The Caucasian

TRAPPED BY
CHINESE
NERVE
RACKING
HOURS
IN
THE TOMB OF
THE IDOLS

By CLARISSA MACKIE

The second time that Philip Newton and his young assistant set forth to capture the junk which they believed to be stealing merchandise from the big Shanghai warehouse of Gordon & Co. they set forth up the river in a little sampan. Their steam launch had been sunk in a previous encounter with the robbers.

They had barely launched themselves on the river when the sampan was run down in the darkness and they both lost consciousness.

When Philip opened his eyes he stared about him. Through some crevice a thin shaft of sunlight brightened the dark interior of a stone walled room.

There was a polished floor of dark stone, with lofty walls and ceiling of the same material.

Here and there, peering malevolently from deep recessed niches, were hideous gods, shabby with faded paint and tarnished gilt.

There was not another article in the room - just the four walls and the painted idols.

There was not a door or a window that was visible, yet the air was fresh and sweet, and as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom Philip noted that from some quarter there was diffused a modicum of light into what would otherwise have been pitchy blackness.

The ray of sunlight shot aslant from a tiny crack in the angle of the ceiling, and something told Philip that above him were growing grass and warm sunshine and singing birds, and yet in the room was a deathlike silence save for Peter's breathing, the silence of death.

At that instant Peter groaned and opened his eyes with wonderment.

Philip let the boy become accustomed to the strange quarters in which they found themselves before he spoke.

In a few minutes they were sufficiently recovered to discuss the happenings on the sampan.

Slowly he made a tour of the subterranean chamber, examining the idols in their nooks and seeking for some avenue of escape.

Exit there must be from some quarter, although the smooth polished walls showed no break or opening that was not firmly cemented.

He had reached the corner of the room farthest from where he and Peter Cook had been sitting since their return to consciousness when a sharp exclamation caused him to turn quickly.

As he faced about he felt a cold rush of air on his cheek - air reeking with the biting smell of opium. Philip stared and stared again at the empty room.

WITH THE HANDLE HE PRESSED DOWN INTO THE CAVITY.

Peter Cook had vanished from that sealed chamber as if by some strange magic. A minute before he had been sitting there on the floor near the wall.

Now the room was empty. He looked about at the frowning deities in their hollowed niches. All were there. But were they all there? He had counted them aloud to Peter Cook as he examined the room. There had been ten in all. The compass swinging from Peter's watch chain had denoted that there were two on the north wall, two on the south, three on the east and west respectively - ten in all.

Now there were only nine idols.

Philip examined the wall carefully. There was no break or opening through which Peter might have disappeared, nothing save the smooth expanse of polished stone and the niche containing the image of the god of war.

In the angle formed by the north and west walls there was nothing to indicate a possible opening. It was so firmly joined that he could not wedge the point of his penknife there.

He followed the west wall down half its length and then paused.

From floor to ceiling there ran an irregular crack in the stone. He had not noticed it before. He turned to the east wall.

It was the same. Then Philip dropped upon his knees and examined the floor.

The light had grown so dim by this time that he was obliged to open his matchbox and strike a match.

By its little flare he could make out long semicircular scratches sweeping from west to east.

There was a light covering of dust on the floor, and some object had swept it clean in places. There were long irregular spaces as though some heavy body had been dragged around the north side of the room.

Philip lighted match after match before he finally hit upon a solution of the mystery.

If Peter Cook had accidentally pressed some hidden spring which controlled the revolving walls and had been swept around into an adjoining room before he could do more than utter a surprised exclamation it was quite probable that Peter was imprisoned in the next room, on the other side of the north wall.

In case Philip should discover the secret spring which Peter must have operated and he in turn should press it, what would be the result?

In all probability he would be carried around with the swinging walls into the next room, and Peter, if he stood within range of the north wall, would be swept back into the original chamber - in either case they would be parted.

Nevertheless Philip intended to try to rejoin Peter Cook.

But first he lifted his voice and shouted, "Peter! Peter! Peter!"

"P-eter!" was echoed back at him from the mocking walls.

Philip made a careful examination of the northwest corner of the chamber, where Peter Cook had been sitting on the floor. He sat down in the exact spot and, lighting more matches, searched for the hidden spring. In the uncertain light the floor seemed entirely of one piece - a smooth expanse of polished gray stone which reflected the flare of his match.

Back and forth across the floor his hand moved slowly without result; then up and down, here and there, closely scanning the walls near the floor - without result. His match crumpled up, and the growing cinders dropped to the floor. They fell into a tiny depression, round and sunken just below the surface of the floor. It was perhaps an inch in diameter.

Philip crowed softly as he pulled out his knife. With the handle he pressed down into the little cavity. In the darkness he felt something give way beneath the knife handle. There was a creaking clank, and with incredible swiftness he was caught by the moving northwest angle of the room and shot around into black space.

He felt himself sliding rapidly across a smooth floor, and as the creaking clank died away and the floor trembled slightly Philip bumped sharply against a hard wall and stopped.

He struck another match and looked about. It was as he had supposed.

He was now in the duplicate chamber, and Peter Cook was no doubt back in the prison room.

Philip was now on the farther side of the duplicate chamber and out of reach of the revolving walls. Before him, against the south wall, grinned and grimaced the god of war. All about him were idols similar to those in the room he had just left.

The swinging walls had given his body such impetus that he had slid all across the room into what might be termed an isle of safety. He knew that Peter would guess what had occurred and that the youth would at once operate the secret spring and join his employer as soon as possible.

Therefore Philip resolved to remain quietly where he was until Peter should appear.

He had not long to wait. Within ten minutes there came the same creaking clank, a tremble of the floor and a rush of air in the darkness.

When the noise and vibration had ceased Peter's voice came sharply.

"Are you there, Mr. Newton?"

"Yes," said Philip gladly. "Come over to this side of the room, Peter."

In a trice they found each other in the darkness, and were joyfully shaking hands and relating their experiences.

"How did you discover the secret spring, Peter?" asked Philip at last.

Peter spoke sheepishly. "I had my knife and was trying shots at the little hole in the floor when all at once the knife struck it sharply, and then something hit my back, and the next thing that I knew I was in this room all alone."

"Perhaps it will turn out the best thing that could have happened to us," said Philip. "There may be some exit from this room. I have thoroughly searched the other one, and there is none whatever."

"You forget the swinging wall," said Peter slyly.

Philip laughed. "I don't think I will forget it very soon, Peter. It gave me the surprise of my life; a very ingenious contrivance indeed. My theory is that the god of war is the pivotal center upon which the walls revolve."

"The god of war?" repeated Peter in a puzzled tone. "I don't understand."

"His excellency the god of war," explained Philip, "is now guarding the other room. His rightful position is the center of the dividing wall here, and from his size and weight I should say that upon his shoulders rests the responsibility of moving the walls."

"I will strike a match presently, and then you will observe that the two idols which occupied the north wall of the other chamber are still with us - In fact, you brought them along, Peter."

Philip scratched a match, and in its light they could see the idols in niches opposite to where they were sitting.

"Now, what are we to do next, Mr. Newton?"

"We will explore this chamber and find a way out if we can," said Philip.

Proceeding carefully, guiding themselves by the wall, they shortly came to an opening, from which a gleam of light was discernible at the far end.

Pursuing their way, they came to a burning torch, which lighted a flight of steps.

Philip counted twenty stone steps. Then a dark passage led straight away underground for an indefinite distance.

The flare of the torch revealed walls and floor of large flat stones dripping with moisture.

"We are near the river bank," said Philip as he followed Peter down the passage.

They had proceeded but a short distance when Philip grasped the torch from the young man's hand and dashed out the flame against the wet walls.

"Press close to the left wall, Peter," he whispered hoarsely. "I hear voices. Look out!"

They threw themselves flat against the dripping walls and waited with beating hearts.

In the distance there echoed a faint, shrill cry. Then there came the sound of bare running feet and the near panting of breathless men.

Several forms shot past them in the darkness, so closely that their loose garments brushed the faces of the two Americans.

The running feet did not pause. They fled on past the escaping prisoners, and presently the latter resumed their journey down the dark passage.

"Shall I light the torch?" whispered Peter eagerly.

"Not now. We will have to go it in the dark, and we haven't much time to lose. It is possible that those men are looking for us."

On through the darkness they plunged, and suddenly they came out into a deep, well-like opening. Away above them was a dark blue sky, thick with golden stars.

"There must be some way out of this," cried Philip softly, and he ran around the circular walls with groping fingers.

"Here is something - a rope ladder," he cried triumphantly.

In a few seconds they were both standing at the top of the well, drinking in great breaths of sweet, cool air.

They plunged into a thicket and emerged in a well worn path which led down to the water's edge. In the starlight they could make out the form of a good sized sampan floating at a little jetty.

"That's for us, eh, Mr. Newton?" panted Peter.

"Sure. Hop aboard!"

They reached the sampan together, and Philip untied the line. They leaped to the narrow deck, found a pair of poles and pushed away from the bank.

The sampan swung about and drifted into the current which swept strongly around a curve of shore and then was borne through a narrow passage, between high banks.

Suddenly they floated out on the broad bosom of the Yangtze, and with a cry of joy Philip headed downstream.

In half an hour they had fallen in with a government patrol boat and with little ceremony enlisted her officers in behalf of their search for the thieving junk.

Before dawn they caught up with her, and with her capture and the punishment of offenders the thieving ceased.

But Peter Cook and Philip never forgot their adventure in the tomb of the nine idols.