IN THE DARK
Better men than they might have quailed in such a predicament. Here they
were, at ten o'clock at night, shut in an underground passage that led
heaven only knew where, and with, to say the least of it, small chance of
escape. They might stay there all night, but the morning would probably
bring release and--discovery. It was a combination which brought to them
very mixed emotions.
Black Whiskers, should he be their rescuer might at once assume an
entirely different rôle--would most likely do so, in fact. There was a
grim element in this game of chance which they would just as soon had
been absent.
Well, here they were, and the next thing would be to try their hands at
escape on their own account. Perhaps the trap-door hadn't been tightly
fastened down. It was a chance, of course.
"We'll try the trap-door end first, lad," said Cleek. "If that doesn't
work we'll have a go at the other, but somehow you must get to the docks
by midnight. You may learn the whole secret there, and it would be the
worst luck in the world if you missed the chance; you mustn't. Come on."
"I seconds that motion," threw in Dollops, though in a somewhat forlorn
voice. "I kin just imagine what it must be like to be a ghost tied up in
a fambly vault, an' it fills me with a feelin' of sympathy for them
creeturs wot I never felt before. Like a blooming messlinoleum this is!"
"Mausoleum, you grammatical wonder!" responded Cleek, and even in his
anxiety he could not refrain from a laugh.
"Well, mausoleum or muskiloleum makes no difference to me, sir. What
I wants ter know is--'ow do we get out of this charmin' little country
seat? Try the trap-door, you ses. Right you are!"
He was up the rough steps like a shot, forgetful of the fact that, though
the door might be closed, there might also be others strolling along in
that secluded spot. Cleek came up now, behind him, and with a caution of
silence steadied himself upon the step below, and pressed his shoulder up
against the heavy door. He pushed and shoved with all his might, while
Dollops aided with every ounce of strength in his young body.
The door responded not one whit. Black Whiskers had done his work well
and thoroughly, possibly as an object-lesson to the absent Jenkins. And
Jenkins, by the way, was the name of Cleek's new-found friend of the
factory. H'm. That was cause for thought. Then Jenkins was more "in the
know" than he had given him credit for. Possibly Black Whiskers knew
already of their conversation at dinner-time. He'd have to close down on
that source of information, at any rate--if they ever got out of this
business alive.
These thoughts passed through Cleek's brain even while his shoulders and
his strength were at work upon the unresponsive door. Only failure marked
their efforts. At last, breathless and exhausted from the strain, Cleek
descended the steps again. He listened, and, hearing nothing, signalled
Dollops to follow him.
"They must have got in somewhere, and here's hoping it wasn't through
this trap-door," he said evenly. "We'll see about it anyway. Unless they
were as careful with the door at the other end. It's a sporting chance,
Dollops my lad, and we've got to take it. I'll use my torch unless we
hear anything. Then we'll have to trust to luck. Heaven alone knows how
far this blessed affair runs on. We'll reach London soon, if we go on
like this!"
"Yus, and find ourselves in Mr. Narkom's office, a-burrowin' under 'is
'Ighness' desk!" finished Dollops, with a little giggle of amusement.
"And 'e wouldn't 'arf be astonished, would 'e, sir?... Crumbs! but the
chaps wot made this bloomin' tube did their job fair, didn't they? It
goes on forever.... Whew! I'm winded already."
"Then what you'll be by the end of this affair, goodness knows, my lad!"
responded Cleek, over his shoulder. He was pressing on, hugging the wall,
his eyes peering into the gloom ahead. "It seems to be continuing for
some time. Hello! here's a turning, and the question is, shall we go
straight on, or turn?"
"Seems as if them two blighters came round a turnin', judging from the
nearness of their voices, sir," said Dollops, with entire sense.
Cleek nodded.
"You're right.... More sacks. If I wasn't so anxious to get out of this
place so that you shouldn't be late for your 'appointment' with our
friend Black Whiskers, I'd chance my luck and have a look what was in
'em. But there's no time now. We don't know how long this peculiar
journey of ours is going to last."
They pressed on steadily along the rough, rudely made floor, on and on
and on, the little torch showing always the few feet in front of them,
to safeguard them against any pitfalls that might be laid for the unwary
traveller. It seemed hours that they walked thus, and their wonder at
the elaborateness of this extraordinary tunnel system grew. There were
turnings every now and again, passageways branching off from the main one
into other patches of unbroken gloom. And it was a ticklish job at best.
At any moment someone might round the next corner and come upon them, and
then--the game would be up with a vengeance. At Dollops's suggestion they
followed always the turnings upon the right.
"Always keep to the right, sir, and you'll never go far wrong--that's
what they teaches you in Lunnon. An' that's what I always follows. It's
no use gittin' lost. So best make a set rule and foller it."
"Well, at any rate there's no harm in doing so," responded Cleek a little
glumly. "We don't know the way out and we might as well try one plan as
another. Seems pretty well closed up for the night, doesn't it? It
certainly is a passage and if the door at the other end is impassable
after all this wandering, I'll, I'll--I don't know."
"Carn't do no good by worritin', sir. Just 'ave to carry on--that's all
we _kin_ do," responded Dollops, with some effort at comfort. "There's
summink in front of us now. Looks like the end of the blinkin' cage,
don't it? Better investigate afore we 'it it too hard, sir."
"You're right, Dollops."
Cleek stepped cautiously forward into the gloom, lighting it up as he
progressed, the rays of his tiny torch always some five feet ahead of
him. And the end it proved to be, in every sense of the word. For here,
leading upward as the other had done, was a similar little flight of
clay-hewn steps, while at the top of them--Cleek gave a long sigh of
relief--showed a square of indigo, a couple of stars and--escape at last.
"Thank God!" murmured Cleek, as they mounted the rough steps and came out
into the open air, with the free sky above them and a fine wind blowing
that soon dispelled the effects of their underground journey. "Gad! it's
good to smell the fresh air again--eh, Dollops? Where on earth are we? I
say--look over there, will you?"
Dollops looked; then gasped in wonder, astonishment, and considerable
awe.
"The Flames, guv'nor--the blinkin' Frozen Flames!"
Cleek laughed.
"Yes. The Flames all right, Dollops. And nearer than we've seen 'em, too!
We must be right in the middle of the Fens, from the appearance of those
lights, so, all told, we've done a mile or more underground, which isn't
so bad, my lad, when you come to look at the time." He brought out his
watch and surveyed it in the moonlight. "H'm. Ten past eleven. You'll
have to look sharp, boy, if you're to get to the docks by twelve. We've a
good four miles' walk ahead of us, and--what was that?"
"That" was the sound of a man's feet coming swiftly toward them; they had
one second to act, and flight over this marshy ground, filled with pit
holes as it was, was impossible. No; the best plan was to stay where they
were and chance it.
"Talk, boy--_talk_," whispered Cleek, and began a hasty conversation in a
high-pitched, cockney voice, to which Dollops bravely made answer in the
best tone he could muster under the circumstances.
Then a voice snapped out at them across the small distance that separated
them from the unseen stranger, and they stiffened instinctively.
"What the hell are you doing here?" it called. "Don't you know that it's
not safe to be in this district after nightfall? And if you don't--well,
a pocketful of lead will perhaps convince you!"
From the darkness ahead of them a figure followed the voice. Cleek could
dimly discern a tall, slouchy-shouldered man, clad in overalls, with a
cap pulled down close over his eyes, and in the grasp of his right hand
a very businesslike-looking revolver.
Cleek thought for a moment, then plunged bravely in.
"Come up from the passage, sir," he responded curtly. "Loadin' up
ternight, and some fool locked t'other end before me and my mate 'ere 'ad
finished our work. 'Ad to come along this w'y, or else spend the rest of
the night dahn there, and we're due for loadin' the stuff at the docks at
midnight. Master'll be devilish mad if 'e finds us missin'."
It was a chance shot, but somehow chance often favours the brave. It
told. The man lowered his revolver, gave them a quick glance from head to
toe, and then swung upon his heel.
"Well, better clear out while there's no danger," he returned sharply.
"Two other men are on the watch-out for strangers. Take that short cut
there"--he pointed to the left--"and skirt round to the road. Quarter of
a mile'll bring you. Chaps at your end ought to see to it that none of
the special hands stray up this way. It's not safe. Good-night."
"Good-night," responded Cleek cheerily. "Thank you, sir;" and, taking
Dollops's arm, swung off in the direction indicated, just as quick as his
feet could carry him.
They walked in silence for a time, their feet making no sound in the
marshy ground, when they were well out of earshot--Cleek spoke in a low
tone.
"Narrow shave, Dollops!"
"It was that, sir. I could fair feel the razor aclippin' a bit off me
chin, so ter speak. 'Avin' some nice adventures this night, ain't we,
guv'nor?"
"We certainly are." Cleek's voice was absent-minded, for his thoughts
were working, and already he was beginning to tie the broken threads of
the skein that he had gathered into a rough cord, with here and there a
gap that must--and should--be filled. It was strange enough, in all
conscience. Here were these underground tunnels leading, "if you kept to
the right," from a field out Saltfleet way, to the very heart of the Fens
themselves. And what went on here in these uninhabited reaches of the
marshland? Nothing that could be seen by daylight, for he had traversed
every step of them, and gained no information for his pains. Therefore
there could be no machinery, or anything of that sort. H'm. It was a bit
of a facer, true; but of one thing he was certain. Somehow, in some way,
the Frozen Flames played their part. That factory at Saltfleet and the
fishing boats and the Fens were all linked up in one inexplicable chain,
if one could only find the key that unlocked it. And what was a man doing
out there at night, with a revolver? What business was he up to? And he
had said there were two others on the look-out, as well.
Cleek pulled out a little blackened clay pipe, which was part of his
make-up as Bill Jones, and, plugging it with tobacco, began to smoke
steadily. Dollops, casting a sideways glance at his master, knew what
this sign meant, and spoke never a word, until they had left the Fens
far behind them and were well on their way toward the docks, and the
"appointment" with Black Whiskers at twelve o'clock. Then:
"Notice anything, Dollops?" Cleek asked, slewing round and looking at the
boy quizzically.
"How do you mean, sir?"
"Why, when you got to the top of those little steps and came out into the
Fens."
"Only the Frozen Flames, sir. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. It'll keep. Just a little thing I saw that led me a long
way upon the road I'm trying to travel. You'll hear about it later.
Time's getting on, Dollops, my lad. You're due with your friend Black
Whiskers in another ten minutes--and we're about that from the dockyard.
Wonder if there'd be any chance of me lending a hand?"
Dollops thought a moment.
"You might try, sir--'twould do no 'arm, anyway," he said after a pause.
"Pertickler as you're my mate, so ter speak. Ought ter be able to work
it, I should think.... Look. Who's a-comin' now? If it ain't ole Black
Whiskers 'imself!"
And Black Whiskers it was, to be sure. He lounged up to them, hands in
pockets, hat pulled well down over his eyes, a sinister, ugly figure. He
had an "air"--and it was by no means a pleasant one.
"Hullo, youngster!" he called out in a harsh voice. "Been seein' the
country--eh? Better fer you and yer mate if yer keeps yer eyes well on
the ground in this part uv the world. Never meddle in someone else's
business. It don't pay." His voice lowered suddenly, and he jerked a
thumb back over his shoulder. "Mate on the square with you, I s'pose?
Comin' along now?"
"Bet yer life I am!" responded Dollops heartily, giving him a significant
wink. "'Course I ain't said nuffin' ter ole Bill abaht what you tole me,
but I know 'e's a cute un. No flies on ole Bill, guv'nor, give yer me
oath on that. What abaht it, now? Shall us bring him along too? Just as
you ses, guv'nor, seein' as you're the boss, but 'e's a strong fellow is
my mate--and 'is mouth's like a trap."
Black Whiskers switched round in his slouchy walk, where he had fallen in
step beside Dollops, leaving Cleek on the boy's right hand, and gave the
"mate" a searching look under black brows. In the darkness, with just a
thread of moonlight to make patterns upon the black waters and etch out
the outline of mast and funnel and hull against the indigo, Cleek
recognized that look, and set his mouth grimly. He'd seen it once before,
upon that night when this man had stolen into his room and tried to knife
him.
"Where're you off to, matey? With all your fine secrets? I'd like to
know!" he said jokingly, digging Dollops in the ribs, and giving a loud
guffaw. "Some girl, I suppose."
"Somethin' uv more account than women, I kin tell ye!" threw in Black
Whiskers roughly. "'E's going ter help me with a little work--overtime is
what 'e'll get fer it. If yer willin' ter lend a 'and, overtime you'll
get, too. But you'll keep yer mouth shut, or clear. One or t'other. It's
up ter you ter choose."
Cleek laughed.
"Call me a fool, matey--but not a damned fool!" he said pleasantly. "Bill
Jones knows what side 'is bread's buttered on, I kin tell yer! Soft job
like this one wot we've nicked on ter ain't goin' ter slip through 'is
fingers fer a little tongue-waggin'. I'm on, mate."
"Righto."
"What's the job?"
"Loadin' up boats fer cargo."
"Oh!... Contraband, eh, matey?"
"That's none uv yer business, my man, and as long as you remembers that,
you'll 'old yer job; no more, no less."
"Beg pardon, I'm sure. But I bin in the same sort uv thing meself--out in
Jamaica. Used ter smuggle things through the customs. Nifty business it
were, too, and I almost got caught twice. But I slipped it somehow. Just
loadin' is our game, then?"
"_Jist loadin'_," responded Black Whiskers significantly. "'Ere we are.
Now then, get ter work. See them tubings over there? Well, they've got to
be carried over to that fishin'-smack drawn up against the dock. There's
six of 'em goin' ternight, and we've got ter be quick. Ain't as easy as
it looks, mate, but--that's not your business neither. Get ter work!"
They got to work forthwith, and turned to the pile of electrical tubings
which was built up against the side of the dock wall, twice as high as a
man's head. A pale lantern swung from the edge of the same wall, above
them, hanging suspended from a nail; another hung on the opposite side
from a post. By the light of these two lamps they could see a knot of
men assembled in the centre of the dockyard, talking together in low
whispers, while down below, at the water's edge, rocked a fleet of
fishing boats awaiting their mysterious cargo. One could hear the men
stirring restlessly and shifting sail as they waited for the task to
begin.
Then the word was given in a low, vibrant voice, and they went to work.
"Easy job this, matey," whispered Dollops as he and Cleek advanced upon
the stack of tubings and each started to lift one down. "I ... Gawd's
truf! _ain't_ it 'eavy! Lorlumme! Now, what in blazes--?"
Cleek put up a warning finger, and shouldered the thing. Heavy it
certainly was, though of such fine metal that its weight seemed
incredible. And when one knew that these things carried electric
wiring.... Or _did they_?... Never was made an electric wire that
was as heavy as that.
Cleek carried one of these tubings to the dock's edge, with the aid of
Dollops handed it over into the hands that were outstretched to receive
it, and went back for another one. Back and forth and back and forth they
went, lifting, carrying, delivering, until one boat was loaded, and
another one hove into sight in its place. He watched the first one's slow
progress out across the murky waters for a moment, making a pretence of
mopping his forehead with his handkerchief meanwhile. It was loaded
_below_ the water-mark! It hung so low in the water that it looked a mere
smudge upon the face of it, a ribbon of sail flapping from its slender
mast.
Electrical tubings, eh? Faugh! a pretty story that....
Two boats were filled, three, four.... A fifth came riding up under the
very nose of the last, and settled itself with a rattle of chains and
bumping of sides against the quay. That, too, was loaded to its very
edge, and took its way slowly out beneath their eyes. The sixth took its
place after its fellows.
For a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work, and stood
wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low
whispers.
Cleek and Dollops stood at the quayside, listening to the water lapping
against the iron girders, and straining their eyes to catch a last
glimpse of the fleet of fishing boats. Of a sudden from out the blackness
others appeared. Old Black Whiskers gave a muttered order, and like a
well-drilled army the men were ready again, this time flocking to the
side of the quay as the boats rode up, and waiting for them,
empty-handed. Cleek turned to the nearest one, and spoke in a low-toned
voice.
"What now, matey? I'm new at this gyme."
"Oh--unloadin'. Usual thing. Faulty gauge. Don't never seem as though the
factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin's. All the time I bin
'ere--nigh on to two years--it's bin the same. Every lot goes out, some
comes back again with a complaint. Funny thing, ain't it?"
"Yus," responded Cleek shortly. "Damn funny." It certainly was.
Unless ... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves
up to whistle. But no sound came.
And the work of unloading began.