by Joan Clark
Chapter II
TO THE RESCUE
The cold, wet wind of late September howled around the house. Dorothywished she had brought a revolver.
"Stop it! Betty, stop!" she hissed and forced her friend to crawlbackward over the rough boards to the edge of the porch. "Stay here, anddon't make a sound. Do you want them out after us? For goodness' sake,take a grip on yourself! I'm going back to the window and--not anotherpeep out of you while I'm gone!" With this warning, she slithered awaybefore Betty could voice an objection.
Lying flat before the window once more with her face almost level withthe floor, she stared into the room. The scene had not changed. Nor hadthe three principals of the drama being enacted on the other side of thepane moved from their positions. A sudden gust tore loose the shutter atthe back of the house, sending it crashing down on some other woodenobject with terrific racket.
"Must have hit the cellar doors," thought Dorothy.
The man with the cigar, who stood before the cold fireplace stoppedtalking. She saw him cock his head to one side and listen. Thebald-headed man in the leather armchair kept his revolver levelled onthe room's third occupant, and snapped out a question. With a shrug, theman by the fireplace went on speaking. He was a dapper person, flashilydressed in a black and white shepherd's plaid suit which contrasteddisagreeably with the maroon overcoat worn open for comfort. Dorothytook a dislike to him at first sight. Not withstanding his mincinggestures, the man had the height and build of a heavyweightprizefighter. Now he leaned forward, emphasizing with a pudgy forefingerthe point of his oratory which was directed toward the third member ofthe party.
Dorothy uttered an impatient exclamation. She could not hear a word. Theroaring storm and the closed windows prevented her from catching eventhe rumble of their voices. She continued to gaze intently upon theprisoner, a well set up youth of eighteen or nineteen, curly-haired andintelligent looking. Her sympathy went out at once to this young fellow.He was bound hand and foot to the chair in which he sat. A blackened eyeand his shirt, hanging in ribbons from his shoulders, told of a fight.Then she spied an overturned table, books and writing materialsscattered over the rumpled rug.
"Whew!" she whistled softly. "He staged a little battle for 'em, anyway,I'll bet!"
She smiled as she noticed that the youth's opponents had likewisesuffered. For the bald-headed man held a bloodstained handkerchief tohis nose, while the other's overcoat was ripped from collar to hem andhe nursed a jaw that was evidently tender.
The room which lay beneath her scrutiny offered a decided contrast tothe unkempt exterior of the house. The walls were completely lined withbookcases, reaching from ceiling to floor. The shelves must have heldthousands of volumes. Essentially a man's library, the furnishings werehandsome, though they had evidently seen better days.
In reply to a question barked at him from the dapper prize fighter, theyoung prisoner shook his head in a determined negative. The big man spatout an invective. This time the boy smiled slightly, shook his headagain. With a roar of fury that was audible to the watching girloutside, the prize fighter-bully strode over to his victim and struckhim across the mouth.
That brutal action decided Dorothy. She wormed her way backward off theporch. Betty was still crouched where she had left her. She sprang upand caught her friend's arm.
"Isn't it terrible?" she whispered tensely. "He's such a good-lookingboy, too--don't tell me they've killed him or anything?"
Without speaking, Dorothy led her around to the back of the house.
"No, they haven't killed him," she answered when they had reached theshelter of the apple orchard. "This is no movie thriller. But somethingpretty serious is going on in there. Now tell me--are you going to pullyourself together and be of some help? Because if you're not, you canclimb one of these trees and stay there until it's all over. That's theonly safe place I know of--and even up there you'll get into trouble ifyou start screaming again!"
"Well, I really couldn't help it, Dorothy. He was such a darling lookingboy and--"
"My goodness--what have his looks got to do with it? He's in a peck oftrouble--that's the principal thing. I want to help him."
"Oh, so do I!" asserted Betty eagerly. "I'll be good, honest I will."
"Obey orders?"
"Do my best."
"O.K. then. I'm going round front. Those blackguards must have come in acar--and I'm going to find it."
"But you can't leave me here alone--"
"There you go again, silly! I'm not going to drive away in the car. I'vegot another plan. Listen! There's a cellar door, somewhere back of thehouse I guess. It's one of the flat kind that you pull up to open. Iheard that shutter slam down on it."
"I suppose you want me to open it?"
"Bullseye!"
"You needn't be so superior," Betty's tone was aggrieved. "What'll I doif it's locked?"
"Oh, people 'way out in the country never lock their cellar doors,"Dorothy's tone was impatient, her mind three jumps ahead.
"But suppose this one is?"
"Wait there until I come back. Hurry now--there's no telling what'sgoing on in that room. So long--I'll be with you in a few minutes. Ifyou hear a crash, _don't scream_!"
She raced away and as she reached the corner of the side porch, a quickglance over her shoulder told her that Betty was marching resolutelytoward the cellar door.
This time Dorothy skirted the porch and toward the front of the houseshe came upon a weed-grown drive which swept in a quarter circle towardthe road some fifty yards away. A limousine was parked before theentrance to the house. It was empty.
Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief. She hurried past the car and foundthat the drive ran round the farther side of the house, out to a smallgarage at the back. The garage doors were open, and inside she spied anancient Ford. For some reason the sight of the Ford seemed to perturbher. She stood a while in deep thought.
Then as an idea struck home, she drew forth her flash light and sent itsbeam traveling over the interior of the garage. She did not take theprecaution of closing the doors. The library was on the other side ofthe house and there was little danger of her light being seen. Suddenlyshe uttered a cry of satisfaction. Her light had brought into view abouta dozen gasoline tins stacked in a corner. She lifted them one byone--all were empty. She hunted about and presently unearthed a shortpiece of rubber hose from under the seat of the automobile.
"First break tonight!" she said to herself. "Here's hoping the lucklasts!"
A few minutes later, if anyone had been watching, they would have seen agirl in a slicker, her dark curly hair topped by an aviation helmet,leave the garage carrying two gasoline tins. These she took to theorchard and deposited them behind a couple of apple trees.
Her next movements were more puzzling. She walked back to the garage andaround that little building to the side away from the main house. Againher flash light was brought into play. This time she focussed it on theland to the side and rear and saw that the low wall which partlyencompassed the orchard ended at the back of the garage. There was noobstruction between the drive at the side of the house and a rough fieldthat sloped sharply down the valley whence she and Betty had come. Thenshe realized that the house and orchard lay on a plateau-like rise ofland which jutted out into the valley from the main ridge, the grounddropping steeply on three sides.
"Well, the scenery couldn't be sweeter!" remarked Dorothy. "Now, I hopeto goodness they've left the keys."
It was blowing half a gale now, and rain in crystal rods drove obliquelythrough the flash light's gleam. She switched off the light and stuffedit into a pocket of her dripping slicker and beat her way against thestorm toward the house. Here she found the limousine, and hastened ontoward the side porch.
Lying flat at the window once more, she saw that a fire had been startedin the fireplace. The dapper person crouched before it, holding an ironpoker between the burning logs.
Dorothy realiz
ed on the instant the fiendish torture those beasts wereplanning. She jumped to her feet and tiptoeing over the boards, racedfor the car.
Her hand, fumbling on the dash, brought a faint jangle from a bunch ofkeys--
"Break number three!" she cried and slipped behind the steering wheel.As she switched on the ignition she brought her right foot down on thestarter and when the powerful engine purred she fed it more gas and letin the clutch.
The car rolled forward and she swung it round the corner of the housetoward the garage, with her thumb pressed down hard on the button of thehorn.
"That'll bring them out!" she chuckled and slipping into high sent thecar hurtling off the drive, headed for the field beyond the garage. Aninstant later she dropped off the running board while the limousineraced into the field and down the steep hillside to the valleybelow--and destruction.
At the same moment Dorothy heard shouts from the house and footstepspounding on the gravel. She wasted no time peering after the car.Turning on her heel, she flew round the garage and over to the rear ofthe house. The cellar door was open, Betty was standing on the top step.
"Down you go!" panted Dorothy. "Take this flash and switch on thelight--quick!"
A slight shove sent Betty stumbling down the stone flight and Dorothyfollowed more slowly, bringing down the wide door over her head.
"The light, Betty, the light!" she cried.
"B-but we can't go into the house--those men--"
"Never mind the men--do as you're told. I can't find the lock on thisdoor in the dark. Where are you, anyway?"
"Right here," said a small voice and the flash light gleamed.
Dorothy shot home the bolt and took the torch into her own hand.
"Come on!"
Without waiting to see if her order was obeyed, she ran to the stairsthat led up to the first floor. At the top of the short flight, shefound a closed door. She opened it and stepped into the kitchen, withBetty at her elbow. Locking the door behind them, she flashed her lightabout the room, then walked over to a table and pulled out the drawer.
"Here--take this!"
Betty stepped back as a large kitchen knife was thrust in her direction.
"Take it!" commanded Dorothy and again the smaller girl unwillingly didas she was told.
"But--but you can't mean we're going to fight them with knives," shespluttered, "why, Dorothy--I just couldn't--"
"Don't talk rot!" Dorothy's tone was caustic. "Please cut the argument,now--I know what I'm doing!"
Betty trotted at her heels as she crossed the kitchen toward the frontof the house, passed through a swinging door into the dining room. Anarched doorway to their right, brought the hall into view, and beyondit, another door stood open, leading into the lighted library, wherethey saw its single occupant still tied to his chair.
"Go in there and cut him loose," directed Dorothy.
She pushed Betty into the room and raced for the open front door. Sheheard the sound of voices from the drive as she neared the end of thehall. She could see the figures of two men just beyond the front steps.Just as her hand reached the door handle, they turned in her directionand the black night was seared with the sharp red flash from anautomatic.
