes had the fixed look of one who saw nothing but grief.
"It's terrible, Miss Taylor," I heard the man with her say
soothingly, "and you must know that I sympathise with you a great
deal."
Looking up quickly, I caught sight of Capps and bowed. He returned
our bows and handed her gently into an automobile that was waiting.
"He might at least have introduced us," muttered Kennedy, as we
went on into the hospital.
Orton was lying in bed, white and worn, propped up by pillows which
the nurse kept arranging and rearranging to ease his pain. The
Irishman whom we had seen at the tunnel was standing deferentially
near the foot of the bed.
"Quite a number of visitors, nurse, for a new patient," said Orton,
as he welcomed us. "First Capps and Paddy from the tunnel, then
Vivian" - he was fingering some beautiful roses in a vase on a table
near him - "and now, you fellows. I sent her home with Capps. She
oughtn't to be out alone at this hour, and Capps is a good fellow.
She's known him a long time. No, Paddy, put down your hat. I want
you to stay. Paddy, by the way, fellows, is my right-hand man in
managing the 'sandhogs' as we call the tunnel-workers. He has been
a sand-hog on every tunnel job about the city since the first
successful tunnel was completed. His real name is Flanagan, but we
all know him best as Paddy."
Paddy nodded. "If I ever get over this and back to the tunnel,"
Orton went on, "Paddy will stick to me, and we will show Taylor,
my prospective father-in-law and the president of the railroad
company from which I took this contract, that I am not to blame
for all the troubles we are having on the tunnel. Heaven knows
that - "
"Oh, Mr. Orton, you ain't so bad," put in Paddy without the faintest
touch of undue familiarity. "Look what I was when ye come to see
me when I had the bends, sir."
"You old rascal," returned Orton, brightening up. "Craig, do you
know how I found him? Crawling over the floor to the sink to pour
the doctor's medicine down."
"Think I'd take that medicine," explained Paddy, hastily. "Not much.
Don't I know that the only cure for the bends is bein' put back in
the 'air' in the medical lock, same as they did with you, and bein'
brought out slowly? That's the cure, that, an' grit, an' patience,
an' time. Mark me wurds, gintlemen, he'll finish that tunnel an'
beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Orton, marry that gurl, too. Didn't I see
her with tears in her eyes right in this room when he wasn't lookin',
and a smile when he was? Sure, ye'll be all right," continued Paddy,
slapping his side and thigh. "We all get the bends more or less
- all us sand-hogs. I was that doubled up meself that I felt like
a big jack-knife. Had it in the arm, the side, and the leg all at
once, that time he was just speakin' of. He'll be all right in a
couple more weeks, sure, an' down in the air again, too, with the
rest of his men. It's somethin' else he has on his moind."
"Then the case has nothing to do with your trouble, nothing to do
with the bends?" asked Kennedy, keenly showing his anxiety to help
our old friend.
"Well, it may and it may not," replied Orton thoughtfully. "I begin
to think it has. We have had a great many cases of the bends among
the men, and lots of the poor fellows have died, too. You know, of
course, how the newspapers are roasting us. We are being called
inhuman; they are going to investigate us; perhaps indict me. Oh,
it's an awful mess; and now some one is trying to make Taylor believe
it is my fault.
"Of course," he continued, "we are working under a high air-pressure
just now, some days as high as forty pounds. You see, we have
struck the very worst part of the job, a stretch of quicksand in the
river-bed, and if we can get through this we'll strike pebbles and
rock pretty soon, and then we'll be all right again."
He paused. Paddy quietly put in: "Beggin' yer pardon again, Mr.
Orton, but we had entirely too many cases of the bends even when we
were wurkin' at low pressure, in the rock, before we sthruck this
sand. There's somethin' wrong, sir, or ye wouldn't be here yerself
like this. The bends don't sthrike the ingineers, them as don't do
the hard work, sir, and is careful, as ye know - not often."
"It's this way, Craig," resumed Orton. "When I took this contract
for the Five-Borough Transit Company, they agreed to pay me liberally
for it, with a big bonus if I finished ahead of time, and a big
penalty if I exceeded the time. You may or may not know it, but
there is some doubt about the validity of their franchise after a
certain date, provided the tunnel is not ready for operation. Well,
to make a long story short, you know there are rival companies that
would like to see the work fail and the franchise revert to the
city, or at least get tied up in the courts. I took it with the
understanding that it was every man for himself and the devil take
the hindmost."
"Have you yourself seen any evidences of rival influences hindering
the work?" asked Kennedy.
Orton carefully weighed his reply. "To begin with," he answered at
length, "while I was pushing the construction end, the Five-Borough
was working with the state legislature to get a bill extending the
time-limit of the franchise another year. Of course, if it had gone
through it would have been fine for us. But some unseen influence
blocked the company at every turn. It was subtle; it never came
into the open. They played on public opinion as only demagogues of
high finance can, very plausibly of course, but from the most
selfish and ulterior motives. The bill was defeated."
I nodded. I knew all about that part of it, for it was in the
article which I had been writing for the Star.
"But I had not counted on the extra year, anyhow," continued Orton,
"so I wasn't disappointed. My plans were laid for the shorter time
from the start. I built an island in the river so that we could
work from each shore to it, as well as from the island to each shore,
really from four points at once. And then, when everything was going
ahead fine, and we were actually doubling the speed in this way,
these confounded accidents" - he was leaning excitedly forward - "
and lawsuits and delays and deaths began to happen."
Orton sank back as a paroxysm of the bends seized him, following
his excitement.
"I should like very much to go down into the tunnel," said Kennedy
simply.
"No sooner said than done," replied Orton, almost cheerfully, at
seeing Kennedy so interested. "We can arrange that easily. Paddy
will be glad to do the honours of the place in my absence."
"Indade I will do that same, sor," responded the faithful Paddy,
"an' it's a shmall return for all ye've done for me."
"Very well, then," agreed Kennedy. "To-morrow morning we shall be
on hand. Jack, depend on us. We will do our level best to get you
out of this scrape."
"I knew you would, Craig," he replied. "I've read of some of your
and Walter's exploits. You're a pair of bricks, you are. Good-bye,
fellows," and his hands mechanically sought the vase of flowers
which reminded him of their giver.
At home we sat for a long time in silence. "By George, Craig," I
exclaimed at length, my mind reverting through the whirl of events
to the glimpse of pain I had caught on the delicate face of the girl
having the hospital, "Vivian Taylor is a beauty, though, isn't she?"
"And Capps thinks so, too," he returned, sinking again into his
shell of silence. Then he suddenly rose and put on his hat and
coat. I could see the old restless fever for work which came into
his eyes whenever he had a case which interested him more than usual.
I knew there would be no rest for Kennedy until he had finished it.
Moreover, I knew it was useless for me to remonstrate with him, so
I kept silent.
Don't wait up for me," he said. "I don't know when I'll be back.
I'm going to the laboratory and the university library. Be ready
early in the morning to help me delve into this tunnel mystery."
I awoke to find Kennedy dozing in a chair, partly dressed, but just
as fresh as I was after my sleep. I think he had been dreaming out
his course of action. At any rate, breakfast was a mere incident
in his scheme, and we were over at the tunnel works when the night
shift were going off.
Kennedy carried with him a moderate-sized box of the contents of
which he seemed very careful. Paddy was waiting for us, and after
a hasty whispered conversation, Craig stowed the box away behind
the switchboard of the telephone central, after attaching it to
the various wires. Paddy stood guard while this was going on so
that no one would know about it, not even the telephone girl, whom
he sent off on an errand.
Our first inspection was of that part of the works which was above
ground. Paddy, who conducted us, introduced us first to the
engineer in charge of this part of the work, a man named Shelton,
who had knocked about the world a great deal, but had acquired a
taciturnity that was Sphinxlike. If it had not been for Paddy, I
fear we should have seen very little, for Shelton was not only
secretive, but his explanations were such that even the editor
of a technical journal would have had to blue pencil them
considerably. However, we gained a pretty good idea of the tunnel
works above ground - at least Kennedy did. He seemed very much
interested in how the air was conveyed below ground, the tank for
storing compressed air for emergencies, and other features. It
quite won Paddy, although Shelton seemed to resent his interest
even more than he despised my ignorance.
Next Paddy conducted us to the dressing-rooms. There we put on
old clothes and oilskins, and the tunnel doctor examined us and
extracted a written statement that we went down at our own risk and
released the company from all liability - much to the disgust of
Paddy.
"We're ready now, Mr. Capps," called Paddy, opening an office door
on the way out.
"Very well, Flanagan," answered Capps, barely nodding to us. We
heard him telephone some one, but could not catch the message, and
in a minute he joined us. By this time I had formed the opinion,
which I have since found to be correct, that tunnel men are not as
a rule loquacious.
It was a new kind of thrill to me to go under the "air," as the men
called it. With an instinctive last look at the skyline of New
York and the waves playing in the glad sunlight, we entered a rude
construction elevator and dropped from the surface to the bottom of
a deep shaft. It was like going down into a mine. There was the
air-lock, studded with bolts, and looking just like a huge boiler,
turned horizontally.
The heavy iron door swung shut with a bang as Paddy and Capps,
followed by Kennedy and myself, crept into the air-lock. Paddy
turned on a valve, and compressed air from the tunnel began to rush
in with a hiss as of escaping steam. Pound after pound to the
square inch the pressure slowly rose until I felt sure the drums
of my ears would burst. Then the hissing noise began to dwindle
down to a wheeze, and then it stopped all of a sudden. That meant
that the air-pressure in the lock was the same as that in the
tunnel. Paddy pushed open the door in the other end of the lock
from that by which we had entered.
Along the bottom of the completed tube we followed Paddy and Capps.
On we trudged, fanned by the moist breath of the tunnel. Every
few feet an incandescent light gleamed in the misty darkness.
After perhaps a hundred paces we had to duck down under a
semicircular partition covering the upper half of the tube.
"What is that?" I shouted at Paddy, the nasal ring of my own voice
startling me.
"Emergency curtain," he shouted back.
Words were economised. Later, I learned that should the tunnel
start to flood, the other half of the emergency curtain could be
dropped so as to cut off the inrushing water.
Men passed, pushing little cars full of "muck" or sand taken out
from before the "shield" - which is the head by which this mechanical
mole advances under the river-bed. These men and others who do the
shovelling are the "muckers."
Pipes laid along the side of the tunnel conducted compressed air
and fresh water, while electric light and telephone wires were
strung all about. These and the tools and other things strewn
along the tunnel obstructed the narrow passage to such an extent
that we had to be careful in picking our way.
At last we reached the shield, and on hands and knees we crawled
out into one of its compartments. Here we experienced for the
first time the weird realisation that only the "air" stood between
us and destruction from the tons and tons of sand and water overhead.
At some points in the sand we could feel the air escaping, which
appeared at the surface of the river overhead in bubbles, indicating
to those passing in the river boats just how far each tunnel heading
below had proceeded. When the loss of air became too great, I
learned, scows would dump hundreds of tons of clay overhead to make
an artificial river bed for the shield to stick its nose safely
through, for if the river bed became too thin overhead the "air"
would blow a hole in it.
Capps, it seemed to me, was unusually anxious to have the visit
over. At any rate, while Kennedy and Paddy were still crawling
about the shield, he stood aside, now and then giving the men an
order and apparently forgetful of us.
My own curiosity was quickly satisfied, and I sat down on a pile of
the segments out of which the successive rings of the tunnel were
made. As I sat there waiting for Kennedy, I absently reached into
my pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. It burned
amazingly fast, as if it were made of tinder, the reason being the
excess of oxygen in the compressed air. I was looking at it in
astonishment, when suddenly I felt a blow on my hand. It was Capps.
"You chump!" he shouted as he ground the cigarette under his boot.
"Don't you know it is dangerous to smoke in compressed air?"
"Why, no," I replied, smothering my anger at his manner. "No one
said anything about it."
"Well, it is dangerous, and Orton's a fool to let greenhorns come
in here."
"And to whom may it be dangerous?" I heard a voice inquire over
my shoulder. It was Kennedy. "To Mr. Jameson or the rest of us?"
"Well," answered Capps, "I supposed everybody knew it was reckless,
and that he would hurt himself more by one smoke in the air than by
a hundred up above. That's all."
He turned on Kennedy sullenly, and started to walk back up the
tunnel. But I could not help thinking that his manner was anything
but solicitude for my own health. I could just barely catch his
words over the tunnel telephone some feet away. I thought he said
that everything was going along all right and that he was about to
start back again. Then he disappeared in the mist of the tube
without even nodding a farewell.
Kennedy and I remained standing, not far from the outlet of the pipe
by which the compressed air was being supplied in the tunnel from
the compressors above, in order to keep the pressure up to the
constant level necessary. I saw Kennedy give a hurried glance about,
as if to note whether any one were looking at us. No one was. With
a quick motion he reached down. In his hand was a stout little
glass flask with a tight-fitting metal top. For a second he held
it near the outlet of the pipe; then he snapped the top shut and
slipped it back into his pocket as quickly as he had produced it.
Slowly we commenced to retrace our steps to the air-lock, our
curiosity satisfied by this glimpse of one of the most remarkable
developments of modern engineering.
"Where's Paddy?" asked Kennedy, stopping suddenly. "We've forgotten
him."
"Back there at the shield, I suppose," said I. "Let's whistle and
attract his attention.
I pursed up my lips, but if I had been whistling for a million
dollars I couldn't have done it.
Craig laughed. "Walter, you are indeed learning many strange things.
You can't whistle in compressed air.
I was too chagrined to answer. First it was Capps; now it was my
own friend Kennedy chaffing me for my ignorance. I was glad to see
Paddy's huge form looming in the semi-darkness. He had seen that
we were gone and hurried after us.
"Won't ye stay down an' see some more, gintlemen?" he asked. "Or
have ye had enough of the air? It seems very smelly to me this
mornin' - I don't blame ye. I guess them as doesn't have to stay
here is satisfied with a few minutes of it."
"No, thanks, I guess we needn't stay down any longer," replied
Craig. "I think I have seen all that is necessary - at least for
the present. Capps has gone out ahead of us. I think you can
take us out now, Paddy. I would much rather have you do it than
to go with anybody else."
Coming out, I found, was really more dangerous than going in, for
it is while coming out of the that men are liable to get the bends.
Roughly, half a minute should be consumed in coming out from each
pound of pressure, though for such high pressures as we had been
under, considerably more time was required in order to do it safely.
We spent about half an hour in the air-lock, I should judge.
Paddy let the air out of the lock by turning on a valve leading to
the outside, normal atmosphere. Thus he let the air out rapidly at
first until we had got down to half the pressure of the tunnel. The
second half he did slowly, and it was indeed tedious, but it was
safe. There was at=20first a hissing sound when he opened the valve,
and it grew colder in the lock, since air absorbs heat from
surrounding objects when it expands. We were glad to draw sweaters
on over our heads. It also grew as misty as a London fog as the
water-vapour in the air was condensed.
At last the hiss of escaping air ceased. The door to the modern
dungeon of science grated open. We walked out of the lock to the
elevator shaft and were hoisted up to God's air again. We gazed
out across the river with its waves dancing in the sunlight. There,
out in the middle, was a wreath of bubbles on the water. That
marked the end of the tunnel, over the shield. Down beneath those
bubbles the sand-hogs were rooting. But what was the mystery that
the tunnel held in its dark, dank bosom? Had Kennedy a clue?
"I think we had better wait around a bit," remarked Kennedy, as we
sipped our hot coffee in the dressing-room and warmed ourselves
from the chill of coming out of the lock. "In case anything should
happen to us and we should get the bends this is the place for us,
near the medical lock, as it is called - that big steel cylinder over
there, where we found Orton. The best cure for the bends is to go
back under the air-recompression they call it. The renewed pressure
causes the gas in the blood to contract again, and thus it is
eliminated - sometimes. At any rate, it is the best-known cure and
considerably reduces the pain in the worst cases. When you have a
bad case like Orton's it means that the damage is done; the gas has
ruptured some veins. Paddy was right. Only time will cure that."
Nothing happened to us, however, and in a couple of hours we dropped
in on Orton at the hospital where he was slowly convalescing.
"What do you think of the case?" he asked anxiously.
"Nothing as yet," replied Craig, "but I have set certain things in
motion which will give us a pretty good line on what is taking place
in a day or so."
Orton's face fell, but he said nothing. He bit his lip nervously
and looked out of the sun-parlour at the roofs of New York around
him.
"What has happened since last night to increase your anxiety,
Jack?" asked Craig sympathetically. Orton wheeled his chair about
slowly, faced us, and drew a letter from his pocket. Laying it
flat on the table he covered the lower part with the envelope.
"Read that," he said.
"Dear Jack," it began. I saw at once that it was from Miss Taylor.
"Just a line," she wrote, "to let you know that I am thinking about
you always and hoping that you are better than when I saw you this
evening. Papa had the chairman of the board of directors of the
Five-Borough here late to-night, and they were in the library for
over an hour. For your sake, Jack, I played the eavesdropper, but
they talked so low that I could hear nothing, though I know they
were talking about you and the tunnel. When they came out, I had
no time to escape, so I slipped behind a portiere. I heard father
say: 'Yes, I guess you are right, Morris. The thing has gone on
long enough. If there is one more big accident we shall have to
compromise with the Inter-River and carry on the work jointly. We
have given Orton his chance, and if they demand that this other
fellow shall be put in, I suppose we shall have to concede it.'
Mr. Morris seemed pleased that father agreed with him and said so.
Oh, Jack, can't you do something to show them they are wrong, and
do it quickly? I never miss an opportunity of telling papa it is
not your fault that all these delays take place."
The rest of the letter was covered by the envelope, and Orton would
not have shown it for worlds.