Four Hours/Chapter 2

RATTER tried his best to grasp it.

The thrill of horror and fear seemed to be missing. Granilton had spoken in such calm, matter-of-fact tones, as though he had been explaining to an employee just how he wished some minor task accomplished.

He glanced around the room, The four men sitting alongside the table were regarding him carefully. Waldorp was looking down at the rug beneath his feet, like a man resigned to his fate. Granilton struck a match and relighted his cigar; his hand did not shake, and there was no haste in his manner. He spoke of double murder and electric chairs and such things as another man would have spoken of sugar and beer, and with less feeling.

John Dratter rubbed at his eyes and sat up straight on his chair.

“And you—you think” he began. “Why, you can't do it! Put the crime on me, will you? Granilton got me at that lodging house, and when I tell my story the clerk down there will remember him.”

“But I'll be among the missing,” Granilton observed. “I am to disappear for a time, you understand, and these friends of mine will handle affairs. It will be just another flaw in your story.”

“And this house! Surely there are a lot of servants here,” Dratter said.

“Oh, we have thought of everything, my dear sir,” Granilton declared. “Mr. Waldorp has been sojourning in the sunny South. His expected him back to-morrow, and the residence was placed in readiness. And all of them except the butler decided to take a last night off; they were fortunate in receiving an invitation to a dance out in the country. They will not return until after dawn. As for the butler, he also was decoyed away. Mr. Waldorp received a message that recalled him to the city a day sooner than he expected. Unfortunately, he brought his niece with him. He arrived after the servants had gone, after the butler had been decoyed away—and we were waiting to receive him.”

Granilton grinned, and puffed at his cigar.

“You'd commit two murders and then send an innocent man to the chair”

“It is necessary to serve our ends,” Granilton assured him.

“Why is it? Why not let me go?” Dratter asked. “Why not let the murder remain a mystery? Drop a few of those chameleon things around, if you want that detective to believe The Chameleon or one of his men did it.”

“It will make a sounder case if the authorities have a human being in their clutches,” Granilton said. “I assure you, Mr. Dratter, that all argument is useless. It were better for you to amuse yourself as well as you can. Just prior to dawn we do our work, make our row, hand you to the police”

Suddenly the full realization of the trap in which he found himself came to John Dratter. He sprang to his feet, confronted them, snarled at them, looked into the muzzles of the automatics that menaced him.

“Are you going to spoil the evening?” Granilton asked. “Since you cannot help yourself by resisting or trying to put up a fight, why not make the best of it? We shall show you a little entertainment. You may watch Waldorp, and see how a traitor prepares to die. There shall be food and wine for you, repartee, an hour or two in association with clever gentlemen of the world”

“I don't care for any more of your talk,” said Dratter, sneering. “You can't do this and get away with it! Understand me? There is bound to be some flaw in your scheme. That man Slone you talked about—he'll get wise to you! And this Chameleon”

“You interest us,” said Granilton. “We fear Slone less than we do The Chameleon, but we fear neither to any great extent. We can put it over on The Chameleon, all right—hang a murder on his gang, which is something that never has been done before. We even understand that The Chameleon had honored us with his jealousy, that he has been endeavoring to find out something of our affairs, and has failed. As for Detective Slone, we who have conquered the best Europe has are used to these jewel-insurance company operatives, and we are not afraid of Slone.”

Dratter sank back into his chair again, gasping, his hands trembling. Granilton grinned at the others. Waldorp spoke.

“If you fiends wish to murder me, go ahead and do it, but let that man go,” he said.

“Since he has seen our faces and has been told all about us?” Granilton asked. “Nothing would please you better, my dear Mr. Waldorp, than to have us incarcerated for your murder and possibly sent to the chair. Let me remark again that our plans are complete, and will be carried out to the letter.”

“Then at least have mercy as far as my niece is concerned,” Waldorp begged. “She is an innocent girl. She does not dream that I ever was a criminal. She thinks now that it is a business fight of some sort that brings you to this house. Is it not enough to wreck her illusions about her uncle? Must you take her life also?”

“Your niece, unfortunately, has seen my face. And she would be a bad witness. She would support the story of this Mr. Dratter and cause the authorities to hesitate, to think a bit. We must have an easy, complete, open-and-shut case. Surely you can appreciate that.”

Dratter. scarcely could believe his ears. What a monster this Granilton appeared to be! Now he was grinning at the helpless Waldorp. But, most of all, Dratter finally was considering his own plight. He knew what he faced unless these men could be outwitted. Five of them there were, and that big brute of a Barnes also in the house. And all of them were armed, and John Dratter did not have as much as a knife. So secure did they feel that they had not even searched him.

He bowed his head in his hands, as if he had given up all hope.

“I promised you something to eat, Dratter, and I am a man of my word,” he heard Granilton saying.

On the table was a tray covered with a square of linen. Granilton took off the cloth. On the tray was a pile of sandwiches and coffee in an electrically heated percolator.

“Eat!” Granilton commanded. “Enjoy yourself while you may, Dratter. Life is short at the best, and they'll not give you much of anything in prison—except your last breakfast, of course.”

Granilton chuckled as if at a good joke, and pushed Dratter's chair toward the end of the table. Dratter seized a sandwich and bit into it.

“That is the idea!” Granilton exclaimed. “Show that you are a man, with a man's nerve and courage. It's just fate, Dratter. I hope that, when I make my mistake and my time comes, I'll go out like a man of nerve and courage. You'll beat us into the hereafter—think of the honor! Within a few weeks you'll be knowing a lot that we do not know.”

Granilton chuckled again, and reached forward and did Dratter the honor to pour a cup of hot coffee for him.

“One lump or two, Dratter? And do you use cream?” he asked.

Dratter nodded his head. Granilton poured in the cream and dropped in two lumps of sugar. Dratter reached for the cup, took a gulp of the coffee, half strangled, put the cup down. The tears came into his eyes. The coffee was as hot as steam.

“Not used to getting it hot, eh?” Granilton asked. “Lukewarm stuff you've been drinking, I suppose, like they have down at that lodging house.”

Dratter took another bite of the sandwich, and did not answer his tormentor. Finally he blew upon the coffee and lifted the cup to his lips again. Waldorp was starting to say something; those at the table had turned to face him.

A hungry man may wolf food even while facing tragedy, but that was not why John Dratter had been eating. He had been waiting for a moment like this—and he was glad that the coffee was hot.

In an instant he was upon his feet. The scalding coffee shot into the face of Granilton. The heavy container was hurled the length of the table, straight at the others. And John Dratter, bending low, dashed across the wide room toward the door through which Barnes recently had made his exit. He hoped that it was not locked on the outside.

Two shots roared in the room, two bullets whistled past his head and thudded into the wall. John Dratter reached the door. Behind him was bedlam. The men had sprung from their chairs and were coming after him, ready and willing to use their weapons. Granilton was screeching because of the scalding coffee.

The door was unlocked. Dratter flung it open and dashed into the hall, jerking the door after him so that it closed and those inside lost time wrenching it open again. Down the hall Dratter rushed, until he came to the head of a flight of stairs running to the lower floor. He saw Barnes at the bottom, just starting up, attracted by the tumult.

Escape was cut off that way, for John Dratter supposed that the man Barnes had a revolver in his pocket. He turned and darted down the hall again. Two of his foes were guarding the front stairs. Capture faced him unless he went to the floor above.

He found the stairs and dashed up them. Two more bullets whistled past his, head, one of them uncomfortably close. He reached the upper floor of the three-story house and darted along a hall that was in darkness.

At the end of the hall was a window, but there was a network of bars before it, and, besides, it was a great distance to the ground. And Dratter could not remain in the hall, for Granilton's men were after him.

He darted back, wrenched open the first door he found, and entered a room. There was a bolt inside the door, and Dratter shot it. He ran across the room and came to another barred window. He could hear his foes in the hall.

It seemed to Dratter that he was in a trap. Even if he found a window that was not barred, he was so far above the ground that he would not dare jump. If he did jump, and broke a leg, those men would get him again, go ahead with their plans, merely change their story a bit, and say that they had seen him spring through a window. And, even if he barricaded the door of the room for a time, they would get to him finally; he had no weapon with which to put up a fight.

He might manage to get to a window and shout for help, of course. But at that hour of the morning, and in that locality, he might shout for an hour without anybody giving him the slightest attention. Half the houses near were empty, save for caretakers; it was the season when wealthy folk left the city for the resorts.

Dratter could hear the men in the hall now. He struck a match and looked around. The room was a bed-chamber, probably belonging to some servant. There was another door.

He hurried to the other door and opened it, struck another match, and looked into another room. It was smaller, and the furniture in it was heavier. Dratter went in, bolted the door through which he had passed, made sure that the hall door was fastened, hurried across to a third door, bolted that.

The match in his hand went out, and he struck another. He made sure that the heavy furniture was placed so that he could begin at once barricading any door his foes attacked. And so he waited, silently, his heart pounding.

They did not make too much noise about it, for they did not care to attract attention and undergo an investigation.

But they were on guard in the hall, and John Dratter knew that they were examining all the rooms, one at a time, carefully. He was still in the trap.

He hurried to the nearest window and raised the shade. Far below him, over the wall, he could see the avenue. As far as the street lights revealed the street there was no vehicle, no pedestrian. Even had there been, Dratter would have hesitated about calling for help unless it was as a last resort. He was a bit afraid that these men might tell some story and stand by it, getting him into serious trouble. And Dratter did not care particularly to endure questioning at the hands of the police. His record was not absolutely white.

Then he heard them try the door of the room that opened into the hall, heard their exclamations at finding it locked. He realized, too, that they had entered the adjoining room, the one through which he had passed, and that he would be attacked from that side also. He glanced at the third door, crept close to it to listen.

They were trying to force the hall door now, and Dratter made up his mind to barricade it with some of the heavy furniture. But just as he would have started toward it, there came a soft rapping on the door beside which he stood.

“Man—man!” he heard a soft voice call in guarded tones.

“Who is it?” Dratter asked.

“Elizabeth Waldorp! Can you get into this room?”

Dratter did not hesitate. He was sure that the voice was that of a girl, He unbolted the door and opened it half a dozen inches, prepared to slam it shut and bolt it again if danger threatened.

Her white face was within a foot of his own. In the room a dim light was burning. Dratter saw at a glance that the room had but two doors, this and the one going into the hall. Without a word he slipped through and fastened the door behind him, then made sure the hall door was bolted from the inside.

“They are trying to harm you?” she asked.

“Yes—and your uncle,” he whispered. “And you, too.'

“But I have done nothing

“That doesn't make any difference with these men. Don't stop to ask questions now, if you want to be saved, to have your uncle saved. If I get out I can telephone to the police.”

“I tried to telephone, but nobody answered,” she said.

“They have cut the wires, of course. They would do that. If I can get out I can call the police in time to save all of you—and myself.”

“But who are those men?”

“For heaven's sake don't expect me to answer questions now,” Dratter said. “They are in the hall, in the next room—they'll be smashing in here next. How about the windows?”

“Barred,” she whispered, “barred and far from the ground.”

“And I dare not go into the hall. They are guarding it, of course. Isn't there any other way out?”

“Here!” she said.

Dratter saw, now, that there was a tiny door in a corner, one he had not noticed because of the single dim light that was burning. She opened it, and he saw a small closet in which woman's garments were hanging.

“No use going in there,” he said. “I'd be in a worse trap than before.”

“But there is a passage. This is a servant's room—the cook's. The passage was built in so she could get down to the kitchen quickly, and without disturbing the rest of the household,” Elizabeth Waldorp explained.

Dratter restrained a cry of delight and sprang for the closet. The men were pounding at the door of this room now, and he knew that the small bolts would not hold for long, that they would soon gain an entrance and have him.

He brushed aside the clothes and saw an opening before him, a flight of narrow steps.

“I'll close the door,” she was whispering. “Go down the steps quietly, and you'll be in a little hall”

“Don't worry. I'll send help!” John Dratter said.

She went out of the closet and closed the door. Dratter struck a match, and started down the narrow, winding steps. On and on he went, stopping now and then to listen, hearing nothing to convince him that his foes were following. He felt sure that they would be some time finding the servant's staircase, unless they could frighten the girl into revealing it. And Dratter did not think that they could do that.

On he went, winding around around. He was sure that he had passed the second story, and was almost to the ground floor. She had said that he would emerge into a little hall. In that case he would make his way to a door or window in the hear, effect a quick escape, get to the nearest telephone, inform the police that there was a tragedy being enacted at that address—and then go about his own business.

He came to the bottom of the flight finally, to a little door. There he stopped to listen. He could hear voices as if in the distance, but was convinced that they came from the floor above. No doubt his foes had failed to find him on the third floor, and were puzzled. They would be coming down again. He would have to make his escape before they reached the ground floor and cut him off.

Dratted [sic] did not dare linger long behind that door. He turned the knob, found that the door was unlocked, and opened it slowly, fearful of creaking hinges. He looked into darkness.

Noiselessly he slipped out and closed the door behind him. Once more he listened, heard nothing. He dared to strike a match. He was in a short, narrow hall, and instinctively he turned toward the rear of the house. If he could reach the kitchen, get out some rear door

When he reached the end of the hall he stopped to listen again. Then he opened the door and stepped out bravely, into some sort of room. Once more he struck a match.

At the same instant there was a soft snap, and the electric lights were turned on. John Dratter had made a mistake; the turnings in the staircase had bewildered him. He had not gone toward the rear of the house, but toward the front. And he found himself in a room that opened into the main hall.

Moreover, he found Granilton and one of the others standing before him, within a dozen feet of him, their automatics held in readiness.

“Up with them!” Granilton commanded.

Dratter glanced round helplessly. There was no chance of flight. He knew a bullet would reach him before he could dart back through the door and close it. And, without a weapon, there was no chance of fight. He put up his hands.

“Got you, didn't we?” Granilton asked, sneering. “You made a fine attempt at a get-away, Dratter, but we've got you now. And there'll be no more attempts. We'll certainly go through with our plans now. I've got a scalded face to make me remember you. I'll be gloating when they turn on the electric current, Dratter, when they hurl you into the next world!”

He called up the stairs, and the others came running.

“Barnes,” he commanded, “get something and lash that man's hands behind his back. Take him into that little room on the second floor, tie him in a chair, gag the brute, and you keep watch over him until we have need of him. Understand? Hurry!”

John Dratter could not make a move. Four automatics were covering him now. Barnes disappeared, and presently returned with some lengths of rope. He stepped behind Dratter, grasped his hands and wrenched the arms backward, and began tying them.

It did not take him long to accomplish it. He stepped aside and looked to Granilton for further orders.

“March him to the second floor and put him into that room,” Granilton said. “And you stay in there with him, and watch him closely. Bind him to a chair, and gag him as I said. Watch him every minute, mind you, until we are ready for him. I'll see that you get a little extra.”

Another man stepped forward to help. John Dratter made no resistance. They took him up the front stairs to the second floor, and Barnes threw open the door of a small room there and hurled John Dratter inside. Granilton turned on the lights.

They stood by while Barnes lashed Dratter to a chair and made a gag from a handkerchief and affixed it. And then they went out.

“Guard him every minute,” Granilton ordered. “I am holding you responsible for him, Barnes.”

“Yes, sir,” Barnes replied.

He closed the door behind them, and turned the key in the lock. He whirled around and walked toward the bound and gagged Dratter, got a chair and sat down a short distance in front of him, facing him.

“Well, you didn't get away, did you?” Barnes sneeringly asked him, speaking in a loud voice. “And you'll not get away now, believe me? You'll stay right there, my pretty bird, until they are ready for you!”

And then John Dratter got the surprise of his life. Barnes left his chair and crept forward, bent down, and whispered:

“That talk was just for them to hear. I'm with you! Wait a few minutes, and then we'll get in action!”