The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) by Arthur B. Reeve (top 10 motivational books .txt) 📕

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

Strung 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."

"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.

"What Do You Think Of The Case?" He Asked Anxiously.

"Nothing As Yet," Replied Craig,  "But I Have Set Certain Things