Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in Russia; or, Lost on the Frozen Steppes

by Horace Porter

  CHAPTER XI.

  GAME OF HIDE AND SEEK.

  "What a place for a ghost dance," commented Billy, peering into theshadowy beyond, as he waited for Henri to join him in the big cellar.

  Henri, letting go the last hand-hold, immediately announced that thebriefer the stay here the better it would suit him. "Trot along, Billy,"he urged, "and get it over with."

  They had passed under several arches in half-seeing endeavor to locate away to the floor above, when Billy came to a quick halt.

  "I thought I heard voices!"

  "You're likely to hear anything in this catacomb," replied Henri.

  "No, it isn't nerves, Buddy; it's talking. Listen!"

  The lads, standing mute and with ears attuned to acute pitch, were soonimpressed with the fact that there was a mumbling medley of conversationsomewhere about, but whether at hand or more remote they could notdecide.

  So in tremor and doubt they moved with less haste, and stopping atintervals to analyze every suspicious sound. But now it was only theirown breathing and footfalls that disturbed the tomb-like stillness.

  At the bottom steps of a broad flight of stairs, which they had finallylocated, to their great relief, the boys made resolve that the firstopening at the top that presented itself, offering opportunity of escapefrom the building, would not be neglected for the space of even a halfminute.

  The excitement of breaking in had now no show with the desire to breakout.

  At the top of the stairway the climbers saw before them an immenseplatform, very likely the place of loading, for several trucks inadvanced state of disuse were here and there in view.

  But what most interested the lads was a clearly outlined path, throughthe heavily settled dust, stretching across and beyond the platform, andleading to a door of white pine.

  "I expect the voices we heard belonged to the same parties who made thistrail," was Billy's low-toned opinion.

  "Whoever they belonged to," softly observed Henri, "I prefer to givethem the benefit of the doubt, and if there is a window handy, openingon the good old outside, it's me for it."

  "I'm with you this time, Buddy," promptly agreed the Bangor boy; "I'vehad my full of this expedition, and ready to play quits."

  If Henri had anything further to say, it did not reach utterance, forquite distinctly now the lads could hear in varying strain the muffledintonation that had at first startled them in their stumble through thelower regions beneath.

  Stealthily skirting the platform, the boys took to their knees in thedust, with their eyes on a level with the raised flooring, at a pointimmediately to the right of the big door.

  It had been their intention to make their way past the door to the firstturn of the counting room enclosure, which they were sure would set themgoing in the direction of the street flanking the west side of MemorialSquare.

  Off the platform they were afforded better opportunity for quickconcealment in case any of the mysterious inmates of the supposedlydeserted warehouse should suddenly appear on the higher plane.

  From the near point of hiding the boys got a new idea of the center planof the working floor, as adapted to the business for which it had beendesigned.

  The counting house was arranged like a deck cabin of a ship, open spaceall around, a fact not apparent to the boys when they first emerged fromthe cellar.

  "It's a cinch," whispered Billy, "that we can get by on one side or theother if we haven't forgotten how to do the Indian crawl."

  "If it wasn't for that talk buzz," asserted Henri, "I'd be inclined totell the neighbors that the old plant was as empty as a last year's birdnest."

  "Not to mention the tracks on the platform," reminded Billy.

  "No definite telling when those marks might have been made," continuedHenri, "and as I was saying, the talkfest mystery is the one absoluteassurance that we are not alone in these diggings."

  "In the passing," intimated Billy, "there may be a crack in that hut inwhich an eye would fit, and there is no use leaving an unsolved problembehind."

  Henri grinned. "I've been expecting that, Buddy," he said.

  Alongside the counting house the boys moved on all fours, and it did nottake Billy long to find a place to put his eye. Just over his head wasthe checking window--a small aperture, masked by a curtain of greenbaize, from which projected a rounded shelf. There had been a warpbetween this projection and the window setting, and through the openseam a free view of the enclosure was presented.

  When Billy had completed his look-in, he resorted to the sign languageas a means of conveying the word that the room was occupied. Henri,surmising as much from the fragments of conversation sifting through theloose lines of the wooden wall, took his turn as an observer.

  In the same rough garb of coal heaver that he wore on the day ofdelivery to the young aviators of the summons to the twin towers, Rickerwas lolling on a rickety bench, and another man equally shabby in makeupwas perched upon a dingy counter. On the floor at their feet, gagged andbound hand and foot, was the heavyweight policeman, who had officiallyinvoked the services of the silversmith as an expert examiner of thebattered remains of the time clock dug out of the ruins of theexplosion-rent military storehouse.

  Ricker had occasion to several times admonish his companion for gettingtoo high a pitch in his rumbling voice. These vocal lifts at intervals,no doubt, were the sounds that had from the first convinced the boys ofthe presence of other life than theirs in the building.

  "This carrion," Ricker was saying, prodding the prostrate officer withthe toe of a hobnailed boot, "is too much of a blunderhead to killoutright, and it would be a shame to deprive the rats of such a splendidspread of live meat. But, after all, seeing that the game is up here asfar as I am concerned, I will let the palace of justice keep theirnumbskull. There's a lout that will let them know in twenty-four hoursafter we are gone."

  The man on the floor spluttered in his gag and strained at his bonds.

  "Heigho, Casper," yawned Ricker, rising and stretching himself, "it'ssoon farewell to Warsaw for us; we were good citizens, eh, Casper? Weleave our mark, too--and we will also leave that crazy Hamar if he doesnot show his ugly face within the next ten minutes."

  Ricker consulted a heavy gold watch, which he produced from the folds ofhis woollen shirt. Two gunny-sacks, bulging at both ends and roped inthe middle, might have furnished evidence that the silversmith wastaking most of his stock with him.

  The boys, taking turn about at the look-in point, concluded to sheer offfor the time being, when Ricker bestowed a parting kick upon the trussedpoliceman, shouldered the gunny-sacks and started for the door of thecounting house.

  "I suppose Hamar will know where to find us?" questioned the man calledCasper.

  "Blast him for a crank, there is no telling anything about him," fumedRicker; "he had the hour pounded into his addled brain, and it isnobody's fault but his own if he misses fire."

  Billy and Henri were prepared for the sport of hide and seek, until theycould learn the direction that Ricker and his companion proposed totake.

  Each took a corner of the counting house at the rear, and each on thealert to work the disappearing act.