The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (101 page)

             
"
Why?" asked Holmes suspiciously.

             
"Well, you see, in fourteen minutes it will be midnight," Chardino told him earnestly. "And tomorrow—is another day."

             
"How do we get out?" Moriarty demanded.

             
"Follow me," Chardino said. He led them down the hallway to a small door.

             
They paused. "That," Holmes said, pointing to the door, "is a closet. I believe this man is in need of the services of an alienist."

             
"When these houses were built," Chardino said, opening the closet door, "some eighty years ago, the builders of the day separated the ceiling of one level from the floor of the next with a dead-air space to minimize the transmission of sound from one story to the next—a practice the architects of today would do well to emulate. In this building the space is two feet deep."

             
"How do you know about that?" Holmes asked.

             
"It is my profession to know such things," Chardino said. "It is such knowledge that enables me to perform miracles." He knelt down and searched with his fingers in a corner of the closet. "There is an access panel," he said. "Here!" He pulled up and the floor of the closet lifted out.

             
"How do you like that!" Barnett exclaimed.

             
"What sort of miracles?" asked Holmes.

             
"The usual sort," Chardino said. "Appearing, disappearing, escaping; what you might expect from a stage magician.
"

             
"
Oh," Holmes said.

             
The sounds from the stairs increased. Now a chopping, cracking sound was added.

             
"They have found an ax," Moriarty said. "If we are going to leave, we should do so expeditiously."

             
"If one of you gentlemen would care to lead the way," Chardino said, "I would suggest that the ladies follow, and then the other two gentlemen. You will have to go single file."

             
"To where?" Barnett asked.

             
"There is no light," Chardino said. "I have placed a cord. Keep it to your left hand. It terminates at an access port leading to another closet on the floor below."

             
"Won't they see us coming out of the closet?" Barnett asked.

             
"It is in a seldom-used room," Chardino said. "And I shall do my best to distract them. Trust me. The art of misdirection is one I understand well. Now, hurry!"

             
Holmes looked doubtful, but he took the lead. It was a tight fit, but he managed to squeeze his lanky body into the small hole. "Here is the cord," came his voice from the black depths. "I shall proceed." A moment later he had disappeared into the narrow, pitch-black world under the floor.

             
Three of the rescued girls dropped into the space without comment, and crawled out of sight after Holmes; but the fourth balked.

             
"I can't!" she cried. "I just can't!"

             
"It's the only way out," Barnett said. "Come on, now, buck up."

             
"I have always been afraid of dark places," she said, backing away from the hole and shaking her head, her eyes wild. "Go without me if you must. I simply cannot crawl down there."

             
Chardino took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. "You must go," he said clearly and simply. "You can do it; this one time you can. You will think of nothing. You will clear your mind of all thought. You will close your eyes and picture a bright meadow, as you crawl on your hands and knees, following the cord. There will be no other thoughts in your mind while you do this, and you will hear only the sound of my voice. I will be telling you that you
can
do it—you
can
do it. It is not hard, for you. Not this once. Not with my voice to guide you through the bright meadow which would be there if your eyes were opened. But they will stay closed. Do you hear me, girl?"

             
"Yes," she said, staring back into his eyes. "Yes, I hear you.
"

             
"
Do you understand?
"

             
"
Yes, I understand."

             
"Then go! Remember, I am with you. You will hear my voice, as now, comforting you. For the sake of my daughter, go!"

             
The girl turned and lowered herself into the hole. In a second she was gone from sight.

             
Cecily Perrine was next. She dropped easily into the hole and crawled away.

             
The other two girls followed. As Barnett was about to go after them, he heard a splintering crash. "That's from the stairs; they must have chopped through!" he exclaimed.

             
"Go!" Moriarty commanded. "I wish to have a brief word with Professor Chardino, but I will follow right behind."

             
Barnett turned and lowered himself into the hole. He found the cord, a thin, very rough twine, and followed it into the dark. Ahead of him he could hear the sliding, thumping sound of the girl who had preceded him. Behind him, nothing.

             
It was not easy going; he found himself crossing over joists every few feet and ducking under beams the alternate feet. Once he got into the pattern of crawling, however, he found he could move steadily. But where was Moriarty? He should have been close behind him.

             
There was a sudden rattle from overhead, a stamping of feet, a banging of doors. If Moriarty wasn't on his way now, he would never make it. If the hatch in the closet wasn't closed, they would probably none of them make it. The Count d'Hiver would, assuredly, allow none of them to live.

             
There, ahead of him, was a glimmer of light from below. It rapidly grew clearer as he crawled, and then he found himself staring down into the illumination of one candle in an otherwise empty closet. He lowered himself down, carefully avoiding the candle. The door was open, and the others awaited him in the room beyond.

             
It seemed like an hour, although it could not have been more than a minute, before Moriarty's feet appeared at the trap, and the professor dropped into the closet. "Everyone made it safely?" he asked, looking around. "According to our friend, the front door is around to the left. We have no time to spare. Don't stop for anything! The masked men will have gone upstairs in response to d'Hiver's yells. They will be occupied for a time seeking us. We should have little interference down here. Stay close together."

             
"What of Chardino?" Barnett asked.

             
"He is keeping our opposition busy by flitting from room to room and drawing them deeper into the house," Moriarty told him. "Come!" He led the way from the little room and down a short corridor to the left, which terminated at a closed door. They met no one. Holmes, taking the lead, opened the door cautiously, peered through, and then closed it.

             
"As you thought, it is the entrance hall," Holmes whispered. "Front door to the right, gambling rooms to the left. There are six of them, that I could see, standing by the door and doing their best to look vicious. D'Hiver must have alerted them."

             
"Six?" Moriarty thought for a second. "No matter; we shall have to rush them." He grabbed a chair. "Keep the ladies back here. Put your masks on—it might gain us a second."

             
Barnett took a deep breath and prepared to follow Moriarty. He was, he decided, becoming a fatalist.

             
"Now!" Moriarty whispered, and the three of them plunged through the door, Holmes in the center, Barnett hugging the wall on the left, and Moriarty—his chair held chest-high—on the right. The six by the door froze for a moment, staring at the oncoming trio. Perhaps it was the chair that puzzled them. But then, with an assortment of oaths that would have been out of place in any respectable men's club, they rushed to the defense. In a second Barnett found himself assaulted by several men larger than himself.

             
The area was too small for any effective punching, kicking, or gouging on either side, and there was no room for the use of sticks or canes. Barnett was finding it all he could do to remain where he was, while Holmes, with a flurry of brilliant boxing, was holding three men off and actually making a little progress.

             
Moriarty, parrying one gigantic doorguard off with his chair, made a dash for the small cloakroom door to the right of the hall. Once inside, he heaved his chair through the small window facing the street, and then ran back to the hall in time to pull a guard off Barnett.

             
About twenty seconds after the chair went through the window, they heard battering sounds from outside the front door. A minute later Colonel Moran burst through, brass knuckles on each fist, at the head of a flying squad of Moriarty's minions. Colonel Moran scattered the resistance before him like a child scattering marbles, and in seconds the way was clear.

             
"Good!" Moriarty called. "Now out, quickly, all of you!"

             
"Let us clean the place out," Colonel Moran insisted.

             
"Trust me, Colonel," Moriarty told him. "It shall be done. But you get the boys out of here and away—now!"

             
The habits of a military lifetime were too ingrained to permit argument. Moran barely resisted saluting. "Yes, sir," he said, and gathered his troop before him on his way back out the door.

             
"Let us get the ladies, Barnett," Moriarty called. "Quickly now!" He went to the door behind which they waited and shooed them into the hall like a mother hen.

             
Barnett paused at the cloakroom door and grabbed an armful of capes and overcoats, wrapping one around the shoulders of each girl as she passed out into the rain. Moriarty, after seeing them start safely out, darted back to the door of the large gambling room. "Quick!" he called to the house girls who were lounging about awaiting the return of the masked men. "Out into the street! No time to explain! The police are coming! Move—move!"

             
The urgency in his voice must have communicated itself to the women, because they boiled out of the room and joined him in a mad dash through the outer door.

             
Barnett stopped on the pavement about one hundred feet from the house to gather the young ladies in his charge. "Around the corner," he told them. "There's a carriage. We won't all fit—"

             
"I have a four-wheeler on the next block," Holmes volunteered. "It's a rotten shame, isn't it?"

             
"What?" Barnett asked.

             
"Whistling for a policeman would accomplish nothing. One or two bobbies could not prevent that assemblage from dispersing all over London. We'll be lucky to apprehend more than a couple of them. There's no way I can get a raiding party here from Scotland Yard in time to do any good at all."

             
"I wouldn't worry about it," Moriarty said, coming up behind them. He had his watch out, and was staring at the face.