sure there isn’t a booby trap under this,” she said. “No, it looks safe.”
A little more gingerly than before Pike reached down and grabbed the loop of rope. “Open sesame,” he said and lifted away the circle of stone.
A dark well was below. A new rope ladder had been affixed to the wall of the well. “This is the place sure enough,” said Nellie.
“Think our pueblo dweller’s at home?”
“One way to find out.” Nellie handed him the light, took a pistol out of her purse, and started down the rope ladder.
Pike followed her down, holding on with one hand and keeping the well lit with her flash.
Thirty feet down Nellie hit a stone floor. A tunnel cut out of the hillside led off to the left. There was no other way to go, so she started down that way.
The tunnel ran for several hundred feet before opening onto a natural cave. Several smaller caves branched off of the central one.
“Reminds me of a funhouse I was in once,” said Pike, stopping beside the halted Nellie. “There was a surprise behind each door.”
“Don’t know if we’ve got a lady-or-the-tiger situation here or not,” the blonde said. She took her flashlight back. “I’ll take those caves on the left, you cover the ones on the right. If a menace shows up, holler.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He held his pencil-flash and drew his .38 revolver from his shoulder holster.
They separated.
Nellie found the wooden door in the second small cave she investigated.
It was not a large door, not much higher than she was, made of heavy planks and set into the stone. Nowhere near as old as the Indian village up above, but not of this century either.
“I wonder what went on down here back in the Wild West days,” Nellie said to herself as she examined the door latch carefully.
The door didn’t appear to be locked and she could detect no sign of booby trap. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
There was a faint medicinal smell in the stone room she entered. And something else . . . coffee?
Yes, there was a battered pot sitting on a kerosene stove over in the corner. And on the table in the center of the stone floor was a white metal box.
Nellie crossed the room and carefully opened the box. It was a first-aid kit.
Those hypos don’t look like standard first-aid equipment, she thought. And what’s that funny-looking stuff in the vials?
Nellie picked up one of the vials of bluish liquid. Could this be the stuff that does the trick? she wondered.
Pike better see this, she decided. “Pike,” she called out. “Hey, Pike, come over here for a minute.”
The wooden door of the underground room suddenly slammed shut.
“Pike?” she said once more.
She turned the beam of the flashlight toward the door. No one there.
Then she took in her breath sharply. She’d seen something appear on the floor in the circle of light. And there was another.
Drops of blood. Drops of blood coming out of nowhere.
CHAPTER XIII
Ups and Downs of an Escape Artist
Werner Konrad was knitting. Dressed in his Madame Rosay attire, he sat rocking in a comfortable old chair in the parlor at the rear of the main art gallery. On a hotplate a tea kettle had just begun to whistle.
A buzzer sounded.
Setting aside the sweater he was working on, the actor went to the back door of the parlor. He adjusted his shawl and peered out the judas hole into the alley. The tiny orange bulb over the outside doorway showed him a nearly chinless young man in a loose-fitting gray suit.
Konrad pushed the door-release button, turned the knob, and invited, “Come in, Waxman.”
Waxman entered the parlor. “Your place is closed, isn’t it?”
Konrad lifted the tea kettle off the hotplate, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
“Why are you still wearing that outfit then?”
“Never can tell who may drop in, young man,” Konrad replied in his Madame Rosay voice. “What have you got for me?”
“Message from Dr. Coopersmith.” Waxman drove one of the trucks which
A little more gingerly than before Pike reached down and grabbed the loop of rope. “Open sesame,” he said and lifted away the circle of stone.
A dark well was below. A new rope ladder had been affixed to the wall of the well. “This is the place sure enough,” said Nellie.
“Think our pueblo dweller’s at home?”
“One way to find out.” Nellie handed him the light, took a pistol out of her purse, and started down the rope ladder.
Pike followed her down, holding on with one hand and keeping the well lit with her flash.
Thirty feet down Nellie hit a stone floor. A tunnel cut out of the hillside led off to the left. There was no other way to go, so she started down that way.
The tunnel ran for several hundred feet before opening onto a natural cave. Several smaller caves branched off of the central one.
“Reminds me of a funhouse I was in once,” said Pike, stopping beside the halted Nellie. “There was a surprise behind each door.”
“Don’t know if we’ve got a lady-or-the-tiger situation here or not,” the blonde said. She took her flashlight back. “I’ll take those caves on the left, you cover the ones on the right. If a menace shows up, holler.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He held his pencil-flash and drew his .38 revolver from his shoulder holster.
They separated.
Nellie found the wooden door in the second small cave she investigated.
It was not a large door, not much higher than she was, made of heavy planks and set into the stone. Nowhere near as old as the Indian village up above, but not of this century either.
“I wonder what went on down here back in the Wild West days,” Nellie said to herself as she examined the door latch carefully.
The door didn’t appear to be locked and she could detect no sign of booby trap. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
There was a faint medicinal smell in the stone room she entered. And something else . . . coffee?
Yes, there was a battered pot sitting on a kerosene stove over in the corner. And on the table in the center of the stone floor was a white metal box.
Nellie crossed the room and carefully opened the box. It was a first-aid kit.
Those hypos don’t look like standard first-aid equipment, she thought. And what’s that funny-looking stuff in the vials?
Nellie picked up one of the vials of bluish liquid. Could this be the stuff that does the trick? she wondered.
Pike better see this, she decided. “Pike,” she called out. “Hey, Pike, come over here for a minute.”
The wooden door of the underground room suddenly slammed shut.
“Pike?” she said once more.
She turned the beam of the flashlight toward the door. No one there.
Then she took in her breath sharply. She’d seen something appear on the floor in the circle of light. And there was another.
Drops of blood. Drops of blood coming out of nowhere.
CHAPTER XIII
Ups and Downs of an Escape Artist
Werner Konrad was knitting. Dressed in his Madame Rosay attire, he sat rocking in a comfortable old chair in the parlor at the rear of the main art gallery. On a hotplate a tea kettle had just begun to whistle.
A buzzer sounded.
Setting aside the sweater he was working on, the actor went to the back door of the parlor. He adjusted his shawl and peered out the judas hole into the alley. The tiny orange bulb over the outside doorway showed him a nearly chinless young man in a loose-fitting gray suit.
Konrad pushed the door-release button, turned the knob, and invited, “Come in, Waxman.”
Waxman entered the parlor. “Your place is closed, isn’t it?”
Konrad lifted the tea kettle off the hotplate, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
“Why are you still wearing that outfit then?”
“Never can tell who may drop in, young man,” Konrad replied in his Madame Rosay voice. “What have you got for me?”
“Message from Dr. Coopersmith.” Waxman drove one of the trucks which
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