The Devil's Heirloom/Chapter X

X
did you come upon him?” demanded Cube, somewhat ashamed and angry with himself for allowing the Oriental’s suicide. The man might have been made to divulge all of the secrets now tormenting Lacey; but the method of carrying a load of poison disguised as a common button had been novel to the detective.

“He came upon us, rather,” responded McKenzie. “We weren’t looking for visitors at all, but a squeak like a rusty hinge sounded behind. We turned, and saw a whole piece of the wall swinging open over there.” He gestured at a blank stretch upon which Cube could discern no hint of door. “Knowing it couldn’t be you, Krahn and I dodged behind two of these pillars. A Chinaman came in, but only glanced about casually. Probably he didn’t know we were in the house at all. He turned and did something in the wall, pressed a button or something, I suppose, and those stairs swung down. He climbed up the stairs and out of sight. Where do they lead?”

Lacey considered the ceiling. “To my uncle’s rooms, I believe,” he answered. “But this door of which you spoke, let’s find it, and discover where it leads. Miss Jeffries knows of the passage, but she is not here at present. I’d rather not have a helpless girl along, anyway, if there proves to be trouble. We might locate a dozen more Chinese.”

McKenzie grimaced, glancing down at the dead Celestial. It was plain he had little relish for active adventure of so serious a type. Cube caught the expression. It fitted in with his plans exactly. “If you’ll do something, Mr. McKenzie,” he added quickly, “I believe Krahn and I can handle affairs down here. Will you go up and inform the officers of what has happened. Tell them that inspector Harris ought to be notified. We’re likely to need help before this is over.”

The botanist obeyed with alacrity, slamming the door of the elevator hastily when he glimpsed Cube hand one of his automatics to Krahn. “Know how to use it?” asked Lacey.

“Never fired one in my life, but I’m glad to get hold of it!” replied the chemist pluckily. “This little dew-dad is the safety catch, isn’t it? Do you have to pull the trigger for every shot, or does merely keeping it down make the darned thing work?”

Cube explained and demonstrated, and then the two approached the section of wall in which the door to the secret passage was located. Lacey realized that perhaps his greatest danger now would come from the weapon in his companion’s hands, yet between himself and Krahn lay an unexpressed kinship of liking for unusual adventure which possesses an etiquette of silence all its own. Men will risk serious injury or even death itself for it, rather than take the obvious and commonsense course of obviating risk to which they have committed themselves.

Without fore-knowledge of the fact that a door actually existed, neither of the men could have discovered it. Even Krahn, long-trained in impressing photographic detail upon sensitive negative of brain, could not trace with any surety the irregular line. He indicated a one-foot space, however, in which he swore the door edge existed, and though Cube, after hasty examination looked at his companion doubtfully, Krahn found it himself. The aperture had been fitted so closely that only the breadth of a thin penknife could be inserted. Prying open was obviously impossible, but Cube accidentally solved the new riddle. Knocking each tile beside the length of the door, with his knuckles, he discovered a small mosaic which rattled in its place. Quick experimentation with this showed that it slid forward and back; pulling forward released a catch, allowing the door to swing open the distance of three inches. Cube caught it and flung it wide, propping it open with a heavy mould. “Might want to come back in a hurry,” he explained succinctly.

One glance had shown the men that instead of the narrow passage both of them expected, the door opened upon a chamber extending at right angles to the line of house wall. Outside of faint illumination from laboratory lights it was pitch black, but Cube, after exposing himself in the doorway for a fraction of a second, boldly flashed his hand torch. He saw that the chamber stretched outward from the house wall a distance of twenty-five or thirty feet, and that on the far side a black opening indicated a continuation of the passage. This was not surprising, in view of the fact that electrical connections for the six-foot zone with burglar-alarm connections in the dooryard necessarily must have some means by which electrical contacts could be installed or repaired. The chamber lay directly below the strip.

This feature was not what caused Lacey to stop as if petrified. On the floor fifteen feet distant, and strutting about like a drum major leading dress parade, was the parrot!

“Hold up!” cried Lacey, thrusting back his eager companion. “I want to catch him!”

Krahn, not understanding, obeyed nevertheless. Lacey walked cautiously forward, groping for a notion of what the parrot likely would do in this low-ceiled room. “Pretty Polly!” he exclaimed cajolingly.

The bird lifted one leg and scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be switched!” he squawked.

In that second the detective dove, crushing the green plumage in his arms just as Sun Yat decided that the vicinity of floor he had chosen had become dangerous. “Got you now!” Lacey gasped, the breath knocked from his lungs by his sudden header to the brick floor, He clasped the bird’s head expertly between two fingers, seeing to it that the fiendish beak got no chance at his flesh.

“Aw hell!” remarked Sun Yat disgustedly. “We got a lady now. A lady! Haw!”

“A lady?” cried Cube, horrified that the bird might be repeating real information he had heard somewhere. Then he tried in vain to get it to repeat his message— if such it was— but nothing was forthcoming save a stream of invective. Taking the parrot back into the laboratory, Cube imprisoned him under an inverted bushel basket, wedged beneath a bench in such manner that the bird’s struggles would be as ineffectual as his language. Then Cube and Krahn returned to the underground chamber.

Luckily, the corridor beyond proved to be empty. It ran straight for a distance of sixty feet, then angled to the right to end in another door of masonry. The latter was equipped with a heavy iron handle on the inside, which manipulated the lock. Turning this cautiously, Cube discovered that the door opened inward. Peering through, he saw the reason. Boxes and barrels were piled against it, making a climb necessary.

The two men listened intently, but only dull noises from some distance overhead reached their ears. They were in the basement of an apartment building, not far from the huge boiler of the steam plant, for the air was hot and sultry. Cautiously they emerged, but no one was in sight. The way lay open to the street outside via a tunnel-like passage between two wings of the building.

Here Cube, searching carefully as he proceeded, descried something white and rumpled lying on the cement. He picked it up, and a cry of dread apprehension and certainty was wrung from his lips. The bit of cloth and lace was a woman’s handkerchief; daintily embroidered in one corner was the monogram I.J. The parrot had been coached in the truth!