Chapter XI: Varying Fortunes

It was Nick Carter who had come to his assistant’s rescue--and, incidentally, had taken a hand just in time to halt Siebold in the latter’s pursuit of Adelina.

Contrary to Patsy’s expectations, the detective had chosen to crawl through the opening into the next bin, instead of through the little door which Hoff had opened at the front.

Grantley and Siebold were too near the latter to make it a safe exit, for Nick would have had to crawl out on his hands and knees, and they would have been practically certain to see him before he could get into a position to defend himself to advantage.

By creeping into the other bin, however, as Patsy had done, he was enabled to remain under cover until he was ready to make his presence known.

Moreover, he had found there the shovel which had been used to throw the coal over the false bottom of the trick bin, and with this as a weapon he had decided to terminate the struggle between his assistant and the servant.

There was no doubt about his success.

The handle of the shovel narrowly missed Patsy’s head, but Nick knew what he was about. The heavy metal scoop landed fairly on Hoff’s cranium, and the German crumpled up in the arms of the astonished assistant, who let the body of his antagonist drop to the floor.

An instant later Nick was vaulting over the barrier.

The young Irishman picked up the shovel. He did not wait for his chief to alight, nor did he apparently pay any attention to Adelina, whose feet were pattering on the stairs by that time. It was enough for him to hear them and to know that he could now prevent her from being followed.

He singled out Doctor Siebold and sprang at him, whirling the big shovel aloft as he did so, and leaving Nick to attend to Grantley. He knew that the detective would prefer to deal with the ringleader himself.

Siebold was unarmed, and a hasty, panic-stricken survey of his surroundings failed to reveal anything in the nature of a weapon within reach.

Suddenly, however, he leaped toward the gas jet and turned the thumbscrew. Immediately the cellar was plunged in darkness, except for a faint light, which filtered down the distant stairs from the lighted hallway above.

Nick’s assistant had read Siebold’s purpose, but he was too far away to thwart it. He dropped the shovel, however, as soon as the light went out, and flung himself toward the place where Siebold had been standing.

His outstretched arms encountered empty air and then the rough, whitewashed wall, to which the gas bracket was fastened. But his keen ears caught a noise just to the right. He knew in a second that Siebold had dodged in that direction and could not be more than a foot or two away.

Sheering off from the wall, he plunged recklessly in pursuit, leaning as far forward as he dared, every sense on the alert to catch the slightest hint of Siebold’s movements.

It was evident at once that the assistant surgeon had made a foolish blunder. If he had dodged to Patsy’s left, instead of his right, the young detective would have necessarily been between him and the light on the stairs. As it was, though, he was between Patsy and the light, and his antagonist saw his form dimly outlined as Siebold took another tack.

Patsy’s eyes had not yet accustomed themselves to the changed conditions, but they were in much better shape to see what was going on than the average person’s would have been under like circumstances. Consequently, he made out as much as was necessary, and instantly changed his own course.

Simultaneously, he bounded forward with added confidence and impetuosity. The result was that he grasped Siebold’s coat almost immediately.

The young surgeon tried to wriggle out of the garment, but before he could free himself, Patsy had grasped both of his arms and brought him to a halt.

Siebold was at a disadvantage because he was half out of and half in his coat, and, consequently, his resistance was not what it might have been otherwise.

He fought desperately, in a frenzy of fear, while curse after curse passed his writhing lips. But Patsy hung on with comparative ease.

Gradually the young doctor’s wrists were brought together behind his back. Then, to make sure that Siebold would not break away while one of his captor’s hands was temporarily withdrawn, Patsy deliberately tripped him and fell as heavily as he could on top.

While Siebold was gasping for breath to replace that which the unexpected fall had knocked out of him, Nick’s assistant reached into his pocket, produced a pair of handcuffs, and snapped them into place.

Siebold was not likely to give further trouble just then. In fact, Patsy intimated as much to his captive, and added:

“So just lie there and think it over while I throw some light on this business again.”

He had scarcely regained his feet before there was a clatter and the sound of a heavy fall. An exclamation accompanied it, which told Patsy that it was his chief who had gone down. Besides, there could be little doubt that it was the shovel which had tripped his chief, while the latter was scouting about in the darkness on Grantley’s trail.

He had dropped the shovel near the gas fixture, so that the sound now helped to guide him toward his objective point. He did not speak to Nick, however, for he was afraid, if the latter answered, that the sound of his voice would help Grantley to locate him, in case the scoundrelly surgeon was game enough to pounce upon his discomfited enemy instead of taking that opportunity to steal away.

Patsy’s thoughtful precaution was useless. Before he could reach his fallen chief, or the detective could scramble to his feet, Grantley had turned back and leaped upon Carter with all the fury of desperation and murderous resolve.

Nick had been expecting that move on the part of the vivisectionist, and listening for it. He was still on his knees, but he had laid hold of the shovel to keep it out of Grantley’s hands.

The surgeon’s impetuous rush caused him almost to fall over the detective’s arched body. He came from one side, at an angle, and the impact threw Nick over again. His side struck one of the sharp edges of the shovel, which he had not been able to get out of the way.

An involuntary exclamation escaped him as a pain stabbed him through and through. His grip on the handle of the shovel relaxed for a moment. The next instant Grantley’s groping hands had found it and jerked it from under him.

“Now, curse you,” the surgeon cried, “we’ll see how you like your own medicine!”

Again the shovel was upraised, this time over Nick’s own head.

The detective forgot his aching side. Grantley’s knees were gripping his legs, as they might have gripped the side of a horse, but the vivisectionist had been compelled to use both hands to swing the shovel upward.

With surprising ease, Nick flung the upper part of his body around until his head and shoulders were close to Grantley’s left knee.

As he did so, the ponderous weapon descended. Its target had shifted, however, and the shovel rang against the concrete floor with a force that stung Grantley’s hands.

At the same instant the detective’s arms reached up and shot around his waist--and the darkness fled.

The struggle had been taking place directly between Patsy and the gas jet, with the result that Nick’s assistant had halted uncertainly and peered forward for a few seconds. He did not hesitate long, though, for it suddenly occurred to him that his flash lamp had probably been left undisturbed, as the burglar tools had been.

He was right, and it was the work of an instant only to find the electric torch and turn its rays upon the combatants. His first glance reassured him, for he saw that his chief had managed to twist himself in a position which made it impossible for Grantley to use the shovel successfully.

Instinctively Patsy’s eyes traveled from them to the fallen German. The latter was seemingly as unconscious as ever.

“Shall I finish him, chief?” the young detective asked eagerly, turning back again.

He knew that Nick had been knocked out pretty thoroughly, and saw no good reason for prolonging the fight; as a matter of fact, however, he had little hope that Nick would allow him to interfere.

“You might choke him off for me,” the detective said, with a wry face.

Evidently his side was troubling him more than he would have cared to confess.

Patsy needed nothing more. He laid down his flash lamp--which was so made that it did not require a continuous pressure on the button to remain lighted--and jumped into the fray.

His fingers went around Grantley’s neck and he jerked the surgeon backward until Nick was freed. Grantley struggled for all he was worth, but the grip on his throat did not relax. His face grew purple and congested, his tongue hung out of his slavering jaws, and still Patsy maintained that terrible hold.

Gradually the vivisectionist’s struggles became weaker and weaker, but it was not until Nick had handcuffed him that Patsy’s grip was loosened.

As soon as he had tossed the gasping and almost unconscious man aside, Patsy made for Hoff, with the intention of securing him before he should come to and give any more trouble.

He halted on the way, however, amazed to find Doctor Cooke in his path. Nick’s friend had slowly regained his senses, and, finding himself free, had crawled out of his prison house as soon as he felt it safe to do so.

He and Patsy exchanged a few hurried words, after which the latter started upstairs, to satisfy himself that all was well with Adelina.

He met her returning to the Grantley house, and learned from her that she had telephoned to the police and the nearest hospital. An ambulance and a patrol wagon, full of reserves, soon arrived. There was no longer any need of the latter, but the ambulance was very welcome.

The Jewish girl--whose name was subsequently found to be Alma Baum--was tenderly removed from the cellar and carried to the hospital, where she ultimately recovered from her terrible experience.

Grantley’s skill had made a bungling job impossible, despite the highly dangerous nature of the inexcusable operation which had been performed upon her.

Alma owes her life to Nick Carter twice over, as a matter of fact, for the detective was not only instrumental in halting the operation and rushing her to the hospital at the earliest possible moment, but also furnished the money which enabled her, later on, to go to the Adirondacks, where she made a complete recovery from her lung trouble.

Grantley, Siebold, and Hoff were locked up that night. The six young physicians who had been Grantley’s disciples had left the house before the climax, after the flesh wound which Patsy had inflicted on one of them had been dressed. The nurse had taken “French leave” as soon as her employer and his two companions started for the cellar. All of them were rounded up, however, despite the difficulties involved.

Nick was usually opposed to newspaper sensations, but in this instance he encouraged the newspapers to make as much as they could of the arrests and the shocking practices which had led up to them.