Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 51, No. 2, June 28, 1930

“Can you get out again? If you can, go for help! McHenry is the murderer. He’s Wallace. He’s mad as a hatter. Find Morgan and McCoy and bring them — bring plenty of men—”

“Think I’ll leave you here?” whispered Dan savagely. “I saw what you got! Gawd knows how long that monster had been at it—”

“You’re wasting time! Go for help!”

“I can’t, Hal! I came in your car. It’s out of gas. Dunno where I am. By the time I get back you might be — I got it! I came in the window. I can climb out and haul you after me! Can you stand on your feet?”

“Maybe I can, but I won’t. The man’s mad, Dan! He’s got some scheme to revenge himself on Dorothy Hearn. If he plans to abduct her, he will. He’s infernally clever. He’ll bring her here. I can’t leave her to be tortured without a friend in the place! Go for help and you can save us.”

“I’ve told you I can’t go and get back in time. No gas. The car’s way off on a side road, Lord knows where.”

Hal felt ready to burst with exasperation.

“Have you got a gun?” he hissed furiously.

“I just had time to follow you! Thought it was fishy the way McHenry hung around without doing anything. Saw him look at you once, when you weren’t looking—”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“No use. You wouldn’t have taken no stock in it! But I knew you wouldn’t shoot a man and then run. So I left the lobby and hung around outside. Didn’t know what to think.”

“Nor how to think, either!” said Hal.

“Yeah? Well, when that wheel chair came out right after the murder I did some thinking! I looked at the trunk and saw the air holes along the top of it. I did some thinking then, when I guessed you were in that trunk! You would of thought it was a rabbit — and not been so far out, either—”

“How did we get here, and where the hell are we?”

“I got your car started. When the taxi pulled away, I followed. Going up through the park it was stopped all of a sudden; I guess by the party inside. There was a big car near and I saw that thing in the taxi get out. The taxi went on and they took the trunk away from the road.

“After a while the driver of the big car and whoever it was in the taxi came back with you between them. They left the trunk, I guess. But they lifted you in the big car and got in themselves, and drove away—”

“You never thought of picking up a policeman and having him stop the car?” whispered Hal with sarcasm.

“I was too far away to be sure the figure they carried was you! And if I tried anything like that they might of got away. That car was faster than yours. Wonder you wouldn’t keep yours with gas in!”

“Go on,” whispered Hal.

“I followed that car way uptown and around for a while, and then clear back down again. It was a big, blue car. Guess it was the one that Brooks got your mother in. It stopped on a corner and McHenry got in. I was way behind, luckily. Then the car beat it out toward Yonkers.

“Once past Harlem it stuck to side roads for miles. I had to dim the lights and I sure bumped around, trailing their tail light. It crossed the main Hudson road. Then I ran out of gas and had to stop.”

“That’s funny — that you had to stop!”

“Is it? Well, I left the car pointing the way I had come, hoping the police would find it. I ran ahead a while and there was the river in front and no side road and no car! I galloped around in bigger circles, over fences and through bushes until l saw a light. It was this window. I crawled up to it in time to see that guy pasting you with that rope—”

“All right,” whispered Hal. “Now, for the last time, will you get out of here and go for help?”

“Not without you,” retorted Dan obstinately. “Think I’ll leave you here alone to get beaten up again?”

“Oh, Lord!” groaned Hal, “give me strength to deal with this dumb egg! All right, then, stay here and get shot for your pains! If any one comes, roll under the bed. If it’s the black man you lie still. He’d break you in two. If it’s McHenry alone, I’ll jump him and you grab his feet when I whistle. Maybe he carries a gun. We’ll have to get that away from him—”

“I’ll handle him if I can get my hands—”

At that moment, from a distant part of the cellar, came despairing cries that rose steadily until they became broken screams. Both Hal and Dan felt a coldness along their spines. The voice was that of a man beside himself with pain and terror.

They listened until the shrieks died away, listened still, in awed silence, until, faint at first, but growing louder, they heard the shuffle and check of footsteps upon stone. Almost without a sound, Dan rolled under the cot. Some one fumbled at the door. Then the light flashed on.

Hal turned his head slowly. Wallace and Nimbo were in the room and approaching him. Wallace was empty handed. The Nubian carried a tray with two dishes of gold and a thin-stemmed wine glass. He set them on the table within easy reach of Hal. One plate bore a piece of dirty bacon rind, the other some moldy crusts of bread. The glass was full of muddy water.

Wallace seated himself on the end of the table. Nimbo stood at his side.