Kitabı oku: «A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XIX
IN CORRIGAN'S POWER
For the moment after Corrigan made his assertion that Deb must do as he said, the terrified girl could not speak. She stared at the man in terror.
"Wha-what do you mean?" she gasped at last.
"You heard what I said," he answered coolly. "I want no nonsense from you either."
"But-but-what are you treating me so for?"
"That's my business, Miss Willington."
"And I must consider myself your prisoner?" she added, growing more pale than ever.
"That's it."
"You have no right to keep me here."
"Perhaps not, but you must remember that might makes right in some cases."
"Where is my brother Jack? I do not believe that you have told the truth about him."
"If you don't believe me, why do you want me to answer your questions?" he returned with a wicked grin on his unshaven face.
"You have harmed Jack in some way-I am sure of it!"
"No, no! To tell you honestly I haven't the least idea where he is," said Corrigan hastily.
Under no circumstances did he wish to stand for the crimes which his brother-in-law had committed. As it was, he felt that he had enough to answer for on his own account.
There was an awkward pause after this. Then of a sudden Deb started to scream, but he quickly clapped his hand over her mouth.
"None of that!" he said, roughly. "If you won't be quiet, do you know what I'll have to do?"
"I guess you are mean enough to do almost anything!" burst out poor Deb.
"I'll have to gag you, that's what. I won't have you yelling for help, remember that!"
"But I do not wish to remain here!" insisted Deb, desperately.
"Oh, pshaw! I won't hurt you. Sit down and keep quiet."
But the girl could not compose herself and began to walk up and down the mill floor. She wished to get to the door and edged in that direction, but Corrigan quickly headed her off.
"You come with me," he said, presently. "I ain't going to trust you down here any more."
"I shan't go a step with you," she answered, vehemently. "O, Mr. Corrigan, please let me go! Please do!" And she clasped her hands and held them out toward him.
"Don't cut up so, Miss Willington. As I said before, I shan't harm a hair of your head. But I must make you stay here for a while. Now come with me."
"But where do you wish me to go?"
"There is a loft overhead. I must lock you up there, but only for a little while."
"But why are you doing this?"
"As I said before, that must remain my business. Come."
She shook her head.
"I-I cannot!" she cried, and began to weep.
Muttering something under his breath the villain caught her by the arms, just as he had caught her when he had come for the model, and in a trice he was carrying her up to the loft. She struggled as best she could but this availed her nothing.
"Now you keep quiet, or I'll surely gag you," he said, as he set her down on the dusty floor. "If you start up any kind of a racket it will be the worse for you."
Having thus delivered himself, Corrigan went below again, closing the door to the loft behind him and fastened one of the bolts which was there to hold it in place.
Left to herself, Deb stood dazed for a moment in the center of the floor. Then she tottered to an empty box standing near and sank upon this, the picture of misery and despair.
What should she do? What could she do?
Over and over she asked herself the questions, but without reaching a satisfying answer. She was the prisoner of a wicked man, and to get away from him appeared impossible.
The loft was very dusty, and from overhead hung huge cobwebs full of dirt and spiders. It was quite dark, for the only window was a little affair overlooking the river and the four tiny panes of this were thick with grime, the accumulation of years.
At last she arose, and with a long-drawn sigh made her way toward the window. It was nailed fast and could not be raised, so she had to content herself with scraping some of the dirt from the glass and looking through the spots thus afforded.
She could see but little, and nothing which gave her satisfaction. Below her was the broad and swift-flowing river, and beyond was a grassy bank, backed up by brush and tall trees. No boat was in sight, nor any human being.
She listened attentively, and not hearing Corrigan began to wonder if he had left the building.
"If he has I must escape somehow," she told herself. "I wonder if I can't pry open that door?"
She knelt over the door and tried it with her bare hands. But this was not sufficient, and getting up she looked around for something which might prove useful to her. In a corner of the loft rested a rusty iron bar, somewhat sharpened at one end. She brought this forth and after inspecting it felt certain that it would prove just what was needed.
Approaching the trapdoor she called out softly:
"Mr. Corrigan! Mr. Corrigan, are you down there?" And then, receiving no answer, she went on: "Mr. Corrigan, I must speak to you. Won't you please listen?"
Still the silence continued, and now her heart arose within her. He must certainly have gone away, and if that was so, now was her time to escape!
Trembling with anxiety, Deb began to work away on the door with the iron bar. At last she got the end of the bar in the crack of the door, and then she began to pry the door upwards. At first it refused to budge, but suddenly the bolt gave way and then the door came open with ease.
She was at liberty, or at least liberty was within her grasp, and with her heart thumping madly in her breast, she began to descend to the floor below, bar in hand. Once she thought she heard a noise outside and stopped short. What if that awful man should be coming back! But the noise ceased and was not repeated, and she went on and soon stood at the spot where he had first made her a prisoner.
The door to the roadway was open, and poor Deb could hardly resist the temptation to fly forth at the top of her speed. But then she remembered that Corrigan might be within easy distance of the mill. If that was so, and he caught sight of her, he would surely make after her.
"I must watch my chance, and if he is around, I must get away on the sly," was what she told herself. Curiously enough, while up in the loft, she had not discovered Jack's model, which was tucked away out of her sight.
With bated breath she tiptoed her way to the open doorway and peered forth. No one was in sight on the road, nor at the water's edge near the mill. All was as silent as a tomb, save for the distant rushing of the water over the rocks.
Waiting no longer, Debt left the mill and started for the road. She was still terribly frightened and ran on as if some great demon was after her trying to clutch her shoulder. In her agitation she did not notice a tree root growing in her pathway, and catching her foot in this, she pitched headlong on the stones and grass.
It was a cruel fall, and as she fell she could not keep back a cry of alarm, followed by one of pain, for her elbow was hurt not a little.
At the cry there was a crashing in the bushes overlooking the river at a point above the mill, and a moment later Corrigan appeared. He had gone out on a point of land to see if he could catch sight anywhere of Andy Mosey.
"What! did you get away?" he roared.
"Let me go!" screamed Deb. "Oh, my elbow! Let me go!"
"Let you go nothing!" he answered, and caught hold of her once more. "Come back with me! Come back this minute!"
"No, no!" she moaned. "I-I don't want to go back!"
"But you shall go back," he answered. And despite her struggles he lifted her into his arms once more and returned with her to the mill.
CHAPTER XX
MONT TELLS His STORY
As Jack and Mont journeyed on the way to Corney, the young machinist noticed that the young man was rather silent, and when spoken to replied only in monosyllables.
"I suppose he's speculating about those papers and the stranded yacht," thought Jack. "Perhaps they will be valuable to him when he comes to settle up with his uncle. I'd just like to know what interest father had in that tool machinery. Perhaps the patent is still ours, or a royalty on it. As soon as I find Deb, and things are settled a bit, I'm going to investigate the whole subject."
Jack's surmise concerning Mont was correct.
"What do you think of my uncle?" asked the young man, after a long period of silence.
"What do I think of him?" asked the young machinist in turn. "In what way?"
"Why, as to his dealings with people in general."
"Well, I-I really, Mont, I don't want to say anything that will hurt your feelings," stammered Jack, not wishing to be harsh with so dear a friend, and yet determined to speak only the truth.
"Never mind my feelings. Just speak your mind."
Jack was silent a moment.
"I think he's outrageously mean and close!" he burst out. "He doesn't treat you, nor any one else in the tool works fairly! He's the hardest master to work for in the town!"
The young machinist could be blunt when the occasion demanded, and he did not mince matters now.
"I guess you are right," replied Mont, shaking his head affirmatively. "And yet-" he hesitated.
"What?"
"I hardly dare say what is in my mind, Jack. But I want a friend's advice."
"And I'll give it willingly."
"And keep the matter to yourself?"
"Certainly, if you wish it."
"Then I've got this to say about my uncle, Felix Gray," declared Mont. "He is either treating me first-rate-which I don't believe-or else he is the worst scoundrel in Corney!"
Jack was dumfounded.
"The worst scoundrel in Corney?" he repeated almost breathlessly. "You surely don't mean it!"
"Yes, I do," replied the young man, decidedly.
"Don't think I say so hastily. I've thought over the matter a long time. Things can't go on as they have much longer, and when the break comes, I want somebody to know my side of the story."
"Yes, go on."
"In the first place, you must remember that Mr. Gray is not my full uncle. He and my father were only half brothers, so we are not so closely connected as people imagine."
"That's so," replied Jack, trying to catch a glimpse of what his friend was driving at.
"My father was ten years younger than his step-brother," continued Mont, slowly. "He was quite well off, having been left considerable money by an old aunt, who always took a great interest in him. My uncle Felix induced him, shortly after receiving his inheritance, to locate at Corney, and both became equal partners in the tool works."
"On your father's capital?"
"So I imagined; his brother putting his experience and command of trade against my father's money."
"Then you really own a half interest in the works!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise.
"So I always believed. But listen. My father died suddenly, it was said. I returned home in time to hear his will read. In this, his property, without being specified, was left to me as the only surviving member of the family, with Felix Gray as the sole executor and my guardian."
"It was a good deal to trust in his hands."
"I suppose my father had unlimited confidence in his brother. I trusted him, too, and continued at school for three years longer.
"When seventeen years old I returned home, and asked him if I was not old enough to take an active position at the works, and then he offered me my present clerkship, and astonished me by asserting that my father had squandered most of his wealth by extravagant living, and that several hundred dollars was all there was remaining of my share."
"And you think?" began the young machinist, who was beginning to see through the situation.
"What would you think, Jack?" asked the young man, earnestly. "My father lived well-owned the yacht we just left, and all that-but was on the whole, I've been told, a prudent man. Now you know my uncle, what do you make of the matter?"
"Did Mr. Gray ever offer to let you examine the accounts?"
"Only those at the tool works, but not the private ones at home."
"Then, to say the least, he is certainly not acting as a guardian should," declared Jack. "And I think you would be perfectly justified in demanding an examination."
"That's your honest opinion?"
"It is, Mont. If he is acting right he won't mind it, and if he isn't, why the sooner you find it out the better. From my own experience I am sure he would stoop pretty low to increase his wealth or position."
"Yes, but that-that-" hesitated the young man, his face flushing.
"I know what you mean," replied Jack quickly. "To deprive you of what's yours is a crime punishable by imprisonment, and you hate to have such a thing connected with any one in your family. But it's not your fault, and you ought to have your rights."
"Yes, but the publicity?" faltered Mont.
"Oh, pshaw! you don't owe the public anything!" exclaimed the young machinist, somewhat impatiently, so anxious was he to see Mont get his rights. "Perhaps the affair can be settled privately."
"I wish it could," returned the young man eagerly. "I would sacrifice a good deal to have it done in that way."
Mont's nature was a shrinking one. Had he been less diffident it is probable that he would have demanded an account from Mr. Felix Gray long before this.
"How will you approach your uncle?" asked Jack. "Have you any proofs to show that all is not right?"
"I think I have. During the fire I helped carry out a desk from the library, and the other fellow let his end fall, and burst open one of the drawers. The contents rolled out on the ground, and in putting the papers back I came across a bundle marked with my father's name. I was at first going to put it with the rest, but as matters stand, changed my mind, and pocketed it. I took it down to the office, but haven't been able to examine it, except in a general way. And then those documents from the yacht-"
"Here they are," replied Jack, producing them. "You have some, too."
"Yes, quite a bundle."
Mont undid them, and tried to read some of the faded manuscript.
"It's too dark to see much," he observed. "If I'm not mistaken, my father wrote everything that is here."
"It's queer that Pooler should leave all those things on the yacht undisturbed," returned the young machinist. "One would think that such a man as he would have ransacked the boat from stem to stern."
"He certainly must have a reason,", said the young man. "Or else-I've been thinking-he may be a little off in his mind. Did you notice what a restless look his eyes had?"
"Yes, as if he expected to be nabbed by some one."
"What Mosey and Corrigan and my uncle do there beats me."
"And then the yacht. Was your father on board when he died?"
"I don't know. I always supposed he was at home, and never asked about it."
Both felt that for the present at least, the solution of this question was beyond their power to reach, and they lapsed into silence.
They were now near the old mill, and remembering the kit he had dropped when he discovered Mosey, Jack made a search for it.
"What are you looking for?" asked Mont.
"My tools I dropped-gracious, listen!"
A shrill, girlish voice penetrated the air, and fairly struck him to the heart.
"Help! Jack! Help!"
"It's Deb!" he ejaculated. "She's in trouble!" and he ran toward the old building, closely followed by Mont.
It took but a few seconds to reach the place. The door was tightly closed, but with one heavy kick the young machinist burst it open.
They were astonished at the sight within.
There was Corrigan-his red face redder than ever with rage-and in his arms, her hair flying, and her dress plainly showing the effects of her terrible struggle for liberty, was poor Deb!
CHAPTER XXI
CORRIGAN MAKES A MOVE
Both Jack and Mont had had surprising adventures in plenty, but both of them agreed that none of them equaled the present one.
The noise in the room prevented Corrigan from hearing their entrance, and it was not until Jack's strong hand grasped his arm that he realized the sudden intrusion, and let go his hold upon Deb.
As for the poor girl, she was too exhausted to speak, but with a glad look of recognition, sank back in a faint, supported by Mont, who sprang forward to prevent her from falling to the floor.
"You miserable coward!" exclaimed the young machinist, his blood boiling at a fever heat. "What do you mean by holding my sister in this way?"
With a strong push of his powerful arm he sent the man flying into a corner. It was lucky that he had no weapon in his hands, or Corrigan's career might have received a severe set back.
"Are you hurt?" asked Mont of Deb, as the girl presently opened her eyes, and gave a little gasp.
"I-I think not," she replied, slowly. "Oh, how glad I am that both of you came when you did!"
"What brought you here?" asked the young man.
"I was looking for Jack."
Meanwhile Corrigan had risen to his feet, and stood in a corner, his chagrin at being caught showing itself plainly upon his face. Jack faced him, his hand clenched, ready to strike instantly, if necessary.
"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" demanded the young machinist.
Corrigan offered no reply. The sudden turn in affairs was something he could not understand. He bit his lip and tried to put on a bold and careless front, but the effort was a failure.
"He stole your model, Jack!" cried Deb.
"So I heard," replied her brother. "What have you done with my property?" he added to Corrigan.
"I haven't anything of yours," was Corrigan's cool reply. "It's all a mistake."
"No, it isn't, Jack; it's the truth," reiterated the girl earnestly.
"You went into my house and took that model by force," continued the young machinist. "You see, I know all about it, so you might as well give up the thing at once."
While speaking, Jack had unconsciously stepped to one side. With a sudden movement Corrigan slipped past him, and made for the open door.
But the young machinist was on the alert, and before the man could realize it, he was sprawling on the floor, with Jack on top of him.
By intuition, he appeared to feel that it would be useless to struggle, and so lay perfectly still.
"I've a good mind to bind you, hands and feet," said Jack. "Close that door, will you, Mont?" he added to his friend.
"Will you let me go if I give up the model?" panted Corrigan, who began to feel the weight of Jack's heavy body upon his chest.
"I don't know. But you've got to give it up, anyway."
"I suppose it's hidden here," put in Mont. "That's probably the reason he's hanging around the place."
"Wherever it is you will never find it without being told," broke in Corrigan.
For well-known reasons he was anxious to get away.
"Oh, let him go, Jack!" exclaimed Deb. "I don't care, now I've got you-and Mont" – the last words with a grateful look at the young man, that caused him to blush. Jack thought the matter over carefully. He was not of a vindictive nature, and bore no personal ill-will against Corrigan.
"What do you think of it?" he whispered to Mont.
"Might as well let him go if he gives up your property," replied the young man. "It would be rather hard for us to manage him."
"Then give up the model and you can leave," said the young machinist to Corrigan. "But I never want you to come around me again."
"Give me your word on letting me go if I give it up?" asked the man, with an eager look.
"Yes."
"Come on, then."
Corrigan led the way to the upper room of the mill. The little party of three entered.
"There it is," said the man, pointing to a corner; "you will find it up there, back of that large beam," and he pointed to an angle in the roof, about eight feet from the floor.
"Give me a boost up, Mont," exclaimed Jack.
The young man caught him by the hips, and held him up as best he could.
"It's here, sure enough!" cried the young machinist, and from out of a dim recess he brought forth the model, covered with dust and cobwebs.
So interested were the two that they did not notice Corrigan back out from the room and close the door behind him.
"I'm glad it's safe!" exclaimed Jack, as he placed the precious burden upon the floor.
"I was afraid-Hello-what's that?"
The creak of a bolt not used before sounded in his ears, and in an instant he noticed the closed door.
"He's gone!" ejaculated Mont, in astonishment.
The young machinist sprang to the door and shook it vainly.
"Trapped, by Jinks!" he exclaimed. "Here, quick! we'll break it down!"
With all force both threw themselves against the wooden barrier.
Unfortunately the door was an old-fashioned one, thick and solid, and it stood firm.
"We're caged and no mistake!" cried the young man, nearly breathless from his repeated exertions. "Hist! Listen!"
Pale as a sheet, Jack did as bidden.
There was a struggle going on below. They heard Deb shriek several times.
"Great heavens, what is he doing?" continued Mont.
"We must get out," exclaimed Jack determinedly.
"Now! One, two, three!"
Bang!
The door groaned. It bent out at the bottom, but still held its own.
"Try it again! Now!"
Bang! Crash!
A thin split through one of the panels, but that was all. Jack jumped over to the model.
"What are you going to do?" asked Mont, perplexed.
"Cut our way out," was the reply.
Taking a small screwdriver from his pocket, the young machinist loosened one of the sharp knives of the miniature planer. As he did so there came a scream from beyond the road.
Jack was again back to the door. How rapidly the chips flew! Hurrah! he had made a hole through!
He put in his finger.
"Can you reach the bolt?" asked the young man anxiously.
"Not quite!"
Again the chips flew. The hole grew larger.
"Here, Mont, try your hand. It's smaller than mine."
The young man did so. With a painful squeeze he pushed through the opening, and catching the bolt by his thumb, drew it back.
Jack then opened the door, and rushing out, jumped down the steps four at a time.
"Come on!" he called back to Mont, who was vainly endeavoring to release his hand. "I think he's gone down the road."
The young machinist was not long in reaching the outside. But once there he came to a full stop.
Neither his sister nor Corrigan were anywhere to be seen!
In a few seconds Mont appeared, the back of his hand bleeding from the scratch it had received.
"Where are they?" he gasped, tying his handkerchief over the wound.
"Blessed if I know!" exclaimed Jack.
He ran to a bend in the road, and then back again. Not a soul to be seen anywhere!
Meanwhile, the young man examined the river bank. All was quiet and undisturbed. The sun had set fully an hour before, and the twilight, especially under the trees, was fast deepening.
"We can't trace them in the dark," remarked Mont, as they stopped for consideration.
"We've got to do it," declared the young machinist; "I'm going to find Deb if it takes a week."
"Then I'm with you, Jack. Come on."
"It runs in my mind that they must have taken that road," said Jack, as he pointed to the one that led down the river.
"Well, we might as well take that as any other," returned Mont. "He must certainly have carried her in his arms, and-well, I declare! Isn't that her hair ribbon?" and he picked up a streamer of brown from the road-side.
Jack examined it.
"You're right," he replied, "We are on the direct way to overtake them. Come!"
Both started on a run. They soon passed the falls, and came to a clear spot on the bank of the river.
Mont uttered a cry.
"Look! Look!" he exclaimed, pointing out in mid-stream. "There they are in a boat; Corrigan is making for Blackbird Island!"
