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Page 84
It must be confessed that Adam Adams felt that he was in a dangerous
situation--a situation in which the majority of men would have given up
utterly. He still had his lantern, and this he lit once more, and by
its rays examined every foot of the vault in which he was a prisoner.
He saw little that gave him encouragement. The sides and flooring were
of stone and brick, well put together and strong. The ceiling was
likewise of brick, resting on arches of iron.
"Looks as If I was booked to stay here!" he muttered grimly, as he
viewed the situation. "No getting out as I got out of that other hole."
He noticed that the air was not good, and this soon gave him cause for
additional alarm. If he could not get any fresh air, he might smother
before anybody came to release him.
Once more he went over the walls and the flooring, and even pounded on
the iron door. It was all to no purpose. He was as close a prisoner
as if encased in a stone tomb.
"Perhaps they will leave me here until I either smother or starve to
death," he reasoned. "It would be an easy way of disposing of me. And
Miss Langmore and Mr. Case would wonder how I came to disappear so
mysteriously."
He set the boxes on the floor, and, standing on one of them, proceeded
to examine the roofing of the vault more carefully. He found one of
the iron arches a bit loose at one end, and pulled upon it with all his
might.
The result was greater than he had anticipated. The iron brace came
down, and with it fell several dozens of brick, some hitting the
detective on the legs and feet. He shrank back against the shelves,
and so avoided getting the shower on his head. The lantern was
smashed, leaving him in total darkness.
As soon as the fall was over, he pulled the boxes from beneath the
bricks and piled them one on top of the other. Mounting as high as he
could, he felt around, secured a hold on some bricks and stones above,
and hauled himself upward.
"Now to get out somehow!" he told himself. "No more lingering in this
den of criminals!"
He felt around, as he moved forward. On all sides the walls were wet
and slimy. He advanced with care, resolved to avoid all pitfalls, were
it possible to do so. He was in a place where the roofing was no
higher than his shoulders, so he had to stoop as he progressed.
A moment later he found himself in a narrow passageway, with rocks on
one side and a heavy wooden partition on the other. Through a slit in
the partition a faint light was streaming.
Adam Adams tiptoed his way to the slit and looked through. Beyond he
made out the printing room of the counterfeiting plant. Only one man
was present, the big-boned fellow known as Number Four. He was seated
on the corner of a rude table, idly tearing some paper into strips, and
evidently thinking deeply.
As the detective was about to move on, another person entered the
printing room.
"Did they get him?" asked Number Four eagerly.
"Yes," was the short reply.
"Where was he?"
"You'd never guess."
"At the river?"
"No; in the vault."
"What! How did he get there?"
"Nobody knows. He must have found the door open. But it's against the
rules for anybody to leave that door unlocked."
"I know that," said Number Four, and heaved a deep sigh.
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