VARYING FORTUNES.
It was Nick Carter who had come to his assistant’s rescue--and,
incidentally, had taken a hand just in time to halt Siebold in the
latter’s pursuit of Adelina.
Contrary to Patsy’s expectations, the detective had chosen to crawl
through the opening into the next bin, instead of through the little
door which Hoff had opened at the front.
Grantley and Siebold were too near the latter to make it a safe exit,
for Nick would have had to crawl out on his hands and knees, and they
would have been practically certain to see him before he could get into
a position to defend himself to advantage.
By creeping into the other bin, however, as Patsy had done, he was
enabled to remain under cover until he was ready to make his presence
known.
Moreover, he had found there the shovel which had been used to throw the
coal over the false bottom of the trick bin, and with this as a weapon
he had decided to terminate the struggle between his assistant and the
servant.
There was no doubt about his success.
The handle of the shovel narrowly missed Patsy’s head, but Nick knew
what he was about. The heavy metal scoop landed fairly on Hoff’s
cranium, and the German crumpled up in the arms of the astonished
assistant, who let the body of his antagonist drop to the floor.
An instant later Nick was vaulting over the barrier.
The young Irishman picked up the shovel. He did not wait for his chief
to alight, nor did he apparently pay any attention to Adelina, whose
feet were pattering on the stairs by that time. It was enough for him to
hear them and to know that he could now prevent her from being followed.
He singled out Doctor Siebold and sprang at him, whirling the big shovel
aloft as he did so, and leaving Nick to attend to Grantley. He knew that
the detective would prefer to deal with the ringleader himself.
Siebold was unarmed, and a hasty, panic-stricken survey of his
surroundings failed to reveal anything in the nature of a weapon within
reach.
Suddenly, however, he leaped toward the gas jet and turned the
thumbscrew. Immediately the cellar was plunged in darkness, except for a
faint light, which filtered down the distant stairs from the lighted
hallway above.
Nick’s assistant had read Siebold’s purpose, but he was too far away to
thwart it. He dropped the shovel, however, as soon as the light went
out, and flung himself toward the place where Siebold had been standing.
His outstretched arms encountered empty air and then the rough,
whitewashed wall, to which the gas bracket was fastened. But his keen
ears caught a noise just to the right. He knew in a second that Siebold
had dodged in that direction and could not be more than a foot or two
away.
Sheering off from the wall, he plunged recklessly in pursuit, leaning as
far forward as he dared, every sense on the alert to catch the
slightest hint of Siebold’s movements.
It was evident at once that the assistant surgeon had made a foolish
blunder. If he had dodged to Patsy’s left, instead of his right, the
young detective would have necessarily been between him and the light on
the stairs. As it was, though, he was between Patsy and the light, and
his antagonist saw his form dimly outlined as Siebold took another tack.
Patsy’s eyes had not yet accustomed themselves to the changed
conditions, but they were in much better shape to see what was going on
than the average person’s would have been under like circumstances.
Consequently, he made out as much as was necessary, and instantly
changed his own course.
Simultaneously, he bounded forward with added confidence and
impetuosity. The result was that he grasped Siebold’s coat almost
immediately.
The young surgeon tried to wriggle out of the garment, but before he
could free himself, Patsy had grasped both of his arms and brought him
to a halt.
Siebold was at a disadvantage because he was half out of and half in his
coat, and, consequently, his resistance was not what it might have been
otherwise.
He fought desperately, in a frenzy of fear, while curse after curse
passed his writhing lips. But Patsy hung on with comparative ease.
Gradually the young doctor’s wrists were brought together behind his
back. Then, to make sure that Siebold would not break away while one of
his captor’s hands was temporarily withdrawn, Patsy deliberately
tripped him and fell as heavily as he could on top.
While Siebold was gasping for breath to replace that which the
unexpected fall had knocked out of him, Nick’s assistant reached into
his pocket, produced a pair of handcuffs, and snapped them into place.
Siebold was not likely to give further trouble just then. In fact, Patsy
intimated as much to his captive, and added:
“So just lie there and think it over while I throw some light on this
business again.”
He had scarcely regained his feet before there was a clatter and the
sound of a heavy fall. An exclamation accompanied it, which told Patsy
that it was his chief who had gone down. Besides, there could be little
doubt that it was the shovel which had tripped his chief, while the
latter was scouting about in the darkness on Grantley’s trail.
He had dropped the shovel near the gas fixture, so that the sound now
helped to guide him toward his objective point. He did not speak to
Nick, however, for he was afraid, if the latter answered, that the sound
of his voice would help Grantley to locate him, in case the scoundrelly
surgeon was game enough to pounce upon his discomfited enemy instead of
taking that opportunity to steal away.
Patsy’s thoughtful precaution was useless. Before he could reach his
fallen chief, or the detective could scramble to his feet, Grantley had
turned back and leaped upon Carter with all the fury of desperation and
murderous resolve.
Nick had been expecting that move on the part of the vivisectionist,
and listening for it. He was still on his knees, but he had laid hold of
the shovel to keep it out of Grantley’s hands.
The surgeon’s impetuous rush caused him almost to fall over the
detective’s arched body. He came from one side, at an angle, and the
impact threw Nick over again. His side struck one of the sharp edges of
the shovel, which he had not been able to get out of the way.
An involuntary exclamation escaped him as a pain stabbed him through and
through. His grip on the handle of the shovel relaxed for a moment. The
next instant Grantley’s groping hands had found it and jerked it from
under him.
“Now, curse you,” the surgeon cried, “we’ll see how you like your own
medicine!”
Again the shovel was upraised, this time over Nick’s own head.
The detective forgot his aching side. Grantley’s knees were gripping his
legs, as they might have gripped the side of a horse, but the
vivisectionist had been compelled to use both hands to swing the shovel
upward.
With surprising ease, Nick flung the upper part of his body around until
his head and shoulders were close to Grantley’s left knee.
As he did so, the ponderous weapon descended. Its target had shifted,
however, and the shovel rang against the concrete floor with a force
that stung Grantley’s hands.
At the same instant the detective’s arms reached up and shot around his
waist--and the darkness fled.
The struggle had been taking place directly between Patsy and the gas
jet, with the result that Nick’s assistant had halted uncertainly and
peered forward for a few seconds. He did not hesitate long, though, for
it suddenly occurred to him that his flash lamp had probably been left
undisturbed, as the burglar tools had been.
He was right, and it was the work of an instant only to find the
electric torch and turn its rays upon the combatants. His first glance
reassured him, for he saw that his chief had managed to twist himself in
a position which made it impossible for Grantley to use the shovel
successfully.
Instinctively Patsy’s eyes traveled from them to the fallen German. The
latter was seemingly as unconscious as ever.
“Shall I finish him, chief?” the young detective asked eagerly, turning
back again.
He knew that Nick had been knocked out pretty thoroughly, and saw no
good reason for prolonging the fight; as a matter of fact, however, he
had little hope that Nick would allow him to interfere.
“You might choke him off for me,” the detective said, with a wry face.
Evidently his side was troubling him more than he would have cared to
confess.
Patsy needed nothing more. He laid down his flash lamp--which was so
made that it did not require a continuous pressure on the button to
remain lighted--and jumped into the fray.
His fingers went around Grantley’s neck and he jerked the surgeon
backward until Nick was freed. Grantley struggled for all he was worth,
but the grip on his throat did not relax. His face grew purple and
congested, his tongue hung out of his slavering jaws, and still Patsy
maintained that terrible hold.
Gradually the vivisectionist’s struggles became weaker and weaker, but
it was not until Nick had handcuffed him that Patsy’s grip was loosened.
As soon as he had tossed the gasping and almost unconscious man aside,
Patsy made for Hoff, with the intention of securing him before he should
come to and give any more trouble.
He halted on the way, however, amazed to find Doctor Cooke in his path.
Nick’s friend had slowly regained his senses, and, finding himself free,
had crawled out of his prison house as soon as he felt it safe to do so.
He and Patsy exchanged a few hurried words, after which the latter
started upstairs, to satisfy himself that all was well with Adelina.
He met her returning to the Grantley house, and learned from her that
she had telephoned to the police and the nearest hospital. An ambulance
and a patrol wagon, full of reserves, soon arrived. There was no longer
any need of the latter, but the ambulance was very welcome.
The Jewish girl--whose name was subsequently found to be Alma Baum--was
tenderly removed from the cellar and carried to the hospital, where she
ultimately recovered from her terrible experience.
Grantley’s skill had made a bungling job impossible, despite the highly
dangerous nature of the inexcusable operation which had been performed
upon her.
Alma owes her life to Nick Carter twice over, as a matter of fact, for
the detective was not only instrumental in halting the operation and
rushing her to the hospital at the earliest possible moment, but also
furnished the money which enabled her, later on, to go to the
Adirondacks, where she made a complete recovery from her lung trouble.
Grantley, Siebold, and Hoff were locked up that night. The six young
physicians who had been Grantley’s disciples had left the house before
the climax, after the flesh wound which Patsy had inflicted on one of
them had been dressed. The nurse had taken “French leave” as soon as her
employer and his two companions started for the cellar. All of them were
rounded up, however, despite the difficulties involved.
Nick was usually opposed to newspaper sensations, but in this instance
he encouraged the newspapers to make as much as they could of the
arrests and the shocking practices which had led up to them.