CHAPTER XXIII.
THE APACHE DEN.
Before a low-lying, tumble-down wooden shack of but a single story the little man paused and glanced furtively about. Then he darted quickly up the steps, and, motioning to the lads to follow him, disappeared within.
Inside Hal and Chester found themselves in what appeared to be a narrow passageway. It was damp and evil-smelling and the darkness was intense. The lads were unable to see a yard in front of them. The voice of the little man pierced the darkness.
"Come," he said, and the lads advanced in the darkness.
They came presently to a flight of stairs, leading down, and they descended slowly, feeling their way that they might not fall. At the bottom there was still nothing but darkness. Here their guide was waiting for them and allowed them to pass. A moment and there came to the ears of the lads a dull clang, as if a heavy iron door had been closed behind them.
And this, in truth, was the case.
Ahead of them in the dark hall their guide had opened the door without their knowledge that such a thing existed, and now that they had passed through he closed it again. The lads waited until he again brushed by them and took the lead. Then they followed.
It seemed to Hal and Chester that the passageway wound about considerably, for they were conscious of making several sharp turns. Then, from ahead, a faint glow of light pierced the darkness and they could make out their surroundings. In the rear it was perfectly dark and on each side of the narrow passageway the dark, grimy walls rose sheer for perhaps twenty-five feet. The place reeked with the smell of foul air and tobacco smoke.
Now that the light shattered the blackness the little man, who had advanced as soft-footed and as sure-footed as a cat in spite of the darkness, increased his stride and made toward the light. He brought up directly against another door, through cracks in which the light streamed. Here he turned to Hal and Chester.
"I am Jean Garnier," he said. "And you?"
"Hugo Choteau," replied Hal, giving the first name that came into his mind.
"I am Victor Doubet," said Chester, and added to himself, "I hope I can remember it."
He kept repeating it over and over to himself, that he might grow accustomed to it.
"Bien," said Jean. "Come! I shall introduce you to my friends."
He knocked sharply on the door—three light taps, followed by one loud tap.
From within came the sound of scraping chairs, followed by footsteps approaching the door. Came the sound of bars being removed and placed on the floor and a bolt shot back with a crash. Light immediately flooded the passageway as the door was opened a crack and an evil-looking face peered forth.
"Oh, it is you, Jean," he said, after peering intently at the lads' guide. "Come in."
He threw the door open wider.
"Yes, it is I," said the Apache, "and with me two friends."
"If they are friends of yours they are welcome," said the man inside.
The three entered the room together and the man who had opened the door immediately re-bolted and re-barred it.
Inside Hal and Chester looked quickly about, but still not so as to give an impression of undue curiosity. The room was perfectly bare, except for a single large table and probably fifty old wooden chairs, which were scattered about without regard to order. At the far end of the room there was another door, but except for this there was no means of egress.
In various parts of the room sat perhaps a dozen men, all of evil visage, their hats pulled low over their eyes, cigarettes protruding from their lips at a drooping angle. They paid no heed to the entrance of Jean, Hal and Chester, although, from under their hats, they eyed them keenly.
Jean turned to the man who had admitted them and introduced the two lads with a flourish of his right hand.
"These, Georges," he said, "are my friends, Hugo Choteau and Victor
Doubet, who, but a few moments since, saved me from death."
Georges' only reply was a grunt. Plainly he was little interested in the newcomers, as long as they were vouched for by Jean, and he showed no interest in Jean's recent escape from death. Apparently this was no novelty. He resumed his seat at the table, and putting up his feet and drawing his hat even farther over his face, lighted a cigarette and settled himself in comfort and closed his eyes.
Now that he had piloted them to safety Jean took no further thought of the boys, but himself dropped into a chair, propped his feet up, lighted a cigarette and followed Georges' example.
Hal and Chester also sank into chairs and did likewise, both, however, keeping one eye open.
Directly Jean sat up and from his pocket produced a pack of cigarettes, which he extended to Hal.
"Smoke?" he said laconically.
Hal was in a quandary. He was not a smoker himself, yet he realized that the Paris Apache who was not a victim of nicotine was indeed a scarce article. But he muttered to himself, as he selected a cigarette and passed the pack on to Chester:
"Here is where smoking a cigarette may save our lives."
Chester's mind followed along on this course, and, after passing the pack back to Jean, and accepting a match, both lads lighted up in most approved fashion.
The wants of his guests thus attended to, Jean left them to their own thoughts, and gave them no further notice.
The Apache is not a talkative man, and therefore there was not the sound of a human voice to break the death-like stillness of the foul-smelling den. For perhaps an hour and a half all sat without so much as moving.
Suddenly the stillness was shattered by a resounding knock on the door by which the lads had so recently entered—three light taps, followed by a single loud tap. Immediately Georges was upon his feet again, and unlocked and unbarred the door and peered out. Then he threw wide the door and another man entered the room.
Now there was something in the appearance of this newcomer that set him somewhat apart from the other inmates of the den, and when he spoke his tones were much softer than the voices of the true Apache; but it carried an evil ring.
"The chief will be here within the hour," he said to Georges. "He desires that you have all here before he arrives."
"It shall be done," replied Georges, eying the newcomer with some disfavor because of his pomposity.
The newcomer walked across the room and sat down. As he did so his eyes fell upon Hal and Chester, slouched back in their chairs. Immediately he was on his feet.
"Who are these?" he demanded of Georges. "Their faces are unfamiliar to me."
"Friends of Jean Garnier," replied Georges briefly.
Jean was immediately on his feet and approached the questioner.
"Yes, they are friends of mine," he said, "and, as true Apaches, they love gold better than anything else. What have you to say about it?" and his hand slipped to his belt.
It was plain to Hal and Chester that the man was not frightened by this show of hostility, for he smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, nothing at all," he said. "What are one or two Apaches more or less?
You are all of the same breed."
He turned his back on Jean and sat down. Producing a monogramed cigarette case he opened it, extracted a cigarette, and lighted up. He paid no further heed to those about him.
Hal and Chester, out of the tail of their eyes, surveyed him critically.
The man had now removed his overcoat and the lads saw that his clothes
were neatly pressed and of good texture. A diamond glistened in his tie.
Plainly he was no Apache.
Georges, in the meantime, had been busy. He aroused several of the apparently sleeping men, spoke a few words to them, and the latter hurried away. Some minutes later they returned, and after them came others. These drifted in gradually now and slunk into chairs. When the supply of chairs had been exhausted newcomers sat on the floor.
Soon the room was full to overflowing.
The man who had accosted Hal and Chester now threw away his cigarette and once more approached the lads. Jean, perceiving this, also left his chair and came forward.
The man whom Hal and Chester surmised was some sort of a lieutenant of the Apache chief, addressed them.
"Do you know what we are here for?" he asked.
"No," said Hal.
Chester also shook his head.
"Well, I'll tell you," said the man. "We are here to make money. The President is sought by the Germans, and we are to see that he is delivered safely into their hands. For this each man is to receive a handful of German gold. Now, it makes little difference whether you are with us or not. If you are with us, all right—we can use a few more men. If not, you will never leave here alive."
Before either Hal or Chester could reply Jean stepped forward.
"Of course they are with us," he said, thrusting his face close to that of the lads' questioner.
Calmly the man extended one hand, placed it squarely over Jean's face and shoved him violently backward.
"This," he said quietly, "is none of your business. So keep out."
The little man uttered a cry of rage and made as if to draw a knife; but, apparently thinking better of it, returned to his chair and subsided.
The man turned to Hal.
"Are you with us?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Hal.
"And you?" turning to Chester.
"Yes."
There came a commanding knock on the door. Georges sprang forward and flung it wide, and there strode into the room a tall, slender man, in evening dress, shining top hat and white kid gloves. A black mask covered his face.
"Pierre Duval," whispered Hal to Chester, "the King of the Apaches!"