Chapter VII: Prisoners

Patsy presently heard a door open into the hall from one of the other rooms, and Doctor Siebold’s voice came to him again, this time from behind and to one side.

“Now we’ve got him where we want him!” it said triumphantly.

The young detective did not dare turn his head as he heard footsteps approaching along the hall, for there were still four men in front of him in the operating room, and they were waiting to take advantage of the slightest inattention on his part.

All he could do was to withdraw one of his weapons from Grantley’s side and point it at them, when he swung the other around so that it pointed along the hall, in the direction of Siebold and the others.

He could not aim it, except by ear, but it might have a deterring effort, and if it became necessary to fire it, the shot might take effect by accident.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of myself if I were you, Siebold,” he called, without turning his head.

He put as much confidence into the reply as he could, but he felt little, for he knew that Grantley’s assistant could fire at him if he wished, without giving him the slightest warning.

It all depended on Siebold’s willingness to go that far, and his ability to hit his mark at the first shot.

“Shoot him down, you fools!” screamed Grantley, who had been emboldened by the removal of the muzzle from his ribs. “And a couple of you go next door and get the woman. Go the back way. The street is probably full of gaping idiots, drawn by the explosion. Don’t let them see you.”

The young detective’s heart sank at the words. Adelina was in danger, and he could do nothing to help her.

In a rage, he kicked Grantley in the head and had the satisfaction of hearing a shuddering sigh at his feet. He could not look down, but he felt sure that Grantley was unconscious. The kick had been a powerful one.

The vivisectionist’s brutal advice had its effect, however, and spurred on his reluctant followers. One of those in the operating room leaped aside and made for the door, and Siebold sent one of the two who had accompanied him to join the first and carry out Grantley’s instructions.

The die was cast.

Patsy’s enemies ceased to hang back and content themselves with halfway measures. Their fears were forgotten, and, although most of them probably did not know what was to come of it, their leader’s words inflamed them.

Almost immediately a shot rang out in the narrow hall. Siebold had fired at Nick’s assistant.

The latter stiffened expectantly, involuntarily, but the bullet sang past his head and was embedded in the wall beyond. Siebold had missed.

The weapon in Patsy’s right hand answered at once, and although it was impossible for its owner to see what success it had had, he heard a startled, agonized exclamation, followed by a fall.

He could not be sure of the voice, but he had an unwelcome feeling that it was not Siebold he had hit, but his sole remaining companion.

If that was the case, luck was certainly against him, for Siebold was the only one remaining who had a revolver.

But if Grantley’s assistant was still on his feet--which later proved to be the case--he had no time to fire again, for one of the three men still in the operating room relieved him of that responsibility.

It was Doctor Willard, the man with the reddish hair, who was one of the two whom Cooke had pointed out to Nick.

Just after Patsy had fired at random, and while he was listening for the effect of his shot, Willard swung aloft the heavy chair across the back of which he had been leaning, and let it fly straight at Patsy’s head.

By some strange freak of chance it cleared the narrow doorway and struck its mark fairly and squarely in the chest.

Patsy had seen it coming, but the distance between him and Willard had been too short to allow him to dodge, even if he had wished to abandon his vantage point in front of the door.

He counted on its striking the doorjamb, and, by the time it hurtled through the opening without touching the side, it was too late to guard himself.

Both of his weapons went off as the chair struck him, owing to the unconscious tightening of his fingers on the triggers, but the shots went wild.

The impact was a vicious one.

It knocked the breath completely out of the young detective’s body and flung him violently against the wall of the passage behind him.

Before he could begin to recover himself, half a dozen hands were laid upon him at once and he was borne to the floor. Such resistance as he was able to make was quickly overcome, and he was bound and gagged.

It was a bitter dose, but Patsy took it philosophically, an example of the uncertain fortunes of the business which he followed.

It was characteristic of him that he gave little thought to the plight of himself and his companions, more to the peril of Adelina, and most to the condition of the unfortunate girl whom they had attempted in vain to rescue.

The worst of it was that she would doubtless soon be coming out from under the influence of the anæsthetic, and the agony and unimaginable shock of her condition might easily prove fatal.

Surely, though, his wife had sent for the police by that time and they would arrive soon. If they did, the first thing to be done would be to give the girl more ether and then rush her to a hospital. That was more important even than the capture of those who had cut into her so mercilessly.

But help seemed as far away as ever.

There was a hasty consultation, in which Doctor Siebold took a leading part, and then Patsy was blindfolded and dragged away, after being whirled around several times in order to confuse him and cause him to lose his sense of direction.

Nick, who was exhibiting faint signs of returning consciousness, and Doctor Cooke, who was still dead to the world, were similarly treated.

Patsy tried to keep track of his surroundings, but failed.

He only knew that he was roughly dragged along the hall--in which direction he could not tell--hustled through no less than three doors, and then--after some heavy furniture had been moved, apparently to uncover a trapdoor--was yanked up and down on a rope.

When his captors got through with him, he could not have told, to save his life, whether he was on the same floor as the operating room, the one above it, or the one below it--that is, from anything which his confusing route had told him.

And the only reason he was inclined to believe that he was in the cellar was that the air had a musty, subterranean smell.

Two other prisoners--Nick and the young surgeon, beyond a doubt--were soon dumped in on top of him.

Evidently their prison was very small, and the closeness of the air suggested that it had long been closed up.

Perhaps ten minutes later a fourth prisoner was unceremoniously added to the growing heap, but the additional weight was not great. Patsy’s instincts told him that Adelina was probably the latest arrival.

The thought gave him a sickening sensation.

If his young wife had been seized, no one was left on the outside with anything like a definite knowledge of their whereabouts.

To be sure, Nick’s other assistants knew the situation in a general way, but they were not aware that an attempt to force Doctor Grantley’s hand was to have been made that night. Nick had not been sure that he would act until the last moment.

They would doubtless take steps, sooner or later, to learn what had happened, but, in the meantime, unless Adelina had called up the police before her capture, almost anything might happen.

Grantley had unmistakably revealed his vindictiveness and willingness to go to any length. When he was himself again, therefore, his influence would be in the highest degree antagonistic, rather than otherwise.

That was doubtless what Siebold and the rest were waiting for--to get orders from Grantley for the final disposal of their enemies.

But Patsy was to experience still another shock.

Almost immediately after the fourth prisoner had been thrown upon the indiscriminate heap, a fifth form was added to it.

For perhaps half a minute Patsy puzzled over the identity of this latest arrival; then, in a flash, he guessed the harrowing truth.

It must be the Jewish girl, the vivisectionist’s victim; and she had almost certainly been brought there--unquestionably more dead than alive--to get her out of the way in case the bluecoats should search the house.