Mark Tidd's Citadel

by Clarence Budington Kelland

Of course nobody answered.

“Open,” he says again, “or we break.”

“Go ahead,” I thought to myself. “That’s what I want you to do.”

But they didn’t bu’st the door down. They went into the next room and, I expect, found the bathroom and the other locked door. I know they did, for I heard them bang on it and yell again. Both of them yelled. I knew then that the hall was clear, so I opened my door and scooted. My bare feet didn’t make much noise and I got to the top of the back stairs all right, but I didn’t go down. What was down there I didn’t know, but I did know that nobody was straight ahead—and straight ahead took me nearer to the citadel.

There was a turn in the corridor that hid me from anybody behind, so I slacked down so as not to make a particle of sound. Into the very last room I went. It had a side window that looked right out on the little strait that separated me from the citadel.

You can guess it didn’t take me long to throw up that window and look out. The Man Who Will Come was still on the beach, watching Plunk. Across on the dock was Mark Tidd. I didn’t stop to think, but just let out a yell at Mark. He turned, but didn’t see me for a second. As soon as he saw me I drew back my arm and threw the matches as far toward him as I could. They landed safe. He picked them up and waved his hand.

I took a look toward The Man Who Will Come and saw that he saw me, for he was coming on the run. It was my move, all right, so I began by getting out of that room into the hall. The door opposite was open and I took a chance on going in. Outside its back window was the roof of a porch—a sort of dish-washing, fish-cleaning porch off the kitchen. It was built on spiles and stood maybe six or eight feet into the water.

Out on that porch I got, and not a minute too soon, for those two Japanese had smelled me out and came tearing in at the door. I hadn’t much time to figure. I was cornered. The only way off that porch was through the window, and the Japanese were between that and the door—one of the nicest little traps you ever saw.

Well, there was just one thing for me to do. I knew how deep the water was below. It was a good seven feet. The drop was a little over twenty-feet—and, as Mark Tidd said, I was the best swimmer and diver in the bunch. I jumped to the edge, poised a second, and dove.

It wasn’t much of a dive. I’ve taken higher ones, but the water was pretty shallow. Still, there really wasn’t such a terrible risk to it. I turned as soon as I struck the water, and, though I touched bottom, it wasn’t hard enough to hurt me. Then I struck out for the citadel. The rest was easy.