IN THE DUNGEON
Nat Ridley was doing some quick and hard thinking as he made his way
like an eel along the floor toward the cellar stairs. He realized that
he was in great danger, but he could not be certain that the shots
fired had been aimed at him.
"If those shots weren't for me, there would have been some coming my
way in a little while," mused the sleuth. "That messenger was sharper
than I thought. He spotted me with El Capitan's letter," and Nat's hand
went to his pocket to make sure he still had the note. He also wanted
to be certain that he had his automatic.
"Tried to force a quarrel on me! That's what they did!" decided Nat as
he hurried to the head of the stairs in the darkness. Fortunately he
had noticed them well when the lights were on, as he had thought he
might have to make use of them.
"I wish I knew more Spanish," mused Nat, who was by this time at the
head of the cellar steps. "I'd like to know just what El Capitan said
when he heard the messenger give me away. Well, I'll have to let that
go and save myself. Whew, they're going it in there!"
Indeed, great excitement now prevailed in the main room of the night
club. Several more shots were fired, but Nat knew now that the bullets
could not reach him. He closed the door back of him and, not relishing
going down unfamiliar stairs in the dark, he took out his flashlight.
This he screened by holding it in his hand so that only the faintest
glimmer came from between his fingers. But it was enough to enable him
to see so he would not stumble.
Nat expected to observe some of the club servants or habitués come
running up the steps at any moment to ascertain what the excitement was
about. But he saw no one, and the change from the noise of the main
room to the comparative quiet of the cellar was a relief. Nat Ridley
was not an admirer of jazz, and loved to be quiet.
He reached the bottom step and noted that the cellar was a large one,
extending in two directions from the flight of stairs. There were dim
lights burning here and there, and in the distance Nat could hear the
tinkle of glasses and bottles.
"They must have private rooms down here, where they have all sorts of
high jinks," reasoned the sleuth. "Well, I'll give it the once over."
There was now no need of using his flashlight, for the cellar had its
own illumination, though not of the brightest, and Nat did not want to
make himself a conspicuous object by holding the little electric torch
in his hand.
He put it in his pocket and, making sure again that his automatic was
in readiness, he stepped out and walked softly along the cement floor
of the cellar.
"Guess I'll give that merry party the once over," decided the detective
as the noise of laughter, singing, and the tinkle of glasses and
bottles became more distinct. "I might pick up some information."
Keeping close to the wall and treading softly, at the same time casting
a look behind him now and then to make sure he was not followed, Nat
advanced toward that part of the cellar whence issued the noise of
merrymaking.
It came from what seemed to be a wine vault, but in which a table was
set with food, and about this were grouped a number of men and women
who were evidently servants of the club.
At this hour of the morning their duties were pretty much over, and it
was plain that they had gathered to enjoy, though in a more limited
way, the same fun as that indulged in by the patrons upstairs.
"I don't believe I care to mingle with them," thought Nat. "It might
arouse suspicion. But it's queer they don't go up to see what all that
row is over their heads."
For the Cordova Club seemed undergoing a raid or something of that
sort. Men and women were rushing about and occasionally a shot was
fired. The band had stopped playing, and Nat could only account for the
indifference of the servants on the assumption that they were used to
all sorts of queer antics on the part of the jazz-mad patrons.
"They don't want to mix in it," reasoned Nat.
He turned aside from the room where the early morning meal was in
progress, and started back the other way. As he turned a corner he
collided, full tilt, with a man.
In an instant Nat had his automatic out and pressed it against the
stranger's ribs, with a whispered order to keep silent. But in the
light that filtered around the turn in the corridor, the sleuth saw
that he had little to fear from the unknown.
He was an old man with white hair and a bent and stooped
back--evidently an aged servant, perhaps the keeper of the hidden store
of wine and liquor.
"Pardon, señor," said the old man in a low voice. "It was my fault--I
did not see you coming."
"Nor I you," admitted Nat, glad that the fellow spoke English. Then
with a happy thought the detective added: "El Capitan sent me----"
He let the sentence end there. It was better not to be too explicit.
And, in a manner of speaking, El Capitan had sent Nat to the cellar.
For had not the messenger made the disclosure, and had not the former
army officer made so threatening a gesture, Nat would still be upstairs.
"Ah, El Capitan--yes, señor. He sends many down here. You are welcome."
Nat was wondering what the answer was to this when the old man whom the
detective had released from the first grip he had taken on his arm,
walked away, making a sign to Nat to follow.
"I wonder where he wants to take me?" mused the sleuth, and he was in
half a mind to refuse to go. But then he wanted to get out of this
cellar before those above discovered that he had come down, and he
thought the old man might show him an exit.
But the man had something else in view, for, muttering to himself, he
led the way until he stopped before a small room fitted with a small
table and two chairs. The table was set for a meal, though there were
no viands on it.
"Pleased to be seated, señor," invited the old man with a deferential
bow. "I will order the food prepared. Doubtless the lady will be here
soon?"
It was a question, and Nat could not conceal his surprise as he asked:
"What lady?"
"Why, señor, the one you are to dine with."
"I haven't any appointment to dine here with a lady," said Nat, with a
grim smile. "There must be some mistake."
"Pardon, señor, no mistake," murmured the old man. "El Capitan said he
would send to me this evening an Americano who would dine in seclusion
with a lady. I made ready this rendezvous, and you come. I but ask
where the lady is."
"And I tell you--" began Nat, and then he held his tongue. He began to
see it now. Doubtless the Mexican had plans concerning another American
and things had gone wrong. The old servant had naturally supposed Nat
was the one expected.
"Let it ride that way," decided the sleuth. "I may find out something
this way. I'm taken for somebody else. Well, I'll play the game." Then
to the old man he said: "The lady--she will be here soon. Get the food
ready. And show me the way out--I mean how to emerge without the need
of climbing the stairs."
"Of a surety, señor, yes, there is another way out. See, you have
but to press here," and he indicated a certain stone in the cellar
wall, leaning against it. At once what seemed to be a section of the
foundation swung back and a short flight of steps was disclosed.
"So that's the way out?" asked Nat.
"That is the way out, after one has dined here with the lady," said the
old man, smiling.
Nat watched him walk out and along the cellar, doubtless toward the
kitchen, for the smell of cooking was plain to the nose of the sleuth.
Nat looked about the room. Aside from the secret staircase, the opening
to which had been closed, there was nothing about it different from
other basement rooms, many of which are used in New York for night
clubs.
"All the same I want to see if I can work that secret door," murmured
Nat. He found, to his satisfaction, that the operation was simple once
it was known what stone to press, and he opened and closed the stone
door.
Then, desiring to make sure he was not being spied upon, the detective
stepped outside the private room. He moved a little away from the
entrance and as he did so he heard, near at hand, a girl's voice crying:
"Oh, don't! Don't strike me again! I can't stand it!"
The heavy tones of a negro woman snarled:
"I's done got to beat yo' ef yo' don't sign dem papers for de captain!
Stand up now an' take yo' medicine!"
"No! No!" pleaded the other voice.
Nat Ridley leaped into action. The voices seemed to come from behind
the cellar wall, but he flashed his light and saw a heavy wooden door
in the wall near the door of the private room.
It was the work of but a moment for the detective to swing back the
door, which was closed but not locked, and then he found himself
looking into a veritable stone dungeon, in the middle of which knelt a
beautiful, blonde girl.
Standing over her, with a blacksnake whip upraised, was a powerful
negro wench.
"Don't! Don't beat me again!" pleaded the girl. But the lash fell with
stinging force across her back.