I would have hesitated about sending that signal. But I felt that the thing was in more capable hands than my own and I said nothing. The man leaned over a table which stood beside the little platform for passengers on which we were standing and pulled down a buzzer on the wall behind it—a buzzer similar to the one with which the signal for help had been given from the house of Mrs. Fawcette. After the sound of it had died away in the clammy, silent air of the tunnel, we stood and waited expectantly. But the second load of men arrived in the elevator before anything was visible in the tunnel. Foster was not with this second lot, having remained above to direct the men who were to surround the house. Again we settled down to silence and then, far off in the tunnel, a little car became visible, gliding steadily towards us. It drew closed and closer until we could see that it had accommodation for about eight passengers, in four parallel seats. But it was quite empty. Just before it reached us there was a click and a flash of blue light, and the little car slowed down and stopped at the platform in front of us. It made a most eerie impression on me. “Now,” said the Chief, turning and looming over the crowd of us as he drew himself up, “you and I, Blake, are going to make the trip with this fellow”—he indicated the operator—“and then you’ll come back with him and get another car-load, and so on until we all reach the other end. In the meantime, I’ll keep guard down there. Not more than two or three can go this first time or we’re likely to set up a scare when we get there.” He turned to me, “I’d like to have you go along, Clayton, this time, but there’ll be at least two men to watch and you’ve only got one arm.” I could not put up an argument against that, and presently the Chief and the man we had captured, together with Blake, one of the Secret Service men, mounted the little car and started on their crucial journey. My heart was in my mouth as the car gathered speed, slid into the tunnel and grew steadily smaller in the distance, finally rounding a curve and disappearing from sight. And it was a long and anxious wait, standing huddled together in that dank, silent, underground place, straining our ears for the sound of shots from down the tunnel, while I at least pictured the Chief as killed or captured at the other end and the alarm given. It had taken the little car about five minutes to come to us the first time, after the operator had signaled for it, so I allowed twelve minutes as the maximum time it should take for it to get back to us again, if all went well. But the minutes dragged along and there was still nothing in sight down the length of the tunnel.