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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id02074" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> <h5 id="id02075">DOOMED TO DIE</h5> "Wait a minute!" came from the other man, as Matlock Styles was on the point of coming out of the vault. "What do you want?" "I want to get some of that new paper." "Oh, you can get there after we have caught our man." "I'll take it now—it won't take a minute." The man pushed his way into the vault. He took hold of a box. Then he suddenly backed away. "He's in there!" he gasped. "In there? Where?" "There—on the shelf! Look out!" "Ha! So he is!" ejaculated Matlock Styles. He, too, leaped back. "I've got him, too, the skunk!" Both of the counterfeiters leaped into the passageway. Adam Adams came down from the shelf. But the movement was not swift enough. As he leaped towards the iron door, it was banged shut in his face. Then the combination knob was twirled around. "Ha! ha! That's the time we caught you like a rat in a trap!" sang out the Englishman in triumph. "Sure it was our man?" queried his companion. "I didn't get a very good look." "Yes, it was our man, the bloody villain!" "He's a slick one!" "So he is—but he'll not get away again. Go and tell the others that it is all right—that we have him," went on Matlock Styles. "You are sure he can't get out of there?" "Not in a hundred years! He'd have to blast his way out to do it." "Then it's all right," returned the other man, and walked away up the flight of stone steps. "Now, then, you have come to the end of your rope, you bloomin', bloody rascal!" cried Matlock Styles, when he was left alone in front of the vault. "You'll not get out of there until I open the door." "Styles, supposing we talk this matter over?" suggested Adam Adams, as calmly as he could. "Talk it over? What do you mean?" "Let me out, and I'll explain." "I'll not let you out." "It won't do you any good to keep me in here." "I know better." "Don't think that I am alone on this case, for I am not. If you harm me, you'll take the consequences." "Bah! You can't scare me! I'm not a baby. If you weren't alone, some of your chums would be after you long ago. You thought to run me and my gang down single-handed, and have your praises sung in every bloomin' newspaper of the country! I know your kind. But I've got you now like a rat in a trap. And you'll get out like the rat does—after he's dead." "You won't talk then?" "No—at least, not now. Perhaps I'll talk later. But I'll not give you your liberty," and thus speaking Matlock Styles tried the door of the vault, to make certain that it was secure, and walked away. It must be confessed that Adam Adams felt that he was in a dangerous situation—a situation in which the majority of men would have given up utterly. He still had his lantern, and this he lit once more, and by its rays examined every foot of the vault in which he was a prisoner. He saw little that gave him encouragement. The sides and flooring were of stone and brick, well put together and strong. The ceiling was likewise of brick, resting on arches of iron. "Looks as if I was booked to stay here!" he muttered grimly, as he viewed the situation. "No getting out as I got out of that other hole." He noticed that the air was not good, and this soon gave him cause for additional alarm. If he could not get any fresh air, he might smother before anybody came to release him. Once more he went over the walls and the flooring, and even pounded on the iron door. It was all to no purpose. He was as close a prisoner as if encased in a stone tomb. "Perhaps they will leave me here until I either smother or starve to death," he reasoned. "It would be an easy way of disposing of me. And Miss Langmore and Mr. Case would wonder how I came to disappear so mysteriously." He set the boxes on the floor, and, standing on one of them, proceeded to examine the roofing of the vault more carefully. He found one of the iron arches a bit loose at one end, and pulled upon it with all his might. The result was greater than he had anticipated. The iron brace came down, and with it fell several dozens of brick, some hitting the detective on the legs and feet. He shrank back against the shelves, and so avoided getting the shower on his head. The lantern was smashed, leaving him in total darkness. As soon as the fall was over, he pulled the boxes from beneath the bricks and piled them one on top of the other. Mounting as high as he could, he felt around, secured a hold on some bricks and stones above, and hauled himself upward. "Now to get out somehow!" he told himself. "No more lingering in this den of criminals!" He felt around, as he moved forward. On all sides the walls were wet and slimy. He advanced with care, resolved to avoid all pitfalls, were it possible to do so. He was in a place where the roofing was no higher than his shoulders, so he had to stoop as he progressed. A moment later he found himself in a narrow passageway, with rocks on one side and a heavy wooden partition on the other. Through a slit in the partition a faint light was streaming. Adam Adams tiptoed his way to the slit and looked through. Beyond he made out the printing room of the counterfeiting plant. Only one man was present, the big-boned fellow known as Number Four. He was seated on the corner of a rude table, idly tearing some paper into strips, and evidently thinking deeply. As the detective was about to move on, another person entered the printing room. "Did they get him?" asked Number Four eagerly. "Yes," was the short reply. "Where was he?" "You'd never guess." "At the river?" "No; in the vault." "What! How did he get there?" "Nobody knows. He must have found the door open. But it's against the rules for anybody to leave that door unlocked." "I know that," said Number Four, and heaved a deep sigh. "Say, you don't like your job, do you?" went on the other counterfeiter, with a sniff. "Would you like it?" demanded Number Four, half angrily. "Well, not particularly." "When I joined this gang, I did it to make money, both ways. I didn't join to kill folks." "Sure, that's true. But the fellow deserves what he'll get. He is a spy, and when a fellow spies on the likes of us he takes his life in his hands—and he knows it." "Well, that may be so. Just the same, I'm sorry I drew the red ball," went on Number Four. "Ain't going to back out, are you?" "Humph! How can I back out? Styles wouldn't allow it." "You bet he wouldn't—and none of us would, for that matter. If I had drawn the red ball I would have done what was asked of me, and no shirking—and you've got to do the same." "I ain't shirking," growled Number Four. "I'll do my duty. But I don't like the job," and then he arose and left the room. Adam Adams had moved on, too—down the dark passageway. Soon he came to a place so narrow that he squeezed through with difficulty. Here he stepped into a nest of rats, and one bit him in the ankle, causing him to give an involuntary cry of pain. The rats were all around, and he had to hiss quite loudly to make them keep their distance. He could now smell the water, and knew he must be close to the river. Once in the stream, he felt that he could swim to safety. But he must look our for more traps. Another turn, and he found the water flowing at his feet. Far ahead was a faint glimmer of light. He entered the water and pushed forward. Then, of a sudden, he came to a halt. He had heard the sound of somebody rowing. The small boat passed, and all became silent once more. Again he pushed on, and presently reached a spot at the edge of the old mill. He was under a dock. Close at hand rested a rowboat, with the oars across the seats. "The boat for mine—if I can get into it without being seen," the detective told himself. With added caution, he waded around to the stern of the rowboat, and peered around carefully. Not a soul seemed to be in sight, and, with care, he climbed over the stern of the craft. "Stop!" came a cry. "Here he is!" He turned and leaped to the oars. As he did this, something whizzed through the air. It struck him on the head, and over he went, across the seats of the boat. He clutched wildly at the air; and then his senses forsook him. "Who is it?" came another call. "That rascal who escaped!" "It can't be—he is in the vault." "Come, see for yourself. Quick!" Three men came rushing to the spot, and the rowboat was hauled close to the dock. The counterfeiters pounced upon Adam Adams, and by the time he had recovered his senses, he was again a close prisoner. Then Matlock Styles appeared. "He is a wizard!" ejaculated the Englishman. "But he shall not get away again! I'll guard him myself—until Number Four finishes him!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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