UNDER COVER

The shed roof was below, and he struck it, fortunately feet first, but the sharp slant of the boards sent him hurtling forward over the edge into a miscellaneous pile of boxes beneath, his body finally resting on the hard ground. He lay there dazed, the breath knocked entirely out of him, bruised, and scarcely certain whether he was dead or alive. For the moment, he seemed to have lost all consciousness, unable to realize even what had occurred in that upper room, or to comprehend the necessity of immediate flight. All about him was intense darkness, and, after the crash of his fall, no sound broke the silence. He could see nothing, hear nothing to arouse his faculties; his flesh quivered with pain, although he felt sure no bones were fractured, for he could move both arms and limbs freely, while after the first shock, his mind returned to activity, dominated by the single conviction that he must get away from there before those men could get down stairs.

But how? He retained no strength, no ability to use his limbs sufficient to carry him away from the neighbourhood swiftly. He felt paralysed, numb, even his brain functioning strangely, the danger of his helpless condition its only incentive to action. He endeavoured to rise, rolling partially over in the effort which failed, but the movement, slight as it was, left one hand dangling over an excavation at his right. His fingers explored the edge of this opening cautiously, revealing a cellar-way, leading down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. The opening was black, silent, mysterious, yet it was a hiding place. If he could manage to roll down those steps into those depths below, he might hide there unseen, until he regained strength, until the first effort at pursuit had been abandoned.

Then there might be a chance for escape.

West grasped the idea clearly enough. Those fellows would be there swiftly. If they found him gone they would have no doubt but what he landed safely, and had made a get-away. They would search, of course, perhaps out into the alley, hoping he might have been injured, but it was hardly probable they would think to explore the cellar. Even if they did, he could surely creep into some dark corner where he might escape observation. Anyway, crippled as he was, this offered the one and only chance. He could not argue and debate; he must act.

He rolled over, and lowered himself down into the opening, locating the half-dozen broken and rotted steps with his feet. He made no attempt to stand, but simply slid down, finding a partially closed door at the bottom, the pa.s.sage-way blocked by a litter, the exact nature of which could not be determined in the darkness. With some difficulty, and more than ever conscious of his weakness, and the pain of bruises, he managed to crawl over this pile of debris, and crouch down finally in the intense blackness within. He felt like a trapped rat, still gasping for breath, his body quivering from exertion.

Yet his retreat had been none too rapid. The silence above was broken by the creak of an opening door, the sound of excited voices, and a sudden gleam of light, finding entrance through the open cellar-way. West startled, crept back into a corner, every nerve alert at approaching peril. He recognized Hobart's voice, as the fellow plunged down the steps from the first floor out into the yard.

"To h.e.l.l, of course he's here!" he stormed. "My G.o.d, man, he dived out head first; I saw him. He'll be dead as a door nail now. Come on with that lantern, Turner. Where in thunder is the ladder--does any one know?"

"You think he lies on the roof?"

"Why not? That's where he must have struck, ain't it, Shorty? I don't know though; it is so steep he'd most likely roll off. Here, you, let me take the glim. There's nothing here in these boxes. Ah, there's the ladder; climb up, Shorty, and see if the guy is stuck anywhere on the roof. Go on! What are you afraid of; if he's there, he's a stiff all right, believe me."

Turner's voice, hoa.r.s.e and rumbling, came back from above.

"There ain't nuthin' up here, Jim. d.a.m.n me, if I don't believe the cuss got clean away. Gee, but he was sure a nervy guy all right."

"Nervy? Crazy, you mean. But he never took that fall without busting something. The bird is lying about here somewhere. You make sure he ain't up there, Shorty."

"Well, he ain't; I kin see every inch o' this roof. Perhaps he fell in between them barrels down there."

The two evidently searched thoroughly, the rays of the lantern dancing wildly about, while Hobart savagely cursed his companion, and reiterated his belief that no man could ever take that plunge, and escape unhurt.

"It couldn't be done, I tell you; maybe he could crawl, but that would be all. Why he went down head first; I saw him go out the window, and that drop would daze a cat. Say, Shorty, maybe the stiff dropped down into this cellar-way. Let's take a look."

The light streamed in through the narrow opening, and some one scrambled cautiously down the rotted steps. West, drawing himself securely back behind the protection of his barrel, saw the lantern thrust forward, and a face behind it peering in the shadows. The fellow did not advance into the room, but Hobart did, pressing his way roughly past, and standing there full in the glow of light, staring about into the dim shadows. He evidently saw nothing to arouse suspicion, for his voice was angry with disgust.

"Not a d.a.m.n sign here, Shorty. It looks like the fellow maybe did get away. But it beats me how. There ain't no place now for us to look but the alley."

"An' if he ain't there?"

"Then we'll hop this dump mighty sudden, I'm telling you. We'll slip out and leave Mike to explain how he got his coco cracked. With that guy loose, it won't be healthy for me hanging around here."

"He ain't got the goods on you, has he?"

"No, he ain't got the goods, but he is dead wise to some things, and he didn't get out of that shindy up stairs without getting hurt. He'll be sore all right, and will raise all the h.e.l.l he can. It's safer to keep out of the way."

"An' what about that other buck, Hobart? It won't do to have him picked up, if this guy gets the harness bulls to take a look around here."

"That ain't his style, Shorty; he won't spiel anything to the cops about this row. He's an ex-soldier, a Captain, and he's nuts on the girl.

That's why he dipped into this mess--trying to save her--see? Maybe he won't be so keen now, after the song and dance she gave him up stairs.

I'm half inclined to think the guy will drop out entirely, d.a.m.n glad to get off alive, now he believes she is as rotten as the rest of us. But I ain't sure--maybe he is the kind that sticks. That's why I don't take any chances just now. Things ain't quite ripe for a get away--see?"

"Sure; she gave him some straight stuff, hey?"

"She certainly did; she's as smart as she is good looking. It somehow don't strike me this guy is going to bother her any more. I'm figuring that he's out of it."

"But his partner?"

"Oh, we'll leave him somewhere propped up against a door. Likely he'll never know what happened to him, or where. He ain't nothing to be afraid of--just a butler with a cracked head. It's the other guy who has got the brains. Come on; let's take a look out in the alley."

Their shadows vanished up the stairs, the glow of light disappearing, and leaving the cellar in impenetrable darkness. West did not venture to move, however, content to wait until thoroughly a.s.sured the way for escape was clear. He had not learned much from this conversation, except to increase his conviction that a serious crime was being consummated.

The full nature of this conspiracy was as obscure as ever; rendered even more doubtful indeed by the active partic.i.p.ation of Natalie Coolidge.

This was what puzzled and confused him the most. He could no longer question her direct interest in the affair, or her willingness to a.s.sist in overcoming his efforts. Even without the free testimony of the men this fact was sufficiently clear. She had deliberately lied to him, attempted deceit, and then, when he refused to yield to her efforts, had so reported to Hobart, and left him to his fate. It was manifestly impossible for him to believe in her any longer. Yet what could it all mean? How could she hope to benefit by such an a.s.sociation? Why could she thus shield the murderers of Percival Coolidge? What possible object could there be in the commission of this crime, except to gain possession of her own fortune? It was all mystery to his mind; a new unanswerable question arising wherever he looked.

What strange influence could this man Hobart exercise over the girl? To West's judgment he was in no way the sort of man to appeal to Natalie Coolidge. He was of a low, cunning order, with some degree of outward polish, to be sure, yet inherently tough, and exhibiting marks of a birth-right which indelibly stamped him of a social cla.s.s far below her own. Surely, she could not love the fellow, yet unquestionably he possessed a mysterious power over her, difficult to explain through any other hypothesis. If West had not known the young woman under different conditions, he might have accepted this theory, and dismissed the whole matter from mind. But it was the haunting memory of that earlier Natalie Coolidge, the mistress of Fairlawn, which would not permit his complete surrender. She had seemed all that his dream of womanhood called for.

Unconsciously, he had given her his heart, and he could not tear the remembrance from mind. There was something wrong, terribly wrong; what it was he had no means of knowing, yet, there in the dark, he determined he would know, would never be content until he learned the whole truth. All his hope, all his future, depended on the answer.

Hobart and Turner were absent for some little while; the sound of their voices ceased, but the distant flicker of the lantern enabled West to trace their progress up the alley, and then back again. They returned in no pleasant humour, convinced that their expected victim had escaped safely, but made no further effort to search the yard. Hobart said enough to make it plain that his immediate project was to disappear, leaving Mike to his own devices. With this point settled the two tramped heavily up the stairs, and disappeared within. West, confident at last, that the way was left clear, wriggled out from his place of concealment behind the barrel, and stood erect. He felt stronger now, and in less pain, convinced that his injuries were in no degree serious. He could move his limbs freely and his mind was active. The darkness was so intense he had to grope his way forward, anxious to make no noise which might betray his presence. No doubt the bas.e.m.e.nt could be reached in some way from the floor above, and any unusual sound below might easily attract attention.

In the intensity of the gloom, his sense of direction failed, taking him somewhat further back before he finally located the exact position of those outer steps. Then as he turned abruptly, his foot came in contact with an obstacle on the floor. For an instant he could not determine what it was; then, with a thrill of horror, he realized the presence of a human body. There was no sound, no movement, and West drew back from contact with the object, shrinking in horror. Then he gripped himself sternly--whoever, whatever this was, he must know. Alive or dead he must determine the truth. He bent over, feeling with his hands in the darkness. Good G.o.d, the flesh was warm; it was no cold corpse he touched, but a living human being; ay! tied like a mummy, unable to move hand or foot. Then, as suddenly, his groping fingers, eager enough now, discovered the cause of silence--the man was gagged, cruelly gagged, helpless to utter a sound.

CHAPTER XIX

THE COMING OF A MESSAGE

The situation once realized, West worked rapidly. If this bound man was s.e.xton, the quicker he could be released the better. Hobart had already revealed his plans, and might appear at any moment for the purpose of executing them. If escape was to be achieved, it must be accomplished at once. In the darkness his fingers could do nothing with the knot, but the sharp blade of a knife quickly severed the twisted cloth, and the gag was instantly removed from between the clinched teeth. The man moaned, breathing heavily, but made no other sound while West slashed at the cords lashing his limbs, finally freeing them entirely. Not until this had been accomplished did he pause long enough to ask questions.

"There; that's the last. Now who are you--s.e.xton?"

"Yes, sir," weakly, and in a mere whisper, "an' I know yer voice, sir.

Thank G.o.d, yer found me, sir."

"It was a bit of luck; but we'll talk that over later. Now we've got to get out of here. Can you walk?"

"I don't know, sir; after a fashion, maybe. I'm mighty stiff and numb, sir. Oh, Lord, but that hurts; give me a hand, an' perhaps I can make it."

"Take it easy; work your legs up and down like that; good, that will restore the circulation. How long have you been lying here?"

"I don't know, sir," his voice strengthening. "I must have been hit, the way my head aches. The first thing I knew after I went into that room with you, I was lyin' here in the dark. I couldn't move or speak, sir, an' it was so black, I kind of got it into my head maybe I was dead and buried. If it hadn't been for my hearing things--voices talking, and all that--I guess I would have gone clear batty. Maybe I didn't get everything straight, sir, but one o' them fellows was Hobart, wasn't he?"

"Yes; we walked right into his trap. The fellow who came over to the table and talked to us was Jim Hobart. He knew me at first sight it seems, and easily guessed what we were there for."

"And was Miss Coolidge here too, sir?"

"Yes, she was; I had a talk with her that has mixed me all up, s.e.xton.

She seems to be hand in glove with these fellows. But how did you suspect she was here?"