THE WAY OUT
Doctor Latham stroked his beard thoughtfully as the door closed behind
the invalid and his retinue. “It worked like magic,” he remarked.
“It worked,” Cole amplified, “because we were dealing with a logical
mind, one that deals mainly with reason and fails to consider the human
equation. We know that Englebreth means to kill us in the end, and he
knows that we know it. That being the case, it wasn’t hard for him
to put himself in your place a little while ago. He would have done
what you threatened to do, because it was the logical move under the
circumstances. I wonder what deviltry Englebreth will be planning next.”
“A seven-course dinner, I hope,” said the doctor wistfully. “I’m
famished.”
Cole regarded him musingly, marveling at the resiliency of his spirits.
Latham appeared to have shaken off all external cares the moment he saw
that Miss Brownell was no longer in immediate danger.
“You might as well restrain your appetite, doctor,” he murmured. “You
heard what Englebreth said, that a man is most amenable to argument
when he is hungry. At any rate, it is worth something to know that he
doesn’t want you to die just yet. He showed that plainly when you made
that monumental bluff with the stick pin. I saw him turn white as a
ghost.”
“Thanks to the seventh ingredient,” said Latham with a chuckle. “It’s
the best kind of life insurance, but I fear it won’t last long. Any
more tricks in your repertory, Cole?”
“One more, I think.” Cole glanced toward the shadowy corner where he
had stood during Englebreth’s presence in the room. “I understand,” he
went on casually, “that Dutchess Point was once a very gay place.”
“If so, its gayety hasn’t improved with age.”
Cole ignored his flippancy. “I’ve been told it was once a notorious
gambling resort. Places of that kind are usually equipped with
contrivances for making hasty exits—trapdoors, sliding panels and that
sort of thing.”
Latham raised his brows. “What are you getting at?”
But Cole seemed in no hurry to approach his subject. “Ever notice,
Latham, that many people find it very hard to remain motionless when
they are in a state of deep mental concentration? Physical movement
of some sort seems a necessary relief from mental effort. One man I
know is always plucking at his watch chain when he is absorbed in some
mental task. Another taps his desk with a pencil. My own favorite
diversion on such occasions is to beat a tattoo with my knuckles.”
“Highly interesting,” remarked Latham, “but I fail to see the point. It
is either very shallow or very deep.”
“Neither, Latham. A little while ago, while you were enacting that
highly dramatic scene for Englebreth’s benefit, I stood back there in
the corner, with my hands behind my back, tapping the wall with my
knuckles. No one noticed me, for you held the attention of everybody
in the room. I didn’t realize what I was doing myself until suddenly I
became aware that my knuckles were producing a hollow sound.”
Doctor Latham gasped. “You mean that——”
“We shall see,” said Cole; and in an instant he was back in the corner,
crouching low while his knuckles hammered the wall, each tap producing
a dull, hollow sound. The doctor, visibly excited, stood behind him,
watching every move he made. Cole continued the tapping until he had
determined the boundaries of the hollow space, extending about five
feet from the corner, and then he got down on his knees and ran his
hands along the beveled joint between wall and floor. A little cry of
elation escaped him as his fingers encountered a small protuberance.
Almost instantly a portion of the wall turned back as if swinging on a
central pivot. In front of them extended a long, dark hall.
“Great!” exclaimed Latham, his voice shaking a little. “You deserve a
harp and a halo, Cole. Now let’s make the hasty exit you spoke of.”
He pressed forward, but Cole pulled him back. “I don’t want a harp
and a halo just yet,” he declared, “and that’s why we are going to
stay in this room a while longer. You forget that it’s still broad
daylight outside. If we went out now, we would doubtless run into one
of Englebreth’s sluggers. We must wait till dark.”
Latham groaned as Cole closed the opening. He glanced at his watch.
“Only half past three. That means a wait of several hours.”
“I know. That will give us ample time to lay our plans. Don’t forget
that we are both unarmed, and that we’ll cut a sorry figure if we
should be caught. We don’t want to waste the only advantage we have.”
“You are right, of course,” admitted the doctor. “What do you suggest?”
Cole reflected. “It isn’t likely Englebreth knows anything about the
hidden exit. If he did, he would have chosen a different cell for us.
We’ll treat him to a little surprise after dark, Latham. Its exact
nature will be determined by whatever developments come along in the
meantime.”
“Wish they would hurry,” mumbled the doctor, all impatience now that
a way out had been found. He sat down, lighted a cigarette, and made
ostentatious efforts to compose himself for a wait. An hour dragged
by. The beam of light coming through the narrow rift in the shutter
grew thin and pale. Another hour passed, and it disappeared altogether.
Latham got up and began pacing the floor with long, lunging strides.
For a long time not a word had been uttered between the two men.
“Isn’t it about time to make a move?” asked Latham suddenly.
Cole started. The subterranean pulsations, sounding clear and exultant
in the stillness, had cast a spell over his senses. Now he looked at
his watch in the light of the electric bulb overhead.
“Better wait another hour,” he suggested.
Doctor Latham swore under his breath, then lighted another cigarette.
“Queer we haven’t heard from Englebreth,” Cole remarked. “I expected
another call from him before dark.”
“He is probably meditating over his next move. I imagine he is planning
a very brilliant stroke. But we’ll checkmate him, eh, Cole?”
Latham’s impatience was beginning to communicate itself to Cole. He
took his watch from his pocket, and in the same instant a noise sounded
outside the door. In a moment it opened, and two huskies, with leveled
automatics, appeared in the room.
“Miss Brownell wants you,” announced one of them, addressing Doctor
Latham.
The physician, evidently in a quandary, looked questioningly at Cole.
For only a moment Cole hesitated. Doubtless the summons meant that
Englebreth was trying a new mode of attack and that the reference to
Miss Brownell was only a subterfuge.
Cole nodded in response to the physician’s unspoken question. “If Miss
Brownell wants you, you must go to her,” he declared, conscious that
one of the guards was watching him intently. In an undertone he added:
“If you get into a pinch, keep stalling till I show up.”
Latham nodded and walked out, accompanied by the two gangsters. Cole
watched him until the door closed behind him.
“Wonder what Englebreth is up to this time,” he muttered; and then,
moving quickly, he stepped into the corner and, opening the hidden
door, stepped out into the dark hall beyond.