Mark Tidd's Citadel

by Clarence Budington Kelland

So we set out stumbling through the long corridors, stopping every minute or so to peer out of a window. We went through the third floor and the second floor and most of the first floor. Then we sat down for a while in the office. It was as dark as pitch and scary enough to suit anybody. We hadn’t sat there long till Mark touched my arm and said in my ear, so low I could hardly hear him:

“L-look!”

I looked. There was a round blot against the window. It moved, and I could see it was a man’s head and he was spying in. I knew he couldn’t see us in the dark, but for all that it wasn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world. Pretty soon the head went out of sight, but it showed up again in another window. Then it disappeared and we could hear stealthy footsteps on the big porch.

The next thing was a rattle at the doorknob. Then, slow, slow, slow, a crack at a time, the door began to open. I was shaking all over and my heart was thumping so it felt like it would shake the building. I reached out and felt of Mark to make sure he was there. If I had felt for him and found he wasn’t there I believe I’d have screeched like an owl and tried to climb the walls. But he was there, all right. His hand that I touched wasn’t very steady, either. I guess Mark Tidd was as scared as I was.

Now the door was open a foot, and the line of light disappeared to the height of a short man. In a minute the light, such as it was, was there again, and we knew the visitor was inside. Inside! Right in the room with us, and though it was a pretty good-sized room, it wasn’t half big enough to suit me. I’d have been willing to have it a mile square.

I COULD SEE IT WAS A MAN’S HEAD AND HE WAS SPYING IN

As I said, it was as dark as a pocket, and there wasn’t a chance of the man seeing us unless he stumbled over us. Mark put his hand on my knee as much as to say, “Keep quiet,” but I didn’t need anybody to tell me to keep quiet. I never felt more like being still in my life. I quit breathing and I guess it was five minutes before I started up again. I didn’t believe a fellow could go five minutes without breathing, but I do now. I think I could go ten minutes if I was pushed.

We could hear the man feeling along the wall. It was just a soft rub with a little rustle. He was trying to find the door, I expect. He passed along the wall farthest away from us, and I was much obliged to him. He was plenty near for all the pleasure I could get out of his company. He found the door all right, because I heard him stumble on the step of the stairs. For quite a while everything was as silent as an undertaker’s shop at midnight. The man was waiting to make sure nobody had heard him. Then we could hear him start to creep up the stairs. We let him go. Somehow it didn’t seem worth while to stop him. Maybe if I’d had a Gatling gun and a Fiji war-club and a Russian bomb and a suit of armor and a battle-ax I might have asked him where he was going. But I didn’t, so I couldn’t see a particle of use in interrupting him. Anyhow, he might not have liked it to be interrupted and he was a sort of guest. It isn’t polite to bother your guests.

We sat still about an hour, it seemed. Then Mark whispered: