Chapter 24 The Password to Larkspur Lane by Carolyn Keene
S. O. S.
Nancy swayed on her feet in the inky darkness. Pinwheels of fire seemed to be playing in front of her eyes, even though she shut them tight. She stretched out her arms, yet could feel nothing. Dampness oozed through the shoddy soles of her cheap, high black shoes.
“This is about my worst experience in running down a mystery,” she said to herself. “I don’t like this place.”
As Nancy’s eyes gradually accustomed themselves to the darkness, she noticed a few small chinks through which light struggled dimly overhead. The apertures were not directly above her, but considerably to one side, so she rejected her first guess that the lid to the cistern had not been fastened firmly.
“Perhaps it is a phosphorescent glow from some fungus or decaying thing,” she shuddered.
However, Nancy never guessed at anything. She was going to find out, as she always did, the meaning and explanation of that which she did not understand. Balancing herself with outstretched arms to counteract the slipperiness under foot, Nancy cautiously walked closer to the light.
The floor was uneven, and she stepped ankle-deep into icy water. Her outstretched fingers brushed against the cold, moist stone wall of the cistern. A chill ran through her. What a place!
“Brace up, Nancy. This is no time to be squeamish,” she admonished herself.
It was clear to her now that the lights came from openings to the surface. Perhaps the covering of the cistern had fallen away at that point. However, mere guesswork was fruitless; how to reach the openings was the problem.
The girl thought of Helen. “I wonder if Mrs. Eldridge is happy in the welcoming arms of her family. When will Helen start back to the sanatorium? I’ll depend on nobody—I must work myself out of this place,” were the problems that ran through her mind.
The ladder had been pulled up. Yet it might save her after all, Nancy told herself, even though it had been withdrawn. She remembered that some of the rotted rungs had fallen out as Thorne jerked it to the surface. Bravely putting aside all sense of disgust, Nancy ran her hand over the slippery floor in search of the wooden fragments. She found three rounded stakes, sound save for the ends where dampness had caused them to crumble.
“Now then,” she said, speaking aloud, “maybe this will work, and maybe it won’t.”
To her horror her voice, echoing hollowly from the walls, was answered by what seemed to be a throaty chuckle, followed by a broken moan. Such a noise in the almost total darkness, and after the nerve-racking experiences which Nancy had been through, would have shattered the self-control of many a brave man.
Nancy let the sticks fall from her hands as the sound was repeated. It came from overhead—from the chinks where the light shone feebly.
“Kek-ek-koo-oo-oo.”
The sound died away. What sort of creature could it be who was peering down through the openings and mocking the captive? Nancy shivered, then braced her shoulders and took a deep breath.
“Kek-kek-koo-oo.”
Suddenly a louder sound made the cistern walls ring. It was Nancy herself, laughing heartily. The mysterious chuckles and groans were—pigeons!
“Pigeons,” she said to herself. “It was that kind of bird which started me on this hunt.”
She snatched up the wooden stakes. Then, with renewed courage and higher hopes she attacked the walls of her temporary prison.
Nancy’s fingers had told her that the cistern was built of blocks of stone, mortared together. It was old, and had not been used in a long time. Nancy hoped that the mortar had deteriorated.
She felt for the plastered space between two stones, digging in vigorously with her stick. At first the rotted wood chipped off in her hands. Then, as the sound heart of the hickory was reached, it hit into the crumbly cement. She worked away feverishly, and in a few minutes had dug away enough of the mortar to give her one toe hold.
A little farther above she dug again, repeating this operation at intervals of a foot until she could reach no higher. Sometimes the plaster was hard in spots and resisted her attack, necessitating her beginning all over again at another spot. The task grew more difficult as Nancy progressed higher. Finally she was forced to cling to the damp wall, her toes and the fingers of one hand dug into the niches she had scooped out, while with her free hand she scraped a higher grip for herself.
Thus, foot by foot, Nancy literally dug herself upward until at last her fingers found the opening through which the light filtered. She could feel loose bricks under her hand—then the lights went out and she was in total darkness!
Clinging thus, six feet or so above the hard, wet floor, unable to see even the little that the tiny reflected gleam had allowed before, Nancy was indeed in a precarious position. Her arms were weary from the exertion she had been through, and her strength was failing her rapidly. She had had nothing to eat for many hours.
Gritting her teeth, the girl exerted herself even more forcibly to move the stones overhead. Dirt and rubbish cascaded down upon her. At last, to her immeasurable joy and relief, she managed to make an opening big enough, she estimated, to allow her to thrust her head through. Carefully she released her hold on the wall and raised her arms until both hands gripped the edge of the cistern. Then, straining every muscle in her body, she wormed her way to freedom.
For a moment Nancy fell back exhausted and closed her eyes. When she regained her strength, she opened them and discovered that she was in a glass-fronted shed. A fluttering sound and a sleepy cooing overhead told her that she was in the pigeon coop.
“Thank you, Mr. Thorne,” Nancy chuckled.
She reached into the front of her dress where she had secreted a small memorandum pad and a stub of a pencil. It had been her intention to reach the carrier pigeons somehow when she remained on the grounds after Helen had left, yet she certainly had had no idea she would enter the coop by the route she had taken.
Catching one of the birds, she felt under its wing for the harness to which messages are attached. The flat elastic band and the receptacle for the “cartridge,” as the tube is called, were there. Into the latter she stuffed a scrap of paper on which she had written “S. O. S.”
She picked her way to the door and opened it wide enough to release the bird. Then she caught another pigeon, then a third, releasing all with identical messages.
“Now,” Nancy said, “if Dr. Bull has not yet taken Thorne’s advice to go away and let ‘Adolf’—whoever he is—handle this case, I’ll make sure he will stay awhile.”
Surveying the grounds through the doorway, Nancy made certain no one was visible. The light over the entrance to the stable had been extinguished. Probably, she thought to herself, it had been that gleam which had guided her to the loose bricks and freedom.
“Oh, how happy I am to be above ground again!” Nancy said thankfully.
She slipped outside, eager to fill her lungs once more with dry, fresh air. Slowly and carefully she made her way to the stable. The small door, leading once upon a time into a harness room, was unlocked.
“I’ll peek in,” she whispered to herself.
Two automobiles stood in the stable, one of them the car that had abducted Dr. Spires.
“These scoundrels shall not get away. I’ll detain them until help arrives!”
So saying, Nancy raised the hood of the car nearest her and felt for the cylinder of the gasoline filter. She unscrewed the butterfly bolt which held it in place, and as the glass came off in her hand, gasoline gushed over her fingers.
“They will not rush away in this car,” she mused.
In the same manner she disabled the second vehicle, and with the removed parts in her hand she crept out of the stable.
“That much is taken care of,” Nancy said to herself. “These people will have a surprise if they try to drive away. The main thing, though, is the airplane. I wonder where it is kept? If the landing field is on that level stretch, the plane must be down there. They could not taxi it up this hill. I’ll steal down and make a search.”
Dodging from shadow to shadow, Nancy made her way past the outbuildings. Lights were still burning in the big house, and she guessed that hurried preparations were being made there for departure.
“If only Tiger doesn’t scent me!” she thought.
Safe beneath the slope of the hill, she raced with no attempt at concealment, for time was pressing. Where could the hangar be? She saw no building. Only a stretch of tall trees extended as far as her eye could reach.
Glancing toward the far end of a flat, cleared place, she saw, standing unsheltered, the airplane itself. On winged feet Nancy dashed over to the machine. The motors and propellers were swathed in canvas.
“Oh, dear, this is something I don’t know much about,” the girl said in vexation. “How does one go about crippling an airplane motor?”
Up on the hill the Great Dane barked, and Nancy thought she saw a flashlight gleam momentarily.
“Is Dr. Bull on his way to his aircraft?” she questioned fearfully.
If that were the case, she would have no time in which to experiment with the plane’s motors. She accordingly ran to the rear of the machine, where the broad fins of the rudder drooped.
“I wish I could pilot it. I’d make a fine getaway.” She chuckled at the idea of the consternation of Miss Tyson should she find her captive gone.
Nancy, however, knew enough about flying to realize that in taking off into the air those drooping fins had to be manipulated. She tugged at the taut wires, certain now that she could hear voices approaching.
She felt a stone under her foot. It was a good-sized one with jagged edges. With this in her hand she slashed and pounded away at the guide wires. One, two, three, then a fourth snapped under her attack, each with a resounding “ping” that made her heart jump with alarm.
For good measure she twisted a metal pipe projecting from the body of the plane. What its use was she did not know, yet she felt confident that in disabling it she was making it impossible for Dr. Bull and his accomplices to make any escape by air.
The gleam of a torchlight danced on the grass.
“I must run for dear life,” said Nancy under her breath.
She gathered her flimsy dress tightly about her, and though her high black shoes were not as comfortable as her own trim ties, she raced as she had never raced before. Dashing past beds of larkspurs, she headed toward the thickest and nearest clump of trees. She glanced back once more. Three men were carrying lights. Would she make the grove unseen?