The Haunted Fountain by Margaret Sutton

  CHAPTER XV

  A Broken Water Pipe

  Judy hesitated only a minute. Somehow, she felt she and Horace ought tohave Dick’s permission before they did anything as drastic as breakingdown the door to his prison.

  “Is it all right?” she called, but there was no answer.

  They waited a moment more. The beam was ready, but was the prisonerready to meet their onslaught? When there was no sound other than therushing of water overhead and the constant _drip_, _drip_ from theleaky pipes, they shouted a second warning.

  “Keep away from the door!”

  With this they rushed ahead, but on the first try they succeeded onlyin cracking a lower door panel. A moan from inside told them theprisoner had been disturbed by the commotion. But still he said nothingin answer to their calls.

  A second assault brought forth more moans. Judy became worried. “Let’snot try that again, Horace,” she pleaded. “If he’s fallen against thedoor we could really hurt him. There must be a better way.”

  “If there is,” her brother said, “I’m sure I can’t think of it. Wewon’t hurt him if he keeps back—”

  “But can he? I’m afraid he may have fainted. The floor is all wet fromthose dripping pipes. If he’s fallen face down in the water—”

  “We have to get him out,” Horace finished. “We agree on that.”

  “But not by hurting him.” Judy’s suspicions of the prisoner wereforgotten. She was all sympathy now. She called gently, “We’re sorry,Dick! We didn’t mean to frighten you. We were just trying to get in andhelp—”

  “Help!”

  The cry sounded so faint and far away that it puzzled Judy.

  “Was that only an echo?” she asked.

  Horace did not answer. He was examining the crack in the lower panel.Presently he stood up, flashlight in hand.

  “You may be right, sis,” he said. “There may be a better way. Watchthis.”

  Horace placed the flat of his hand against the cracked door panel andpushed with all his might. Judy heard a crack as a piece of the panelgave way and left a narrow opening through which her brother beamed hisflashlight.

  “Horrors!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I hope we’renot too late.”

  “Is he Dick Hartwell?”

  “Take a look for yourself,” he suggested, moving away from the opening.“He’s in pretty bad shape, whoever he is. Dick’s young, but this manlooks old. Or is he? It’s hard to tell under all that brush.”

  Judy couldn’t be sure of the man’s identity either. She peered throughthe opening in the door panel while Horace held the flashlight. Therewas no window in the cell-like room. There was no light at all, noteven a candle. A small table, one chair and a cot in the corner wereits only furnishings. Across the uncovered springs of the cot the manwas sprawled, his bearded face turned toward the wall. His clothing wasin tatters. He lay there motionless.

  “Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he is dying,” Judy whispered.

  “Get hold of the beam and we’ll smash the other door panel,” Horacesaid urgently. “We can’t hurt him if he stays over there in the corner,and maybe we can still help him. Ready?”

  “I’m ready, Horace!”

  He lay there motionless]

  “Let her go!”

  This time they rammed the beam against the door with such force thatboth panels shattered and the beam went up like one end of a seesaw. Itbanged one of the pipes, and water began to pour out of it in a steadystream. Horace stared at it, his face turning pale.

  “Now what have we done?” gasped Judy. “We tried to help, but just lookwhat we’ve done! The tunnel will surely be flooded now!”

  “The drain—will take care of it.” Horace spoke jerkily and withoutconviction. Judy could tell that he feared the worst.

  The water from the broken pipe did seem to be running toward the drain.It was icy cold. Judy wet her handkerchief in it and hurried over tothe cot where the prisoner lay. She placed the handkerchief on hisforehead, wiping away the beads of cold perspiration that stood there.

  “He is Dick Hartwell,” she told Horace.

  Her brother was about to follow her through the opening they had brokenin the door, but she called to him, “Warm your coat to wrap around him.Take it over to the furnace and get it good and warm. He’s in shock, Ithink. Poor Dick! What have they done to you?”

  She took his hand and found it cold. He seemed to have collapsed,perhaps from fear when the water pipe burst. The thing to do was torevive him quickly. Judy began to rub his hands, trying to start thecirculation. His breath came in shallow gasps. She could scarcely feelhis pulse.

  “Hurry, Horace!” she called.

  But Horace was already there with the warm coat. Judy threw her owncoat on top of it.

  “Dick! Dick!” she called. “Wake up! You have to wake up and help us.The water is pouring in here. We have to get you out!”

  The man let out a long, gasping breath and opened his eyes. Judy’s facemust have looked like the face of an angel as the beam from Horace’sflashlight fell upon it. “Where am I?” Dick asked. “Is this heaven?”

  “It is not!” Horace had to laugh in spite of their predicament. “Mysister says it’s too far down. Is there a way out—besides that holeunder the cupids, I mean? How did you get in?”

  “They ... pushed me.”

  “Into the fountain, you mean? We heard you moaning and thought it mustbe haunted. How long have you been here?” asked Judy.

  “Days.” Evidently Dick didn’t remember how many, but Judy could imaginehow long it must have seemed. He had been without food or any othercomfort. This much he told them in a hoarse, whispery voice. It washard to make out what he said.

  “Who locked you in?” questioned Horace.

  “Roger. You know him. He’s ... no friend ... made me ... lose job. Toldthem ... my record. That ... fixed me ... gave me ... no peace ...anywhere. Now ... too late!”

  Talking seemed to be too much of an effort, and he broke off here,looking beseechingly at Judy.

  “It’s all right, Dick. We understand. You don’t have to tell us anymore.”

  “But I want to,” he protested in a louder tone. “They made me ... signpapers. When I ... refused ... they beat me up.... Bad shape. Can’twalk.”

  “We’ll get you out of here somehow,” Horace promised. “Who did it?Roger and Cubby?”

  Dick nodded. After taking another deep breath, he added, “and Falco.He’s ... boss. He made me ... copy signatures ... important men.”

  “Can you remember any of the names you copied?”

  Dick did remember a few of them. He whispered them in such a low tonethat Horace had to lean close to him in order to hear. Judy heard onlythe water.

  “It’s rising!” she exclaimed. “The drain isn’t carrying it away as fastas it comes in. I didn’t think it would. I—”

  She stopped. Horace wasn’t listening. He was busy taking notes, gettingDick’s story down in black and white. He had his flashlight propped upon the table. But Judy, flashing hers in the direction of the brokenwater pipe, saw the flood he seemed to be ignoring.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she cried. “Didn’t you hear me? How canyou sit there with your little black notebook when water is pouring inall around us? No story is that important!”

  “This one is,” replied Horace. He calmly removed a piece of chocolatefrom his pocket, unwrapped it, and handed it to the man on the cot.“Eat it slowly,” he urged. “It will give you strength. You say theybrought food, but wouldn’t give it to you. Then what happened?”

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