Ken Holt - Mystery Of Green Flame Part 14

Then, suddenly, he remembered the car wheel he had seen in the brief moment of light before he had closed his eyes when Al and Joe entered. It was the wheel of their own convertible-he felt sure of that- and the car must be parked just inside the big doors, hood pointed toward them. A way to utilize it leaped, full-formed, into his mind.

He'd get in the car, behind the wheel. And the instant he heard the doors opening he'd drive the car against them-rip them from their hinges and escape into the open. He was certain now that their prison was the underground garage, built into the hill behind the patio. If he drove fast enough, straight along the pa.s.sage cut through the long building, he would reach the outer, public section of the hospital before anyone could stop him. And there, surely, he could call for help. He only had to find the car, climb into it, get the ignition key turned on and ready.

He had completely lost track of where he was, in relation to Sandy and to the wheel he had seen long minutes before. Again he crawled around in the dark, feeling ahead of him with his hands, for what seemed like hours. But finally his fingers found the smooth patterned curve of a wheel and Ken gasped his relief. Clutching its upper edge, and then the fender, and finally the door handle, he pulled himself erect. He turned the handle, clinging to the door as it opened out against him. Then he edged around the end of it and flung himself forward over the front seat, his right hand fumbling for the switch.

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He should be close to it now. He knew every inch of the dashboard by heart. There-he had found it!

The key was missing.

For a moment he refused to believe it, and his hand slid back and forth over the smooth dashboard. He told himself that he had, after all, made a mistake.

But it wasn't a mistake. The feel of the switch under his fingers was unmistakable. And the key that should have protruded from the narrow slit was not there.

His hand dropped to the floor and he wasted another minute exploring the ridged rubber mat, in the frenzied hope that the key had dropped out of place. Finally he gave up.

He lay slumped face downward on the leather seat for a long time, unable to think of another plan of action, unable to summon the strength or the hope to urge himself to further movement.

His throat felt dry and parched. His body was s.h.i.+vering again. If only Sandy were awake! Sandy understood all the intricacies of motors. He could start an engine without a key, if necessary.

And then another numbing thought flashed through Ken's mind, and he knew his inspired plan wouldn't work even if Sandy could be aroused to help him. The big doors he had watched move open, grating noisily on the stone floor, swung inward. Even if he could drive the car against them, he could achieve nothing more than pus.h.i.+ng them shut.

He remembered the quick glimpse he had had, before Al and Joe herded Sandy and Roberto and himself into the long building, of the garage doors set into the flower-draped wall. They were heavy doors, and they were braced by a heavy timber threshold. It would, BARRICADE 161.

in any case, be impossible to catapult them open, knocking down the men who stood just outside, and make a dash through the patio and the pa.s.sageway to the front of the hospital.

It was no use. They were caught here, helpless- trapped in a prison from which there was no escape. And outside Joe and Al waited to- Ken's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. That was the important point, he suddenly realized: Al and Toe were outside! If he could manage to keep them tnere, he and Sandy and Roberto would be safe at least temporarily.

All he had to do was to transform their prison into a fortress. It was as simple as that. And the doors were the only thing he had to guard. Al had said there was no other way in or out of the place.

Ken began to move automatically, doing the things he knew had to be done. His hand found the emergency brake and he turned the handle, releasing the catch and easing the brake off.

If only there was time enough I Somehow, he had to get the car so close to the doors that its b.u.mper touched die wood. Then it would provide a barricade against the doors' opening. Even as he felt his way toward the rear of the convertible he raged at himself for not thinking of this idea sooner, for wasting priceless minutes in despair.

Ken placed himself in the middle of the rear b.u.mper, back to the car, and bent his knees until he could grasp the b.u.mper in his hands. Then he put all his weight against it. Almost immediately it began to move.

His strength was returning to his muscles. Even as he pushed he felt stronger and more powerful. But 162 .

when the car had rolled a few scant inches it stopped, b.u.mping softly against some unevenness of the stone floor.

Ken let the car roll back again, waited a moment to catch his breath, and then heaved once more.

Again the convertible rolled forward, struck the uneven stone, and stopped. Ken dug his heels against the floor, fighting for a grip. Under his desperate thrust the car lifted, fell, and then moved forward again. It moved six inches-nine inches-a foot.

Ken's chest was heaving. How far away from the doors had it stood when he started this stupendous task? He wasn't sure. And he couldn't waste time now by measuring the distance he still had to push it. He thrust backward again, and again the car rolled gently a few more inches.

Suddenly above the pounding in his ears Ken could hear voices. Al and Joe were coming back! Somehow, from somewhere, Ken found new strength. He was only barely aware of the sharp edge of the b.u.mper cutting into the palms of his hands. He drove his heels against the floor until his leg muscles were as stiff as steel bands.

The chain on the doors rattled. But the car was still moving-another half foot, and another and another. That ominous sound of wood sc.r.a.ping over stone-the sound that meant the doors were beginning to open- had just reached his ears when he felt the car nudge gently against an obstacle. He had made it! The convertible's front b.u.mper held the doors shut against an angry thrust from outside.

"Push hard! They always stick a little." Al's voice, heard dimly through the wooden barrier, was sharper than it had been before.

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"They're not stuck! Something's shoved up against them!"

"Here! Let me see!"

Ken held himself rigid, every muscle straining to keep the car in its position against the push from without.

"You're right! There is something holding them!" Al sounded more surprised than angry.

"I told you!" Joe wailed. "They came to-like I was afraid they would-and they've got themselves barricaded up in there. Now what are we going to do?" His voice suddenly rose. "All right!" He was no longer speaking to Al, Ken knew. He was directing his words through the doors. "Get away from that door or 111 shoot."

"Put that gun away, you fool!" Al said fiercely. "How much good could you do shooting through that door? Besides, don't you remember-they're not supposed to be marked? Here, let's shove together. Now!"

Ken felt his feet slide on the stone as the car was pushed against him, away from the doors. His heels slid into a wide crack between two of the stones and he drove against the tiny hold with all his might. Once more he felt the car roll toward the doors. Softly they thudded shut.

The next shove was sudden and strong. For an instant Ken was almost caught off balance. But miraculously his heels slid into the groove again and once more, with agonizing slowness, he drove the convertible's nose against the timber panels.

But he couldn't keep it up, he knew. Once more- perhaps twice more-he could summon up the strength to answer their thrust. But then the men's superior weight would triumph. The doors would open wide 164 THE MYSTEBY OF THE GREEN FLAME.

enough to let them slide through. And that would be the end.

If he could only get at the emergency brake to lock the wheels! If he could find something-anything-to push beneath the tires and prevent them from rolling! But he didn't dare leave his post to search for blocks. He didn't dare leave even for the few seconds he would need to hurl himself into the car and jerk up the brake. All he could do was to hang on, where he was, for as long as he could stand it. After that . . .

"Ready?"

The word penetrated the wood only faintly, but it gave Ken a flash of warning. He braced himself. Once more he and the two men outside played their deadly game of seesaw and once more Ken managed to win. But it took all the strength he had, and more. His breath was tearing at his throat.

"It's all over," he thought dimly.

He wondered vaguely what it was Al and Joe were saying. He couldn't make it out. That murmuring sound was unlike their angry voices. It was fainter and-and nearer! It was inside the prison, not far from where he stood.

"Sandy!" Ken gasped. "Sandy!"

A shoe sc.r.a.ped on stone. "Ken? Ken, where are you? It's dark. I can't see anything." Sandy's voice was only a husky quaver.

"Sandy!" Ken sent his own voice toward his friend like a missile, determined to penetrate the cloud out of which Sandy was emerging. "Sandy! Get up! I need you!"

"But where are you? I-" Again the shoe sc.r.a.ped on stone, this time with a stumbling sound.

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"Over here, Sandyl Follow my voice. Here! Here!"

Outside Al said grimly, "You ready now? Give it everything this time. We almost made it before. Come on!"

But now Ken had hope again and his aching muscles had new vigor. He ground his heels into the crack and waited. And in the moment before the shove came, he found time to say "Here, Sandy! This way. Here!"

"I'm coming. If I only knew-"

The rest of Sandy's words were lost as Ken heaved against the push of the car. The car moved only a scant few inches that time before he forced it back against the doors. Immediately, still breathless, he began the chant again, "Here, Sandy. Over here."

He wasn't trying to make Sandy understand anything. He knew the effect of the chloroform was still too strong for that. But if he could just get him near enough-could just get him to do one thing- "Here, Sandy," he repeated. "Here."

The shuffling footsteps were closer now, were only a few feet away. Ken longed to reach out and pull Sandy toward him-he felt sure he could grab him in a split second-but he didn't dare.

"What's the matter with you, anyway?" Al was berating Joe furiously. "You've got about as much strength as a puppy! Now this time we'll really hit it! Ready?"

The car quivered slightly and Ken knew Sandy had blundered against it.

"Great!" he said swiftly. "That's the car you're touching, Sandy. Our car."

"It is? But what-?"

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"Never mind. Get in. Pull the emergency brake. Quick! Quick, Sandy!"

"I'm ready all right!" Joe growled. "I'm ready to get my hands on those-"

"Save your breath!" Al snapped.

The faint creak was the car door opening. Sandy was moving with maddening slowness. And then the car sagged slightly on Ken's right and he knew Sandy was climbing in.

"Quick!" he said once more. "Pull the emergency brake!"

The last word was a gasp. Once more, from outside, the big wooden doors were yielding under a violent thrust. The crack of light they admitted formed a pale wall of dancing dust motes that cut through the dark s.p.a.ce like a gauze curtain.

Ken felt the car force itself against the backs of his legs, felt himself sliding forward. He couldn't hold it. He couldn't. But he gave one last desperate heave and the curtain of light evaporated.

Instantly the pressure on his back began again. It was beyond bearing this time. It- Then he heard it-the wonderful rasp of the emergency brake being pulled up. The thrust against his back eased. The car stood still, solid as a rock.

Ken unbent his fingers, gripped painfully around the b.u.mper. He made his shaky legs carry him around to the driver's seat. He reached inside and gave the brake lever another yank.

"Was that what you wanted me to do, Ken?" Sandy's voice still sounded vague.

"That's what I wanted." Ken dropped his arms on the edge of the door and let his head sink forward on them. 'That was it, Sandy."

CHAPTER XIV.

SPARKS OF HOPE.

THE CAR DOOR that Ken was leaning on quivered slightly. Dimly his mind registered the fact that the men outside were again trying to force an entry. It didn't matter, he thought. There was nothing he could do about it any more. He was too tired. Too tired to raise his head, to open his eyes.

And then he realized that the car was holding. He was no longer bracing it with his back. It was holding alone.

Slowly the wave of exhaustion receded and Ken became aware of the new situation. Sandy had pulled up the brake and it was no longer necessary to beat back each attack with the strength of his own aching muscles.

"Ken?" The familiar voice was close to his ear. And though it sounded weak and faint, it was a familiar voice-not the vague murmur of one still more than half unconscious.

"Right here." Ken forced his head up, opened the door on which he had been leaning, and climbed inside the car to slump down beside his friend.

"Where are we? What happened?" Sandy's voice was 167.

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stronger with every syllable. But he was still as confused as Ken had been when he first began to emerge from the anesthetic.

Ken put his hand on his friend's arm and the warm human contact somehow restored his own strength. The realization that he was no longer alone struck him with the impact of a blow.

"I remember now! They chloroformed us!" Sandy was saying. "But where are we? Where's the boy? And what was all that about brakes a while ago? I'm still dizzy-I can't seem to-"

"Take it easy," Ken said. He put into his voice all the confidence he could summon up. Sandy needed time to sort out vague impressions and separate fact from dim chloroform-induced fantasy. Ken knew only too well how difficult that was to do, especially in the utter darkness of their prison.

Suddenly Ken realized that the darkness was unnecessary. He reached forward and flicked the switch of the headlights. Immediately the great weathered gray timbers of the doors just in front of the car were brightly illuminated, and the glow reflected back into the car. Ken turned and looked at his friend. Sandy's big bulk was a comforting sight, even when the redhead was still rubbing a limp hand over a pale, sick-looking face.

"The dizziness will clear up pretty soon," Ken said firmly. "Just take it easy."

As he spoke, his eyes were traveling over the heavy doors, each formed of huge timbers apparently several inches thick, and crisscrossed with almost equally heavy braces. The walls that stretched away into dimness on either side of the doors were made of big smooth stones, like the stones of the floor.

Ken's eyes fell on a small heap of firewood not far SPARKS OF HOPE 169.

from the car's front right wheel. He remembered how desperately, only a few minutes ago, he had wanted blocks for the convertible's wheels. Blocks would still be a valuable bulwark to the strength of the emergency brake. And these were perfect for the purpose-triangular splits from a log that must have been more than a foot in diameter.

"I'm going to put a couple of blocks under the wheels," Ken said, sliding out of the car. "I'll be right here, Sandy."

The splintery pieces of wood hurt the palms of his hands, still deeply grooved from his fierce hold of the b.u.mper. But Ken gritted his teeth and carried them two at a time, kicking and prodding each one beneath a wheel.

There was no longer any noise outside the big doors, Ken realized. Had Al and Joe gone away long enough to bring up reinforcements? In any case, the barricade he had formed with the convertible could only provide temporary safety. They had to make plans. They had to- "Ken? You haven't told me where we are," Sandy said.

Ken took a deep breath. Sandy sounded as if he could understand things now. "I can tell you where I think we are," he said, coming back to the car.

'This seems to be the situation." Ken spoke quietly, watching Sandy's face and speaking more quickly as he saw its expression change from blank incomprehension to at least a partial understanding and accepting of their position.

"I don't know where you found the strength," Sandy murmured once. "I couldn't push this car, now, if-"

"Sure you could," Ken a.s.sured him. "If you had to. But I certainly was glad to feel that brake go on."

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