“This one? What do you need—this is odd. It’s stuck. It’s stuck solid. I can’t lift it.”
“Try the switching station.”
“It’s fastened down also. How odd!”
“Try that little horse.”
“I can’t budge it.”
“How about that little row of tulips?”
“Dash, every single item is fixed solidly into place. What’s the meaning of this?”
“It means that Mr. Wintour didn’t want anything to fall off if the platform changed position suddenly.”
“Surely you don’t mean—?”
“I certainly do.”
We heard a frantic banging at the door. “You in there!” came Crain’s voice. “Why is this door closed? I’ve brought Dr. Blanton! Mr. Hardeen? Let us in, please!”
“We’d better hurry,” I said. I loosened the butterfly bolts that appeared to anchor the wooden pedestal to the floor. “I hope I’m right about this, Harry. Come over here and give me a hand.”
Harry joined me at the edge of the train platform. “Now push up at this end—put your shoulder into it, Harry! Give it everything you have!”
Harry and I strained and grunted for a moment or two. Then we heard a peculiar creaking noise as the entire platform lifted upward. “Impossible!” Harry cried.
“Not at all. The whole thing—the pedestal, the train set-up, even the tiny little wooden tulips—it’s nothing more than the hatch of a giant trap door. No one would ever think of looking for an opening here, because the train set appears too unwieldy to move.”
Harry shook his head, his eyes glowing with admiration. “It’s astonishing! With the trap door open, the train platform is tilted completely onto its side. But everything stays as it was—the track, the water tower, the horse—everything! It’s the perfect camouflage!”
“And when the trap door drops back into place, you’d never know that anything had ever been disturbed.” I reached out to touch the tiny figure of a station master, who now stood in a horizontal stance as though walking up a sheer wall.
Harry peered into the opening in the floor. A crude wooden ladder led down into a deep black chasm. We couldn’t see the bottom. “It’s enormous! The hole must be six feet square! Where does it go? Why would anyone build such a thing?”
The banging at the doors was getting louder. The ladderback chair I had wedged in place began to give way. “Grab that lantern off the desk,” I said. “We’re going down there.”
“But—what’s down there?”
“Something you won’t believe. Something that will make the Blois collection look like a Delmarvelo Magic Set.”
“But—”
“Hurry up, Harry. I want to be out of here before Crain and Blanton burst in.”
Harry darted to Wintour’s desk and snatched up a large oil lamp. “Move, Harry! Down the ladder!” He sprang onto the top rung and made his way downward into the blackness. I grabbed a circular ring on the inside of the open hatch and followed him down, pulling the trap door shut behind us. I heard the doors of the study burst open just as the hatch dropped into place.
Harry and I stayed motionless for several moments, clinging to the top of the ladder as our eyes adjusted to the gloom. To our surprise, we could still hear muffled noise and movement from Wintour’s study, even though the sturdy trap door was sealed in place. Above our heads, tiny pinpricks of illumination showed through the windows and doors of the model train station, admitting sound and light.
“Mr. Hardeen? Mr. Houdini?” Henry Crain’s voice reached us as if from a great distance, though he must have been standing no more than ten feet away. “Where are you?”
“Where could they have gone?” came Dr. Blanton’s voice. “Phillips? Did you see them go out?”
“No, sir,” said the butler.
“They couldn’t have left,” Crain said with considerable exasperation. “The door was jammed shut from the inside!”
“Perhaps we should ring for the police,” said the doctor. “This is the most extraordinary thing since—”
“Yes,” agreed Crain. “I’ll ring for the police.”
I nudged Harry’s shoulder with my foot and signalled him to continue downward. We descended cautiously, our progress illuminated only by the feeble glow of the oil desk lamp. Neither one of us spoke until we had descended some twenty feet.
“So this is how the murderer got in and out,” Harry said in a hushed voice, his eyes fixed on the blackness stretching below us.
“Apparently,” I said.
“But this hole is immense! Who built it? And why?”
“Obviously Mr. Wintour built it himself. As to why, if my guess is correct, we’ll know soon enough. Can you tell how much further down we have to go?”
Harry fished a coin from his pocket and let it drop into the blackness. We heard it clatter against something metal. “Not much more,” he said. “Dash?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“You’ve changed your mind about who killed Mr. Wintour, haven’t you? you don’t think Evan Harrington did it, do you?”
“Fred Gittles, you mean? I think he’s in it up to his eyes. But Jake Stein told us that there were two killers at work, and I guess the old man knew what he was talking about.” My hands flailed in the dark for a moment as I nearly lost my grip on one of the rungs. “Fred Gittles never met Branford Wintour in his life. Wintour was killed by someone he knew. And whoever that man was, he’s the one who hired Gittles to kill Josef and Frieda Graff.”
“But who? Who killed Mr. Wintour? I can’t have been—Dash! I’m at the bottom! What’s down here? This lamp is practically worthless! I can’t see anything!”
I let go of the ladder as my foot touched dirt flooring. “Stick close, Harry. If we get lost down here we may never find our way out. Perhaps our eyes will adjust in a moment or—”
I saw a brilliant flare of light as something hard slammed against the back of my head. I felt myself fall, but I don’t recall landing.
I don’t know how much time passed. I regained consciousness by slow degrees, gradually becoming aware of a vast, dark cavern lit by tall oil torches. Harry lay motionless in the shadows a few feet behind me, and it was only when I saw his restraints—he was wrapped in a virtual cocoon of metal chains and leather straps—that I realized that I was also completely trammelled. I tried to move my hands, but there was no slack. Cold metal bit into my arms with even the slightest movement. “Harry?” I called.
“Your brother isn’t awake yet,” said a voice from behind me. “I hear he’s clever at getting out of things. That’s not much use unless he’s conscious, is it?”
“Who—?” I rolled over towards the sound.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Hardeen,” said Michael Hendricks. “And welcome to the Fifth Avenue subway station!”
13
BURIED ALIVE
“HARRY?” I SAID AGAIN.
“I believe your brother may be dead,” said Mr. Hendricks, as if remarking on a sudden change of weather. “My associate seems to have hit him rather hard. I don’t know that you’ve met Mr. Gittles, have you?” He indicated a short, powerfully built man standing behind him. “I expect you knew him as Harrington.”
My face was pressed against a clod of hard earth. I strained to lift my head, but the movement sent a jolt of pain down my arms. Harry didn’t seem to be moving at all. Behind him, I could see a tall stack of wooden packing cases, along with digging tools, haulage carts, and building materials. “What is this place?” I asked.
“I told you. The Fifth Avenue subway station. Or it will be, at any rate. We’re going to build New York City’s first underground public transportation system. See to Mr. Houdini, will you, Mr. Gittles?”
Gittles stepped forward and nudged Harry with his foot. When Harry didn’t move, Gittles rolled him into a shallow trench behind one of the torches. Gittles moved toward me, waiting for Hendricks to give the next order.
“You’re going to put omnib
uses down here?” I asked, stalling for time.
“No, Mr. Hardeen. Trains. Big, beautiful Minotaur trains, all built by Daedalus Incorporated. That train in my study is no toy. It’s a scale model of the first Minotaur underground train.”
“You’re going to build a full-size train and put it underground?”
“Don’t play stupid, Mr. Hardeen. You’re not as convincing as your brother. I know perfectly well that you’ve been nosing around. Mr. Gittles has been watching you day and night. When did you figure it out? When you were going through old Josef ’s files?”
I tried to shift position, hoping my head would clear. Tugging at my arms brought more pain, but no slack whatever. I was wrapped like a mummy. I doubted if even Harry could escape from these chains, assuming he was still alive. I squirmed onto my side, straining for a better view.
“Well, Mr. Hardeen?” Hendricks shined a lantern into my eyes.
I figured I’d better keep talking. “Sand,” I said.
“Come again?” Hendricks took a step closer.
“You wrote up an order for sand. For the fire buckets. What sort of model train has real sand in the fire buckets?”
Hendricks considered the question. “Train enthusiasts have a great appreciation for that sort of detail, Mr. Hardeen. you know that perfectly well. We could have been planning to put real sand in the fire buckets.”
“Half a ton of it?”
He gave out a barking laugh. “Very good! I’m surprised Josef never noticed!”
“He didn’t know, then? About the underground train?”
“Josef? No, we let him think we were trying to take over the model train market. Of course we swore him to secrecy. Bran told him that our competitors were trying to steal our ideas, and that it would all go to pieces if he breathed a word of what we were doing.”
“But it doesn’t make sense! No toy train design would ever work on a real railroad! you can’t have expected that it would haul passengers!”
“Of course not, Mr. Hardeen. The design is worthless. There is no train. But there soon will be.”
“I don’t understand.”
Hendricks sat down on a wooden shipping crate. “It’s very simple,” he said. “Three weeks from tomorrow, Senator Platt is going to haul his lying, cheating politician’s hide in front of the city control board and announce that he’s taking bids for the development of the New York Underground Transportation Foundation. It’s been an open secret for months now, ever since Boston got its system running. New York can’t be second to Boston, so our trains will have to be even bigger and better. Platt has all the support he needs; he even has Tammany Hall behind him. But, of course, Boss Platt being what he is, he’s already grooming one of his cronies for the job, complete with a hefty gratuity for himself. So what’s an honest businessman to do?”
While Hendricks spoke, I could hear a faint rattling and clinking of chains behind me. Harry, I thought to myself. He’s alive and he’s trying to escape. I tugged again at my own restraints. Even Harry wouldn’t be able to shake this metal cocoon easily. I figured he’d have a better chance if I could keep Hendricks talking. “I don’t understand,” I said. “If Senator Platt already has one of his own pals lined up, what’s the point of all this?”
Hendricks stood up and swept his arm through the shadowy cavern. “I simply decided to start without him,” he said. “As soon as the project is announced, I’m going to go before the press and tell them that my company, Daedalus Incorporated, has already launched construction of the underground railway, at a savings to the New York taxpayer of one million dollars.”
“But this isn’t any underground railway!”
“No? I have a working model of the Minotaur Express. I have a detailed blueprint of the entire rail network. I have all the necessary permits and documents. Once the press boys are done with him, Platt will have no choice but to award the contract to me.”
“But your train is no good!” I cried.
“Yes, that’s quite true. But by the time anyone realizes that, the contract will be all signed and sealed.”
“You mean it’s a con? A bait and switch?”
“Not at all, Mr. Hardeen. It’s business. This project will generate millions and millions of dollars. My job is to get the license to build the train by any means necessary. Once I have the contract, they’d never dare to take it away from me. Platt and his minions will have too much political capital invested in our success. And if my initial projections won’t quite hold water, and if I can’t quite deliver on my original promises, that’s simply politics as usual in this city.”
The clanking noises from behind me were getting louder. I knew I had to keep him talking. “If you already have your phony model and plans, why did you bother to dig a tunnel?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Mr. Hardeen. I didn’t have to dig the tunnel. Bran did it for me. He had it done when he built the house. It’s a brigand’s entrance he ordered for his own amusement—doesn’t run any farther than the stables out back. Only he and I knew about it.”
“I don’t follow you. If this is just a secret tunnel of some kind, what are all those packing crates and building materials doing here?”
“I would think that you’d be able to guess, young man. This is a stage set—a piece of elaborate scenery. I’ve dressed up the tunnel with a hundred feet of track, several crates of machine parts and a whole battery of work lights. It looks for all the world as if the diligent work crews of Daedalus Incorporated have been digging around the clock. And that’s exactly what I’ll tell all the city officials and journalists I’ll be bringing down here. Why start digging on Broadway when we’ve already broken ground right here under Fifth Avenue?”
The rattling sounds increased sharply, though neither Hendricks nor Gittles appeared to notice. Harry, pipe down, I thought to myself. “But why did you kill Mr. Wintour? Surely he was in it from the beginning? The tunnel was on his property, and it must have been his idea to conceal the trap door with that train platform. The two of you were partners the whole time.”
Hendricks mumbled something I didn’t hear.
“I’m sorry?” I said, raising my voice to cover the sounds of Harry’s struggle. “I didn’t catch that.”
“The Minotaur train was my idea,” Hendricks said. “The planning, the timing, the execution. I worked out every last detail. But it was Bran’s money. And so long as Bran was bankrolling the project, he dictated the terms. Eighty per cent of all future earnings were to go to him. Twenty for me. I was to be little more than an employee. Two years ago, before I lost my money, it would have been me in control of the operation. Now...” His voice trailed off, making the sounds of Harry’s movements all the more conspicuous.
“That’s it? you killed him for the money?”
“What else? I’m sorry if that disappoints you, Mr. Hardeen, but I’m hardly the first man who ever killed for money! Do you have any idea what sort of fortune is at stake here? Tens of millions! I’m going to make Rockefeller look like a rag-and-bone man! Good Lord, you and your brother were prepared to believe that Bran had been killed over a silly little Japanese toy! you can have your automatons, Mr. Hardeen. Me, I’ll settle for becoming the richest man in New York.”
“But why lay the blame on Mr. Graff? He didn’t even know what you were planning!”
“Why?” Hendricks’s voice rose to an angry pitch. “Because Bran saw fit to give him a three per cent share in Daedalus! And without so much as consulting me! All that man did was design the model—nothing more! I daresay you could have done it just as well yourself, Mr. Hardeen, and I doubt if you would have expected to be compensated with stock shares worth hundreds of thousands of dollars! And do you suppose this beneficence came out of Bran’s share of the earnings? I assure you it did not. Bran was giving away my money hand over fist.”
“I don’t understand how you expected to get away with that. Sooner or later Mr. Graff would have told the police about the secret dealings he had with
you and Mr. Wintour. That would have brought the police right to your doorstep.”
“Eventually, yes,” Hendricks agreed. “But I sent him a message after his arrest. An expression of sympathy and concern, if you will. I told him to keep quiet about Daedalus— told him that our lawyers were working on his release, but that we couldn’t risk tipping our hand on the very eve of our great triumph. He was happy enough to keep his mouth shut, especially when I told him I’d be needing a right-hand man— now that Bran was gone.”
“Then you sent Mr. Gittles for him. For both of them.”
“Yes. He handled it very cleverly, I thought.”
“Was Mr. Gittles also responsible for the dart in Branford Wintour’s neck?”
“No, Mr. Hardeen. I had to handle that myself. It wasn’t difficult. Bran and I often used the tunnel to hide my comings and goings. It wouldn’t have done for me to use the front door, not after what happened between him and my daughter. But he was a practical man, and so am I. The business relationship continued as before. I knew that Josef would leave Le Fantôme in Bran’s study that afternoon. I scheduled a meeting with him shortly afterward. Bran couldn’t wait to show off his prize. He started chattering away as soon as I came up through the tunnel. He had no way of knowing, of course, that I was the one who had engineered the sale in the first place, once I’d learned of Le Fantôme’s existence. Bran was positively thrilled. He jabbered on and on, showing me all the gears and weights, waxing rhapsodic about his hopes of acquiring the entire Blois collection. It was a simple matter to press the dart into his neck. He made a horrible noise as the poison did its work, but it was over quickly—thank God. It’s a difficult thing to watch a friend die, Mr. Hardeen, no matter what the reason. That’s why I’m sorry you had to get involved in all of this. you seem to be a bright young man. I could have used your help on the Minotaur. Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.” He stepped forward and said something to Gittles, who gave a tight little nod.
“Well, goodbye, Mr. Hardeen,” Hendricks said. “I’ll take my leave now. I very much enjoyed your company the other day, and I’d prefer not to be here for this unpleasantness. As I said, it’s a difficult thing to watch a friend die.”
The Dime Museum Murders Page 20
