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[Illustration: Horsesense Hank was suspended over the blazing debris.]
I realized, too, that something more vital than just our three lives
was in danger. This building up the wooden walls of which angry
rivulets of fire were now creeping was an important cog in Uncle Sam's
total war effort. Destroyed, it meant loss of precious materiel to the
Allies, hundreds of eager hands restrained from putting into employment
the tools which forged the weapons of Democracy, thousands of tanks and
guns and aircraft withheld from fighters who needed them.
But we were helpless! The more so, now, because our captors were
scurrying from the room like rats from a sinking ship. As the gloom
lighted to ochre, they hurried to a door, slipped through it and the
clank! of metal upon metal meant they had dropped the lockbar into
place behind them.
Trapped! Trapped to die like moths in a flame. But a moth had wings; we
had none. Our hands were pinioned to an inaccessible pillory. I writhed
again, a moan wrenching from my lips as my shoulder-muscles strained
and tore. And then:
And then a calm, familiar voice speaking to me! The voice of Horsesense
Hank.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you, Jim. 'Twon't help none, an' it may
jest make matters wuss."
I gasped, "Hank! Thank the Lord you're alive. I was afraid maybe you "
"I'm awright," said Cleaver gently. "Jest stunned a little. I come
to a few minutes ago, but I figgered as how I mought as well keep my
eyes an' mouth shut. No sense lettin' the enemy know you got y'r wits
about you, I calc'late." His eyes studied the ever-fanning flame with
incredibly detached interest. "Hmm! Thing's spreadin' fast, hey? Do you
reckon the fire department'll be able to ketch it afore it ruins the
whole plant?"
"I'd give a million bucks," I told him honestly, "to be here to find
out."
"'Pears to me," mused Hank, "like they will. That's green wood, you
know. Don't burn as quick as seasoned timber would. Yep, I 'low as how
them spies won't do as much damage as they planned on."
"That," I moaned, "will be a great consolation to us when they bury our
ashes!"
"Our which?" Hank stared at me curiously. "Oh, you mean Why, hell,
Jim, we ain't dead yet!"
At this point another voice intruded itself into the conversation. The
dry, resigned voice of Mr. Grimper.
"No, not yet, gentlemen. But I am afraid it is time to prepare for that
fate. For we are hopelessly secured, the doors are locked and bolted
upon us, and in a few minutes the room will be a furnace of flame!"
I shuddered. Of course his prophecy was not news to me. But it made our
peril more real to hear it thus spoken.
His words, however, completely failed to disturb the placidity of
Horsesense Hank. Hank just said, "Why, 'lo, Mr. Grimper! I was hopin'
you'd snap out of it purty soon. Die? Why, we ain't agonna die. Not
sence them Nazies was too dumb to tie us up."
My heart gave a sudden leap; I had to swallow before I could choke,
"Tie us What do you mean, Hank? We are tied and to something far
above our heads. We can't even reach the bar we're chained to "
"We don't have to, Jim. They give us a loophole almost within reach.
You notice that there skylight chain is a right thin one. I can't get
these rope loops off'n my wrists but I think I c'n squeeze the skylight
chain through a loop."
He straightened his legs, and I realized suddenly he had purposely kept
them slightly bent at the knees during the time our enemies had been
in the room. Now his toes gave him a reasonable foothold on the floor.
Using this, he leaped up and gripped the steel chain above his
ropes... drew himself up hand-over-hand until he was swinging
comfortably in the loop.
What he did then was weird and inexplicable to me until, of course, a
long time afterward. He pushed the steel chain through one of the rope
loops about his wrist, pulled a wide, metal bight through this opening,
stepped into the loop and dropped lightly to the floor, free!
The only encumbrance on him was a length of hemp between his arms. Now
that he was at liberty to approach us it was a matter of minutes for
him to unloose our bonds and have us untie his!
Grimper's jaw had dropped to his bottom vest button. Slow comprehension
dawned on his features. He gasped, "A a problem in applied
topography![2] Astounding! I can hardly believe my eyes but it's
completely logical. Mr. Cleaver I owe you an apology. Please allow me
to "
[Footnote 2: Hank's problem here was similar to those interesting ones
presented by Messrs. Krasna and Newman in their fascinating volume,