Hanging in a corner was a chain. Apparently it had no particular function, but a careful scrutiny led to the discovery that the links ran through a hole in the roughly plastered ceiling. The inspector caught the chain and pulled, and, as he did so, the “wall” opened inwards, showing the contents of the second chamber, which was a second car, so sheeted that only its radiator was visible. Knebworth pulled off the cover, and:
“That’s the car.”
“What car?” asked the inspector.
“The car driven by the Head-Hunter,” said Knebworth quickly. “He was in that machine when Brixan tried to arrest him. I’d know it anywhere! Brixan is in the Dower House somewhere, and if he’s in the hands of the Head-Hunter, God help him!”
They ran back to the house, and again the hook and pulley drew them as a magnet. Suddenly the police officer bent down and jerked back the carpet. The trap-door beneath the pulley was plainly visible. Pulling it open, he knelt down and gazed through. Knebworth saw his face grow haggard.
“Too late, too late!” he muttered.
CHAPTER XLI
THE DEATH
The shriek of a man half crazy with fear is not nice to hear. Michael’s nerves were tough, but he had need to drive the nails into the palms of his manacled hands to keep his self-control.
“I warn you,” he found voice to say, as the shrieking died to an unintelligible babble of sound, “Longvale, if you do this, you are everlastingly damned!”
The old man turned his quiet smile upon his second prisoner, but did not make any answer. Lifting the half-conscious man in his arms as easily as though he were a child, he carried him to the terrible machine, and laid him, face downwards, on the tilted platform. There was no hurry. Michael saw, in Longvale’s leisure, an enjoyment that was unbelievable. He stepped to the front of the machine and pulled up one half of the lunette; there was a click, and it remained stationary.