The Room Under the Stairs

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 861, 3 January 1930, Page 5

The Room Under the Stairs

The Baffling Story of a Man Who Read of His Own Murder.

By

Herman Landon

Copyright by G. Howard Watt. Serialised by Ledger Syndicate.

CHAPTER XXII.— (Continued.) “The viper!” muttered Dean savagely. “He gave out the report that you had been delayed somewhere between Wichita and New York, that no one really knew what had become of you. Nobody doubted his word, aud there was no apparent reason why anyone should. But what about the day before yesterf-y, when the butler met you in the c.airway?” “Oh, that was an accident. One of the servants —he is in Littleby’s confidence, I suspect—has been bringing me food three times a day. On this particular occasion I caught him off his guard aud managed to follow him when he left the room. Out in the hall I escaped from him, then promptly lost my way. The house seemed so big, and I didn't know which way to turn. 1 ran helter-skelter, all the time hoping to find the room where father was. I was a bit dazed when I met the butler on the stairs, and gave him the only explanation that came to my mind. I let him show me to the drawing-room, hoping I would have a chance to escape as soon as he turned his back. For a minute or two I sat there trying to collect my faculties, and then —I scarcely knew what happened, but I was forcibly carried away, and when things began to clear again I was back in this room. After that they watched me even more closely than before.” “Is that all?” Dean asked gently when she paused. Her recital had been interesting, but it had explained nothing, if possible leaving the mysterv even more involved than before. “No, not all, but I don’t like to think about the rest. It is too horrible. It. was all the harder because, whenever Littleby came in to see me, I had to restrain my feelings. I felt myself turn cold with hate every time 1 saw him, hut I dared hot say a word. I was in his power, and he never neglected to emphasise the fact. Sometime I felt as if But let's not talk about it, Tommie. Anything is preferable to that. Do you suppose it is still raining outside?” “Most likely,” he replied absently, struck by a new and vaguely alarming impression. Something drew liis gaze upward through what seemed a limitless stretch of blackness. “But in the morning, Tommie, the sun will he shining, the winds blowing, the birds singing. It is always that way after a storm. I wonder

She paused. Vaguely his mind completed the sentence while he continued to gaze upward, to where a few grey flecks seemed to swim in the gloom. “Oh yes,” he said confidently, answering" her unfinished Question, “we'll be there to enjoy it. I m sui e the old sun will be so glad to see uo that he will smile more brightly than •‘My lungs are simply aching for a few whiffs of ozone after being locked up in this stuffy old place.’ He sat rigid, spellbound Up tuere tow ard the ceiling a flock of sinuously fluttering wisps of grey seemed to mock liis tone of airy confidence, in vain he tried to tell himself -hat it was on optical illusion produced by his'overwrought senses and the souualess blackness that surrounded them. Moment by moment the grey specks took Oil a more vivid reality. •I wonder if you really feel the way

you talk.” she murmured, “or whether you are only trying to cheer me up. There is a possibility that you may be wrong, that we may never see the sunlight again, and that possibility makes everything look different, doesn't it? I never imagined one could see things so clearly in the dark.” She laughed nervously, with a little catch in her throat. “I feel as if most of the things I’ve lived for don’t matter at all any longer. Aud other things that seemed insignificant before—how big and wonderful they appear now! Just suppose, Tommie, that the worst should happen and ” “But it won't,” he interrupted doggedly. “Don’t be a pessimist.” “I am just wondering,” she went on, “if you and I would be sitting like this, close together, with my hand in yours, if there wasn’t a chance that in a little while we should both he dead.” “Oh, Death, where is thy sting?” quoted Dean lightly, watching with growing iiitentness the strange spectacle overhead. Now there were a myriad shimmering wisps up there, a translucent blanket of mist that was gradually descending toward them, giving him an impression of something loathsome and menacing. As yet the girl appeared to have noticed nothing. “Just think!" she continued, speaking scarcely above a whisper, “a little while ago 1 couldn’t find words harsh enough to describe how I felt toward you. I thought you were even more despicable than Littleby. Now ” “Yes. now?” he asked softly, for the moment letting his attention wander from the grimly fascinating spectacle overhead. Her hand stirred ever so lightly within his own, a gesture at once infinitesimally small and yet marvellously eloquent. In the next moment he felt her start forward. THE APPROACHING DEATH “Look!” she exclaimed, l'eleasing her hand, and he knew she was pointing to the grey, luminous host gleaming vaguely through the blackness. “Isn’t it beautiful?” “Wonderful,” he assented in a queer voice, feeling a sharp inward twinge. For the moment she could see nothing but a phenomenon of rare beauty in a thing that to him meant on-creeping death. Beauty and death! What a grotesque intermingling of contrasts. “Did you ever see it before?” he asked. “Is this what you had in mind when you spoke of certain dreadful things having happened in this room?” “Oh. no! The other was something quite different. There is nothing dreadful about this. It’s lovely—like a silver mist rising over the waters. But this,” with a touch of awed wonder creeping into her tone, “isn’t rising. It is falling instead. What do you suppose it means?” Dean remained silent, searching his mind for a plausible subterfuge, but finding none. He had noted a queer little huskiness in her voice, but could not tell whether it was due to excitement or something else. The mist was gradually drawing lower, circling like wind-scattered fog over their heads, luminous in itself yet apparently incapable of transmitting light.

“What is it. Tommie?” she repeated. “1 feel so queer, as if I were dreaming and wide awake at the same time. There is a hot sensation in my nostrils and my throat. Tommie, you don’t suppose that ” A tremor of her shoulder told him that the faint poisonous breath that stirred in the air, gradually growing more pronounced, had installed a suspicion of the truth in her mind. A treacherous dizziness, unaccompanied by physical pain but striking terror to his senses, was rising to his head. Inwardly he cursed his helplessness to combat the insidious, venomous thing that was stealing into their bodies with each intake of breath. “Littleby is trying to frighten us,” he declared. “I’ll make him pay for this. If only—” He started up from the chair as an idea suddenly came to him. “The hail!” he exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of that before? Wo can close the door and ”

Excitedly he took her hand and conducted her to the small hall outside the room, along whose father wall he had searched in vain for the opening that had admitted him to the apartment. The venomous mist, like a ghostly exhalation, seemed to fog their steps. He closed the door, but the deathly essence seemed to seep through myriad crevices, filling the darkness with an abysmal breath. “It’s no use, Tommie,” the girl murmured. “There is no escape. We might as well ” She paused and stood leaning breathlessly toward him. Through the door came a low buzzing sound. “The telephone,” muttered Dean. “Littleby is willing to make terms. You stay here.” CHAPTER XXIII. DEAN’S CHOICE. Disobeying his injunction, Miss Lamont followed him through the poisonous haze to the stand where the telephone stood. He could see nothing but a swimming effluvium, but the continued summons of the buzzer guided his steps. “Hope you have followed by suggestion,” said Littleby’s voice, when he had answered, “and given solemn consideration to the uncertainties of life.” Dean did not answer. There was a humid husk in his throat that seemed to render economy of words advisable. “I adopted the one you gave me — the one about the broken watch. I have meditated upon it for upward of an hour, with considerable profit to myself; By the way, Dean, I trust you and Miss Lamont are comfortable.” “Far more so than you will be a few hours from now.” The lawyer chuckled in a satisfied way. “Glad to hear it, even though your voice sounds as if you weren’t feeling just right. Perhaps you had better let Dr. Ballinger look you over. I hope the air agrees with you.” “It has certain advantages over the air at Sing Sing, which you will be sampling soon.” “Good joke, Dean. Glad to know that you are keeping up your spirits while under my roof. There’s nothing palatial about my humble home, but it has several things to commend it. Ever hear of the Nine Oaks?” “Never.”

“Weil, there is nothing in a name. The Nine Oaks was a notorious hotel and gambling house some years ago—long enough ago so that most people have happily forgotten about it. It was frequented by a wealthy and reckless crowd from Manhattan and Brooklyn, who didn’t mind going a few miles out of their way for the kind of amusement they craved. The Nine Oaks had several advantages that made up for its isolated surroundings. It was genteel, quiet, exclusive, and safe against intrusion by the police. The reason for that was that it was equipped with a number of ingeniously contrived emergency exits. The proprietor had many a good laugh at the expense of the police. You would never guess it, Dean, but the cosy little nook you and Miss Lamont are now occupying was one of the gambling halls of the Nine Oaks.” “That explains,” said Dean dryly. “Thought you would be interested. I bought the house for a song a number of years ago. The business had taken a sudden and incomprehensible slump, and the proprietor had his eye on greener fields. I remodelled the house into a private residence, but did not disturb the emergency exits. Mighty glad that I didn’t. They have proved a great convenience. “Moreover, one can enjoy the utmost degree of privacy in such a room as you are now occupying. Most of the people who frequented the Nine Oaks in the old days are widely scattered, and the rest have forgotten that such a place existed. A stranger could search the house from cellar to attic without finding the room in which you and Miss Lamont are now enjoying my hospitality. See the point, Dean?” “Perfectly.” “Dear me, your voice does not sound at all well. As I was saying, anyone occupying the room in which you now are is assured of the highest degree of privacy. His enemies or friends could look high and low for him without ever finding him. If he should fall asleep and, for some mysterious reason, fail to wake up, his remains would rest in peace until Gabriel blows his horn or the house burns down. You follow me?”

“It is perfectly clear,” said Dean huskily. Behind him he could hear Miss Lamont’s laboured breathing, warning him that she was hearing every word. “Architecture is a fascinating subject, but suppose we get to the point?” “As you like. It is now a quarter after four. You have nearly a whole hour in which to consider things. We agreed that you should have until a quarter past five, you know. By that time the atmosphere you are inhaling will, I fear, not be conducive to clear thinking. In fact, you will not think at all. You will have ceased to exist. Did you ever hear of arselene?” “Never.” “No matter. It is a compound of arsenic, actetylene gas and certain other ingredients that ar<> less well known. You are experiencing the effects of it now. It is flowing into the room where you are through an old gas connection far above your reach in the ceiling. As yet the pressure is very slight, but it shall he increased directly, supplying just the quantity required to bring about the desired result at about a quarter past five. Hope I am making myself clear?” “Oh, very clear,” said Dean, exasperated by his calm and faintly mocking tones. “Incidentally, it is a lucky thing for you that we are at opposite ends of a telephone wire.” “Ha! You will not feel quite so belligerent in a little while, Dean. And don’t think I am doing this to amuse myself, or to punish you for jour silly meddling in matters that don’t concern you. My reasons are sound and practical; how practical they are you can not even guess. As" for Miss Lamont, she is merely a victim of circumbe dragged in, but necessity knows stances. It is unfortunate she must no law. Charming creature —eh, Dean? The kind of woman that arouses all the instincts of chivalry in a man.” “Now you are discussing things that you know nothing about.” “That was a rather neat retort, but not very exact. I am talking of the average man, the type to which you belong. I understand his instincts perfectly. “It is only the average man who bothers with such silly notions as chivalry. The superior man has no time for such nonsense. To prove that I am right in classifying you as an average person, let me ask you a question. You would sacrifice a great deal if thereby you could extricate Miss Lamont from her predicament, wouldn’t you?” “Of course,” said Dean matter-of-factly. “Just as I thpught. You would do it even at the expense of your own personal safety, I take it?” “Any man would." “Provided he is the average sort of man, the kind whose head is full of lofty moonshine. All right, Dean. I’ll put the average man in you to the test. As the situation is at present, nothing on earth can save either of you. Miss Lamont may leave my house unharmed on two conditions.” Dean leaned against the table to steady himself. There was a din in his head like that of a distant waterfall. He felt dizzy and very hot, and the voice at the other end of the wire had a remote and illusory sound. He could perceive only two things clearly, the tremulous nearness of the girl and the fact that Littleby had just said something about conditions.

“Name them,” he said hoarsely. “The first is quite simple. You have in your possession two little pieces of glass. Your home was searched this afternoon, but the pieces were not found. They are of no great importance, but on the whole I should prefer to have them.” Dean smiled despite his physical and mental distress. Evidently his veiled

hint about the broken watch had exerted the desired effect. The fragments of glass were locked up in a small drawer in his desk, safely enough hidden so that even a fairly thorough search would not be apt to reveal them. “And the second?” he asked.

“The second will be the test of your chivalry. There is a little drawer directly beneath the surface of the telephone stand. You can easily touch it by reaching out your hand. In the drawer is a pistol which I carelessly neglected to remove. Or, rather, I left it there for a purpose entirely different from my present one. The pistol contains but a single bullet.” “Yes?” said Dean dazedly. A little pause intervened before the lawyer spoke again. Dean, with a confused churning in his bead, felt the girl leaning anxiously toward him. “Remember,” said Littleby, “that as matters now stand, both of you will be dead inside an hour. If you follow my advice, one of you will live. Being a man of chivalrous instincts”—the words were drawled out with a sarcastic intonation—you prefer, I am certain, that Miss Lamont should be the survivor.” “Naturally." “I knew you would see it that Way. It is the only sensible view to take under the circumstances. Now listen carefully. Remain exactly where you are. Place the telephone on the stand, but do not hang up the receiver. “Now reach into the little drawer under the top of the stand and take out the pistol. Point it at your heart

or your temple—any vital point that you prefer. Then shoot. I shall wait at this end until I hear the shot. It will not prove that you have followed my instructions, but I shall know. Trickery will be of no avail. If you wish to save Miss Lamont’s life 1 advise you to do exactly as I say. If the arrangement appears melodramatic to you, remember that I have the best practical reasons for disposing of the situation in this way. I am waiting.” The flow of words on the wire, with their wildly fantastic meaning, ceased. Dean’s thoughts groped dazedly through the ensuing pause. There was a choking constriction at his throat. His body was burned with a strange fever. His limping thoughts seemed to centre round a single obsession. There was a lethal breath In the air. ... In a little while both of them would be dead. If he must die anyway, what mattered it how the end came? A pistol shot or a slow succumbing to venomous vapours—there was not much choice. But the first method would spare Lee’s life, while the second would kill them both. Two lives or one The issue seemed simple, the conclusion inevitable. A hand brushed his hand, and an odd feeling of ecstasy broke through the black tumult that surrounded him. Then a crack sounded, malignantly sharp, followed by a flash ot fire. A blistering agony ripped his flesh, drawing a cry of pain from his lips. With a thunder of crashing noises in his ear he sank to the floor. “CHIVALRY LIVES!” The angry, thunderous roar of a

pistol . . . a short, fragmentary cry that ended curiously in the middle . . . the thud of a body striking the floor ... a jangling medley of small sounds. Then silence. Dennis Littleby stood stonily motionless, with receiver pressed to his ear. The lines of his face were drawn taut, closed up into a blank rigidity signifying a terrific intentness that left no ripple on the surface, only a still reflective glow in the narrow-lidded eyes. Very slowly, as if the movement were entirely detached from his thoughts, he replaced the receiver on the hook. But he remained a while longer beside the telephone, his gaunt form bent slightly forward, his eyes fixed on the instrument as if he were listening to retreating echoes.