While he was speaking my companion busied himself in carefully plugging up the hole in the rock. When it was closed to his satisfaction he turned on the light in our tunnel.
“Did you observe,” he asked, “that there was a second tunnel?”
“What do you say?”
“When the light was on in there I saw the mouth of a smaller tunnel entering the main one behind the cars on the right. Did you notice it?”
“Oh yes,” I replied. “I did observe some kind of a dark hole there, but I paid no attention to it because I was so absorbed in the doctor.”
“Well,” rejoined Hall, smiling, “it was worth considerably more than a glance. As a subject of thought I find it even more absorbing than Dr. Syx. Did you see the track in it?”
“No,” I had to acknowledge, “I did not notice that. But,” I continued, a little piqued by his manner, “being a branch of the main tunnel, I don’t see anything remarkable in its having a track also.”
“It was rather dim in that hole,” said Hall, still smiling in a somewhat provoking way, “but the railroad track was there plain enough. And, whether you think it remarkable or not, I should like to lay you a wager that that track leads to a secret worth a dozen of the one we have just overheard.”
“My good friend,” I retorted, still smarting a little, “I shall not presume to match my stupidity against your perspicacity. I haven’t cat’s eyes in the dark.”
Hall immediately broke out laughing, and, slapping me good-naturedly on the shoulder, exclaimed:
“Come, come now! If you go to kicking back at a fellow like that, I shall be sorry I ever undertook this adventure.”
A MYSTERY INDEED!
When President Boon had heard our story he promptly approved Hall’s dismissal of the men. He expressed great surprise that Dr. Syx should have resorted to a deception which had been so disastrous to innocent people, and at first he talked of legal proceedings. But, after thinking the matter over, he concluded that Syx was too powerful to be attacked with success, especially when the only evidence against him was that he had claimed to find artemisium in his mine at a time when, as everybody knew, artemisium actually was found outside the mine. There was no apparent motive for the deception, and no proof of malicious intent. In short, Mr. Boon decided that the best thing for him and his stockholders to do was to keep silent about their losses and await events. And, at Hall’s suggestion, he also determined to say nothing to anybody about the discovery we had made.
“It could do no good,” said Hall, in making the suggestion, “and it might spoil a plan I have in mind.”
“What plan?” asked the president.
“I prefer not to tell just yet,” was the reply.
I observed that, in our interview with Mr. Boon, Hall made no reference to the side tunnel to which he had appeared to attach so much importance, and I concluded that he now regarded it as lacking significance. In this I was mistaken.
A few days afterwards I received an invitation from Hall to accompany him once more into the abandoned tunnel.
“I have found out what that sidetrack means,” he said, “and it has plunged me into another mystery so dark and profound that I cannot see my way through it. I must beg you to say no word to any one concerning the things I am about to show you.”
I gave the required promise, and we entered the tunnel, which nobody had visited since our former adventure. Having extinguished our lamp, my companion opened the peep-hole, and a thin ray of light streamed through from the tunnel on the opposite side of the wall. He applied his eye to the hole.
“Yes,” he said, quickly stepping back and pushing me into his place, “they are still at it. Look, and tell me what you see.”
“I see,” I replied, after placing my eye at the aperture, “a gang of men unloading a car which has just come out of the side tunnel, and putting its contents upon another car standing on the track of the main tunnel.”
“Yes, and what are they handling?”
“Why, ore, of course.”
“And do you see nothing significant in that?”
“To be sure!” I exclaimed. “Why, that ore—”
“Hush! Hush!” admonished Hall, putting his hand over my mouth; “don’t talk so loud. Now go on, in a whisper.”
“The ore,” I resumed, “may have come back from the furnace-room, because the side tunnel turns off so as to run parallel with the other.”
“It not only may have come back, it actually has come back,” said Hall.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I have been over the track, and know that it leads to a secret apartment directly under the furnace in which Dr. Syx pretends to melt the ore!”
For a minute after hearing this avowal I was speechless.
“Are you serious?” I asked at length.
“Perfectly serious. Run your finger along the rock here. Do you perceive a seam? Two days ago, after seeing what you have just witnessed in the Syx tunnel, I carefully cut out a section of the wall, making an aperture large enough to crawl through, and, when I knew the workmen were asleep, I crept in there and examined both tunnels from end to end. But in solving one mystery I have run myself into another infinitely more perplexing.”
“How is that?”
“Why does Dr. Syx take such elaborate pains to deceive his visitors, and also the government officers? It is now plain that he conducts no mining operations whatever. This mine of his is a gigantic blind. Whenever inspectors or scientific curiosity seekers visit his mill his mute workmen assume the air of being very busy, the cars laden with his so-called ‘ore’ rumble out of the tunnel, and their contents are ostentatiously poured into the furnace, or appear to be poured into it, really dropping into a receptacle beneath, to be carried back into the mine again. And then the doctor leads his gulled visitors around to the other side of the furnace and shows them the molten metal coming out in streams. Now what does it all mean? That’s what I’d like to find out. What’s his game? For, mark you, if he doesn’t get artemisium from this pretended ore, he gets it from some other source, and right on this spot, too. There is no doubt about that. The whole world is supplied by Syx’s furnace, and Syx feeds his furnace with something that comes from his ten acres of Grand Teton rock. What is that something? How does he get it, and where does he hide it? These are the things I should like to find out.”
“Well,” I replied, “I fear I can’t help you.”
“But the difference between you and me,” he retorted, “is that you can go to sleep over it, while I shall never get another good night’s rest so long as this black mystery remains unsolved.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know exactly what. But I’ve got a dim idea which may take shape after a while.”
Hall was silent for some time; then he suddenly asked:
“Did you ever hear of that queer magic-lantern show with which Dr. Syx entertained Mr. Boon and the members of the financial commission in the early days of the artemisium business?”
“Yes, I’ve heard the story, but I don’t think it was ever made public. The newspapers never got hold of it.”
“No, I believe not. Odd thing, wasn’t it?”
“Why, yes, very odd, but just like the doctor’s eccentric ways, though. He’s always doing something to astonish somebody, without any apparent earthly reason. But what put you in mind of that?”
“Free artemisium put me in mind of it,” replied Hall, quizzically.
“I don’t see the connection.”
“I’m not sure that I do either, but when you are dealing with Dr. Syx nothing is too improbable to be thought of.”
Hall thereupon fell to musing again, while we returned to the entrance of the tunnel. After he had made everything secure, and slipped the key into his pocket, my companion remarked:
“Don’t you think it would be best to keep this latest discovery to ourselves?”
“Certainly.”
“Because,” he co
ntinued, “nobody would be benefited just now by knowing what we know, and to expose the worthlessness of the ‘ore’ might cause a panic. The public is a queer animal, and never gets scared at just the thing you expect will alarm it, but always at something else.”
We had shaken hands and were separating when Hall stopped me.
“Do you believe in alchemy?” he asked.
“That’s an odd question from you,” I replied. “I thought alchemy was exploded long ago.”
“Well,” he said, slowly, “I suppose it has been exploded, but then, you know, an explosion may sometimes be a kind of instantaneous education, breaking up old things but revealing new ones.”
MORE OF DR. SYX’S MAGIC
Important business called me East soon after the meeting with Hall described in the foregoing chapter, and before I again saw the Grand Teton very stirring events had taken place.
As the reader is aware, Dr. Syx’s agreement with the various governments limited the output of his mine. An international commission, continually in session in New York, adjusted the differences arising among the nations concerning financial affairs, and allotted to each the proper amount of artemisium for coinage. Of course, this amount varied from time to time, but a fair average could easily be maintained. The gradual increase of wealth, in houses, machinery, manufactured and artistic products called for a corresponding increase in the circulating medium; but this, too, was easily provided for. An equally painstaking supervision was exercised over the amount of the precious metal which Dr. Syx was permitted to supply to the markets for use in the arts. On this side, also, the demand gradually increased; but the wonderful Teton mine seemed equal to all calls upon its resources.
After the failure of the mining operations there was a moderate revival of the efforts to reduce the Teton ore, but no success cheered the experimenters. Prospectors also wandered all over the earth looking for pure artemisium, but in vain. The general public, knowing nothing of what Hall had discovered, and still believing Syx’s story that he also had found pure artemisium in his mine, accounted for the failure of the tunneling operations on the supposition that the metal, in a free state, was excessively rare, and that Dr. Syx had had the luck to strike the only vein of it that the Grand Teton contained. As if to give countenance to this opinion, Dr. Syx now announced, in the most public manner, that he had been deceived again, and that the vein of free metal he had struck being exhausted, no other had appeared. Accordingly, he said, he must henceforth rely exclusively, as in the beginning, upon reduction of the ore.
Artemisium had proved itself an immense boon to mankind, and the new era of commercial prosperity which it had ushered in already exceeded everything that the world had known in the past. School-children learned that human civilization had taken five great strides, known respectively, beginning at the bottom, as the “age of stone,” the “age of bronze,” the “age of iron,” the “age of gold,” and the “age of artemisium.”
Nevertheless, sources of dissatisfaction finally began to appear, and, after the nature of such things, they developed with marvellous rapidity. People began to grumble about “contraction of the currency.” In every country there arose a party which demanded “free money.” Demagogues pointed to the brief reign of paper money after the demonetization of gold as a happy period, when the people had enjoyed their rights, and the “money barons”—borrowing a term from nineteenth-century history—were kept at bay.
Then came denunciations of the international commission for restricting the coinage. Dr. Syx was described as “a devil-fish sucking the veins of the planet and holding it helpless in the grasp of his tentacular billions.” In the United States meetings of agitators passed furious resolutions, denouncing the government, assailing the rich, cursing Dr. Syx, and calling upon “the oppressed” to rise and “take their own.” The final outcome was, of course, violence. Mobs had to be suppressed by military force. But the most dramatic scene in the tragedy occurred at the Grand Teton. Excited by inflammatory speeches and printed documents, several thousand armed men assembled in the neighborhood of Jenny’s Lake and prepared to attack the Syx mine. For some reason the military guard had been depleted, and the mob, under the leadership of a man named Bings, who showed no little talent as a commander and strategist, surprised the small force of soldiers and locked them up in their own guard-house.
Telegraphic communication having been cut off by the astute Bings, a fierce attack was made on the mine. The assailants swarmed up the sides of the canyon, and attempted to break in through the foundation of the buildings. But the masonry was stronger than they had anticipated, and the attack failed. Sharp-shooters then climbed the neighboring heights, and kept up an incessant peppering of the walls with conical bullets driven at four thousand feet per second.
No reply came from the gloomy structure. The huge column of black smoke rose uninterruptedly into the sky, and the noise of the great engine never ceased for an instant. The mob gathered closer on all sides and redoubled the fire of the rifles, to which was now added the belching of several machine-guns. Ragged holes began to appear in the walls, and at the sight of these the assailants yelled with delight. It was evident that, the mill could not long withstand so destructive a bombardment. If the besiegers had possessed artillery they would have knocked the buildings into splinters within twenty minutes. As it was, they would need a whole day to win their victory.
Suddenly it became evident that the besieged were about to take a hand in the fight. Thus far they had not shown themselves or fired a shot, but now a movement was perceived on the roof, and the projecting arms of some kind of machinery became visible. Many marksmen concentrated their fire upon the mysterious objects, but apparently with little effect. Bings, mounted on a rock, so as to command a clear view of the field, was on the point, of ordering a party to rush forward with axes and beat down the formidable doors, when there came a blinding flash from the roof, something swished through the air, and a gust of heat met the assailants in the face. Bings dropped dead from his perch, and then, as if the scythe of the Destroyer had swung downward, and to right and left in quick succession, the close-packed mob was levelled, rank after rank, until the few survivors crept behind rocks for refuge.
Instantly the atmospheric broom swept up and down the canyon and across the mountain’s flanks, and the marksmen fell in bunches like shaken grapes. Nine-tenths of the besiegers were destroyed within ten minutes after the first movement had been noticed on the roof. Those who survived owed their escape to the rocks which concealed them, and they lost no time in crawling off into neighboring chasms, and, as soon as they were beyond eye-shot from the mill, they fled with panic speed.
Then the towering form of Dr. Syx appeared at the door. Emerging without sign of fear or excitement, he picked his way among his fallen enemies, and, approaching the military guard-house, undid the fastening and set the imprisoned soldiers free.
“I think I am paying rather dear for my whistle,” he said, with a characteristic sneer, to Captain Carter, the commander of the troop. “It seems that I must not only defend my own people and property when attacked by mob force, but must also come to the rescue of the soldiers whose pay-rolls are met from my pocket.”
The captain made no reply, and Dr. Syx strode back to the works. When the released soldiers saw what had occurred their amazement had no bounds. It was necessary at once to dispose of the dead, and this was no easy undertaking for their small force. However, they accomplished it, and at the beginning of their work made a most surprising discovery.
“How’s this, Jim?” said one of the men to his comrade, as they stooped to lift the nearest victim of Dr. Syx’s withering fire. “What’s this fellow got all over him?”
“Artemisium! ‘pon my soul!” responded “Jim,” staring at the body. “He’s all coated over with it.”
Immediately from all sides came similar exclamations. Every man who had fallen was covered with a film of the precious metal, as if he had been dipped into an e
lectrolytic bath. Clothing seemed to have been charred, and the metallic atoms had penetrated the flesh of the victims. The rocks all round the battlefield were similarly veneered. “It looks to me,” said Captain Carter, “as if old Syx had turned one of his spouts of artemisium into a hose-pipe and soaked ‘em with it.”
“That’s it,” chimed in a lieutenant, “that’s exactly what he’s done.”
“Well,” returned the captain, “if he can do that, I don’t see what use he’s got for us here.”
“Probably he don’t want to waste the stuff,” said the lieutenant. “What do you suppose it cost him to plate this crowd?”
“I guess a month’s pay for the whole troop wouldn’t cover the expense. It’s costly, but then—gracious! Wouldn’t I have given something for the doctor’s hose when I was a youngster campaigning in the Philippines in ‘99?”
The story of the marvellous way in which Dr. Syx defended his mill became the sensation of the world for many days. The hose-pipe theory, struck off on the spot by Captain Carter, seized the popular fancy, and was generally accepted without further question. There was an element of the ludicrous which robbed the tragedy of some of its horror. Moreover, no one could deny that Dr. Syx was well within his rights in defending himself by any means when so savagely attacked, and his triumphant success, no less than the ingenuity which was supposed to underlie it, placed him in an heroic light which he had not hitherto enjoyed.
As to the demagogues who were responsible for the outbreak and its terrible consequences, they slunk out of the public eye, and the result of the battle at the mine seemed to have been a clearing up of the atmosphere, such as a thunderstorm effects at the close of a season of foul weather.
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