Norton, Andre - Novel 07

by At Swords' Points (v1. 0)

  They were almost even with the advancing lamp when there came the sound of stone striking against stone and a choked-off cry. The light wavered as if the hand which held it had jerked—then it flashed in the direction of the sound. It caught Joris' shoulder as the Netherlander threw himself behind a mound of earth and stone. The lamp bearer fired and the crack of the shot was echoed and reechoed from the walls.

  At that same instant Kane launched himself at the marksman. The light crashed to the pavement but it did not go out. Quinn crept toward it hearing the noise of a wild struggle which, for some odd reason, seemed to grow fainter as he advanced on the lamp.

  Then he had it in his hands but he kept it beamed toward the pavement for fear that he might inadvertently expose one of his companions as a target. Joris-

  "Here." The answer came from within touching distance.

  "You shot?"

  "Not even a crease—just took a tumble that shook me up. But where did Kane and that other go—?"

  Cautiously Quinn moved the light. It touched and held on the first step in a flight of stairs. His hand began to shake. Kane and the other must have fallen or rolled down those!

  "Down—" His mouth was suddenly dry. "So now we follow," returned the Netherlander. Quinn switched off the light but Maartens called over his shoulder.

  "It is not necessary to risk our necks. Let us keep that on as we go. Behind it we cannot be seen—if they shoot throw it ahead of you—"

  The steps were wide and shallow—in the center they were worn into hollows. Quinn kept his left hand on the slimy, damp stone of the wall. Unconsciously he counted as he went. And twenty steps brought them to a broad landing. There was no sign of either Kane or his opponent. Quinn's mouth was so dry he could not swallow.

  Twenty more steps. The beam went out across an expanse of stone so wide it could only be a floor.

  "Greetings! Took your time about getting here—"

  Quinn whirled and almost lost his balance. But the light pinned Kane, hunkered on the floor over a bundle of clothing and limp limbs. There was a white face too— with black eyes which stared up and did not squint against the force of the beam.

  "Know him?" asked Kane in an even, conversational tone.

  "He drove the car which followed Wasburg this morning," replied Joris.

  "He won't drive it back." Kane got to his feet, gave a smothered exclamation and rubbed his left arm and side.

  "What—" Quinn had no desire to approach that limp body any closer.

  "We rolled down the full flight and landed hard. He was underneath. Or you might be scraping me off the floor now. But I don't imagine many tears are going to be shed for the late Boris Grundt. He is extremely well known in some very unsavory circles—an MVD man of various unpleasant talents. Shall we stow him elsewhere lest he attract attention? Behind the stairs might be just the place—"

  Kane and Maartens carried Grundt behind the rise of the stairway. Quinn stayed where he was, leaning shoulder and hip against the friendly support of the cold wall, determinedly keeping his eyes away from the impromptu burial party.

  And, because he was looking away, he was the first to note the faint glow of light to the left. In some other room ahead there was strong illumination. When the other two returned he pointed it out.

  "The digging party—d'you suppose?" Kane took the lamp from Quinn and deliberately flashed it at the nearest wall. The slime-greened stones were massive. Nothing less than a powder blast could shake them loose.

  "If they're scratching at those it will take them hours," Joris echoed Quinn's thoughts.

  "Well, they've been in here for some time. Whatever they are doing must be a major operation. Shall we go and cheer them on in their labors? The odds have shortened enough to almost allow us a frontal attack. And it will be a surprise party—with the surprise all in our favor."

  They reached the end of the room into which the stairs had descended and entered a walled burrow arched overhead like a huge drain. The flicker of light at its other end grew brighter until Kane prudently snapped off the lamp he carried. But before they were at the next open space he pulled up his companions.

  "A little caution is now needed. We should edge to the side—"

  Quinn edged—behind Joris this time. And a moment or two later they looked out into one of the strangest rooms he had ever seen.

  The cell, or dungeon or hall—he could not guess its original use—was long and narrow with a roof so high that it was lost in the gloom. The floor was native rock, not stone blocks, and part of the wall was the same— here the land itself had been added to the foundation of the tower.

  But the most unusual feature of the chamber was that one quarter of the floor was liquid, a silent river, glints and sparkles on the water brought to life by a series of six lanterns set out in a straight line about two feet apart.

  Water—here! It must have been diverted from the moat to cut through the foundations of the tower. An excellent device in the old days in case of siege. But why that parade of lanterns—and where were—

  A man moved into the circle of light thrown by the lantern nearest the opposite wall where the stream swept under a floor level arch to disappear. He stretched and walked slowly along the line of lanterns, inspecting each one. The third he picked up to make some adjustment. When he had gone the length of the row of lights he moved on as if he were too bored or cold to return to his post.

  Quinn stiffened. Sooner or later the fellow was going to reach the mouth of the passage in which they stood. Would they retreat or attack?

  But before he got there he turned and went back-straight to the wall of the water arch. There he squatted down, laid aside the automatic he had carried in one hand during his tour of inspection, and plunged both arms deep into the water.

  Quinn heard Joris mutter. That action must have some significance for the Netherlander, though Quinn did not see—short of washing—what the fellow could be doing. He was back now, wiping his hands down his rough and dirty trousers.

  For the second time the sentry examined the lanterns and walked along the edge of the stream. Twice he stopped and looked at his watch. He was either nervous or impatient.

  But where were the rest? There was no way out of this room except the opening in which they stood. And yet here was a sentry on patrol.

  Quinn was startled out of his attempt at deduction by the action of that sentry. A dark blot swooped out of the dusk overhead, planing along the line of lanterns as if it were a bomber making a run to discharge its load. The creature wheeled and fluttered and dived upon the lights so closely that it could have knocked one of them into the water. And apparently that was just what the sentry feared. For he fired rapidly at the swooping shadow.

  Either the guard was lucky or he was an expert shot. At the second crack the bat flattened, flapped out over the water, and dropped down into the oily flood.

  The attack of the bat upon the lantern row seemed to have thoroughly upset the guard. He inspected each of his charges with careful attention and then turned and headed straight for the tunnel, purpose of some sort in his deliberate advance. He might just be hunting more bats, but Quinn could not rid himself of the impression that somehow the man had sensed their presence and was about to attack.

  A hand fell upon his shoulder and tugged him back. Quinn bit hard on his Hp to choke his cry of surprise. They were retreating then—and shoulder to shoulder they crept back to the room of the stairs.

  "Well?" Kane asked.

  "Clever and most tricky," Joris answered. "If the old Dukes hid their treasure so, they were ingenious men. And it is no wonder that it has not been found. To my mind it works this way—the current of that stream is strong, probably as strong as that of the moat river. It flows from arch to arch of native rock. Now somewhere along the part of the stream tunnel which is the outlet of the flood there has been made a room, or a niche—or some kind of hiding place. But to reach it one must fasten a rope to this side, and with that as a guide, get
down into the water, and let one's body be pulled along. And since there looks to be no room for air beneath that arch —one must do all this without breathing! It would take a very bold thief—one willing to risk his life for his plunder—to attempt to force such a treasure place."

  "Then Wasburg must have known the secret," said

  Quinn. "But why do you suppose they have stayed in there so long?"

  "There might be other safeguards besides just the water tunnel," Joris replied reasonably. "It may even be necessary for them to remove a stone barrier. Well, what do we do?"

  "We can wait here—like cats at a mousehole—or we can go in after them. There is always the chance that they might pass out the other way—down stream into the moat. And that is just what they would do if they had any suspicions of our camping here. In that event we might as well kiss it all good-bye—" Kane stretched. "I could do with a smoke," he added a little plaintively.

  "I wonder if something has gone wrong," struck in Quinn. He had waited modestly for the masters at this muddled and dangerous game to advance their opinions before he dared one of his own. "D'you notice how that guard kept looking at his watch. He seemed nervous—"

  "Of course, you can't discount the fact that he's doing sentry-go in a spot I wouldn't altogether say was a health resort," Kane pointed out. "On the other hand, Anders, you may have something there. I don't think that they have any way of sending back a message once they're in there. And, for all this joker knows, they could have been swept out while he sits and waits for them to crawl back. Yes, he did appear edgy—"

  "Which will only make him the more alert," interrupted Joris. "And minutes are now passing—"

  "We should make up our minds? All right. We have the two choices—wait or go—"

  "Couldn't we take care of the sentry in any case?" Quinn ventured.

  "Turn on that light-over on the foot of the steps!" Maartens suddenly ordered.

  When the circle of yellow cut across the stone he went over and picked up two fist-sized stones from the debris which had rolled from above. After weighing them in his hands the Netherlander cut off a yard long section of the rope and tied one stone to either end.

  "We need not shoot him," he said quietly.

  Kane had watched the operation narrowly and now he approved with a brisk nod. "His feet?" he inquired, as one expert of another.

  "If I cannot get his throat."

  They put out the light and felt their way along the passage toward the room of the lanterns. And when they reached it Quinn saw that one of the lights had gone out. Apparently its flame had died just as they had come up for the sentry was still walking toward it, muttering. Just as the man stooped for the lantern, Joris moved. Quinn heard a faint singing sound as the stone-weighted cord flew out across the chamber.

  The sentry's hands jerked up to his throat as he staggered back. And on the slime-coated edge of the stream he slipped and went over, and was swallowed up instantly as the bat had been.

  "That," Kane observed with honest exasperation, "may tear it! If he's swept in with his pals they'll take the water road out before we can join them—"

  "He may not be," Joris remained calm. "He could be borne past the chamber before they noticed him. But just in case—I am now in favor of joining them!"

  They walked out to the edge of the stream. It was deep and the current raced with greyhound pace. Suppose, thought Quinn, one could not stop at the entrance of what might or might not be a treasure chamber? Suppose one was rolled along under the water with no chance to get a breath—until one was drowned—? Suppose—?

  Kane kneeled at the spot where they had seen the guard plunge his arms into the water. The American swept his hands through the flood and then straightened up and raised a section of soaked rope a few inches into sight.

  "That's their guide." He shook water from his hands. "It's fastened at both ends and I'm betting that a handhold on it will take you straight to the door inside."

  Joris turned to Quinn. "Once more we try the waterproof—hoping that it will resist to its best. Water does guns little good. And I have the feeling that it would be wise to be able to shoot when we catch up with the busy treasure seekers."

  Reluctantly Quinn began to unbutton. And this time he did not care whether his companions were able to guess that reluctance or not.

  CHAPTER 16

  AT THIS POINT—RATS LEAVE

  The memory of the journey which followed was enough to jerk Quinn into quivering wakefulness at night for years to come. He would flinch again in nightmares from the forbidding water, feel once more the rough grate of the rope against the palms of his hands, experience anew the seconds of panic as his head went under the flood, his lungs bursting, the current pulling him along, the tug of Kane's hand bringing him into the wild dark unknown.

  But the entrance to the water and the first seconds of that trip were not the worst of his memories. No, that came later, when the rope had brought him to the steps—steps so slimed with muck that they seemed deliberately greased—steps so narrow that only one person at a time could claw his way up them out of the water and into breathable air.

  Quinn planted a knee on those steps; his fingernails broke as he tried for a grip on the stone. And then his weak leg failed and he slipped back into the stream, with not even the rope to save him. For an agonized minute he gulped foul-tasting water, struggling wildly.

  Then a strong pull at the neck of his jersey brought him to the steps again. He fought for a handhold—even a fingerhold— The pull on his soggy jersey strengthened until his head was out of the water. He lay inert, gasping, too sick and miserable to move.

  "Get up!" The command hissed out of the dark set him to stirring feebly. He felt the rake of nails across his shoulder as someone took a fresh grip on the jersey and heaved. "Come on—you aren't dead yet!" a voice snarled from above. "Get up, you fool, before you float off again. How's it with you, Maartens?"

  "All right."

  Quinn squirmed. The answer had come from below. He made his greatest effort of the adventure and forced himself to creep up the slippery steps, aided by that cruel hold between his shoulders. He was sick, the taste of the water he had swallowed was sour and foul in his mouth. But he climbed.

  The muck was gone; under his hands was only rough stone. He was above the water level, and that gave him courage to twist free from the hand which pulled him along.

  "Wait!" The order snapped out of the dark. Quinn obediently crouched where he was.

  "Top—passage." The whisper was an explanation. "Light at the end—take it easy—quiet—"

  Quinn reached the top of the stairs. Kane caught him and pulled him to his feet. There was a light to their right, a dim beam which sprayed along the passage at floor level.

  When Joris joined them they edged crabwise along the wall. The passage was so narrow they could not have walked straight. And they moved at a snail's pace, which probably saved Kane's life, for the dim light did not betray the last trap until almost too late.

  And it was a real trap, undoubtedly intended for just that purpose—a cruel slit in the floor down which a man could tumble to his death.

  "Well, well, well!" Kane said softly. His arm made a barrier across the passage. "Wings may be necessary."

  "They are here—on the wrong side—!" Joris returned.

  Even in the dim light they could see what he meant. A rope dangled over that hole—its free end was looped in a hook carved of stone in the wall on the other side of the pit. The upper end, they could see by straining their necks at a tortuous angle, was fastened to a hoop above reach.

  "Imitate Tarzan," muttered Kane. "But how do we get that back here to use?"

  He stared at the rope as if by the force of his will alone he could pull it back to aid them. Joris crept to the edge of the drop.

  "It is tied over there but loosely. I need a weight-Not too heavy—"

  Quinn brought out his small flashlight. "Would this do?"

  The Netherlan
der juggled it in his hand and then nodded curtly. For the second time he took out the rope and this time tied the torch to one end with a complicated knot he tested carefully. Then he swung the metal tube and sent it out into the space above the pit. It fell true across the slack curve of the rope and continued to swing as a pendulum.

  With infinite care Joris drew the dangling torch to-him. The cord which held it slipped along the chasm rope drawing the loop of the slack toward them. There-Kane examined it as Joris stopped. "Anders," he ordered, “Hold this, but just at the end!"^ He thrust at Quinn the end of the cord from which the torch swung. Kane himself braced his feet and hooked both hands in the Netherlander's belt.

  "Now, Anders, give that a few sharp tugs—careful!" The flashlight jerked and each move brought it closer in an arc to them. Joris had the belt of Quinn's raincoat in his hands. "Go!"

  Joris leaned out in a dangerous angle. There was a flurry of movement in the air and then the Netherlander held the torch. Now they had their rope looped tight about the chasm rope.

  Quinn relaxed against the wall and his breath went out of him in a sigh of relief. He did not even watch them secure the rope. He only roused in time to see Joris tie it about his waist, take a skip-jump and cross the pit. Then Kane jerked a finger at his countryman.

  "Next, chum. The air act is all yours—"

  It was Kane who reeled back the rope, who pushed aside Quinn’s stiff fingers and made it tight about him. But it was he who had to do the rest, who had to make that quick dash, praying desperately that his leg would not fail again, he who had to swing out into the dark. On the other side Maartens caught him and loosened the rope while he stood there panting, fighting the sickness which had worked in him since he had crawled out of the water.

  Kane joined them and they went on. It seemed like a dazed dream to Quinn who was driven by a dumb determination to keep up, governing by the force of will his wobbling feet and churning middle. His future narrowed to the section of passage before him. Let him just come safely to the end of that and he would look or ask for no more.