CHAPTER XXTHE PACE QUICKENS"So you are my nephew Percy," said Mr. Pratt when Warrender had gone. "Light the lamp and let me look at you. I don't recognise you. When was our last meeting?""About ten years ago," replied Pratt, surprised at his uncle's calm demeanour. "You tanned me for picking one of your peaches.""Did I?" Mr. Pratt smiled. "You were always a mischievous young ruffian. But how do you come here? Do you bear an olive branch from that cantankerous father of yours?""I came through the tunnel," Pratt began, ignoring the aspersion upon his father. Mr. Pratt interrupted him."What tunnel?""The tunnel between No Man's Island and this tower. Didn't you know of it?""I never heard of it before. Who told you about it?""We discovered it by accident. My chums and I came for a boating holiday, and camped on the island. We have had----""You saw my signals?" his uncle interposed."Yes, and----""And the police are informed? These villains will be arrested?""Well, as a matter of fact, Uncle," said Pratt, and was again interrupted."You did not? Then I am afraid you and your companions have tumbled into a hornets' nest, young man. As we are to have apparently a few minutes' leisure, I think you had better put me wise, as our American friends say, about the essential facts of the situation. How many do you muster?"Pratt, in the exalted mood of a rescuer, and himself bursting with questions, was a little dashed by his uncle's cool matter-of-fact manner."There are three of us," he said. "We got in through the tunnel, and found one man below at the printing press.""A printing press! Indeed! What literature are my guardians disseminating?""Forged notes.""Forgers!" ejaculated Mr. Pratt, for the first time showing signs of agitation. "Things are worse than I dreamed. You are sure of what you say?""Absolutely. We found the watermarked paper.""The scoundrels! You had better get away. If these fellows are an international gang of forgers they will have no scruples. The lives of you and your companions are not worth a rap. Leave me. Get away while there is time. Inform the police and leave matters in their hands.""It's too late for that," said Pratt. "We have trussed up the man downstairs. Our only idea was to rescue you. If we left you now the others would find Jensen and know that the game is up. They might shoot you. We must get you away now at all costs.""It is utter folly. Hare-brained adventuring! I fear you are right; it is too late. I must join forces with you when this chain is broken. I blame myself that my signals have let you young fellows into this terrible trap.""We had suspicions before we saw them--in fact, ever since we heard about your staff of foreign servants.""Yes, yes. I have been frightfully deluded. No doubt it is the talk of the village. I engaged my cook and gardener through an advertisement. The cook introduced that scoundrel Gradoff as an unfortunate Russian nobleman driven from his country. The plausible wretch engaged the others. They seemed a respectable, hard-working set of men. I was making hurried arrangements for a trip to North Africa via Paris. Gradoff gave me every assistance. I was on the point of starting. They kidnapped me and shut me up here. I thought their sole motive was robbery. Gradoff tried to get me to sign cheques for large amounts. I flatly refused, of course. They adopted starvation tactics, threatened to murder me; but I have looked death in the face too often to purchase life at such a price. They dropped these efforts some time ago, but I suspected that Gradoff was forging my name, and thought he would liberate me as soon as he had fleeced me bare.""And how did you signal, with the windows boarded up?" asked Pratt."With handfuls of flock from my mattress dipped in paraffin, stuck on a lath from my bed and poked up the chimney. Gradoff discovered me last night. I was in the chimney. He had gone to the roof, saw the flame emerge, and snatched the lath from my hands. He whipped out his pistol and threatened to shoot me. I laughed at him; asked him whether he wished to add murder to forgery; he gave me a curious stare at that. I reminded him that we still retain capital punishment. He cursed me and left. This morning he brought the chain. No doubt he would have killed me if there had been anything to gain by my death; but he must have supposed that the signals had not been seen; they had had no apparent result. You say you had suspicions before you saw the signals. Why?--apart from the usual British distrust of foreigners."Pratt was beginning to recount the series of incidents that had occurred since the arrival on No Man's Island when there came a hail from below. He went to the top of the stairs."What is it, Armstrong?""Can you come down for a moment?"Pratt ran downstairs."I didn't want to alarm your uncle," said Armstrong, "but just now, looking through a chink in the boards, I saw four men coming towards the tower. What are we to do?"Pratt went to the boarded window and looked out."Gradoff and the chauffeur," he said. "The other two I haven't seen before. We might have tackled two; let 'em in and bagged them. But four!--probably armed, like Jensen. It's no go.""We can only lie low, then, and play for time. The door's a stout piece of timber, and it's not so easy to blow off a bolt as to blow in a lock.""Don't speak," whispered Pratt, "they're just here."The handle of the door was turned. Then came a sharp knock. A pause of a few seconds; then a more peremptory knock and Gradoff's voice."Jensen!"The Swede prostrate against the wall wriggled and emitted a low gurgling noise through his gag. The boys glanced at him; he was unable to release his limbs; the sound could not have been heard through the thick door.A third time Gradoff knocked. He rattled the door-handle, repeated his call, with the addition of sundry violent expletives. The boys remained tensely silent.The voices without subsided. Conversation was still carried on, but in lower tones."Probably they think he is downstairs getting paper," whispered Pratt. "There's nothing alarming at present.""But they'll smell a rat if he doesn't soon answer. What then?""They may think he has fallen ill or something.""And then?""Well, I can't answer for the intelligence of Gradoff and company, but if I were in his shoes I should either break in the door or send some one round by the tunnel. You see, he can't have the ghost of an idea what has happened. And if his game were discovered, he wouldn't expect to find the place merely closed against him.""I dare say you're right. But don't you think you had better go through the tunnel and hurry Phil up? We should be in a pretty tight place if Gradoff did send a man or two round, and we found, when we had released your uncle, that the exit at the other end was blocked.""I don't care about leaving you alone. Suppose they broke in while I was away?""Two wouldn't be much better than one against four armed ruffians. And they'd guess that you and Phil had gone to fetch the police, and I fancy they'd be too anxious to save their skins to bother much about me. At any rate, I'll risk it. I think you had better go. In fact, when you meet Phil, why not go and tell Mr. Crawshay how things stand? Phil and I will get your uncle away if it's possible, and though I don't suppose Crawshay could do anything to secure the gang--there's apparently only one policeman--he might 'phone or wire the authorities, and set every one on the qui vive for miles around.""All right. If I'm going, better go at once, before any one has time to go round by the cottage. I'll consult Phil about your suggestion, and go to Crawshay if he agrees. I wish I had the torch. I shall have to grope my way along the tunnel, but I'll be as quick as I can."He ran noiselessly down the stairs. The flagstone was upright, as it had been left. He jumped into the cavity, crossed the store-room, entered the tunnel on the farther side, and hurried along as rapidly as the darkness allowed. Now and again he stopped to strike a match and to listen for Warrender's footsteps, but he reached the end without having seen or heard anything of his friend.By the light of a match he saw that the flagstone was slightly depressed. Then he caught sight of Warrender's electric torch lying on the ground, and was seized with a vague uneasiness. He picked up the torch. Revolving the stone, he heard something slide with a metallic rattle along its surface, and felt a smart blow on one of his feet. He flashed the torch, and saw a hammer and a chisel. Still more uneasy, he clambered up into the cellar, and without lowering the flagstone, climbed on to the staircase."You there, Phil?" he called up.There was no answer. The door at the top was open. He rushed up, ran through the kitchen and the corridor to the front of the cottage, and looked anxiously around. No one was in view."What on earth is he doing?" he thought.It was clear that Warrender had fetched the tools from the motor-boat and returned to the cellar. Why then had he left them there? Where had he gone? What could have interrupted him?Pratt felt himself on the horns of a painful dilemma. He had now the instruments of his uncle's deliverance; one impulse urged him to hurry with them back to the tower. On the other hand, Warrender's disappearance argued that something untoward had happened, and he was loth to leave the spot without making an attempt to find him. For a few moments he stood in the doorway, weighing the one course against the other. A search for Warrender might prove fruitless, and in any case would take time. Meanwhile affairs at the tower might be developing in a way that would nullify the prime motive that had actuated them all--the release of his uncle. It seemed that this had a paramount claim upon him, and he turned, reluctantly, to retrace his steps to the cellar.As he passed the foot of the staircase to the upper floor, it occurred to him that from the windows there, giving a wider outlook over the surroundings of the cottage, he might see Warrender approaching: perhaps, indeed, as the result of an after-thought, he had made a second visit to the motor-boat. Pratt ran upstairs, and going from room to room, threw a searching glance upon the prospect. Neither on the eastern side nor on the western was there anything to attract his attention. But looking out of the window of the room facing south, he noticed that the foliage of the thicket beyond the weedy path was violently disturbed. Some one was moving in it, towards the ruins. He watched eagerly: surely it was Warrender returning. Presently two legs came into view; but they were not Warrender's. They were encased in rusty brown leggings. In another moment the figure of Rush emerged from the thicket upon the path, and immediately behind him was a second form, that of a tall and heavily built man with a broad flattish face. When free from the thicket they quickened their pace.Pratt hesitated no longer. The men were evidently making for the ruins: perhaps they intended to proceed along the tunnel. It was imperative that he should anticipate them. He hastened downstairs, and had just reached the cellar when he heard clumping footsteps overhead. Leaping into the cavity, he swung the stone over, turned the hand-grips, and by the light of the torch bolted along the tunnel. After running about twenty yards he switched off the light and stopped. Voices came from behind him; then he heard two heavy thuds in succession; the men had jumped into the tunnel. The flagstone banged as it was swung carelessly into place; the men were coming after him. Without more delay he set forward with all speed, guiding himself by touching the walls with his outstretched hands.CHAPTER XXITRAPPEDMeanwhile, what had happened to Warrender?On entering the cottage by way of the tunnel and the cellar, he went upstairs to make a careful survey of the surroundings, saw no sign of the enemy, and hurried across the island to the pram, in which he crossed the river unobserved. In less than ten minutes he was back at the cottage with the hammer and chisel taken from his motor-boat. As he was on the point of re-opening the trap, he found that the electric torch showed a much feebler light than before, and if it gave out before Mr. Pratt was brought away, the flight through the tunnel might be dangerously delayed. It seemed worth while to pay another rapid visit to the camp for the purpose of getting a small hand lamp or a couple of candles. Laying the hammer and chisel under the staircase, he went up again, once more crossed the island, found one candle in the motorboat, and returned without delay.It happened, however, that as he left the cottage on this second journey, Rush and his big flat-faced companion were approaching it from the south. Unseen themselves, they caught sight of Warrender as he emerged from the entrance, watched him until he had disappeared into the thicket, waited a few minutes, then entered the cottage and descended to the cellar. They had no light, and Warrender had taken the precaution of carefully replacing the flagstone; but in his haste he had omitted to close the upright slab beneath the lowest step, leaving open the access to the handgrips. Rush was suspicious. The gap might have been left open, of course, by one of the confederates; on the other hand, it was possible that the secret passage had been discovered by the boy he had seen leaving the cottage. The boy might return, and Rush allowed his curiosity to delay the visit to the tower on which he had been summoned. It was an error of judgment that had important consequences.He posted himself with his companion in a remote corner of the cellar, and waited.Some ten minutes later, Warrender came down the steps. He flashed his torch to light the opening, retrieved the hammer and chisel, and laid them down on the flagstone while he inserted his arm in the gap to turn the hand-grips. All the time his back was towards the men lurking within twenty feet of him. As he sprawled over the stone, there was a sudden noise behind him. Hastily withdrawing his hand, he half rose, but too late. Seized by powerful hands and taken at a disadvantage, he was helpless. His torch fell into the gap, and in the darkness he was dragged up the stairs between his captors."Cotched 'en!" chuckled Rush, as they lugged him through the hall. "What'll we do with 'en, Sibelius?""Kill!" said the Finn. "Throw in river!""No, no, that won't do!" said Rush. "He bain't alone. There's the other young devils. It bain't safe. I think of my neck. No; we'll take 'en down to the hut and tie 'en up; he'll be out of harm's way there, and in a few hours it won't matter."Like most Englishmen in speaking to a foreigner, he shouted, and the Finn warned him to speak more quietly: the prisoner would hear all he said."What do it matter?" laughed Rush. "Let 'en hear--by the time his friends find 'en we'll be far away. Curious 'tis, that we've cotched 'en the very last day. If it'd a been yesterday, we might havehadto kill 'en. We'll stuff up his mouth, though; t'others may be about."Pulling Warrender's handkerchief from his pocket, he rolled it up, and thrust it between the lad's teeth. Warrender ruefully reflected that just in such a way had Jensen been gagged that morning. Then the men hauled him through the thicket towards the point of the island where Rush moored his boat."I say, Sibelius," remarked Rush, when they were half-way there, "I reckon we'd better not take 'en to the hut after all. 'Twill take time, and we don't know where his mates be. Better go and tell the boss all about it; he'd be fair mad if anything spoilt his game the last moment.""What we do, then?" asked the Finn."We'll truss 'en up: plenty of rope in the boat; and put 'en in among the bushes. He'll be snug enough there."He chuckled. Dismayed at the prospect opened before him, Warrender, who had hitherto offered no resistance, made a sudden dive towards the ground, at the same time throwing out his leg in an attempt to trip the bulkier of his captors. But though he succeeded in freeing one arm, and causing the Finn to stumble, he had no time to wrench himself from Rush's grip before the other man had recovered his balance and seized him in a clutch of iron."Best come quiet!" growled Rush, "or there's no saying what we might do to you. I've got a tender heart," he chuckled, "but my mate 'ud as soon kill a man as a rat."Arrived at the boat, they threw him into the bottom, and the Finn held him down while Rush swiftly roped his arms and legs together. Then they carried him a few yards into the thicket, and laid him down in a spot where he was completely hidden from any one who might pass within arm's length of him.[image]"RUSH SWIFTLY ROPED HIS ARMS AND LEGS TOGETHER.""Now we'll traipse through to the tower," said Rush. "He'll take a deal of finding, I'm thinking!"The men struck away towards the ruins, satisfied that their victim could not escape, and that his hiding-place was not likely to be discovered until discovery mattered nothing. They had not noticed, however, that while the trussing was in progress, Warrender's cap had fallen off, and now lay between two of the thwarts of the boat.Pratt, hurrying along the tunnel with the hammer and chisel, and knowing that he was pursued, felt that he had done rightly in not making a prolonged search for Warrender. His sole pre-occupation now was the necessity of outstripping his pursuers by an interval sufficient to allow him time to block up their ingress to the tower. If Armstrong was still unmolested, and Mr. Pratt could be set free, the three were capable of dealing with the two men in the tunnel, and might make good their escape before Gradoff and his confederates at the tower door had any inkling of the true situation.He soon understood that he was gaining on the men behind; but he presently became aware that, not far ahead of him, daylight seemed to have percolated into the tunnel. For a moment he was nonplussed until he remembered the dry well. It then occurred to him in a flash that some one must have removed the boards that had lain across the top of the well, and he was seized with a misgiving. Had Gradoff, unable to obtain admittance to the tower, bethought himself of this opening into the tunnel from above, and lowered one or more of his men, who had already made their way to the end, and perhaps overpowered Armstrong?Taking advantage of the faint illumination of the tunnel, he quickened his pace. In a moment or two he saw to his consternation a man swing down the well, and on reaching the ground, begin to release himself from the rope that was looped under his arms. It was not a time for hesitation. Pratt dashed forward, flung himself against the man before he was free from the rope, and drove him doubled up against the wall. The man yelled; from the top of the well forty feet above them came excited shouts; and out of the tunnel behind sounded hoarse reverberating cries from the pursuers, who must have seen what had happened. Pratt plunged into the tunnel beyond, and, sprinting along with reckless haste, arrived in a few minutes breathless at the end, where the flagstone was still raised as he had left it.He sprang up, slammed down the flagstone behind him, and let out a lusty cry for Armstrong to join him."They're after me--at least three of them!" he exclaimed, as Armstrong came leaping down the stairs. "Help me to lug these boxes on to the flagstone."The crates and boxes ranged along the wall were empty, and their weight alone would not have sufficed to resist the pressure of determined men below. But the roof was low-pitched, and the boys saw that by piling box upon box they could create an obstruction which would defy all efforts to remove it. With feverish haste they dragged the boxes across the floor, and had already placed them one upon another when they heard footsteps beneath, and felt a movement of the flagstone."Another box will do it," said Armstrong. "You must heave it up while I stand on the stone."He placed himself on the half of the stone that moved upwards as it revolved, and bore down with all his weight. Pratt pulled over a fourth box, and, standing on the projecting edge of that which formed the base of the pile, managed with some difficulty to shove it on to the top, where a space of no more than two or three inches separated it from the roof."Good man!" said Armstrong, stepping off the stone.The pressure below raised it perhaps three inches, then it stuck."We'll put another pile on each side, to make all secure," said Armstrong. "Then I think we needn't worry."With less haste they erected the buttress piles, listening grimly to the hoarse curses of Rush, and shriller cries from a foreigner by whose voice they recognised the Italian chauffeur. In a few minutes their work was done. Short of an explosion, nothing could dislodge the jam of boxes between the flagstone and the roof.Panting from the strain of their exertions, they went up into the tower."Where's Phil?" asked Armstrong."I don't know," replied Pratt, going on to relate rapidly his discovery at the end of the tunnel."They've got him, I expect," said Armstrong. "Though I can't make out how they came to leave this hammer and chisel.""What has happened here?" asked Pratt."Nothing. Gradoff and the others waited outside for a bit, talking quietly. I couldn't understand what they said. Then Gradoff sent the chauffeur towards the house, and by and by went off himself in the direction of the river, leaving the two strangers behind. Evidently he had sent the chauffeur for a rope. Perhaps he thought Jensen had drunk himself silly, and decided to let a man down the well--a much shorter way than going across to the island and entering by the tunnel. The fat's in the fire now. If we release your uncle we can't get him away.""No," replied Pratt, looking through the chink in the boards. "Here they come: Gradoff, Rod, the Pole, the whole gang except the fellows below. It strikes me we are squarely trapped."Looking towards the prisoner on the floor, Armstrong fancied he caught a malignant gleam in the man's eyes."On the whole," he said quietly, "I'm inclined to agree with you."CHAPTER XXIIA PARLEY"You're more hefty with tools than I am," said Pratt to Armstrong. "So if you'll run upstairs and smash that chain off my uncle, I'll keep an eye on what's happening outside.""Right," replied Armstrong. "The hammer strikes me as a bit light for the job, but one can only try. Yell if you want me."Taking the hammer and chisel, he leapt up the winding staircase to the topmost room. Mr. Pratt was thoughtfully drawing his fingers through his beard."So you are the third member of the trio," he said."Yes, I'm Armstrong. If you'll kindly stretch the chain tight over the edge of the bed, I'll do my best to break a link. I'm afraid I shall jar you, but----""Don't consider that. Make your break as near my leg as you can.""I'll break the loop. Are you ready, sir?""Quite."For perhaps two minutes the room echoed and re-echoed with the metallic din of hammering. The chisel was of finely tempered steel, and Armstrong compensated the lightness of the hammer by the vigour of his blows. A link snapped, the chain clanked upon the floor, and the prisoner stood up, free."Very neatly done," said he. "And now I will go below and join you and your companions in a council of war.""There are only two of us now, sir," said Armstrong. "Warrender didn't come back."As they went downstairs he related succinctly the events of the last three-quarters of an hour. Mr. Pratt made no comment. Entering first the room at the bottom, he threw a glance on the printing press, the piles of paper, and the Swede glowering on the floor; then he turned to his nephew."Well, Percy, what is going on?" he asked."Nothing, Uncle. I haven't seen any of the men. D'you think they see the game is up, and have bolted?""I think not, judging by what your friend has just told me. It appears that they have captured the other man--Warrender, I think you called him--and they know that you two are here. It seems improbable that they will decamp already. They outnumber you hopelessly, and it is more than likely that there is a large number of forged notes in the tower which they will secure if they can.""Well, as the coast seems clear, can't we get away?" asked Percy. "We came to rescue you; our job's done.""But, if you'll permit me, mine is just beginning," said Mr. Pratt. "Do you suppose that I'd be content to walk meekly away, and let the pack of scoundrels who have made my house a hotbed of crime get off with the fruits of their villainy?" The old gentleman spoke warmly. "I've knocked about the world for more than thirty years, been in many tight corners, and I've never knuckled under to man, beast, or circumstance. This is the tightest of them all, and, by the Lord Harry, I'll make a fight for it. You young fellows----""We're with you, sir," cried Armstrong, enthusiastically."Rather!" exclaimed Pratt. "If you're game, Uncle Ambrose----""Let us keep cool," returned his uncle. "I'm no longer under any illusions as to the character of the wretches I was misguided enough to employ. They are forgers--that is bad enough--but before they were forgers they were anarchists, members of that fraternity of fools whose ideas, put into practice, would turn the world into a hell. There are no more reckless malefactors than these international gangs who exercise their criminal propensities under the cloak of political enthusiasm. Make no mistake, young fellows; in resisting Gradoff and his gang we take our lives in our hands. In their eyes we are of less value than rats.""We've got to keep 'em out, then," said Percy."Let us keep cool, I repeat. Let us discuss the situation.""Yes, sir," said Armstrong, somewhat amazed at the professional manner of the old gentleman; "but time's flying, and----""Therefore it is vitally important that we should focus our attention. As I read the situation, we shall have to stand a siege. Gradoff determines to save his forged notes, if not his accomplice yonder. The question is, what will he do?""I know what I'd do if I----" began Pratt, but his uncle silenced him with a gesture."What you would do is not in question. What Gradoff will do we must infer from the probabilities. His final aim must be to get away quickly with his booty. His booty is inaccessible while we hold the tower. Therefore he must either persuade or compel us to let him in. Finding persuasion, reinforced by menace, futile, he will attempt compulsion. That is to say, he will bring up all his men and try to force the door. It is useless for us to blink facts--just peep through the crack, Percy, and see if he is already moving."Percy reported that still there was no one in sight."Then we will continue our calm conference. Gradoff had four men under him at my house. One of them, Jensen, the Swede, lies there. From what you tell me he employs also Rush, and another foreigner whom I have never seen. You tell me that two strangers--by their appearance foreigners--came with him to the tower to-day. Therefore we are three against eight.""But we are inside," said Percy."As a chicken is inside an egg. The shell can be cracked. That door, stout as it is, can be hacked through, blown in, or battered down. Probably they will not risk an explosion; it might attract even our stolid village policeman to the scene. Defending our position with such poor weapons as we have, we cannot prevent the enemy from sooner or later forcing an entrance.""These are surely arguments for scuttling, sir, while we have time," said Armstrong."I am not arguing, but calmly stating facts," returned Mr. Pratt. "Scuttle! Is it conceivable that I shall scuttle for fear of this pirate crew, who have half-starved me, chained me up, carried on their dastardly work under my roof? But let me keep cool," he added, checking the tide of indignation. "The villains break in, I say, sooner or later. What then? With your assistance I propose to defend the stairs. The winding of the staircase is in favour of the defence. In so narrow a space the assailants lose the advantage of numbers. With resolution we shall hold our own.""But that can't go on indefinitely, Uncle," said Pratt. "They could starve us out.""Hardly; for this reason. You will be missed from your camp. Mr. Crawshay, you tell me, knows that you are making investigations. Your prolonged absence will alarm him; he will raise a hue and cry. Gradoff is perfectly aware that what he has to do must be done quickly. If we can withstand him for twenty-four hours, he is a beaten man.""You think, then, sir, that they will give it up within twenty-four hours and then bolt?" said Armstrong."That is my forecast. They will save their skins and lose their forged notes, which are no doubt hidden away somewhere in the tower. Take another look out, Percy."The boy peered through the crack in the boarding, and again reported no one in sight."Come with me to the roof," said his uncle. "From there we can survey a wide extent of the park. Armstrong will oblige me by remaining on guard."He led the way up the stairs to the topmost room. Here he opened a low door in the wall, which gave access to a short flight of steps leading to the flat roof. Looking out towards the river, they saw a group of men gathered about the well-head. A moment later they caught sight of Gradoff and the two strangers approaching the tower from the direction of the house. Mr. Pratt leant over the parapet in full view, watching them. One of the strangers noticed him, and caught Gradoff by the arm. The Russian looked up, halted, and seemed for a moment to be taken aback. The three men spoke rapidly together, then advanced to the foot of the tower. Gradoff tried the door. Retreating a few steps, he called up--"Holà!""Well?" said Mr. Pratt, leaning on the parapet."Come down and open the door. I have a proposition to make.""Make it now. I can hear you quite well.""You have Olof Jensen in the tower?""He is a prisoner. Yes.""I also have a prisoner--one of three boys. I exchange him for Jensen, on condition that you come out with the other two.""And then?""You shall go free, provided you promise to remain quietly in the park for two hours and do not approach the house.""You would accept my promise?""Certainly.""And what assurance have I that you would keep yours?""You have my word, witnessed by my friends here.""And what is your word worth, by whomsoever witnessed?"Gradoff's habitual smoothness left him. Shaking his fist, he shouted--"I will show you what my word is worth. If you do not unbolt the door we shall kill you like--like a dog. I give you one minute."Mr. Pratt leant motionless on the parapet, gazing down at the three men with a grim smile. Beside him his nephew, tingling with excitement, felt unbounded admiration for this strange uncle of his. The minute passed in silence. Gradoff, watch in hand, paced restlessly about. His friends stood together.At the end of the minute Gradoff thrust his watch into his pocket."Look out, Uncle!" cried Percy.One of the strangers had whipped out a revolver with extraordinary rapidity and fired point-blank at the motionless figure above. Mr. Pratt did not wince--showed neither fear nor agitation. Slowly unfolding his arms, he stood erect and turned to his nephew."Come," he said, "I think it is time we went below."CHAPTER XXIII"VI ET ARMIS"When uncle and nephew regained the lower floor they found that Armstrong had not been idle. From one side of the room he had hauled a long, stout table and set it up endwise against the door, between that and the printing press."Capital!" said Mr. Pratt. "You have doubled the thickness of our armour. But, in default of sandbags, we must find something to strengthen our defences still further.""I had thought of that, sir," said Armstrong. "There's nothing but this bale of paper and the sheets already printed. I think they will pretty well fill the space between the press and the door; if not we can get some of the boxes from below. They are no longer needed there.""Excellent idea! You young fellows set about that while I keep watch."In a few minutes the boys had wedged the paper and a number of boxes into the vacant space, so as to form almost a solid block. Mr. Pratt meanwhile reported the movements of the enemy without."Gradoff is surrounded by his gang. He is haranguing them. Two of them have gone away towards the river. Nick Rush looks a little uncomfortable. No doubt he prefers stealth and secrecy, and has visions of the interior of a prison cell. Wonderful how brave a man can be if he thinks he will not be found out. They are taking off their coats. Aha! They are going to ram us. The two men have returned with a long pole. A pity I had those trees felled; pity, too, that I had the parapet so thoroughly repaired, or we might have hurled stones upon our assailants in the manner of our ancestors. They used boiling oil, too, molten lead, and various other pleasant devices which are out of our power. Ah! The performance is about to begin. Six of them have lifted the pole--a fine, straight piece of timber. One of the strangers, I observe, is lending a hand. Gradoff is usually so calm and self-contained that the excitement with which he is now giving orders is somewhat amusing. What weapons have we, by the way?""I have that fellow Jensen's pistol, sir," said Armstrong. "Besides that we have only short cudgels.""And the hammer and chisel," added Percy."We are unexpectedly well off," said Mr. Pratt. "I think I will take the pistol; no doubt I am a little more used to that sort of thing than Armstrong. For the rest--come, my lads, Gradoff has finished. Stand ready!"The position now was that before an entry could be forced, the door must be broken, and the barricade of table, boxes and paper overthrown. Mr. Pratt and the boys had just posted themselves beside the printing press, when there was a thundering crash at the door. The room seemed to quiver; some of the upper sheets of paper rose and fell as if a wind had blown upon them; and the vibration caused the printing press to give forth a low ringing note. But the stout oaken door had not yielded. There were shouts outside. A few moments passed; then the building shook under the impact of a second stroke."Heart of oak!" exclaimed Mr. Pratt, with satisfaction. "The door is oak; the ram, I think, is beech. Listen."The tones of Gradoff's voice, soaring to an unnatural pitch, were heard chiding, urging, encouraging. A third time his men advanced, not with the cheery unisonal "Yo! ho!" of British tars, but each man raising his particular cry."More vim in that," remarked Armstrong, as the shattering blow resounded. "And look, sir."About a foot below the upper hinge of the door, which was not covered by the table, a jagged streak of light shone through."Yes," said Mr. Pratt, coolly. "They have cracked the shell. The hinges will give. In five or six minutes they will be scrambling over our barricade. I find I have only four cartridges; they must be reserved for the critical moment. Percy, run upstairs and bring down the hammer and chisel--yes, and the chain. I have no objection whatever to turning the enemy's weapons against him."While Percy was absent, the assailants, who had evidently marked the damage already done, again rammed the door, on the same side. There was a flood of light through a gap nearly a foot square; splinters of timber across the upturned end of the table fell at Armstrong's feet. At the next blow the door split from top to bottom, and the whole of the upper part fell inwards. Apparently the enemy guessed that some attempt at a barricade had been made, for their next stroke was delivered lower down, with such force that it broke through the door, drove the table in, and sent some of the piled-up boxes toppling."Won't you now try a shot, sir?" said Armstrong."They have drawn back; next time," replied Mr. Pratt. "Stand clear."Once more the battering-ram was rushed forward. It could now be seen that the shorter men held the fore part; the taller men were behind. Mr. Pratt raised his arm, but before he could take deliberate aim the forceful stroke carried the remnants of the door inwards, and hurled the shattered table, broken boxes, and flying sheets of paper in one indistinguishable mass upon the printing press, which gave way and fell with a mighty crash upon the floor. Mr. Pratt barely escaped being overthrown with it. He staggered backward, and the pistol was knocked from his hand. The small figure of the Italian chauffeur leapt into the breach, and began to clamber over the wreckage. Armstrong darted forward, and, before the man had time to swing round, Armstrong's cudgel descended with a resounding crack upon his skull, and he fell sprawling among the litter.
CHAPTER XX
THE PACE QUICKENS
"So you are my nephew Percy," said Mr. Pratt when Warrender had gone. "Light the lamp and let me look at you. I don't recognise you. When was our last meeting?"
"About ten years ago," replied Pratt, surprised at his uncle's calm demeanour. "You tanned me for picking one of your peaches."
"Did I?" Mr. Pratt smiled. "You were always a mischievous young ruffian. But how do you come here? Do you bear an olive branch from that cantankerous father of yours?"
"I came through the tunnel," Pratt began, ignoring the aspersion upon his father. Mr. Pratt interrupted him.
"What tunnel?"
"The tunnel between No Man's Island and this tower. Didn't you know of it?"
"I never heard of it before. Who told you about it?"
"We discovered it by accident. My chums and I came for a boating holiday, and camped on the island. We have had----"
"You saw my signals?" his uncle interposed.
"Yes, and----"
"And the police are informed? These villains will be arrested?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, Uncle," said Pratt, and was again interrupted.
"You did not? Then I am afraid you and your companions have tumbled into a hornets' nest, young man. As we are to have apparently a few minutes' leisure, I think you had better put me wise, as our American friends say, about the essential facts of the situation. How many do you muster?"
Pratt, in the exalted mood of a rescuer, and himself bursting with questions, was a little dashed by his uncle's cool matter-of-fact manner.
"There are three of us," he said. "We got in through the tunnel, and found one man below at the printing press."
"A printing press! Indeed! What literature are my guardians disseminating?"
"Forged notes."
"Forgers!" ejaculated Mr. Pratt, for the first time showing signs of agitation. "Things are worse than I dreamed. You are sure of what you say?"
"Absolutely. We found the watermarked paper."
"The scoundrels! You had better get away. If these fellows are an international gang of forgers they will have no scruples. The lives of you and your companions are not worth a rap. Leave me. Get away while there is time. Inform the police and leave matters in their hands."
"It's too late for that," said Pratt. "We have trussed up the man downstairs. Our only idea was to rescue you. If we left you now the others would find Jensen and know that the game is up. They might shoot you. We must get you away now at all costs."
"It is utter folly. Hare-brained adventuring! I fear you are right; it is too late. I must join forces with you when this chain is broken. I blame myself that my signals have let you young fellows into this terrible trap."
"We had suspicions before we saw them--in fact, ever since we heard about your staff of foreign servants."
"Yes, yes. I have been frightfully deluded. No doubt it is the talk of the village. I engaged my cook and gardener through an advertisement. The cook introduced that scoundrel Gradoff as an unfortunate Russian nobleman driven from his country. The plausible wretch engaged the others. They seemed a respectable, hard-working set of men. I was making hurried arrangements for a trip to North Africa via Paris. Gradoff gave me every assistance. I was on the point of starting. They kidnapped me and shut me up here. I thought their sole motive was robbery. Gradoff tried to get me to sign cheques for large amounts. I flatly refused, of course. They adopted starvation tactics, threatened to murder me; but I have looked death in the face too often to purchase life at such a price. They dropped these efforts some time ago, but I suspected that Gradoff was forging my name, and thought he would liberate me as soon as he had fleeced me bare."
"And how did you signal, with the windows boarded up?" asked Pratt.
"With handfuls of flock from my mattress dipped in paraffin, stuck on a lath from my bed and poked up the chimney. Gradoff discovered me last night. I was in the chimney. He had gone to the roof, saw the flame emerge, and snatched the lath from my hands. He whipped out his pistol and threatened to shoot me. I laughed at him; asked him whether he wished to add murder to forgery; he gave me a curious stare at that. I reminded him that we still retain capital punishment. He cursed me and left. This morning he brought the chain. No doubt he would have killed me if there had been anything to gain by my death; but he must have supposed that the signals had not been seen; they had had no apparent result. You say you had suspicions before you saw the signals. Why?--apart from the usual British distrust of foreigners."
Pratt was beginning to recount the series of incidents that had occurred since the arrival on No Man's Island when there came a hail from below. He went to the top of the stairs.
"What is it, Armstrong?"
"Can you come down for a moment?"
Pratt ran downstairs.
"I didn't want to alarm your uncle," said Armstrong, "but just now, looking through a chink in the boards, I saw four men coming towards the tower. What are we to do?"
Pratt went to the boarded window and looked out.
"Gradoff and the chauffeur," he said. "The other two I haven't seen before. We might have tackled two; let 'em in and bagged them. But four!--probably armed, like Jensen. It's no go."
"We can only lie low, then, and play for time. The door's a stout piece of timber, and it's not so easy to blow off a bolt as to blow in a lock."
"Don't speak," whispered Pratt, "they're just here."
The handle of the door was turned. Then came a sharp knock. A pause of a few seconds; then a more peremptory knock and Gradoff's voice.
"Jensen!"
The Swede prostrate against the wall wriggled and emitted a low gurgling noise through his gag. The boys glanced at him; he was unable to release his limbs; the sound could not have been heard through the thick door.
A third time Gradoff knocked. He rattled the door-handle, repeated his call, with the addition of sundry violent expletives. The boys remained tensely silent.
The voices without subsided. Conversation was still carried on, but in lower tones.
"Probably they think he is downstairs getting paper," whispered Pratt. "There's nothing alarming at present."
"But they'll smell a rat if he doesn't soon answer. What then?"
"They may think he has fallen ill or something."
"And then?"
"Well, I can't answer for the intelligence of Gradoff and company, but if I were in his shoes I should either break in the door or send some one round by the tunnel. You see, he can't have the ghost of an idea what has happened. And if his game were discovered, he wouldn't expect to find the place merely closed against him."
"I dare say you're right. But don't you think you had better go through the tunnel and hurry Phil up? We should be in a pretty tight place if Gradoff did send a man or two round, and we found, when we had released your uncle, that the exit at the other end was blocked."
"I don't care about leaving you alone. Suppose they broke in while I was away?"
"Two wouldn't be much better than one against four armed ruffians. And they'd guess that you and Phil had gone to fetch the police, and I fancy they'd be too anxious to save their skins to bother much about me. At any rate, I'll risk it. I think you had better go. In fact, when you meet Phil, why not go and tell Mr. Crawshay how things stand? Phil and I will get your uncle away if it's possible, and though I don't suppose Crawshay could do anything to secure the gang--there's apparently only one policeman--he might 'phone or wire the authorities, and set every one on the qui vive for miles around."
"All right. If I'm going, better go at once, before any one has time to go round by the cottage. I'll consult Phil about your suggestion, and go to Crawshay if he agrees. I wish I had the torch. I shall have to grope my way along the tunnel, but I'll be as quick as I can."
He ran noiselessly down the stairs. The flagstone was upright, as it had been left. He jumped into the cavity, crossed the store-room, entered the tunnel on the farther side, and hurried along as rapidly as the darkness allowed. Now and again he stopped to strike a match and to listen for Warrender's footsteps, but he reached the end without having seen or heard anything of his friend.
By the light of a match he saw that the flagstone was slightly depressed. Then he caught sight of Warrender's electric torch lying on the ground, and was seized with a vague uneasiness. He picked up the torch. Revolving the stone, he heard something slide with a metallic rattle along its surface, and felt a smart blow on one of his feet. He flashed the torch, and saw a hammer and a chisel. Still more uneasy, he clambered up into the cellar, and without lowering the flagstone, climbed on to the staircase.
"You there, Phil?" he called up.
There was no answer. The door at the top was open. He rushed up, ran through the kitchen and the corridor to the front of the cottage, and looked anxiously around. No one was in view.
"What on earth is he doing?" he thought.
It was clear that Warrender had fetched the tools from the motor-boat and returned to the cellar. Why then had he left them there? Where had he gone? What could have interrupted him?
Pratt felt himself on the horns of a painful dilemma. He had now the instruments of his uncle's deliverance; one impulse urged him to hurry with them back to the tower. On the other hand, Warrender's disappearance argued that something untoward had happened, and he was loth to leave the spot without making an attempt to find him. For a few moments he stood in the doorway, weighing the one course against the other. A search for Warrender might prove fruitless, and in any case would take time. Meanwhile affairs at the tower might be developing in a way that would nullify the prime motive that had actuated them all--the release of his uncle. It seemed that this had a paramount claim upon him, and he turned, reluctantly, to retrace his steps to the cellar.
As he passed the foot of the staircase to the upper floor, it occurred to him that from the windows there, giving a wider outlook over the surroundings of the cottage, he might see Warrender approaching: perhaps, indeed, as the result of an after-thought, he had made a second visit to the motor-boat. Pratt ran upstairs, and going from room to room, threw a searching glance upon the prospect. Neither on the eastern side nor on the western was there anything to attract his attention. But looking out of the window of the room facing south, he noticed that the foliage of the thicket beyond the weedy path was violently disturbed. Some one was moving in it, towards the ruins. He watched eagerly: surely it was Warrender returning. Presently two legs came into view; but they were not Warrender's. They were encased in rusty brown leggings. In another moment the figure of Rush emerged from the thicket upon the path, and immediately behind him was a second form, that of a tall and heavily built man with a broad flattish face. When free from the thicket they quickened their pace.
Pratt hesitated no longer. The men were evidently making for the ruins: perhaps they intended to proceed along the tunnel. It was imperative that he should anticipate them. He hastened downstairs, and had just reached the cellar when he heard clumping footsteps overhead. Leaping into the cavity, he swung the stone over, turned the hand-grips, and by the light of the torch bolted along the tunnel. After running about twenty yards he switched off the light and stopped. Voices came from behind him; then he heard two heavy thuds in succession; the men had jumped into the tunnel. The flagstone banged as it was swung carelessly into place; the men were coming after him. Without more delay he set forward with all speed, guiding himself by touching the walls with his outstretched hands.
CHAPTER XXI
TRAPPED
Meanwhile, what had happened to Warrender?
On entering the cottage by way of the tunnel and the cellar, he went upstairs to make a careful survey of the surroundings, saw no sign of the enemy, and hurried across the island to the pram, in which he crossed the river unobserved. In less than ten minutes he was back at the cottage with the hammer and chisel taken from his motor-boat. As he was on the point of re-opening the trap, he found that the electric torch showed a much feebler light than before, and if it gave out before Mr. Pratt was brought away, the flight through the tunnel might be dangerously delayed. It seemed worth while to pay another rapid visit to the camp for the purpose of getting a small hand lamp or a couple of candles. Laying the hammer and chisel under the staircase, he went up again, once more crossed the island, found one candle in the motorboat, and returned without delay.
It happened, however, that as he left the cottage on this second journey, Rush and his big flat-faced companion were approaching it from the south. Unseen themselves, they caught sight of Warrender as he emerged from the entrance, watched him until he had disappeared into the thicket, waited a few minutes, then entered the cottage and descended to the cellar. They had no light, and Warrender had taken the precaution of carefully replacing the flagstone; but in his haste he had omitted to close the upright slab beneath the lowest step, leaving open the access to the handgrips. Rush was suspicious. The gap might have been left open, of course, by one of the confederates; on the other hand, it was possible that the secret passage had been discovered by the boy he had seen leaving the cottage. The boy might return, and Rush allowed his curiosity to delay the visit to the tower on which he had been summoned. It was an error of judgment that had important consequences.
He posted himself with his companion in a remote corner of the cellar, and waited.
Some ten minutes later, Warrender came down the steps. He flashed his torch to light the opening, retrieved the hammer and chisel, and laid them down on the flagstone while he inserted his arm in the gap to turn the hand-grips. All the time his back was towards the men lurking within twenty feet of him. As he sprawled over the stone, there was a sudden noise behind him. Hastily withdrawing his hand, he half rose, but too late. Seized by powerful hands and taken at a disadvantage, he was helpless. His torch fell into the gap, and in the darkness he was dragged up the stairs between his captors.
"Cotched 'en!" chuckled Rush, as they lugged him through the hall. "What'll we do with 'en, Sibelius?"
"Kill!" said the Finn. "Throw in river!"
"No, no, that won't do!" said Rush. "He bain't alone. There's the other young devils. It bain't safe. I think of my neck. No; we'll take 'en down to the hut and tie 'en up; he'll be out of harm's way there, and in a few hours it won't matter."
Like most Englishmen in speaking to a foreigner, he shouted, and the Finn warned him to speak more quietly: the prisoner would hear all he said.
"What do it matter?" laughed Rush. "Let 'en hear--by the time his friends find 'en we'll be far away. Curious 'tis, that we've cotched 'en the very last day. If it'd a been yesterday, we might havehadto kill 'en. We'll stuff up his mouth, though; t'others may be about."
Pulling Warrender's handkerchief from his pocket, he rolled it up, and thrust it between the lad's teeth. Warrender ruefully reflected that just in such a way had Jensen been gagged that morning. Then the men hauled him through the thicket towards the point of the island where Rush moored his boat.
"I say, Sibelius," remarked Rush, when they were half-way there, "I reckon we'd better not take 'en to the hut after all. 'Twill take time, and we don't know where his mates be. Better go and tell the boss all about it; he'd be fair mad if anything spoilt his game the last moment."
"What we do, then?" asked the Finn.
"We'll truss 'en up: plenty of rope in the boat; and put 'en in among the bushes. He'll be snug enough there."
He chuckled. Dismayed at the prospect opened before him, Warrender, who had hitherto offered no resistance, made a sudden dive towards the ground, at the same time throwing out his leg in an attempt to trip the bulkier of his captors. But though he succeeded in freeing one arm, and causing the Finn to stumble, he had no time to wrench himself from Rush's grip before the other man had recovered his balance and seized him in a clutch of iron.
"Best come quiet!" growled Rush, "or there's no saying what we might do to you. I've got a tender heart," he chuckled, "but my mate 'ud as soon kill a man as a rat."
Arrived at the boat, they threw him into the bottom, and the Finn held him down while Rush swiftly roped his arms and legs together. Then they carried him a few yards into the thicket, and laid him down in a spot where he was completely hidden from any one who might pass within arm's length of him.
[image]"RUSH SWIFTLY ROPED HIS ARMS AND LEGS TOGETHER."
[image]
[image]
"RUSH SWIFTLY ROPED HIS ARMS AND LEGS TOGETHER."
"Now we'll traipse through to the tower," said Rush. "He'll take a deal of finding, I'm thinking!"
The men struck away towards the ruins, satisfied that their victim could not escape, and that his hiding-place was not likely to be discovered until discovery mattered nothing. They had not noticed, however, that while the trussing was in progress, Warrender's cap had fallen off, and now lay between two of the thwarts of the boat.
Pratt, hurrying along the tunnel with the hammer and chisel, and knowing that he was pursued, felt that he had done rightly in not making a prolonged search for Warrender. His sole pre-occupation now was the necessity of outstripping his pursuers by an interval sufficient to allow him time to block up their ingress to the tower. If Armstrong was still unmolested, and Mr. Pratt could be set free, the three were capable of dealing with the two men in the tunnel, and might make good their escape before Gradoff and his confederates at the tower door had any inkling of the true situation.
He soon understood that he was gaining on the men behind; but he presently became aware that, not far ahead of him, daylight seemed to have percolated into the tunnel. For a moment he was nonplussed until he remembered the dry well. It then occurred to him in a flash that some one must have removed the boards that had lain across the top of the well, and he was seized with a misgiving. Had Gradoff, unable to obtain admittance to the tower, bethought himself of this opening into the tunnel from above, and lowered one or more of his men, who had already made their way to the end, and perhaps overpowered Armstrong?
Taking advantage of the faint illumination of the tunnel, he quickened his pace. In a moment or two he saw to his consternation a man swing down the well, and on reaching the ground, begin to release himself from the rope that was looped under his arms. It was not a time for hesitation. Pratt dashed forward, flung himself against the man before he was free from the rope, and drove him doubled up against the wall. The man yelled; from the top of the well forty feet above them came excited shouts; and out of the tunnel behind sounded hoarse reverberating cries from the pursuers, who must have seen what had happened. Pratt plunged into the tunnel beyond, and, sprinting along with reckless haste, arrived in a few minutes breathless at the end, where the flagstone was still raised as he had left it.
He sprang up, slammed down the flagstone behind him, and let out a lusty cry for Armstrong to join him.
"They're after me--at least three of them!" he exclaimed, as Armstrong came leaping down the stairs. "Help me to lug these boxes on to the flagstone."
The crates and boxes ranged along the wall were empty, and their weight alone would not have sufficed to resist the pressure of determined men below. But the roof was low-pitched, and the boys saw that by piling box upon box they could create an obstruction which would defy all efforts to remove it. With feverish haste they dragged the boxes across the floor, and had already placed them one upon another when they heard footsteps beneath, and felt a movement of the flagstone.
"Another box will do it," said Armstrong. "You must heave it up while I stand on the stone."
He placed himself on the half of the stone that moved upwards as it revolved, and bore down with all his weight. Pratt pulled over a fourth box, and, standing on the projecting edge of that which formed the base of the pile, managed with some difficulty to shove it on to the top, where a space of no more than two or three inches separated it from the roof.
"Good man!" said Armstrong, stepping off the stone.
The pressure below raised it perhaps three inches, then it stuck.
"We'll put another pile on each side, to make all secure," said Armstrong. "Then I think we needn't worry."
With less haste they erected the buttress piles, listening grimly to the hoarse curses of Rush, and shriller cries from a foreigner by whose voice they recognised the Italian chauffeur. In a few minutes their work was done. Short of an explosion, nothing could dislodge the jam of boxes between the flagstone and the roof.
Panting from the strain of their exertions, they went up into the tower.
"Where's Phil?" asked Armstrong.
"I don't know," replied Pratt, going on to relate rapidly his discovery at the end of the tunnel.
"They've got him, I expect," said Armstrong. "Though I can't make out how they came to leave this hammer and chisel."
"What has happened here?" asked Pratt.
"Nothing. Gradoff and the others waited outside for a bit, talking quietly. I couldn't understand what they said. Then Gradoff sent the chauffeur towards the house, and by and by went off himself in the direction of the river, leaving the two strangers behind. Evidently he had sent the chauffeur for a rope. Perhaps he thought Jensen had drunk himself silly, and decided to let a man down the well--a much shorter way than going across to the island and entering by the tunnel. The fat's in the fire now. If we release your uncle we can't get him away."
"No," replied Pratt, looking through the chink in the boards. "Here they come: Gradoff, Rod, the Pole, the whole gang except the fellows below. It strikes me we are squarely trapped."
Looking towards the prisoner on the floor, Armstrong fancied he caught a malignant gleam in the man's eyes.
"On the whole," he said quietly, "I'm inclined to agree with you."
CHAPTER XXII
A PARLEY
"You're more hefty with tools than I am," said Pratt to Armstrong. "So if you'll run upstairs and smash that chain off my uncle, I'll keep an eye on what's happening outside."
"Right," replied Armstrong. "The hammer strikes me as a bit light for the job, but one can only try. Yell if you want me."
Taking the hammer and chisel, he leapt up the winding staircase to the topmost room. Mr. Pratt was thoughtfully drawing his fingers through his beard.
"So you are the third member of the trio," he said.
"Yes, I'm Armstrong. If you'll kindly stretch the chain tight over the edge of the bed, I'll do my best to break a link. I'm afraid I shall jar you, but----"
"Don't consider that. Make your break as near my leg as you can."
"I'll break the loop. Are you ready, sir?"
"Quite."
For perhaps two minutes the room echoed and re-echoed with the metallic din of hammering. The chisel was of finely tempered steel, and Armstrong compensated the lightness of the hammer by the vigour of his blows. A link snapped, the chain clanked upon the floor, and the prisoner stood up, free.
"Very neatly done," said he. "And now I will go below and join you and your companions in a council of war."
"There are only two of us now, sir," said Armstrong. "Warrender didn't come back."
As they went downstairs he related succinctly the events of the last three-quarters of an hour. Mr. Pratt made no comment. Entering first the room at the bottom, he threw a glance on the printing press, the piles of paper, and the Swede glowering on the floor; then he turned to his nephew.
"Well, Percy, what is going on?" he asked.
"Nothing, Uncle. I haven't seen any of the men. D'you think they see the game is up, and have bolted?"
"I think not, judging by what your friend has just told me. It appears that they have captured the other man--Warrender, I think you called him--and they know that you two are here. It seems improbable that they will decamp already. They outnumber you hopelessly, and it is more than likely that there is a large number of forged notes in the tower which they will secure if they can."
"Well, as the coast seems clear, can't we get away?" asked Percy. "We came to rescue you; our job's done."
"But, if you'll permit me, mine is just beginning," said Mr. Pratt. "Do you suppose that I'd be content to walk meekly away, and let the pack of scoundrels who have made my house a hotbed of crime get off with the fruits of their villainy?" The old gentleman spoke warmly. "I've knocked about the world for more than thirty years, been in many tight corners, and I've never knuckled under to man, beast, or circumstance. This is the tightest of them all, and, by the Lord Harry, I'll make a fight for it. You young fellows----"
"We're with you, sir," cried Armstrong, enthusiastically.
"Rather!" exclaimed Pratt. "If you're game, Uncle Ambrose----"
"Let us keep cool," returned his uncle. "I'm no longer under any illusions as to the character of the wretches I was misguided enough to employ. They are forgers--that is bad enough--but before they were forgers they were anarchists, members of that fraternity of fools whose ideas, put into practice, would turn the world into a hell. There are no more reckless malefactors than these international gangs who exercise their criminal propensities under the cloak of political enthusiasm. Make no mistake, young fellows; in resisting Gradoff and his gang we take our lives in our hands. In their eyes we are of less value than rats."
"We've got to keep 'em out, then," said Percy.
"Let us keep cool, I repeat. Let us discuss the situation."
"Yes, sir," said Armstrong, somewhat amazed at the professional manner of the old gentleman; "but time's flying, and----"
"Therefore it is vitally important that we should focus our attention. As I read the situation, we shall have to stand a siege. Gradoff determines to save his forged notes, if not his accomplice yonder. The question is, what will he do?"
"I know what I'd do if I----" began Pratt, but his uncle silenced him with a gesture.
"What you would do is not in question. What Gradoff will do we must infer from the probabilities. His final aim must be to get away quickly with his booty. His booty is inaccessible while we hold the tower. Therefore he must either persuade or compel us to let him in. Finding persuasion, reinforced by menace, futile, he will attempt compulsion. That is to say, he will bring up all his men and try to force the door. It is useless for us to blink facts--just peep through the crack, Percy, and see if he is already moving."
Percy reported that still there was no one in sight.
"Then we will continue our calm conference. Gradoff had four men under him at my house. One of them, Jensen, the Swede, lies there. From what you tell me he employs also Rush, and another foreigner whom I have never seen. You tell me that two strangers--by their appearance foreigners--came with him to the tower to-day. Therefore we are three against eight."
"But we are inside," said Percy.
"As a chicken is inside an egg. The shell can be cracked. That door, stout as it is, can be hacked through, blown in, or battered down. Probably they will not risk an explosion; it might attract even our stolid village policeman to the scene. Defending our position with such poor weapons as we have, we cannot prevent the enemy from sooner or later forcing an entrance."
"These are surely arguments for scuttling, sir, while we have time," said Armstrong.
"I am not arguing, but calmly stating facts," returned Mr. Pratt. "Scuttle! Is it conceivable that I shall scuttle for fear of this pirate crew, who have half-starved me, chained me up, carried on their dastardly work under my roof? But let me keep cool," he added, checking the tide of indignation. "The villains break in, I say, sooner or later. What then? With your assistance I propose to defend the stairs. The winding of the staircase is in favour of the defence. In so narrow a space the assailants lose the advantage of numbers. With resolution we shall hold our own."
"But that can't go on indefinitely, Uncle," said Pratt. "They could starve us out."
"Hardly; for this reason. You will be missed from your camp. Mr. Crawshay, you tell me, knows that you are making investigations. Your prolonged absence will alarm him; he will raise a hue and cry. Gradoff is perfectly aware that what he has to do must be done quickly. If we can withstand him for twenty-four hours, he is a beaten man."
"You think, then, sir, that they will give it up within twenty-four hours and then bolt?" said Armstrong.
"That is my forecast. They will save their skins and lose their forged notes, which are no doubt hidden away somewhere in the tower. Take another look out, Percy."
The boy peered through the crack in the boarding, and again reported no one in sight.
"Come with me to the roof," said his uncle. "From there we can survey a wide extent of the park. Armstrong will oblige me by remaining on guard."
He led the way up the stairs to the topmost room. Here he opened a low door in the wall, which gave access to a short flight of steps leading to the flat roof. Looking out towards the river, they saw a group of men gathered about the well-head. A moment later they caught sight of Gradoff and the two strangers approaching the tower from the direction of the house. Mr. Pratt leant over the parapet in full view, watching them. One of the strangers noticed him, and caught Gradoff by the arm. The Russian looked up, halted, and seemed for a moment to be taken aback. The three men spoke rapidly together, then advanced to the foot of the tower. Gradoff tried the door. Retreating a few steps, he called up--
"Holà!"
"Well?" said Mr. Pratt, leaning on the parapet.
"Come down and open the door. I have a proposition to make."
"Make it now. I can hear you quite well."
"You have Olof Jensen in the tower?"
"He is a prisoner. Yes."
"I also have a prisoner--one of three boys. I exchange him for Jensen, on condition that you come out with the other two."
"And then?"
"You shall go free, provided you promise to remain quietly in the park for two hours and do not approach the house."
"You would accept my promise?"
"Certainly."
"And what assurance have I that you would keep yours?"
"You have my word, witnessed by my friends here."
"And what is your word worth, by whomsoever witnessed?"
Gradoff's habitual smoothness left him. Shaking his fist, he shouted--
"I will show you what my word is worth. If you do not unbolt the door we shall kill you like--like a dog. I give you one minute."
Mr. Pratt leant motionless on the parapet, gazing down at the three men with a grim smile. Beside him his nephew, tingling with excitement, felt unbounded admiration for this strange uncle of his. The minute passed in silence. Gradoff, watch in hand, paced restlessly about. His friends stood together.
At the end of the minute Gradoff thrust his watch into his pocket.
"Look out, Uncle!" cried Percy.
One of the strangers had whipped out a revolver with extraordinary rapidity and fired point-blank at the motionless figure above. Mr. Pratt did not wince--showed neither fear nor agitation. Slowly unfolding his arms, he stood erect and turned to his nephew.
"Come," he said, "I think it is time we went below."
CHAPTER XXIII
"VI ET ARMIS"
When uncle and nephew regained the lower floor they found that Armstrong had not been idle. From one side of the room he had hauled a long, stout table and set it up endwise against the door, between that and the printing press.
"Capital!" said Mr. Pratt. "You have doubled the thickness of our armour. But, in default of sandbags, we must find something to strengthen our defences still further."
"I had thought of that, sir," said Armstrong. "There's nothing but this bale of paper and the sheets already printed. I think they will pretty well fill the space between the press and the door; if not we can get some of the boxes from below. They are no longer needed there."
"Excellent idea! You young fellows set about that while I keep watch."
In a few minutes the boys had wedged the paper and a number of boxes into the vacant space, so as to form almost a solid block. Mr. Pratt meanwhile reported the movements of the enemy without.
"Gradoff is surrounded by his gang. He is haranguing them. Two of them have gone away towards the river. Nick Rush looks a little uncomfortable. No doubt he prefers stealth and secrecy, and has visions of the interior of a prison cell. Wonderful how brave a man can be if he thinks he will not be found out. They are taking off their coats. Aha! They are going to ram us. The two men have returned with a long pole. A pity I had those trees felled; pity, too, that I had the parapet so thoroughly repaired, or we might have hurled stones upon our assailants in the manner of our ancestors. They used boiling oil, too, molten lead, and various other pleasant devices which are out of our power. Ah! The performance is about to begin. Six of them have lifted the pole--a fine, straight piece of timber. One of the strangers, I observe, is lending a hand. Gradoff is usually so calm and self-contained that the excitement with which he is now giving orders is somewhat amusing. What weapons have we, by the way?"
"I have that fellow Jensen's pistol, sir," said Armstrong. "Besides that we have only short cudgels."
"And the hammer and chisel," added Percy.
"We are unexpectedly well off," said Mr. Pratt. "I think I will take the pistol; no doubt I am a little more used to that sort of thing than Armstrong. For the rest--come, my lads, Gradoff has finished. Stand ready!"
The position now was that before an entry could be forced, the door must be broken, and the barricade of table, boxes and paper overthrown. Mr. Pratt and the boys had just posted themselves beside the printing press, when there was a thundering crash at the door. The room seemed to quiver; some of the upper sheets of paper rose and fell as if a wind had blown upon them; and the vibration caused the printing press to give forth a low ringing note. But the stout oaken door had not yielded. There were shouts outside. A few moments passed; then the building shook under the impact of a second stroke.
"Heart of oak!" exclaimed Mr. Pratt, with satisfaction. "The door is oak; the ram, I think, is beech. Listen."
The tones of Gradoff's voice, soaring to an unnatural pitch, were heard chiding, urging, encouraging. A third time his men advanced, not with the cheery unisonal "Yo! ho!" of British tars, but each man raising his particular cry.
"More vim in that," remarked Armstrong, as the shattering blow resounded. "And look, sir."
About a foot below the upper hinge of the door, which was not covered by the table, a jagged streak of light shone through.
"Yes," said Mr. Pratt, coolly. "They have cracked the shell. The hinges will give. In five or six minutes they will be scrambling over our barricade. I find I have only four cartridges; they must be reserved for the critical moment. Percy, run upstairs and bring down the hammer and chisel--yes, and the chain. I have no objection whatever to turning the enemy's weapons against him."
While Percy was absent, the assailants, who had evidently marked the damage already done, again rammed the door, on the same side. There was a flood of light through a gap nearly a foot square; splinters of timber across the upturned end of the table fell at Armstrong's feet. At the next blow the door split from top to bottom, and the whole of the upper part fell inwards. Apparently the enemy guessed that some attempt at a barricade had been made, for their next stroke was delivered lower down, with such force that it broke through the door, drove the table in, and sent some of the piled-up boxes toppling.
"Won't you now try a shot, sir?" said Armstrong.
"They have drawn back; next time," replied Mr. Pratt. "Stand clear."
Once more the battering-ram was rushed forward. It could now be seen that the shorter men held the fore part; the taller men were behind. Mr. Pratt raised his arm, but before he could take deliberate aim the forceful stroke carried the remnants of the door inwards, and hurled the shattered table, broken boxes, and flying sheets of paper in one indistinguishable mass upon the printing press, which gave way and fell with a mighty crash upon the floor. Mr. Pratt barely escaped being overthrown with it. He staggered backward, and the pistol was knocked from his hand. The small figure of the Italian chauffeur leapt into the breach, and began to clamber over the wreckage. Armstrong darted forward, and, before the man had time to swing round, Armstrong's cudgel descended with a resounding crack upon his skull, and he fell sprawling among the litter.