Detective and mystery stories, English; Private investigators -- Fiction
I woke with a sensation of numbing cold in my right side, a terrible
stiffness in my limbs, and a sound of loud splashing in my ears. All
was pitch dark, and--what was this? Water! Water all about me. I was
lying in six inches of cold water, and more was pouring down upon me
from above. My head was afflicted with a splitting ache. But where was
I? Why was it dark? And whence all the water? I staggered to my feet,
and instantly struck my head against a hard roof above me. I raised my
hand; there was the roof or whatever place it was, hard, smooth and
cold, and little more than five feet from the floor, so that I bent as
I stood. I spread my hand to the side; that was hard, smooth and cold
too. And then the conviction struck me like a blow--I was in a covered
iron tank, and the water was pouring in to drown me!
I dashed my hands frantically against the lid, and strove to raise it.
It would not move. I shouted at the top of my voice, and turned about
to feel the extent of my prison. One way I could touch the opposite
sides at once easily with my hands, the other way it was wider--perhaps
a little more than six feet altogether. What was this? Was this to be
my fearful end, cooped in this tank while the water rose by inches
to choke me? Already the water was a foot deep. I flung myself at the
sides, I beat the pitiless iron with fists, face and head, I screamed
and implored. Then it struck me that I might at least stop the inlet
of water. I put out my hand and felt the falling stream, then found
the inlet and stopped it with my fingers. But water still poured in
with a resounding splash; there was another opening at the opposite
end, which I could not reach without releasing the one I now held! I
was but prolonging my agony. Oh, the devilish cunning that had devised
those two inlets, so far apart! Again I beat the sides, broke my nails
with tearing at the corners, screamed and entreated in my agony. I was
mad, but with no dulling of the senses, for the horrors of my awful,
helpless state, overwhelmed my brain, keen and perceptive to every
ripple of the unceasing water.
In the height of my frenzy I held my breath, for I heard a sound from
outside. I shouted again--implored some quicker death. Then there was a
scraping on the lid above me, and it was raised at one edge, and let in
the light of a candle. I sprang from my knees and forced the lid back,
and the candle flame danced before me. The candle was held by a dusty
man, a workman apparently, who stared at me with scared eyes, and said
nothing but, "Goo' lor'!"
Overhead were the rafters of a gabled roof, and tilted against them was
the thick beam which, jammed across from one sloping rafter to another,
had held the tank-lid fast. "Help me!" I gasped. "Help me out!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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