The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) by Arthur B. Reeve (the little red hen ebook .TXT) 📖
- Author: Arthur B. Reeve
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And Released The Company From All Liability--Much To The Disgust
Of Paddy.
"We're Ready Now, Mr. Capps," Called Paddy, Opening An Office Door
On The Way Out.
"Very Well, Flanagan," Answered Capps, Barely Nodding To Us. We
Heard Him Telephone Some One, But Could Not Catch The Message, And
In A Minute He Joined Us. By This Time I Had Formed The Opinion,
Which I Have Since Found To Be Correct, That Tunnel Men Are Not As
A Rule Loquacious.
It Was A New Kind Of Thrill To Me To Go Under The "Air," As The
Men Called It. With An Instinctive Last Look At The Skyline Of New
York And The Waves Playing In The Glad Sunlight, We Entered A Rude
Construction Elevator And Dropped From The Surface To The Bottom
Of A Deep Shaft. It Was Like Going Down Into A Mine. There Was The
Air-Lock, Studded With Bolts, And Looking Just Like A Huge Boiler,
Turned Horizontally.
The Heavy Iron Door Swung Shut With A Bang As Paddy And Capps,
Followed By Kennedy And Myself, Crept Into The Air-Lock. Paddy
Turned On A Valve, And Compressed Air From The Tunnel Began To
Rush In With A Hiss As Of Escaping Steam. Pound After Pound To The
Square Inch The Pressure Slowly Rose Until I Felt Sure The Drums
Of My Ears Would Burst. Then The Hissing Noise Began To Dwindle
Down To A Wheeze, And Then It Stopped All Of A Sudden. That Meant
That The Air-Pressure In The Lock Was The Same As That In The
Tunnel. Paddy Pushed Open The Door In The Other End Of The Lock
From That By Which We Had Entered.
Along The Bottom Of The Completed Tube We Followed Paddy And
Capps. On We Trudged, Fanned By The Moist Breath Of The Tunnel.
Every Few Feet An Incandescent Light Gleamed In The Misty
Darkness. After Perhaps A Hundred Paces We Had To Duck Down Under
A Semicircular Partition Covering The Upper Half Of The Tube.
"What Is That?" I Shouted At Paddy, The Nasal Ring Of My Own Voice
Startling Me.
"Emergency Curtain," He Shouted Back.
Words Were Economised. Later, I Learned That Should The Tunnel
Start To Flood, The Other Half Of The Emergency Curtain Could Be
Dropped So As To Cut Off The Inrushing Water.
Men Passed, Pushing Little Cars Full Of "Muck" Or Sand Taken Out
From Before The "Shield"--Which Is The Head By Which This
Mechanical Mole Advances Under The River-Bed. These Men And Others
Who Do The Shovelling Are The "Muckers."
Pipes Laid Along The Side Of The Tunnel Conducted Compressed Air
And Fresh Water, While Electric Light And Telephone Wires Were
Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 64Strung All About. These And The Tools And Other Things Strewn
Along The Tunnel Obstructed The Narrow Passage To Such An Extent
That We Had To Be Careful In Picking Our Way.
At Last We Reached The Shield, And On Hands And Knees We Crawled
Out Into One Of Its Compartments. Here We Experienced For The
First Time The Weird Realisation That Only The "Air" Stood Between
Us And Destruction From The Tons And Tons Of Sand And Water
Overhead. At Some Points In The Sand We Could Feel The Air
Escaping, Which Appeared At The Surface Of The River Overhead In
Bubbles, Indicating To Those Passing In The River Boats Just How
Far Each Tunnel Heading Below Had Proceeded. When The Loss Of Air
Became Too Great, I Learned, Scows Would Dump Hundreds Of Tons Of
Clay Overhead To Make An Artificial River Bed For The Shield To
Stick Its Nose Safely Through, For If The River Bed Became Too
Thin Overhead The "Air" Would Blow A Hole In It.
Capps, It Seemed To Me, Was Unusually Anxious To Have The Visit
Over. At Any Rate, While Kennedy And Paddy Were Still Crawling
About The Shield, He Stood Aside, Now And Then Giving The Men An
Order And Apparently Forgetful Of Us.
My Own Curiosity Was Quickly Satisfied, And I Sat Down On A Pile
Of The Segments Out Of Which The Successive Rings Of The Tunnel
Were Made. As I Sat There Waiting For Kennedy, I Absently Reached
Into My Pocket And Pulled Out A Cigarette And Lighted It. It
Burned Amazingly Fast, As If It Were Made Of Tinder, The Reason
Being The Excess Of Oxygen In The Compressed Air. I Was Looking At
It In Astonishment, When Suddenly I Felt A Blow On My Hand. It Was
Capps.
"You Chump!" He Shouted As He Ground The Cigarette Under His Boot.
"Don't You Know It Is Dangerous To Smoke In Compressed Air?"
"Why, No," I Replied, Smothering My Anger At His Manner. "No One
Said Anything About It."
"Well, It Is Dangerous, And Orton's A Fool To Let Greenhorns Come
In Here."
"And To Whom May It Be Dangerous?" I Heard A Voice Inquire Over My
Shoulder. It Was Kennedy. "To Mr. Jameson Or The Rest Of Us?"
"Well," Answered Capps, "I Supposed Everybody Knew It Was
Reckless, And That He Would Hurt Himself More By One Smoke In The
Air Than By A Hundred Up Above. That's All."
He Turned On Kennedy Sullenly, And Started To Walk Back Up The
Tunnel. But I Could Not Help Thinking That His Manner Was Anything
But Solicitude For My Own Health. I Could Just Barely Catch His
Words Over The Tunnel Telephone Some Feet Away. I Thought He Said
That Everything Was Going Along All Right And That He Was About To
Start Back Again. Then He Disappeared In The Mist Of The Tube
Without Even Nodding A Farewell.
Kennedy And I Remained Standing, Not Far From The Outlet Of The
Pipe By Which The Compressed Air Was Being Supplied In The Tunnel
From The Compressors Above, In Order To Keep The Pressure Up To
The Constant Level Necessary. I Saw Kennedy Give A Hurried Glance
About, As If To Note Whether Any One Were Looking At Us. No One
Was. With A Quick Motion He Reached Down. In His Hand Was A Stout
Little Glass Flask With A Tight-Fitting Metal Top. For A Second He
Held It Near The Outlet Of The Pipe; Then He Snapped The Top Shut
And Slipped It Back Into His Pocket As Quickly As He Had Produced
It.
Slowly We Commenced To Retrace Our Steps To The Air-Lock, Our
Curiosity Satisfied By This Glimpse Of One Of The Most Remarkable
Developments Of Modern Engineering.
"Where's Paddy?" Asked Kennedy, Stopping Suddenly. "We've
Forgotten Him."
Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 65
"Back There At The Shield, I Suppose," Said I. "Let's Whistle And
Attract His Attention."
I Pursed Up My Lips, But If I Had Been Whistling For A Million
Dollars I Couldn't Have Done It.
Craig Laughed. "Walter, You Are Indeed Learning Many Strange
Things. You Can't Whistle In Compressed Air."
I Was Too Chagrined To Answer. First It Was Capps; Now It Was My
Own Friend Kennedy Chaffing Me For My Ignorance. I Was Glad To See
Paddy's Huge Form Looming In The Semi-Darkness. He Had Seen That
We Were Gone And Hurried After Us.
"Won't Ye Stay Down An' See Some More, Gintlemen?" He Asked. "Or
Have Ye Had Enough Of The Air? It Seems Very Smelly To Me This
Mornin'--I Don't Blame Ye. I Guess Them As Doesn't Have To Stay
Here Is Satisfied With A Few Minutes Of It."
"No, Thanks, I Guess We Needn't Stay Down Any Longer," Replied
Craig. "I Think I Have Seen All That Is Necessary--At Least For
The Present. Capps Has Gone Out Ahead Of Us. I Think You Can Take
Us Out Now, Paddy. I Would Much Rather Have You Do It Than To Go
With Anybody Else."
Coming Out, I Found, Was Really More Dangerous Than Going In, For
It Is While Coming Out Of The "Air" That Men Are Liable To Get The
Bends. Roughly, Half A Minute Should Be Consumed In Coming Out
From Each Pound Of Pressure, Though For Such High Pressures As We
Had Been Under, Considerably More Time Was Required In Order To Do
It Safely. We Spent About Half An Hour In The Air-Lock, I Should
Judge.
Paddy Let The Air Out Of The Lock By Turning On A Valve Leading To
The Outside, Normal Atmosphere. Thus He Let The Air Out Rapidly At
First Until We Had Got Down To Half The Pressure Of The Tunnel.
The Second Half He Did Slowly, And It Was Indeed Tedious, But It
Was Safe. There Was At First A Hissing Sound When He Opened The
Valve, And It Grew Colder In The Lock, Since Air Absorbs Heat From
Surrounding Objects When It Expands. We Were Glad To Draw Sweaters
On Over Our Heads. It Also Grew As Misty As A London Fog As The
Water-Vapour In The Air Was Condensed.
At Last The Hiss Of Escaping Air Ceased. The Door To The Modern
Dungeon Of Science Grated Open. We Walked Out Of The Lock To The
Elevator Shaft And Were Hoisted Up To God's Air Again. We Gazed
Out Across The River With Its Waves Dancing In The Sunlight.
There, Out In The Middle, Was A Wreath Of Bubbles On The Water.
That Marked The End Of The Tunnel, Over The Shield. Down Beneath
Those Bubbles The Sand-Hogs Were Rooting. But What Was The Mystery
That The Tunnel Held In Its Dark, Dank Bosom? Had Kennedy A Clue?
"I Think We Had Better Wait Around A Bit," Remarked Kennedy, As We
Sipped Our Hot Coffee In The Dressing-Room And Warmed Ourselves
From The Chill Of Coming Out Of The Lock. "In Case Anything Should
Happen To Us And We Should Get The Bends, This Is The Place For
Us, Near The Medical Lock, As It Is Called--That Big Steel
Cylinder Over There, Where We Found Orton. The Best Cure For The
Bends Is To Go Back Under The Air--Recompression They Call It. The
Renewed Pressure Causes The Gas In The Blood To Contract Again,
And Thus It Is Eliminated--Sometimes. At Any Rate, It Is The Best-
Known Cure And Considerably Reduces The Pain In The Worst Cases.
When You Have A Bad Case Like Orton's It Means That The Damage Is
Done; The Gas Has Ruptured Some Veins. Paddy Was Right. Only Time
Will Cure That."
Nothing Happened To Us, However, And In A Couple Of Hours We
Dropped In On Orton At The Hospital Where He Was Slowly
Convalescing.
Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 66
"What Do You Think Of The Case?" He Asked Anxiously.
"Nothing As Yet," Replied Craig, "But I Have Set Certain Things
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