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 intirely 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. "Tomorrow 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
leaving 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
Sphinx-like. 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 "air" 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 first 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.
"Orton," said Kennedy, after a few moments' reflection, "I will take a
chance for your sake--a long chance, but I think a good one. If you can
pull yourself together by this afternoon, be over at your office at
four. Be sure to have Shelton and Capps there, and you can tell Mr.
Taylor that you have something very important to set before him. Now, I
must hurry if I am to fulfil my part of the contract. Good-bye, Jack.
Keep a stiff upper lip, old man. I'll have something that will surprise
you this afternoon."
Outside, as he hurried uptown, Craig was silent, but I could see his
features working nervously, and as we parted he merely said: "Of
course, you'll be there, Walter. I'll put the finishing touches on your
story of high finance."