THE ROPE IN THE DUNGEON
The light was gone at last and with it the professor’s hope. He was
totally alone in the inky darkness, a prisoner in a cell whose size he
was not certain of, down under the ruins of a castle in the woods. Far
above him he could hear the slam of another door and the faint footsteps
of the two men. Then there was complete silence and the teacher turned
away from the barred door.
“A truly ancient castle,” grumbled the professor. “The dungeon completed
before the rest of the house!”
He wondered, as he moved cautiously around if anyone had ever been a
prisoner in this cold and wet-smelling cell. He found his way around
without difficulty, running his hands along the wall and extending his
feet carefully. There was not a single object in the place, and he felt
that they had not expected to have him there, for there was no bed or
chair in the place.
“Unless,” thought the savant, as he continued to feel his way around.
“They wouldn’t be decent enough to give me a chair or bed, anyway. No
use in expecting mercy from villains like these, I suppose.”
The walls were perfectly smooth, composed of sandstone, as was the
entire castle. Ned had told his father that the opposite slope of the
mountain was almost wholly composed of this particular type of stone,
and the original owner and builder had no doubt had it quarried and
dragged to the spot, using Indians who had been taken captive by the
Spaniards. Such was the professor’s belief and it was reasonable. Even
in his anxiety to escape from these men he found himself taking an
interest in the place and resolved that if these men were ever cleaned
out of it he would explore it thoroughly.
The floor was also of stone, wet and slippery, and for all the professor
knew, the dwelling place of spiders and other crawling things. He hated
to sit down on it, but there was no other place and he was very tired
from his long ride and the excitement of it all, so he felt around the
floor with shrinking hand and finally found a spot near the door which
seemed to be drier than the rest of the floor. Pretty much exhausted the
history professor sank to the floor and rested his back against the cold
wall.
He was in some doubt as to what to do. He felt that Ned would catch on
to his meaning when he read the word “duress” and the boys would surely
make a vigorous effort to find him, but how long that would be or what
would happen in the meantime he had no idea. The men upstairs were
convinced that he knew something about the treasure, that he possessed
some information which he was withholding, and they would do their best
to get it out of him. They would try to starve him first, and in that
fact he found a ray of hope, for it would take them several days to find
out that he did not intend to say anything, and then they would adopt a
more severe program. In that time Ned and the boys from Maine would have
time to find him, and they would naturally look near the mountains. It
was possible that they might think he had been carried off to sea, but
surely the cook or Yappi would tell them the true facts of the case,
provided they hadn’t been so frightened that they hadn’t even seen in
which direction the cavalcade had gone.
But if the men decided to change their plans and try to pump information
from him he would have a bigger problem on his hands. These men were by
no means gentle, they were men who were willing and able to sweat hard
to earn money and especially dishonest money, and they would not be
likely to stop at anything cruel or inhuman. They were miles away from
any source of help and the woods would effectually hide any story which
might shock the outside world if it were known. Sackett and the mate
must know that the boys would soon be on the trail, and he was inclined
to think that they would resort before very long to methods other than
peaceful.
“If that is the case,” thought Professor Scott, jumping to his feet,
“I’m just wasting time by sitting here. There seems to be no way of
getting out of the place, but it may be that there is some flaw that
will ultimately prove my biggest help.”
So once more he began to feel his way along the wall and then stopped as
a new thought came to him. A few days before Ned had given him a cigar
lighter, a somewhat unreliable engine that lighted once in a great
while, but which always gave off a bright flash when the little wheel
was turned by the thumb. It was in his vest pocket and he reached for
it. He had not had any matches with him and had secretly lamented the
fact, but now his main difficulty was in a fair way to be overcome.
He took the little case from his pocket and spun the wheel. A sputtering
little flash was the answer, which lighted up the cell for a split
second and gave him his bearings. It was evident that the cigar lighter
had no intentions whatsoever of lighting for any length of time, but it
at least gave forth a flash that threw the heavy stones into a sort of
bluish picture for an instant. Working it constantly the old gentleman
moved around the dungeon, exploring the walls and floor, until something
in one corner arrested his attention.
There was a crevice there, running from the floor to the ceiling and in
that crack was a moulded rope. The rope ended near the floor, and hung
straight down from a round hole in the ceiling above him. He took hold
of the rope, to find it wet and slippery but fairly strong. The men had
evidently not seen it and he knew why. Anyone who stood in the room and
threw the beams of a lantern around would cast the light in a confused
way into the corners and so miss seeing the rope, which was deep in the
cranny, and indeed the professor would not have seen it himself if he
had not been standing right at the crevice. Probably the men had never
gone over the walls inch by inch, and unless one did that the hidden
rope would surely escape their eye. But now that he had the rope, what
was he to do with it?
He pulled on the rope and his answering came with a suddenness that
startled him into stepping back hastily. Far above his head a bell
pealed out sharply, shattering the silence of the mountain fastness with
disconcerting vigor. Nervously he dropped the lighter and then picked it
up, his brow wet with a nervous perspiration.
“Great heavens!” murmured the professor. “I must stop that, or I’ll have
them down on me.”
Upstairs there was a moment of silence and then a sudden commotion. A
chair fell over and he heard running footsteps. Apparently the upper
door was opened, for he could hear the words of the men.
“What is ringing that bell?” he heard Sackett roar.
“You got me, captain,” replied Abel, while rapid chattering in Mexican
reached the ears of the professor. “That bell is just up there in the
tower and nobody can ring it. There must be ghosts in this place, I tell
you!”
“Keep shut about your ghosts!” snarled the leader. “What’s that Mexican
saying?”
“He’s howling prayers because he’s scared,” the mate said.
Understanding came over the professor all at once. One tall tower had
struck his attention as they had approached the ruined castle and it was
evident that this tower had in it a large bell, placed there when the
castle was first built. The rope which the professor had pulled led
directly to this bell, a circumstance of which the men upstairs knew
nothing, and he found that fate had provided him with a weapon to work
against them with telling force. Realizing in the long run what this
would mean the teacher once more took hold of the rope.
“Somebody is ringing that bell,” said Sackett, his tone ugly and
uncertain. “Ain’t there no way to get up in that tower and stop it?”
“No,” answered Abel. “The tower has no steps and it’s no use anyway. I
tell you a spirit is ringing that bell! I knew I hadn’t ought to have
come in on a game like this.”
“Oh, shut up,” growled Sackett. “It isn’t ringing anymore.”
But at that moment the bell rang out, and this time the professor used
it effectively. With long sweeping strokes he tolled it, so that the
melancholy sounds sounded out and over the country for miles. It was a
solemn and fearful sound, and the men above were thoroughly awed and
frightened by it.
“Go see if that professor has escaped from his cell,” ordered Sackett,
as the professor paused in his labors. “He may be out and doing this
somehow.”
The professor thanked his lucky stars that he had overheard this bit of
conversation and gave the bell a final toll. Then he quickly resumed his
place near the door, holding onto the bars and peering anxiously out as
the mate came down the stairs with the lantern.
The man flashed the light full in the face of the professor, who blinked
and threw up his hand to cover his eyes. At the same time he eagerly
questioned the mate.
“Why is that bell ringing? What does it mean? Why is there a bell here?”
he cried.
The mate looked troubled but attempted to pass it off. “You mind your
own business,” he said, in a surly tone. At the same time he pressed
close to the door and flashed the light into the dungeon, looking
intently at the corners. Without another word he went back up the
winding stairs, and before he closed the door the professor heard him
say: “The old man is all right. He hasn’t been out of the cell and he
couldn’t ring the bell. I tell you——”
That was as much as Professor Scott heard but it was enough to satisfy
him. His best plan was now to mystify the men in the hope of terrifying
them so that they would leave the place and take him somewhere else.
Whether that would in the end be a better move or not he did not know,
but it was at least better than waiting and wasting time, and it would
serve to bring Ned and the boys to the spot. There was no doubt that the
sound could be heard far from the mountain, and he had no doubt that it
would be of great value to him.
Feeling that it would do him no good to keep on tolling the bell he gave
up the task for the time being, planning to ring it wildly in the very
middle of the night. The men would no doubt be asleep and he could ring
it out in such a way as to bring them to their feet with fast beating
hearts, convinced that the place was haunted by a spirit that rang the
bell. If they persisted in staying even after that he would keep ringing
the bell at intervals, taking care not to break the rope, which,
fortunately for him had originally been tarred and so was preserved.
With that thought in mind the professor pulled his coat more closely
around him, curled himself up on the hard floor and went to sleep. His
sleep was fitful and restless, and after two hours of it he had the
impression that something nearby was scratching. Awakening at last he
sat up, wide awake in an instant, to find that the steady scratching
sound was no dream, but an actual fact, and seemed to come from the wall
beside him.