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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id01764" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXII</h2> <h5 id="id01765">AN UNDERGROUND MYSTERY</h5> Late that afternoon a burly negro, plainly dressed and wearing a slouch hat, made his way along the river road in the direction of the old mill. He kept as much as possible in the shade of the bushes and trees and when close to the mill sank low in the tall grass, that he might not be seen by anyone who was passing. The negro was Adam Adams and his disguise was perfection itself. The detective was heavily armed and carried in his pockets several things which were unusual to him. He waited around the old mill until the sun went down and the stars began to come out one by one. No one was in sight, but this did not ruffle him. He was ready to play a waiting game and take whatever was to come, even at the risk of his life. Presently he heard a whistle at a distance. Then a man appeared whom he rightfully took to be the fellow called Bart. This individual passed up and down the road near the mill and also came down to the water's edge, to gaze at the footpath on the other side of the river. The man had the mastiff Queen with him and the dog came within a hundred feet of where Adam Adams was in hiding. Quickly the detective pulled a large atomizer from his pocket. Then, as the man walked back to the Styles' farmhouse, the dog turned and disappeared in the bushes as if following a trail. "Don't come here, old lady," muttered the detective, as he stood on guard, with the atomizer ready for use. "If you do you'll be sorry." The mastiff was following Adam Adams' trail and in a minute more she came up and set up a fierce growl. Then she made a savage leap forward. The detective might have finished her with a shot from his pistol, for he was an expert marksman. But he had come prepared to strike a blow without making any noise. As the mastiff sprang at him, he held the atomizer at full length and let a portion of the contents fly full into the animal's face. There was a snarl and a gasp and the magnificent canine fell over on her side. Leaping forward, the detective held the atomizer at the dog's nostrils and used it vigorously for a few seconds. It was more than sufficient for his purpose and soon the animal stiffened out in death. "It's a shame to kill so fine a brute, but it can't be helped," he muttered as he restored the atomizer to his pocket. He had used a mixture of chloroform, carbolic acid and other drugs, and the dog had been blinded as well as smothered by the application. He left the mastiff where she had fallen and, as the darkness increased, drew closer to the mill. Then he saw a man approaching and recognized Matlock Styles. The Englishman entered the old mill, closing the door carefully behind him. "More ghost work, I suppose," murmured the detective, but he was mistaken, no such manifestations occurring. Evidently they were to take place later. Without making a sound he crawled up to a side door of the old mill. It was unfastened, and pushing it open, he entered the lower floor of the building. All was silent. He waited and after awhile heard a step overhead and a low murmur of voices. Then a man came down a narrow stairs, carrying a pole, a white sheet and a round, flat pan in which evidently something had been burnt. "Looks like the ghost outfit," thought Adam Adams, as he crouched down behind some empty boxes and bins. The fellow was tall, broad-shouldered and powerful looking, and Adam Adams felt certain he was not Matlock Styles. He wore a thin white bag over his head, with two holes for seeing purposes, and in one hand carried a flash lantern. To the detective matters seemed to be growing tremendously interesting. The man placed the things he carried in a closet partly filled with rubbish. Then he flashed his light around carefully. Adam Adams got down out of sight and placed his hand on the butt of his pistol. He was resolved to take no more risks than were absolutely necessary. Presently the light was lowered, and taking a peep Adam Adams saw the man kneeling down and tugging away at an iron ring in the floor. Soon a trapdoor came up, and the man, taking up his lantern, disappeared from view, closing the trapdoor behind him. The detective waited for several minutes and then stole forward in the utter darkness. He had measured the distance perfectly and found the iron ring with ease. He pulled upon it gently but firmly and raised the secret door several inches. A look below showed nothing but darkness. He strained his ears, and heard a faint noise at a distance but could not determine whether it was the flowing of the river over the stones or something else. He got out his pistol and examined it with care, to make certain that it was ready for use. Then, with a quick motion, he threw up the trapdoor, dropped below, and closed the opening above him. He felt as does a lion tamer stepping into a cage of beasts new to him. He realized that he was on the verge of some important discovery, but that this investigation might cost him his life. He was on a narrow staircase. There were but ten steps and then he found himself between two stone walls with the roof just above his head. Not caring to take another drop into the unknown, he advanced slowly, taking no step until he was sure of it. Presently he came to a turn and then another. He could now see a light shining ahead, coming from under a heavy wooden door. The barrier was tightly closed. He tried it softly, to find it fastened on the other side. There was a strange whirr and a clicking in the apartment beyond, as if some machinery was in motion. But then came a loud voice and the other sounds stopped. By getting down on his hands and knees Adam Adams was enabled to hear nearly all that was said in the place beyond the barred door. "I will listen to reports," said a voice which sounded much like that of Matlock Styles. "Number One, have you performed the ghostly manifestations?" "I have, chief," was the answer. "Did you notice anything unusual?" "A boy and a girl on the other side of the river ran away as if the Old Nick were after them." "Anything else?" "No, but it's Number Three's turn after tonight." "Very well; Number Three, take notice of that. Number Two, there are but six of you here to-night. What of the other two?" "A note was left at the foot of the tree. They could not come, for one had business in New York and the other business in New Haven." "Very well. Number Three, what of the goods you shipped to Philadelphia day before yesterday?" "I have a telegram that it was safely received and payment will be made to-morrow." "How much?" "Two thousand dollars." "That is fine. We are doing better than we did." "I'll try to get more next time." "Do so by all means. The more we get the better off we shall be and the sooner we can retire. Number Four, what have you to report?" "I haven't heard from Albany yet. I think I'll hear to-morrow." "What have you to say, Number Five?" "I met my man last night. He won't touch the stuff—says it is too risky." "Humph! What does he expect? A fortune for nothing? What have you to say, Number Six?" "I got a long letter from Denver. The man out there will take twenty thousand dollars' worth at fifteen per cent." "Didn't you tell him our rate was twenty-five per cent.?" "I did, but he won't bite at that figure. He says he will go elsewhere." "Where can he go?" "He didn't say, but he swears he can get the goods." "Not as good as ours. However, let him have the stuff at fifteen per cent. for the present." There was a pause. "Now, has anybody got anything to say?" "I have," spoke up the man called Number Three. "I say we must be careful. That tragedy at the Langmore house has brought a lot of detectives to this vicinity." "Yes, I know that. One of them came over to the farm," answered the leader, and now Adam Adams was sure he was Matlock Styles. "Came to the farm? What did you say to him?" "I put him off the track. He will never bother us again, to my way of thinking." "That's sure?" asked another of the men. "Bloody sure." "We must make certain—" began another of the number, when a noise outside of the door caused an interruption. So interested had Adam Adams become in the conversation that he had not noticed the advance of two burly men upon him and he was not aware of their presence until one pounced on his back and made him a prisoner. "What's the row out there?" came from within the room. "A spy, boys! Open the door and help capture him!" Instantly there was wild confusion. The door was flung open and seven men poured forth, each armed, and all wearing the white head coverings, such as has already been described. It was a battle of one man against nine and the space was so small that Adam Adams could not turn himself. He drew his pistol, but while one man held his wrist another wrenched the weapon from his grasp. Then the detective went down and was severely kicked and pummelled, until to resist further was out of the question. "He ought to be killed!" cried one man. "That's right, kill him!" put in several. "No! no! not yet. We must question him first," said another. The band surrounded Adam Adams and several pistols were leveled at his head as he arose. "It's funny how the nigger got down here—" began one of the men. "Nigger?" broke in another. "He is no nigger. See how the black has rubbed off his face." The men stepped closer and then one of them gave a start. "It's the same man!" he cried excitedly. He turned to another. "I thought you said—" "I did," was the agitated answer. "There's a bloomin' mystery here. He couldn't get out! He was bound and the door was locked—I locked it myself." "Go and make sure." Matlock Styles, for it was he, ran from the room and was gone several minutes. When he came back he was more disturbed than ever. "You are right, he is gone!" he gasped. "Can this be the same man?" He made another examination of Adam Adams. "Yes, you are right. Well, he shall not get away again!" he added, significantly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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