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Battle for the Right

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<h2 id="IX">CHAPTER IX. THROUGH THE CELLARS.</h2> “We’ll go to the basement, Patsy. There are some points I want to clear up before going any further with this case. Keep close behind me, now that you insist on being here, and don’t do anything unless I tell you.” “All right!” “I mean what I say,” whispered Chick, more sternly. “I don’t quite like the way you said ‘all right.’ It seemed to me you were treating my orders rather lightly.” “No, I wasn’t,” denied Patsy in a hurt tone. “I always do as I’m told, don’t I? And when you’re in charge of a case, I regard you as the chief’s representative, and I take as much notice of what you say as if you were Nick Carter himself.” “These two houses are exactly alike, from what I can see,” mused Chick aloud, as they slowly descended to the basement again. “What do you know about it, Patsy?” “I’d bet on it,” was the curt response. “That’s what I think. We’ll go lower this time.” “In the cellar?” “Yes. The cellar stairs are under these, and the door is not locked. Be careful you don’t stumble.” “I’ll look out,” returned Patsy. “I don’t want to break my neck by going down headfirst.” “It isn’t that. But you might make a noise that would attract attention—that’s all.” Patsy shrugged his shoulders at this remark. But it was too dark for Chick to see the gesture. Nor did he hear the whispered observation of his companion. “What does my neck matter, so long as we don’t[58] spoil the case? That is a businesslike way to look at it, anyhow.” Once in the spacious cellar, with the door above closed, Chick announced that it would be safe to use a light. “Bring out your electric flash, Patsy, and I’ll use mine. That’s right. We’ll take a general observation down here. There are three or four cellars opening out of each other. We’ll go over into that one next to the other house.” Many empty bottles and some wooden boxes that had held bottles of beer were scattered about. “Help me pile some boxes over in this corner against the wall, Patsy. I want to stand on them.” The work was soon done. Then Chick told Patsy to turn out his light and stand still, keeping his ears open the while. The roof of the cellar was formed by the floor above, and the heavy joists, crossing from side to side, rested upon its walls. This left spaces between each pair of joists at the top of the wall. “If I’m not entirely mistaken,” thought Chick, “I’ll be able to see something through those spaces.” Standing on top of the piled-up wooden cases, he peered through the opening. All was blackness on the other side, and he decided that it would be safe to use his electric flash. The white glow of his flash showed him that there was another cellar on the opposite side of the wall, very much like the one which Patsy and he were in. “I’ve got to get through there, Patsy,” he announced, as he came down to the floor. “But it’s going to be tough. I couldn’t squeeze through that hole, nor come anywhere near it.” “What are you goin’ to do, then?” “Make it larger. I came prepared for something of this kind. I have a few tools belonging to ‘Fisher the Engineer,’ who is rusticating at Sing Sing or Auburn[59] at the present time. He was an expert burglar, and he had the neatest outfit of tools I ever saw. The police gave them to the chief, at his request, and I have some of them in my pocket.” Chick produced a three-jointed crowbar of fine steel, and then brought out a shorter one, in two pieces, which he fitted together and handed to Patsy. “Pull out those bricks at the top, Patsy. We’ll tackle one at a time simultaneously, and our combined strength, with the leverage we shall get with these ‘jimmies,’ ought to make it easy.” Chick’s prediction was sound. It took ten minutes of hard, rather dirty work. But the young men had tackled hard work before in the course of their profession, and it did not trouble them. When, at last, they had bricks enough out to make room for Chick to get through, they chuckled softly in unison. “I’ll go first, Patsy. If I can make it, there is sure to be room enough for you. Here goes!” From the top of the boxes Chick crawled through, feet first. He had to go that way, or he would have tumbled in on his head, which would have been uncomfortable, and, perhaps, dangerous. “All right, Patsy!” he called softly, when he had disappeared through the hole. “Now you come. Don’t be afraid. I’ll catch you as you come in. It will be easier for you than it was for me.” “Ah! What are you givin’ us, Chick?” rejoined Patsy disgustedly. “Am I ever scared at anything?” Patsy Garvan had a right to say this, for a more fearless young American it would be hard to find in a day’s march. He did not realize, at the moment, that Chick was only “kidding” him. Chick eased him to the floor and chuckled. “What are you laughing about, Chick?” “At you.” [60] “Why, what have I done that’s funny?” demanded Patsy. “Getting mad because I told you not to be afraid.” “Well, how would you like to have anybody hand a thing like that to you? If a strange guy passed me such a crack, I’d push in his face,” grunted the disgusted Patsy. “I don’t blame you,” laughed Chick. “And I know that is just what you would do. But I was only joking. You ought to have known that. Give me your hand.” Patsy Garvan laughed softly, and, turning on his electric flash, so that he could see what they were doing, he gave his hand to Chick, and they shook with the heartiness of comrades who knew they always could depend on each other, no matter what happened. “What’s the move now, Chick?” “We have to get a little closer to the gang. This is going to be the real part of the work.” “A scrap?” whispered Patsy hopefully. “Shouldn’t wonder.” “Good! Fists—or guns?” “No guns!” replied Chick quickly. “We don’t want noise. Use your fists if it comes to a show-down. Or any weapon you can get hold of that doesn’t make a racket? Get me?” Patsy only chuckled. It was not necessary for him to say in words that he understood. <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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