# Unseen Hands/Chapter 14
### CHAPTER XIV
#### ESCAPE

THE cool, gurgling sound of water slapping smartly and rhythmically against some obstruction directly beneath him, a briny, pungent tang in the stirless air, the feeling of an intolerable weight and intense cold upon his head and of rough blankets beneath his hands,—these were the first sensations which assailed Odell's returning consciousness.
He opened his eyes but closed them again quickly as a heavy step approached and a rough voice sounded in his ears.
"Still dead to the world?"
"Sure." A second voice with the unmistakable accent of the lower East Side replied to the first. "Yer don't t'ink dat rap I give him was any slap on de wrist, do yer? He's good for anoder day's sleep anyhow."
"What's the idea of the ice-bag?"
"Dunno. De main guy ordered it, an' dat lets me out. 'Fraid his little pet got more dan was comin' ter him an' was gonna croak, I guess. I could 'a told him different, but yer know how it is wid dese kid-glove guys; dey ain't takin' no chances on goin' up fer de long route. Yer boid's all right, ain't he? I heard him cussin' when yer took out de gag ter give him der eats."
Odell's heart gave a sudden leap. If he had a companion ​in captivity it could be none other than Miller, for the conversation he had just overheard left him in no doubt that Drew had instigated the assault. Miller was lying bound and helpless somewhere near, and he must contrive somehow to reach him.
But the first voice was speaking again.
"There's nothing the matter with him just now except that he's fighting mad. He'll cool down by the time we turn him loose; but I tell you, Tony, I wish this job was through."
"What's eatin' yer?" demanded the one called Tony. "Pretty soft, I call it; five hundred cold iron men for a week's vacation and no come-back! De main guy is a prince about coughin' up, if he is a bum sport."
"I don't like it," the other insisted. "It's out of our line for one thing, and I never switched yet without changing my luck. It's one game to stick up a drunk for his roll and beat it; but kidnapping two of them, and dicks at that, don't look so good to me now that I've had time to think it over. Besides, what do we know of this fellow? What if he gets pinched and squeals on us?"
"Squeal nothin'!" ejaculated Tony disgustedly. "I t'ought yer was a live one, Pete. Dat guy Sims don't pick no squealers for his. Let's go out an' stretch our pins."
"Suppose this patient of yours wakes up?" Pete's tone was doubtful. "You haven't even got him tied."
"Aw, h—l! Ain't I tellin' youse he's out for de count? C'm on."
A chair rasped against bare boards, and two pairs of feet clumped noisily away, but not beyond earshot for their footsteps; and the low rumble of their conversation still ​came to Odell, alternately diminishing and increasing in volume as if they were walking up and down nearby. He heard the regular slap and gurgle of water somewhere below but felt no motion; and he listened in vain for the creak of hawsers or the vibrating hum of an engine which would show that they were on board a craft of some kind.
The brief glance which he had essayed before the sound of footsteps had warned him, revealed the fact that he was in a small room which might very well have been a cabin; but he had noticed neither windows nor portholes, and now once more he ventured to open his eyes.
He was lying upon a low couch with dirty gray blankets covering him to the chin; and within his range of vision were three chairs and a table of rough unpainted pine, rows of shelves against a wall of unplastered laths, and a window through which he could see the waving branches of a tree, its leaves already tinged with autumnal flame.
Yet the water was not lapping against the shore; he could hear it all about him underneath the floor. Clearly he must be in some sort of house built out over the edge of a bay or river; and save for the rumble of his captors' voices and that liquid gurgle and wash everything was very still.
He raised his hand weakly to steady the ice-bag and turned his head with infinite caution. A window in the opposite side of the room looked out upon a clear expanse of dancing blue waters, with a far shore-line and tiny white sails scudding between. Odell concluded that he must be facing due south, for the sun was setting low on his right. As he turned his eyes from the window they encountered a long, graceful canoe lying against the wall beyond the head of his couch, and the paddle standing in a corner; and from ​under the lid of a carelessly closed chest the end of a signal flag trailed.
He had time only to note that the name upon the prow of the canoe was "Midinette" when the voices outside upon the little platform or porch grew louder, and he composed himself again with closed eyes just as the two men reëntered the room.
"All right." The one called Pete was evidently concluding the conversation. "I'll beat it up to the village and see if I can scare up any, but it's ticklish business these days; thought you were off the stuff."
"Not any more dan youse is, ol' pal," returned Tony. "If I hadn't lost de package overboard dat Volkert slipped me last night we'd 'a' been fixed fine, but honest, I got de yin somethin' fierce!"
"Well, I won't be long."
A door closed, and shambling footsteps approached the couch. Odell held himself motionless, scarcely daring to breathe as a shaky hand lifted the ice-bag, felt of it speculatively, and then replaced it. The footsteps moved away, then halted; and there came the scratch of a match and whiff of a vile cigarette. Then footsteps again, the opening and closing of a door, and Odell was once more alone.
Volkert! That was the name of the German who ran the drug-store on the corner of Third Avenue just across from the pseudo-tailor's shop and who had paid a heavy fine not three months before for selling drugs to the wretched addicts of the vicinity. The "package" which the druggist had slipped to Tony was self-evident; the latter and Pete were both, in their own parlance, coke-sniffers.
If Pete succeeded in securing a supply in the village of ​which he had spoken, and they indulged over-freely after their enforced abstinence, the increased lethargy which would follow the brief period of exhilaration might permit Odell to make a break for liberty; but first he must find Miller, cut his bonds, and aid his escape.
If there were only some way in which he could get a message to his subordinate! While the sun sank behind the horizon and dusk settled into the dreary room the detective lay cudgeling his brains. His previous effort when he had raised himself to look about him had made his head throb violently and showed him how weak and dizzy he still was after the blow which had been dealt him.
Nevertheless, it had profited him somewhat. He knew that he must be confined in a private boathouse on some body of water broader than any nearby lake or river; and since for obvious reasons he could not have been removed far from the city, he conjectured that the boathouse was situated somewhere on the Connecticut shore of the Sound.
Beyond the possibility of escape he did not trouble himself about the means of getting back to the city. He would not have known whether one day or several had elapsed since he was struck down had it not been for Tony's fortuitous remark about having received the package from Volkert the night before; but the thought of even a day lost in his investigation drove Odell almost to the verge of desperation.
Captain Lewis would understand, of course, that something had happened to him; but would he keep the case open for him until he should be found, or would he assign another detective to it and thereby deprive Odell of the opportunity for which he had waited so long? Suppose the men whom ​he had placed on guard both inside and out of the Meade residence should relax their vigilance for an hour and enable the nameless fiend to strike again?
Dusk deepened to darkness while Odell tortured himself with vain fears and imaginings, and still there was no sign of the return of Pete from the village. Tony shuffled in at last, however, muttering curses beneath his breath; and lighting a smoky lamp and an oil-stove in the corner, he started to prepare supper.
Odell watched him through warily half-closed eyes as he sliced ham, opened cans, and placed a huge loaf of bread and a wooden dish of butter on the table; and the detective realized suddenly that he himself was faint from hunger. No food had passed his lips since the previous night; and he dared not simulate a sudden return to consciousness now lest Tony redouble his vigilance.
He lay in a silent agony of craving, while the tantalizing odor of coffee filled the room, and Tony, still grumbling audibly over his confederate's delay, shuffled back and forth from shelves to table and stove.
All at once Odell narrowed his lids until only a mere slit remained, through which he gazed with greater intensity at his jailor's movements; for Tony had brought a battered tin tray to the table and placed upon it a plate of ham and beans, a steaming cup of coffee, and a great hunk of bread.
It was evidently his intention to feed the other prisoner, and Odell mentally writhed at his inability to establish communication with Miller. If only he could reach that tray unobserved and place upon it some token which would show his subordinate that he was near at hand and on the ​lookout for a chance to escape. If Tony would but turn his back for a minute.
But if the opportunity should come what object could he place upon the tray? He thrust one hand down cautiously beneath the blanket but found as he had supposed that his pockets had been emptied; not even a stub of pencil or scrap of paper remained.
At that moment as if in answer to his unexpressed prayer a faint "halloa" sounded from the landward direction, and with a grunt of relief Tony turned and rushed from the room, the tray forgotten.
Odell sprang from the couch with the recklessness of desperation; but he had not taken his weakness into account, and the room whirled about him so that he reached out blindly to steady himself. His hands caught the back of a chair, and as his vision cleared again he saw that hanging across it were his collar and necktie, the latter of a curious blue and black design. Would Miller recognize it?
Outside he could hear the two men calling to each other, and it was evident that Pete was still some distance away; but no time could be lost. Odell took up the necktie and tried feverishly to tear off a fragment from the end, but the strong silk resisted his efforts. He looked hastily about him, and his eyes rested upon the sharp knife with which Tony had sliced the ham. Seizing it he hacked and tore at the silk until a short strip of it came off in his hand. Then he gouged a piece of bread from the center of the portion of loaf upon the tray, thrust the bit of silk into the aperture, and replaced the soft bread to mask its presence.
The knife he secreted beneath the mattress of the couch, ​and reclining again he pulled the filthy blankets up to his chin.
Pete's voice had lowered as he approached; but it had perceptibly thickened since his departure, and he stumbled as he ascended the steps which led up to the porch.
"Not a —— —— bit of 'snow' in the whole —— —— burg!" he ended with a hiccough of disgust. "They don't seem to know what it is, Tony my boy, but I got the next best thing to it."
"Whiskey?" Tony's voice was not over-enthusiastic.
"And laudanum. A foxy old hick in the first farmhouse down the road sold me the booze, and I got the other in the drugstore. We'll make a night of it."
"Gimme dat bottle an' go feed your boid foist," Tony interrupted, to Odell's vast relief. "I fixed de tray o' eats 'cause youse was gone so —— —— long I figgered dat youse had blew."
The door opened and Pete staggered in, seized the tray, and departed; while Tony seated himself astride a chair and raised the bottle to his lips.
The fates had been more kind than Odell had dared to hope. He knew the swift and deadening effect of the mixture which Pete had brought; and when once the men succumbed to its influence escape would be assured. He strained his ears to listen for the direction from which Pete would return, for he had as yet no idea where Miller was confined. He had heard the former cross the porch and descend the steps again, but that was all. Could it be that Miller was in some other building, an outhouse or shed perhaps? If so he could scarcely hope to find it in the darkness; and his subordinate, gagged, would be un​able to guide him even if he dared venture a subdued call.
While these disturbing thoughts filled his consciousness they were broken in upon suddenly by a string of picturesque and variegated oaths uttered in a vigorous tone which seemed to rise from beneath the floor, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The voice was unmistakably Miller's. Would he find that bit of silk, recognize it, and be able to conceal it from the befuddled gaze of his jailor?
An indistinguishable retort from Pete in a threatening rumble replied to the reception which had greeted him, and thereafter there was silence for a space. Tony drank deeply again and placed the bottle on the table with a thump. The coffee had boiled away and an odor of scorching grounds filled the air; but Tony was plainly oblivious to it, and Odell stealing a glance at him noted that he was gazing straight ahead of him with the set, glassy stare of a somnambulist; the laudanum, was already getting in its stupefying effect.
All at once Miller's voice sounded loud and clear from below as if raised with deliberate intent.
"What's the good of keeping me tied up in an old boat under a rotten wharf? I couldn't run away if I wanted to, but I'll bet you a necktie against an old pair of boots"—
The words died away in a choking gurgle as if the speaker had been swiftly gagged; but Odell had heard enough, and a glow of renewed hope and cheer swept over him. Good old Miller! He had found the torn bit of silk, realized its message, and done his best to reply to it. An hour or two more at most and the way would be clear for a getaway.
But the detective's hopes seemed doomed to be indefinitely deferred. When Pete reëntered with the empty tray Tony ​roused himself and made fresh coffee, and that together with the hearty supper which the two men ate seemed to neutralize the effect of what they had drunk; nor were they in any haste to renew their libations.
In an inward fever of suspense Odell forced himself to lie motionless while they smoked leisurely and carried on an intermittent conversation of which he could make nothing. Had they forgotten the bottle of drugged liquor which stood before their very eyes? He had no way of judging the hour, but the oil in the lamp was half consumed and the branches of the tree beyond the window were silvered with moonlight. The bottle on the table was still two-thirds full; could they mean to husband it until the next day?
It was Tony who brought the situation to an end.
"Fer de love o' Mike pass us de bottle! Hear dem crickets an' t'ings out dere? Chee, but I'm lonesome fer T'oid Av'noo!"
Pete drank copiously and handed the bottle to his confederate.
"I told you I wasn't crazy about this job," he remarked gloomily. "I wonder what the idea is anyway in holding these guys here for a week?"
Odell wondered also and listened intently for the reply.
"Ter give somebody time ter make a getaway, I guess," Tony answered carelessly.
"Well, suppose they make it, Sims and the guy that was here this morning, and after the week is up we find ourselves planted here with the two dicks on our hands and minus the rest of the kale that was promised?" Pete reached for the bottle and held it once more to his lips. "Say, when did that guy say he'd be out again?"
​"He didn't." Tony scowled. "Just says dat when dis boid wakes up ter rope an' gag him like his pal down below. Maybe Sims would double-cross us, at dat! Tell yer what, Pete, yer keep yer eye on dis sleepin' beauty o' mine ter-morrer, an' I'll run up ter de big burg an' get a slant on de game. I'll bring some snow back wid me from Volkert's, too."
"No, you don't!" Pete laughed cynically. "I'm taking no chances on you either, my friend. We're in this together and we'll stick."
For the better part of an hour they argued the question, while the contents of the bottle slowly diminished, and their tones, at times raised to the point of fury, grew thick and drowsy. At length Tony's head dropped forward on his breast, and his body slumped sidewise in his chair; but Pete still sat with brooding eyes fixed upon the bottle.
Would he never sleep? Odell's nerves were tense and quivering with the eagerness so long restrained, and the minutes dragged interminably. Once he thought he heard a dull, thumping sound from below; but although he listened with strained intensity it was not repeated.
He glanced again at Pete. It had been a good twenty minutes since the fellow had moved a muscle: could he be in a stupor? His jaw had dropped, and the lids were half closed over the vacant, dull eyes; it seemed, too, in the wavering flare of the smoky lamp that bluish shadows had crept up about his mouth.
Odell had seen that look in the faces of men before; and the thought which came to him all but stunned his faculties for a moment. Then pulling himself together he stirred ex​perimentally, emitted a faint groan, and threw one arm up over his head. Tony slept on undisturbed, and the other figure remained motionless.
With a quick, noiseless movement the detective sat up, threw the dirty blankets from him, and tiptoeing across the floor laid one hand on Pete's shoulder and with the other felt for his heart. It had ceased to beat.
Odell stepped back dizzily and leaned against the table for support. The shock of his discovery combined with his long fast and the effect of the blow which he had received made him faint and giddy; but by a supreme effort he mastered the weakness which was swiftly overcoming him and straightened.
The thought of food had become all at once repugnant to him, with that dead man sitting there; but he reminded himself sternly that he might have need of all the strength he could muster before he and Miller were safely away from this hideous spot and back at their posts once more.
A box of matches lay on the table, and pocketing that and the knife which he had secreted beneath the mattress of the couch, he moved over to the shelf near the stove. An old newspaper was spread upon it, and in this he wrapped the bread and ham that remained.
He was turning to the door when a fresh thought made him pause. If his pockets were empty Miller's were probably in a like condition, and there was no means of ascertaining how far they were from the city.
Money was an absolute essential, and he dared not attempt a search of Tony's pockets lest he awaken. There was no fear of that as far as Pete was concerned, the de​tective assured himself grimly; and approaching the body once more he pushed it forward by the shoulders, bracing it against the table, and felt in the hip pockets.
The first yielded only a short blunt-nosed pistol; but from the second he drew a worn wallet bulging with bills. Thrusting both articles into his own pockets, Odell eased the body back into its former position and stealing to the door cast a final glance backward.
Tony still slept oblivious to all about him; and Pete's body sagged limply in the chair, his glazed eyes fastened upon the bottle which had brought death to him.
The detective closed the door softly behind him, and crossing the narrow porch made his way down the steps in the clear, cold light of the moon. He found himself upon a strip of rocky beach bordered by low shrubs and bushes, through which a single path wound away and disappeared in the stretch of dense woodland beyond. The boathouse itself was raised high above the water upon stout piles of concrete; and directly beneath it an open motor launch rode at anchor, with a, rough gangplank reaching from its deck to the shore.
The moonlight did not penetrate its dark recesses; but as Odell ran up the gangplank something moved in the bottom of the boat, and an inarticulate gurgle reached his ears.
He drew the box of matches from his pocket, and striking one held its sputtering flame close to the writhing bundle. Miller's eyes stared up at him, the muscles of his jaw working convulsively in the effort to speak; but the choking gag prevented his utterance. Odell tossed the match into ​the water, knelt beside his companion and deftly removed the gag.
"Steady, now, Miller; don't speak aloud. One of them is only asleep, and we've got to make a quick getaway."
"Gad! but that's a relief!" Miller exclaimed huskily. Here, I'll roll over so that you can get at my wrists; the rascal tied them behind my back, and confoundedly tight, too. How did you manage to get free, Sergeant?"
"They didn't tie me up. I was unconscious from that knockout I got until a few hours ago; and they—the fellow who's been guarding me—thinks I am still."
As he spoke Odell had cut the cords which bound the other's wrists; and now he began working at the rope about his ankles.
"How are your legs? Pretty numb?"
"No." Miller sat up with an involuntary groan and drew one knee up experimentally. "I guess they are all right. Have you any idea where we are?"
"Somewhere near a village; and that path through the trees leads to it. We ought to be able to find a garage or some farmer with a jitney who will take us back to the city if it is not too far. Come, I'll help you."
Miller staggered a little as they passed down the sagging gangplank and turned for a last look at the boathouse.
"The chief will send up to-morrow and clean out this hole, but I'd like one crack myself at the fellow who blackjacked me in front of that shop last night and has kept me trussed up like a Christmas turkey ever since," he observed grimly. "I'll get him yet on my own account!"
"You won't have a chance, Miller." Odell nodded slowly ​in response to the other's startled look. "He's sitting up there dead in his chair. Whiskey and laudanum. His heart must have been weak; and he was a snow-bird, anyway. Come on, we haven't an hour to lose."
Silently the two moved along the path and disappeared among the trees.