AN ENCOUNTER WITH MUCHMORE
For an instant the crowd was horror-struck. It seemed that the brave
young chief, and the little girl, must perish. For it was next to
impossible to pass through that sheet of flame unharmed. The mass of
superheated air, generated by the varnishes and other material in the
extension, was forcing the flame out from the window in the shape of a
great fan. The ladder was beginning to blaze.
Bert paused and looked down to the ground. The distance was not too
great for him to jump, had he been alone, but, with the child, it
might mean that both would be seriously injured.
"Throw her to me!" yelled Mr. Needham, and, at that, several men
stretched out their arms, ready to catch the burden. But Bert shook
his head. He did not want to run any risk of anyone not catching the
little one, for he would have to toss her, with considerable force,
away from the building, to have her escape the flames.
Yet there seemed to be no other way. Oh, how he wished the new
department had a life net! He made up his mind he would soon get one,
if he came out of this situation alive.
But Vincent had seen his chum's peril, and at once a daring plan came
to him. The chemical stream from his engine, as well as that from the
other, and the three water jets from the hand apparatus, were still
playing on the flames.
"This way!" yelled Vincent. "Use what chemicals you have left, and all
the water you can pump on the fire in the extension. That'll keep the
flames from the window long enough for him to get past." The others
caught the idea at once, and the boys rushed with their lines of hose
around to where Bert still stood on the ladder, that was now ablaze in
several places.
With a hiss like that of an angry snake, the flames seemed to shrink
back at the touch of the elements to which they were opposed. The fan
of fire, shooting from the windows, appeared to die down, almost at
once.
"Come on! Come on!" cried the crowd to Bert, and, seeing his chance,
he climbed farther down the ladder. Just as he reached the place
opposite the window, the flames once more shot out. But he ducked
down, and a well-directed stream, from the hose attached to Cole's
force-pump, sent a saving spray over the brave lad and the little
girl. The fire on the ladder was quenched, and, as that from the
window was driven back, Bert made the rest of the descent in safety.
Cole's pump had proved its worth.
A score of hands reached out to take the burden from Herbert, but he
gently put them aside, and placed the little girl in her uncle's arms.
Then what a cheer there was for the brave young chief's act! But Bert
had other things to do than listen to praises of himself.
"How are the engines, boys?" he asked.
"Pretty well run out," answered Vincent.
"Well, get ready to make some more solution. Shut down one engine, and
fill the tank, and then do the same for the other. We'll fight this
fire to a finish!"
This was done, and soon, with replenished tanks, the two pieces of
apparatus were again in use. The old hand-engine, too, did its share,
and so energetically did the young firemen attack the blaze, that at
last the fire sullenly gave up.
"I think we've got it under control," said Bert, as he saw the flames
beginning to die down. "If we don't have any more explosions, we'll be
all right."
Fortunately there were no more, and, though the factory was badly
damaged, the larger part of it was saved. But that was nothing
compared to the satisfaction the members of the department felt over
Bert's brave act.
In an hour more the last spark had been extinguished, and the chief
gave orders for the engines to go back to quarters. It was the worst
fire they had yet undertaken to fight, and the new engines had proved
their efficiency in no uncertain manner. Little was talked of in town,
the next day, but the fire and the sensational rescue.
As for Bert and his chums, they, too, had a fruitful subject for
conversation. They had learned much from their experience at the box
factory blaze, which was liable to stand them in good stead at future
fires.
"I heard about you," remarked Mort Decker to Bert, when the next night
he called at Cole's barn. "First thing you know you'll be getting
offers from some big city department."
"Oh, I guess not. But how are things at the house of mystery? Have you
discovered anything new?"
The two had walked out from the barn, to converse alone.
"I don't like the way things are going," replied the stenographer.
"Muchmore gave me several other deeds to copy to-day, and in some he
had me change the descriptions and names. I don't like it. I'm sure,
now, that he is a crook."
"Can you do anything?"
"That's just what I was thinking about. I have an idea he has some
person a prisoner on that top floor, whom he is holding there until
that person does as he wants, in the matter of some property."
"If we could only get word to Mr. Stockton," said Bert, "he might call
in the authorities."
"Yes, if we could, that would be the very thing. But I don't know how
to do it. I wrote him a letter, and mailed it in the post-office, but
a little later I saw it on Muchmore's table. He must get Mr.
Stockton's mail, and forward it. And now I think Muchmore suspects me,
because he probably opened that letter I wrote to his uncle. So we may
as well take the bull by the horns, and do something."
"Yes; but what?"
Mort looked around to see that no one would overhear him.
"I'm going to make a try to get on that top floor," he said, "and I
want you to help me."
"When are you going to do it?"
"To-night, in a little while. Muchmore is away, and there's nobody but
the housekeeper there. We'll see who that mysterious prisoner is, who
sends out typewritten messages asking for help. Will you come?"
"Sure. I don't have to stay here. It's my night off."
"Then come up to the Stockton mansion in about an hour. Go to the side
door, knock three times, then a pause, then twice, and I'll know it's
you, and let you in. We'll see if we can't solve the mystery."
About an hour after this conversation Bert knocked at the door of the
big house as directed. The place seemed deserted, and there was not a
ray of light to be seen.
"I wonder if he's here, or if Muchmore found out what he was up to,
and drove him out," thought Bert, as he waited for an answer. But in a
few minutes the stenographer admitted him.
"Don't make any noise," he cautioned. "Mrs. Blarcum is in her room,
but she has good hearing in spite of her age, and I think she is
somehow mixed up with the mystery. Now we'll go to the top floor," and
he took up a big poker, which was on a chair in the side hall.
"What's that for?" asked Bert.
"We may have to smash down a door or two, or pry them open. This is
the only thing I could find. Now come on."
They cautiously ascended the stairs. When they reached the top floor,
they found a stout door barring their progress. Mort Decker tried to
insert the point of the poker in the lock, to force it, but, finding
he could not do this, he raised the heavy iron, to break the panels.
At the first blow there sounded from the other side of the portal a
cry:
"Help! Help! Let me out!"
"Who are you? Why arc you in there?" asked Mort, pausing in his attack
on the door.
Before he could distinguish the answer, if one was made, there sounded
from behind the two rescuers, a woman's scream, and they turned to see
Mrs. Blarcum rushing at them.
"Come away from there!" she cried. "Come away! Mr. Muchmore doesn't
allow any one there!"
"I don't care what he allows!" retorted Mort. "We're going to get at
the bottom of this mystery!"
Once more he rained a shower of blows on the door.
"Get away from there!" cried the old woman, rushing up, and grabbing
the stenographer by the arm. "Help! Help!" she added. "Mr. Muchmore,
he is breaking down the door to the secret corridor!"
Suddenly there sounded from below the rush of feet. Then came a
startled cry.
"I'm coming!" some one shouted.
"Muchmore! It's Muchmore!" exclaimed Mort, pausing. "If he finds us
here--"
"Let's stick it out!" urged Bert bravely. "We'll find out what this
means!"
An instant later, Muchmore, his face distorted with anger, rushed upon
them.