by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER IV TRAPPED IN THE OLD MUSEUM
Florence had little fear for the outcome of this rather amusingadventure. She had been trailed over the ice by possible admirers before.She did not care to allow this one to catch up with her, that was all.She would skim along down to the far end of the lagoon where, a mile anda half away, the dome of the old museum loomed, a black bulk in the dark.She would then make the broad turn which this end of the lagoon afforded.She would have a clear mile and a half in which to put forth her bestefforts. Surely she could outdistance the stranger and, with skates off,be away over the slope and down the beach toward the O Moo before he hadreached this end of the lagoon once more.
Saving her strength on the down trip, keeping an even distance from themysterious skater, she glided onward toward the old museum.
Just as she neared the broad end, where she was to make the turn, sheglanced back. At that very moment, the flash of a powerful automobilelamp on the park drive a half mile away fell full upon the stranger'sface.
A little cry escaped her lips. This was no mere youthful enthusiast. Hiswas the face of one whom few would trust. At that very moment his visagewas twisted into an ugly snarl which said plainer than words:
"Now, young lady, I have you!"
"Why!" she whispered to herself, "that might be the face of a murderer!"
At that same instant, there flashed through her mind the note of warningtacked on the schooner. Perhaps this was the man who had placed it there.
In her consternation, she missed a stroke. One skate struck a crack inthe ice; the clamp slipped; the skate went flying; disaster impended.
Florence was not a person to be easily defeated. One instant she hadkicked the remaining skate from her foot and the next she was racing awayover the glistening ice. She stumbled and all but fell. But, gainingcourage from the near-by sloping bank, she plunged on.
Now she was ten yards away, now five. The metal cut-cut of skates behindher grew louder. Redoubling her efforts, she at last flung herself uponthe snowy slope, to climb on hands and knees to the crest, then to raceacross a level space and gain the sheltering shadows of the museum.
It had been a hard struggle. For a few seconds she leaned panting againstthe wall. One skate was still in her hand. Without thinking why, shetucked this skate into the belt of her coat.
Her mind was in a whirl. What should she do? She was not safe here. Forthe man to remove his skates and scale the bank required but a moment.They were alone in the frozen park, a mile from any protection she couldbe sure of. She was not a good runner.
"No," she whispered, "I couldn't do it."
She chanced to glance up, and her lips parted in a suppressedexclamation. There was a window open above her. True, it was some fifteenfeet up, but there was an iron grating on the window beneath it.
"If only the grating is not rusted out," she murmured hopefully, and thenext instant she had reached the ledge of brickwork and was shaking therailing vigorously.
"It'll hold I guess."
Up she went like a monkey climbing the side of a cage. At the top of thisgrating there came an agonizing second in which she felt herself indanger of toppling over before she gained her balance on the window ledgeabove. Her splendid training served her well. She threw herself acrossthe stone casing and, for a few seconds, lay there listening.
Hardly had she dropped noiselessly to the floor, some three feet below,than she heard the thud-thud of hurrying footsteps on the hard-packedsnow. Holding her breath, she crouched there motionless, hoping beyondhope that she might hear those footsteps pass on around the building.
In this hope she was disappointed. Like a hound who has lost his scent,the man doubled back, then paused beneath her window.
The girl's heart raced on. Was she trapped? The man, she felt sure,would, somehow, gain access to the building. Nevertheless, she mightescape him.
The building had once been a museum, the central building of a greatworld exposition. No longer used as a museum, it stood there, an immense,unused structure, slowly dropping into decay. The floor on which she hadlanded was really a broad balcony with a rusty railing at its edge. Fromwhere she crouched she could see down into the main floor wherestretched, twining and inter-twining, mile upon mile of rooms andcorridors.
Slipping out of her shoes, she buttoned them to her belt, then stolenoiselessly along the balcony. Moving ever in the shadow of the wall, shecame to a rusty iron stair. Here she paused.
Would the stair creak, give her away? The man might at this moment be inthe building on the ground floor. Yet, on this narrow balcony, she wassure sooner or later to be trapped. She must risk it.
Placing one trembling foot on the top step, she allowed her weight tosettle upon it. There followed no sound. Breathing more easily, she beganthe descent. Only once did her heart stand still; a bit of loose plaster,touched by her foot, bounded downward.
She dared not pause. The die was cast.
Once on the ground floor, she sprang across a patch of light and foundherself in the shadows once more.
Moving with the greatest possible speed, yet with even greater caution,avoiding bits of plaster, rustling papers and other impediments in hercourse, she made her way along a wall which to her heightened imaginationseemed to stretch on for a mile.
Once as she paused she thought she caught the sound of heavy breathing,followed by a dull thud. "Must have come in through my window," shedecided, and, indeed there appeared to be no other means of access; allthe ground floor doors and windows were either heavily shuttered orgrated.
"These shutters and gratings," she told herself, trying to still the fearin her heart by thinking of other things, "are relics of other days. Heremillions of dollars worth of relics, curios, and costly jewels were oncedisplayed. Mounted animals and birds, aisle after aisle of them, roomsfull of rich furs and costly silks, jewels too in abundance. They're allgone now, but the shutters are still here and I am trapped. There's onlyone exit and that guarded. Well, perhaps another somewhere. Anyway, I canwait. Daylight drives wolves to their dens. If only I can reach the otherbalcony!"
She had been in the building in the days of its glory, and had visitedone of the curators, a friend of her mother. There were, on this otherbalcony, she remembered, a perfect labyrinth of rooms--cubbyholes andoffices. Once she gained access to these she probably would be safe.
But here was another stair. She must go up.
Only partially enshrouded in darkness, it might betray her.
Dropping on hands and knees, she began to climb. A bit of glass cut herstocking. She did not notice that. A crumpled sheet of paper flutteredaway; that was maddening. A broad patch of light from far above her headthrew her out in bold relief for a second. For a second only. Then,leaping to her feet, she raced down the balcony and again entered theshadows.
Pressing a hand to her breast to still her heart's wild beating, shelistened intently.
Did she hear? Yes, there could be no mistake, there came a soft pit-pat,the footsteps of a person walking on tiptoes.
"Like one of those mounted tigers come to life," she thought with ashudder.
Slowly she moved along the wall. If only she could reach a door! If sheonly could!
But that door was a distance of some fifty yards away. Could she make it?
Stealthily she moved forward. Stopping now and then to listen, she caughtas before the stealthy pit-pat of footsteps. Once some object rattled onthe floor and she heard a muffled exclamation. Then she caught a creakingsound--was he mounting the stair? Had the banister creaked?
Now she was twenty yards from the door, now ten, now five, and now--nowshe gripped its casing. Excitedly she swung around, only to find herselffacing a rusted square of steel. The labyrinth of rooms was closed toher. She was trapped on a narrow balcony with no way to turn for escape.
As she crouched there trembling, her hand touched something cold--herskate. Here was hope; if the worst came to worst, here
was a formidableweapon and she was possessed of the power to swing it.
Cautiously she drew it from her belt, then crouching low, gripping thesmall end, she waited.
Came again the pit-pat-pit-pat. He was on the balcony, she felt sure ofthat now. Her hand gripped the skate until the blade cut through theskin, but still she crouched there waiting.
* * * * * * * *
When Florence failed to return, Marian and Lucile might have been seenpacing the floor while Marian pretended to study and made a failure ofit.
"I think we should go out and look for her," said Lucile.
"Probably just a bit overcome by the wonderful skating in the moonlight,"answered Marian, in what was intended as an unworried tone, "but we'll godown to the lagoon and have a look."
"Wait just a moment," said Lucile as she disappeared inside herlaboratory. When she returned, something beneath her coat bulged, butMarian did not ask her what it might be.
After dropping down the rope ladder they hurried along the beach andacross the park to the lagoon. From the ridge above it they could see thegreater part of the lagoon's surface. Not a single moving figure darkenedits surface. For fully five minutes they stood there, looking, listening.Then Marian led the way to the edge of the ice.
By the side of a clump of bushes she had spied something.
"What's that?"
"Pair of men's rubbers," replied Lucile kicking at them.
For a full moment the two stood and stared at one another.
"She--she isn't down here," said Lucile at last. "Perhaps we had bettergo up and look among the boats."
Silently they walked back to where the hundred boats were looming in thedark, their masts like slender arms reaching for the moon. As theyrounded a small schooner, they were startled by a footstep.
"Don't be afraid. It is only I," called a friendly voice. "Out for astroll in the moonlight. Wonderful, isn't it?"
Marian recognized the young man of the schooner, Mark Pence. She hadtalked with him once before. He had helped her home with her two dozencans of label-less fruits and vegetables. Having liked him then, shedecided to trust him now, so in a few well-chosen words she confidedtheir fears for their companion's safety.
"Shucks!" said the boy. "That'll be all right. She'll show up all right.Probably went farther than she intended. But--sure, I'll take a turn withyou through our little village of boats. Be glad to."
They wandered in and out among the various crafts. Scarcely a word wasspoken until they came to the great black bulk of the scow inhabited bythe Chinamen.
"I'll rout 'em out. Might know something," said Mark.
He knocked several times but received no response. He was about to enterwhen Lucile whispered:
"Wait a minute. Were--were you in the war?"
"A trifle. Not to amount to much."
"Know how to use a gas mask?"
"Well, rather. Six seconds is my record. Know that old joke about the'quick and the dead,' don't you? I was quick."
Lucile smiled. She was holding out an oblong package fastened to a strap,also a small glass bottle.
"Take--take these," she whispered nervously. "You can't tell about thosefolks. Break the bottle if they go after you, then put on the mask. It'spretty powerful gas but does no permanent injury."
Mark smiled as he slipped the strap over his shoulder. "Nonsense, Iguess," he murmured, "but might not be. Just like going over the top, younever can tell." He drew a small flashlight from his pocket, then pushedthe door open.
He was gone for what to the girls seemed an exceedingly long time. Whenhe returned he had little enough to tell.
"Not a soul in the place, far as I could see," he reported. "But, man,Oh, man! It's a queer old cellar. Smells like opium and chop-suey. Andtalk about narrow winding stairs! Why, I bet I went down--" He paused tostare at the scow. "Why that tub isn't more than ten feet high and I wentdown a good twenty feet. Rooms and rooms in it. Something queer aboutthat."
The girls were too anxious for Florence's safety to give much attentionto what he was saying.
"Well, we are greatly obliged to you," said Lucile, taking her bottle andgas mask. "I guess there's nothing to do but go back to the yacht andwait."
With a friendly good-night they turned and made their way back to the OMoo.
