DESPITE MONTANA’S LACK of surprise, the discovery was chilling. Lo Ling had helped Geneva to escape, assisting her against his employer. Now he had paid the price of treachery.
Probably he had been prepared for such an eventuality when he had made his decision to help her. It had been a courageous, selfless act.
The choice of this secret passageway for the hanging, then the leaving of the body to block the passage, would be significant. The nearly stagnant air was unstirring, but it seemed suddenly cold. Montana had no doubt that the dead man had been left there for him to find.
If that was so, then the Mandarin was a mind-reader, anticipating such a move on his part. But why?
The dead man would hardly be there as a warning. They were not concerned about his welfare. There must be another reason—
Montana stood in heavy darkness, made blacker by the momentary flicker of the match, and the hairs on his scalp crawled. There was no sound. Even the far-off murmur of applause had subsided, and the voices of those on stage did not penetrate. There was no sound of firecrackers.
Only a dead man.
Montana’s fingers, on the butt of his revolver, were sweaty. There was no longer any doubt that he had walked into a trap.
The fact that he had done so deliberately, knowing the risk and choosing it, was not reassuring.
His ears strained for a sound of breathing, the creak of a floor board, a shuffling footstep. He held the gun ready, tense against attack, and nothing happened.
Sucking in a deep breath, he strove to relax, and in that instant the floor dropped from under him. This was the one thing he had not expected. A trap door was opening, and there was no warning, no defense.
Flinging both arms wide was an instinctive reaction, and for the moment the gesture saved him. His gun hand, along with the revolver, caught the floor at the edge of the opening, briefly checking his fall. Light bloomed from below, a murky and insufficient gleam, adding to the impression of bottomless depths into which he had started to plunge.
He grabbed at the edge of the floor with his other hand, and his fingers closed desperately, striving to hold, to climb back.
Given time, he might have made it, but other hands were grabbing at his feet, jerking, dragging him down. Against such a pull it was impossible to hold. He fell, and men piled upon him as he hit the dirt. The distance was not far, after all, since the others had stood there, waiting.
At least three men were holding him, powerful men such as he’d encountered before in these tunnels. Montana struggled, but it was hopeless. A lantern on an upended box gave a smoky light. It was good enough to enable him to recognize the pair who had herded him toward that hidden grave, and he’d already been given proof of their strength.
This time they were taking no chances. While two of them held him, the third snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. The cold steel brought the grimness of reality to the nightmarish episode.
Aside from the box and the lantern, there was no furniture. The open trap door yawned overhead. Another door or passage led away, and there was a look of raw newness about everything. This must have been hastily excavated beneath the hallway, the trap door cut and put in place.
He struggled to sit up as the pressure relaxed, back to the wall, legs outthrust before him. No one spoke, but the trio watched him warily. Whether or not they understood English, it was hardly a time for small talk.
Montana’s face gave no indication of his thoughts, but disgust vied with dismay. He had been prepared for trouble, but had expected to give a better account of himself. The realization that the Mandarin had outsmarted him again was depressing.
The third man disappeared, perhaps to carry a message. That seemed logical, as the others waited with stoical patience. They had their orders, another indication that the Mandarin had been very sure of him.
One of the men fondled a long-bladed knife, running a thumb lightly along to test its edge, glancing suggestively at Montana. The other toyed with the revolver they had taken from him. They made no overt move, but it was clear that they would enjoy committing a hit of mayhem, if he would give them an excuse.
Time dragged; then footsteps made a faint sound, and the Mandarin entered from the side. Still dressed in the costume he had worn for the play, he loomed impressively, even between the big guards. He surveyed Montana for a long, appraising moment, and there was no triumph in his eyes. Almost, it seemed to Montana, there was a flicker of regret.
“Even the wisest man has his weakness, and somewhere the strong man is vulnerable,” he murmured. “Through such a gate, even the greatest may be snared.”
“I seem to have fallen into your trap,” Montana conceded. “You had it well baited.”
The Mandarin shrugged.
“Lo Ling was loyal, but his fealty was misplaced. Yet, as unwittingly as you, he did precisely what he was supposed to do. You, Mr. Abbott, are a worthy adversary. The glitter of gold does not blind your eyes, and where others accept what they see at face value, you sniff like a fox for the trap. It has been a pleasure to compete with a man of your caliber. I am sorry that our acquaintance has to end in such fashion, but you must realize that you have meddled in matters of grave import.”
“In robbery and murder, do you mean? You know, the Innocents thought they had a good thing going, but they could have learned a lot from you.”
The brief flicker in the other man’s eyes showed that he was not immune to flattery, but he shrugged wearily.
“One who would lead must not make the same mistake twice.”
“Which I’ve done, eh? But do you think that you can get away with what you’re planning? There’s such a thing as biting off more than can be chewed.”
“I have strong jaws.” The retort was contemptuous. “I know how you have made an ally of a man who was supposed to be an opponent, and that Mr. Desmond and his crew will be on the lookout for whatever they assume is likely to happen. Ordinarily, such awareness might hamper my plans. But I have foreseen such eventualities, so don’t allow your hopes to be raised on that account. It would be useless.”
Here was neither bluff nor brag. One uncertainty was resolved. The Mandarin was the head of the plot, not an underling.
He became suddenly brisk.
“I regret having no time to continue so enjoyable a conversation, but there is much to be done. Your purpose here, I believe, was to seek out Mr. Wagner?”
“I was more or less hoping to make his acquaintance,” Montana drawled.
“I was sure you would be. And since you have risked so much in playing at being a knight errant, I see no reason to deny you so small a pleasure. You will be taken to him.”
Spreading his hands in a courteous gesture, the Mandarin turned away. The guards took Montana’s arms, while a third went ahead with the lantern. Presently they were halted by a crew of workmen, feverishly clearing away rock and dirt. The acrid smell of powdersmoke hung rankly.
For whatever it might be worth, his hunches were being verified. The plays provided entertainment and diversion for the crowds, but the real reason of the bursts of firecrackers had been to cover blasting here in the heart of town, where no blasting was supposed to take place.
The loosened rock was mucked out during the day, and he had no doubt that this final explosion had broken through the last barrier, so that they would be directly under the bank.
The treasure now stored in the bank’s vault, for safekeeping, must amount to a staggering sum. That a part of it already belonged to the looters made no difference. That, along with their bets and cash deposits, had been seed money, and it had netted a rich crop. Now, taking advantage of the confusion which accompanied the celebration, everything was ready.
It would have been too bold an undertaking to make a frontal assault on the bank, besides alerting everyone to the fact that a robbery was in progress. Now the back door was open, and no suspicion had been aroused.
And the climax was to come tonight, not tomorrow. By then, when the ruse was discovered, the wagon carrying the spoils would be long gone.
The original plan of the spoilers had almost certainly been directed at the ranchers and their herds. Using the ruse of the long-hoped-for railroad, they had been persuaded to invest, until mortgages on their land and cattle would leave them ruined. The reputed discovery of gold, where there was no gold, had heightened the frenzy. Washing away a few hills at Hardrock had been a final touch.
The combined operations had built up to a peak of excitement which made heavy betting both natural and inevitable. Prentiss O’Leary was a sufficiently fabulous figure so that he had been able to handle the bets without arousing suspicion. That many of his wagers had seemed contradictory had only added to the confusion.
One thing’s sure. He and the Mandarin don’t go in for small potatoes, Montana reflected. And when it comes to the pay-off—
Even that was a part of their careful planning. Once the robbery was discovered, the full fury of the victims would be turned against the supposed conspirators. Every step along the way had been planned to point to the coolies. They had quit the P & P; they had dug the tunnel which now led under the bank. The Oriental Players and the firecrackers added up to a final piece of Oriental trickery, the sort of thing which might be expected of foreign devils.
The anger of almost everyone would be vented upon them. Unwitting dupes like all the others, they had done the hard work, and death was to be their reward. By then the ringleaders would be long gone with the loot. The increased confusion would assure them plenty of time to escape.
The awareness that he too had been outsmarted was galling. Montana was almost certain that there had been no trap door in the floor when he had first prowled that secret passageway, no cellar underneath. He would have been aware of the hollow sound. The Mandarin had been swift to improvise.
Either you’re getting old, Bill Abbott, or careless, he thought grimly. And if there’s any more carelessness, you’ll grow no older!
They had been proceeding at a shuffling pace along the dark tunnel, his captors silent but vigilant. Now they turned into a side room. Whether or not it was the one he had visited before, he could not be sure.
A single candle, stuck on an upended box, burned with a feeble light. A shadowy figure sprawled on the ground, snoring fitfully. He started up suddenly from an uneasy sleep, haggard-eyed, blinking in the glow of the lantern. A chain rattled as he moved. He was the man Montana had glimpsed on that other occasion. The Mandarin was keeping his promise.
The room served well enough as a prison. Hastily dug, as were all the tunnels, the dirt ceiling overhead was supported by log beams, held up by posts or old timbers set roughly in place. The chain which was fastened to Wagner’s left wrist was stapled to one of the posts.
A mangy remnant of buffalo hide provided some measure of warmth against the dull chill of the tunnel.
One of the guards picked up another length of chain, already in place. The foresight, the careful attention to small details, Montana recognized as a characteristic of the Mandarin. One end of the chain was attached to another of the posts.
Using a padlock, the guard fastened it to the links of the handcuffs. Wagner watched dazedly, blinking uncertainly. Privation and imprisonment had left him in a state bordering on collapse.
He was thin, bearded and dirty, and he stared in uncertainty and disbelief as two other men appeared, carrying a small table and a couple of chairs. Here was another touch of the theatrical, in which the Mandarin delighted. The table was spread with a clean cloth, then set with dishes and silverware which threw back the gleam of the lantern. From covered containers, food was produced and placed on it: a steaming roast, potatoes, even gravy. Biscuits, juicy slabs of pie and a pot of coffee completed the banquet; the blended aromas were tantalizing.
Precisely timed to the moment, the Mandarin entered and looked at them. His smile was mocking.
“Mr. Abbott, you wanted to meet Mr. Wagner. A man’s last wish should always be granted when possible. You gentleman may confer as long as you wish, on whatever subjects may prove of interest. Sit up and eat your supper. The food is neither drugged nor poisoned. Enjoy it. It will be your last meal.”