# When the Winner Lost/Chapter 14

pp. 81–87.

### CHAPTER XIV.
#### IN THE CHAMBER OF HORROR.

WHAT were probably the blackest hours of my life occurred between five o'clock that afternoon and the time of my appointment with the Casque and Gauntlet car in the evening. Waiting is bad enough under any circumstances, but for me each ten minutes of that time was torture. Though it was true that alone I could not expect any real assistance at the Casque and Gauntlet, I felt cowardly even in delaying a moment. Hate and abhorrence for Morris added to this feeling. At any moment his loathsome arms might be closing about her. Only Masters' word that he did not expect any harm to befall her directly consoled me in the least. Masters himself left shortly after the conclusion of our interview. Hoffman came up and did his best to keep my mind off the situation. He told me many admirable stories of his adventures in the company of Masters, and the moral of each was the same, namely that Jigger Masters invariably was right; that in following his advice I was doing the best that could possibly be accomplished. I will pass over the time that intervened; in spite of myself I could not follow much of Hoffman's narrative. When eight o'clock struck I was out of the door of the hotel and heading for my appointment.
The Casque and Gauntlet taxi was on the dot, and I was whirled away with the same weavings and mummery as on the first occasions. This did not matter now, except that I could not help one slight shudder of dread at what might ensue if, after all, Masters had mistaken the place. I put this out of mind immediately, as it could do me no good to think of such things. I was strung to a high enough pitch, anyway.
The proceedings in the elevator and tunnel were the same as on the previous occasions.
Five minutes later I was seated at one of the tables inside, with five hundred dollars' worth of chips before me, gambling as I never had gambled before in my life. The game into which I went first was straight poker. I chose it because it was the card game with the highest stakes of the evening. I played carefully, yet with a desperation that meant I should win, given an even break in the luck.
That even break did not come to me at the straight poker table. In one hour, in spite of a little cheating—I never had learned many tricks with cards, the Charlemagne pass to recover a cut and dealing from the bottom being the only means at my disposal—I had to buy another stack of chips. This time I got a thousand, for I meant to have all of the advantage that the “press of money” is supposed to give one at gambling.
There was no use. Right along I bucked the game, for my time was none too long, but the best I could get were hands that took second prize each time. I do not believe that I won a single hand on that thousand dollars' worth of chips. Once I deliberately dealt myself three aces, maneuvering the a cards most carefully for this coup. What was my surprise and disgust to have this beaten after the draw by a measly straight! I could not have prevented it anyway, but this time my cheating merely had lost more money for me.
I left the table a hand or two later, broke flat on my original two investments. I now had just eight thousand five hundred left of the ten thousand I had brought along. A roulette wheel was running in a corner. I made for this, and played it for two thousand more without a win. I was getting frantic; my watch showed the time to be quarter of twelve. Under the circumstances I might have had the luck of the little shrimp who stood at my elbow. In half an hour I saw him take away nearly thirty thousand dollars. With a feeling of close to fatalism I placed a single wager of fifteen hundred on the number 36. If I won this would give me a return of fifty-four thousand dollars, which I knew would be sufficient. With a tugging in my throat I watched the little ivory ball perambulate the wheel and waver, finally falling into 9, on which the lucky shrimp at my side had a fifty dollar wager!
Against every bet that was placed on a number at the table the odds were 37 to 1, a single zero paying the score of the attendant for running the contrivance for the members' convenience. I saw that I could not hope for better chances to win heavily at any other part of the establishment, so I divided my remaining money into five piles of one thousand each.
One after another I bet these, choosing each time the number 36, but my jinx was rampant. The last time the ball almost fell into my slot, but stopped at 35, and I was penniless! A flood of self-reproach swept over me. I had been instructed to win and I had failed! On my winning a good-sized sum here this evening had hung most of our chances for success, for I could not imagine any reason there would be for choosing me as victim now when I went through the tunnel. As I looked at my watch I straightened in sheer desperation; it was two minutes past the hour!
I walked across to the nearest attendant. “I feel rather faint—just lost ten thousand, you know. Do you suppose you could fix me up with a cordial?” I made my voice as weak as possible, though it was trembling with pent-up excitement, anyway.
He bowed. “Right this way,” he said, leading me toward one of the doors of the alcove. Back of this was a series of little booths, each with a table. The second the oaken door closed behind us I grappled with him. It was a cowardly sort of thing, perhaps, but I was risking everything, so I did not stop to consider the ethics of attacking him from behind. I knew that if he wished to do way with me he would kill me while I was blinded.
I got a firm hold on his throat, so he could not call, but I saw his hands, thrown upward in the first convulsive attempt to break my grip, start downward after his gun. As I could not release him to beat him to the weapon, there was just one recourse. Throwing all my weight against him I brought his head down under me on the edge of the table. He became limp instantly. I went through his pockets in a hurry, rescuing two automatics, loaded. I brought the butt of these down on his skull with strength to keep him stunned for ten or fifteen minutes, and let him.
Scarcely had I done this, when through the corridor which passed the booths two or more of the red-masked figures came. I could not escape, so I hid back of the partition. When they got opposite me I let them have it with my captured guns. The reports sounded terribly loud, and, in addition, one of the wounded attendants screamed as he was hit. I knew the whole house would be aroused now.
I could not choose my manner of going. Down the corridor lay the only possibility. I dashed this way. Twenty feet farther on I came to a double iron stairway. One wing led up while the other went still deeper into this den of wolves. Without hesitation I chose the latter, for if Elise were here this was my chance to find her.
The bottom of this stair was shrouded in pitch darkness, and as I came down a yell and a shot greeted me. The shot grazed my right cheek, carrying away part of my ear, and I felt the hot blood surge from the wound. Though I could see nothing I pumped two bullets into the circle made by the flash of my adversary's gun, and had the satisfaction of hearing the thud of his body as he fell. I lit a match as there was no means of illumination anywhere in sight. Before me loomed a heavy iron door padlocked on the outside. I was stunned for an instant, and then I was clawing frantically at the pockets of my victim on the floor. If I could find the key I could go on; otherwise I was caught like a rat in a trap!
I found the key—a bunch of several in fact. One fitted, and I tore off the padlock and swung the door open. A well-lighted corridor, empty of attendants, confronted me. Through this came a strong draft, bearing to me the indescribable—though somewhat sickly—scent of man mingled perfumes! the place reeked of human occupancy. I raced along this corridor, trying to orient myself. My chief concern was to find Elise, but how to begin this hunt I had not the slightest idea, and I knew that in a few seconds now the raid would commence. The corridor ended in three doors. I chose the one to the left.
A peculiar sight met my eyes. For a second I did not understand, and then the horror of the sight became partially clear to my brain. Before me was a rectangular chamber, perhaps thirty feet in length. It had a steel roof, which suggested the tunnel to me instantly. Directly beneath, in the center, stood a flat table perhaps twenty by four feet in dimensions. The top of this table was studded with upturned spikes, each a half-foot in length and sharpened to a poiniard point!
Three men waited beside this table, eyes upturned. One held a butcher's cleaver similar to the weapon that had been brandished in the hall above by the maniac who had been killed. The others held revolvers carelessly in their hands. The reason why I had not been noted, evidently, was that all were expecting something to happen above; this had drawn their whole attention. This must have been what Charles Latisse had meant when he spoke of Burton's threat to “put him on the spikes!”
I did not wait to reason it out, though I knew the explanation must be the acme of horror, but blazed away. Before a single shot from them reached me I had accounted for all three. I tossed my guns, now nearly empty, to the floor, and reached for the two which had been dropped by my opponents. At that second a heavy body hit me from behind, and hairy arms twined about my throat. I crumpled to the floor, but in doing so I seized one of the guns. As my opponent landed on top of me I shot up under my left armpit, and he grunted. Another bullet and he fell off.
I was alone in the chamber! I looked about me, and to my surprise I saw what seemed to be an open furnace at the far end. The door was ajar, and the fourth man who had attacked me evidently had been stoking.
Thoroughly out of breath, I leaned against the wall a second to get my wind. A curious notion assailed me as I looked up. What could those spikes and that cleaver be for except for some expected victim who should fall through the roof? I shuddered, but picked up two of the corpses from the floor, and dropped them on the spikes. At least I could do so much for the chap who might inherit the fate which I had attempted to win.
Just as I was turning to leave the chamber a sudden clank and jar made me turn, in time to see a black-cassocked figure hurtle down through a gap in the ceiling. As he fell he let out one wild yell, which turned to a ludicrous grunt as he landed upon the corpses. One glance told me it was the little shrimp who had been so lucky upstairs, but I did not wait to speak with him. I had more pressing business elsewhere.
The second of the heavy doors was slightly open as I came into the corridor. Jazz music in deafening bray came out. I peered in, to see what resembled a ballroom, with a dozen couples swaying to the snoring of the saxophones and strumming of the kettles! In a second I knew these must be the attendants of the place. Every one of the men looked to be an out-and-out thug, while the women were most all of stamp one meets so easily. I chanced detection, and made out that Elise was not in the number.
Just as I was about to try the knob of the third door it opened slowly. Out of the aperture came an arm, holding an automatic revolver. One quick shot from my weapon smashed the hand, and instantly I kicked the door open. A man staggered back, cursing.
I let him have two shots, and he dropped. The room was brilliantly lighted, and as I stepped in, crouching, another of my opponents jumped up from a desk on the far side. It was the squat fiend I was seeking, Maurice Morris. He was armed, so I wasted no time in pulling the trigger. No explosion occurred! Hastily I lifted the other gun and fired, but this was empty.
“Tarrant!” he yelled, recognizing me. He fired wildly, knocking the plaster from the wall a foot above my head.
Hurling my useless automatic at him to disconcert his next shot, I ran to him. The bullet stung my thigh, but I knew in a rush of fierce exultation that I had him! Before he could shoot I had knocked his arm up and twisted the wrist until his gun dropped to the floor. Then, as he attempted to seize me, I swung a savage uppercut with all the weight of my body and all the hate of my months of hardship behind it.
The blow caught him fairly on the point of the chin. I had a twinge of pain in my hand, and I knew two fingers were broken, but I did not care. I had felt the bones of his jaw break under my fist, and he collapsed on the floor, blood gushing from his mouth. As he went I jumped on top of him, throttling him vengefully.
It was not necessary. I found his head wabbling in my hands, and as I looked down into the gross features of the man who had robbed me, I knew that my blow had broken his neck.
Seizing his revolver in my left hand, I looked about for more assailants, but none were inside the office. Elise, however, was not in sight. I would have to look further. Back of Morris' desk was a door, locked. I was too impatient now to look for the key, so I kicked it in.
The room into which I had ushered myself was apparently the living room of a tiny underground apartment! No one was there, so I hastily went on, back. The second I opened the door to the next chamber, however, my heart skipped a beat. Elise was lying on a leather couch beside the door. Her face was turned away, but I saw that a rope held her arms to the sides of the couch, and that another coil had been fastened about her ankles.
“Elise!” I cried, running forward.
Quickly she faced me. “Mr. Trask!” she cried. “Oh, have they got you, too?”
“No, indeed!” I answered joyfully. “I've come to get you, little girl. Listen!” The sounds of many shots, fired close together, reached us. “The police are raiding the joint now.” With fingers that trembled from eagerness I undid her bonds, and then leaned down toward lips. An intoxication held me, but she put her hands before her face. “Don't kiss me!” she cried with a shudder, and evaded my embrace.
Instantly I was flooded with with a wave of shame. I had forgotten that I was covered with blood nearly from head to foot. No wonder she hid her eyes! “I—I forgot!” I stammered.
She looked at me me quizzically, yet with a certain tenderness, and then I saw her do something inexplicable. Walking to the washbowl of the room she laved her lips carefully, drying them on her handkerchief. “That—that beast kissed me,” she explained: and then, with a little shiver, she walked straight into my arms and lifted her face for my caress.
“I—I love you, Selwyn!” she said. “Will you marry me to-morrow?” And then we both laughed. “You will have to wash your face first, though,” she added critically. It was the first fervor of our happiness, and for five minutes I am certain neither of us gave thought to our still unsolved predicament.
“You can call me Kenneth Tarrant now, dear,” I said a little later. Then I told her the sordid story of how my father had died during my service abroad, leaving his partner, Morris, in charge of the bank, keeping my interest in trust until my return. I explained how Morris had absconded, taking over two hundred thousand dollars of our depositors' money with him. This had wiped out every cent of the residue of my father's estate and left me to carry a debt of honor amounting to thirty thousand more.
“That is why I came to Chicago first,” I told her. “I knew that Morris had come here. Now I can take my place again. Morris is dead, and though I don't know how much of the money I can get back, at least I can face the world all square.”
“That is just splendid!” she answered. “I'll be satisfied with just you. Did you do all this by yourself?”
“No.” I laughed and told her how Masters had handled the case. “He and the rest will be down any second now,” I said. “Before they come I want to tell you about your brother.”
“Charlie?” she cried, sitting straight, mixed emotions showing on her face.
“Yes,” I admitted sadly. I related his story as decently as I could, painting him rather as a hero who had forfeited his life for his sister than as the scoundrel he really was. Whether she believed much of this I could not tell, but tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“Well,” she said in a choking voice, “I knew it was coming to something like this.”
“Let us just try to forget his faults and remember that he did his best to help you at the las,” I suggested, and kissed her.
Just then Masters, Hoffman, and four or five others burst in, and I drew away from Elise. “Oh there you are!” exclaimed my chief in relief. “I thought they'd done for you for sure, my boy. They got Mitsui.”
“Killed him?” I cried with instant regret for my huge, faithful valet.
“Yes. He got his hands on two of them first, though—he was after revenge for his brother, you know. Well, Miss Latisse seems not to have been harmed.” He smiled. “It's all over now. You may take her home if you wish. I see you wouldn't even give me the satisfaction of getting Bankart—I rather expected you might want Morris.”
“Bankart?” I echoed blankly.
“Yes; he was the one you killed in the same room with Morris.” I was beginning to get embarrassed, for Hoffman was regarding me with plain envy.
“Didn't think you had it in you, Trask,” he said finally. “My very best congratulations, and I'll have to admit that I'm not so anxious to try on the gloves with you now. Did you do that to Morris just with your fist?”
“Yes,” I admitted, and showed my two broken fingers.
Masters, however, helped matters a trifle by sending the others away. “I wish to compliment you, Trask,” he said, walking to me and placing his hands on my shoulders. “You wrote your name in big characters in that slaughter room!”
“I did have quite a fracas there,” I acquiesced lamely. “Would you mind telling me about the whole thing now? I have been in the middle of it all night, but I must admit I am rather confused.”
“Tell you?” Master laughed. “My dear chap, you know more about this now than any live man in the world. I was just going to invite you to run along with me and tell me the story. The only point you do not understand, perhaps, that I know, is the purpose back of this whole grim establishment.”
“Murder, I would guess,” I answered.
“Yes, in a way. The whole thing was a gigantic scheme for making money, however. By their blandishments they induced hundreds of the richest men in this section to enroll. The gambling was for big stakes always, and always for cash. Then, when one member won a big sum of money he never came back. When he was starting home, carrying his roll, the floor of the tunnel would drop from under him, and he would disappear forever. Because of the way in which they laid their plans, the police never could solve the mysteries. At least twenty men have gone this way. One little big man—I believe his name is Roswell K. Nye—president of the Jameston Mutual Life, is out there in the slaughter chamber, waiting to thank you for his life. His wrist is broken, but——”
“I'd rather not meet him!” I said hastily. “But, by the way, while you are explaining, tell me who the chap was I captured up in the hotel room that first day.” For the first time I noticed a certain giddiness from my wounds and sat down.
Masters laughed. “Oh, he was one of my men. We had to try you out thoroughly first, of course, and he had part of the job. You made him swear off tackling any more of my candidates!”
“Then there was just one more thing: Why did not Mitsui come back to wake me that day?”
“He was spied on and did not dare,” said Masters. “We had to take the chance of your waking and doing the right thing.”
I smiled. “Well, I'm glad I did wake up.”
“Yes,” said Masters, bowing to Elise, “I think you are to be doubly congratulated. Now, while I'm with you, I want to give you this little token.” He held out a folded check to me. “That's the thousand-odd dollars coming to you for your services. Because that is so small, considering what you have done, I have directed one of my men to see to it that all the details of the bank tangle were cleared up for you. We will see that each and every cent that Morris stole from you is returned, and that each of the depositors receives a letter explaining the whole situation from beginning to end.”
“Thank God!” I exclaimed in relief, shaking his hand strenuously.
“And then there's one last matter,” he said, eying Elise with an odd expression. “If ever you want a job at a thousand a month——”
Elise put her arm through the crook of my elbow. “Not any more for my husband, thank you!” she said decidedly.