Chapter XXIV: The Secret Room

Tom stared uncomprehendingly at the heap of stones. As he stood there he again heard the murmur of the hidden voices. Some one said:

“I wonder how much longer we’ll have to stay here?”

“Jack Fitch, as sure as I’m here!” gasped Tom.

“Hang it all,” said a second voice, “I don’t see why Tom doesn’t do something.”

“That’s Bert Wilson,” murmured our hero.

“Maybe he’s trying to find us, but doesn’t know where to look,” spoke a third person.

“That was Dick,” mused Tom.

“Oh, he must know we’re here,” came from the hidden Jack.

“They’re around here, they’re within talking distance, and yet I can’t get at them!” thought Tom. Once more he looked at the stones, loosely heaped together. A sudden thought came to him. A flood of memory--something he had once read in a book.

Kneeling down he placed his lips close to the crevices in the stones and called:

“Fellows, I’m here! This is Tom Fairfield! Where are you? I’ve come to rescue you! I’ve been trying all the while, but this is the first chance I’ve had! Where are you?”

Silence followed his words. Silence, and then came a rush of voices.

“It’s Tom!”

“Good old Tom!”

“Here at last!”

“Oh, Tom, get us out! We’re almost starved, and we don’t know what they’re going to do with us. Break in and get us out!”

“But where are you?” asked our hero, much puzzled. “I can hear you. Your voices seem to come through a speaking tube. But I can’t see you. Can you look out of a window and see me?”

“No,” Jack Fitch answered back. “We’re in some secret room in the old mill. The only window is a skylight. But where are you?”

“Near a pile of stones at the side of the mill. How were you brought in?”

“The old hermit, Skeel, and Sam and Nick. They made us prisoners, bound us, carried us off in your motorboat, and brought us here. They blindfolded us and carried us up. To the third story, I guess, though we never could find the staircase,” said Jack, through some crack leading to the pile of stones.

“I found the secret stairway,” answered Tom. “I saw it on the plans. It’s built inside the wall, but how to get to it I don’t know. Unless--hold on, wait a minute!” he called eagerly. “I’ve just thought of something! Oh, fellows, I believe I’m on the trail!”

Eagerly Tom began casting aside the stones of the pile. He worked feverishly, oblivious of any of his enemies who might see him. Stone after stone he cast aside, and then he found what he had suspected and sought.

Concealed under the pile of small, loose stones was a trap door and a flight of steps leading into the earth, and beyond them Tom could see a stone passage--a tunnel. It seemed to lead toward the mill.

“I’m coming boys!” he called. “I’ve found it! The way to the secret room! I’m coming!”

Abandoning his blanket and package of food, and taking only his electric flashlight and the small axe, Tom climbed down the steps. A damp, musty odor greeted him, but he did not halt. He had a momentary thought that he might meet the hermit, or some of his enemies, but he did not hold back. Instead he ran boldly forward, his lamp giving him light enough to see.

Now he was fairly within the tunnel, which had been hollowed out of the earth, and lined with stones to prevent a cave-in. On Tom ran, calling from time to time, but he could no longer hear his companions’ voices. At first a fear came to him that he had been discovered, and his chums removed to some other part of the mill. Then he realized that, because of some peculiar acoustic property of the tunnel, he could only hear them at the heap of stones. On and on he ran.

Presently he came to an old door that closed the tunnel. The portal was locked, but a few blows on the rotting wood from the hatchet opened the way for him. He saw before him a flight of stairs leading up, and opposite the lower landing was another door.

“This is the secret staircase,” decided Tom, “and that other door is the way they get into it from the second floor of the mill, but it must be pretty well concealed. I’m in between the walls now, and the boys are up there!”

He paused a moment to flash his light upward, and saw that the coast was clear. Then up the stairs he bounded. He listened as he reached the top, and heard the murmur of voices.

“Here I am, boys!” he cried.

“Tom! Tom!” came the answering shout.

At the head of the stairs was another door. Tom pushed on it, but it resisted his efforts.

“No time now to stop at trifles,” he murmured. “I’m going to smash it!” and smash it he did. It gave way with a crash, and Tom fairly tumbled into a large room. A hasty glance around showed that the apartment was empty, and another look disclosed the gun, fixed to the window sill in such a way that it looked as if someone was pointing it.

“And that nearly fooled me!” mused Tom. “But where are the boys, I wonder?”

He looked about. The room was a large one, and, opening from it were several apartments and halls. They were rudely fitted up, and in one were a stove and cooking utensils.

“Here’s where the hermit has been living,” thought Tom, “and I guess the others have been hanging out here with him, too. But where are my chums?”

There was no sign of them in any of the rooms, and for a moment our hero feared it had all been some dream--even the sound of the hidden voices. And yet he knew it could not be a dream.

“Jack! Dick! Bert!” he called. “I’m here! Where are you?”

He paused, listening for an answer. It came, faint and as though from afar off.

“Here we are,” replied a voice. “We’re in some secret room. Listen while we pound on the wall, and that may guide you.”

There came a faint tapping. Tom strained his ears to listen. He advanced toward one wall, and then to another, until he had located the place where the sound was heard most plainly.

“I get you!” he cried. “The secret door must be somewhere around here. Here goes for a try at it.”

He looked over the wall for a sign of some secret spring, or something on which to press to make the door fly back, but he saw nothing. Then, realizing that he was losing valuable time, he raised the hatchet and began chopping. The chips and splinters flew in all directions, and at about the tenth blow something gave way.

Whether Tom hit the secret spring, or whether he broke the mechanism, he did not stop to find out. A door flew open, revealing a passage, and down this our hero ran. A second door confronted him--an ordinary door, fastened with a padlock on the outside. A few blows sufficed to break this, and a moment later Tom had burst into the secret room where his chums were prisoners.