Nabbed!: The 1925 Journal of G. Codd Fitzmorgan (12 page)

I had to find the Scotsman!

In the meantime, I would try to find the Scotsman. If I could discover what happened to him and locate him, he might be able
to answer some of my questions.

The last time I had seen the Scotsman, he had been standing directly in front of me in the Great Hall. Our search party had
not discovered anything in the room that showed us what might have happened to the man.

But I had not been so desperate at that point. Maybe now I would see something I had missed earlier.

I rushed down the winding hallways and stairways until I finally reached Great Hall. Rather than turn on the huge overhead
lights and reveal my presence, I picked up a candelabra from the top of the grand staircase and lit the candles.

The room was now completely empty—the fires long dead.

I stood where I had interviewed the Scotsman. Once more, I replayed his disappearance and the moments after in my mind. The
Scotsman standing in front of me…the power going off…darkness, confusion…Judge coming down the stairs…the search party…Asyla
tossing a piece of paper that bounced off the back wall of a fireplace…

Wait! How could the paper have bounced off the back of the fireplace? They all had large, ornate screens to protect the rugs
from sparks. The screens would have blocked the paper from striking the fireplace's top.

I turned to the fireplace that Asyla had been lounging near. The screen of the fireplace was placed off to the side. It looked
like a giant, obvious exit. Could the Scotsman have climbed up the chimney?

The fire inside had long since gone dead. The fireplace was large enough for any number of people my size to fit into. I entered
it and looked up. I saw immediately that there was no way the Scotsman had gone up the chimney. It was far too narrow.

I was wasting time! Judge could be in danger, and I was fumbling around in ashes!

Quickly, I examined the rest of the fireplace. I didn't see it at first. Then peering more closely, I made an amazing discovery.

A panel sat in the side wall of the fireplace. The panel had four tiles and looked like this:

Had I just uncovered a lock that somehow used the four elements, FIRE, EARTH, AIR, and WATER? There was only one way to find
out.

I touched the FIRE tile, thinking it might be the key to open the lock. After all, I was standing in a fireplace. The FIRE
tile felt a little loose and jiggled a bit, but nothing happened. I pressed harder, but still nothing. Going down the line,
I pressed each of the tiles and got the same response: zero.

The rumrunner had put these tiles of the elements here for a reason.

What would be the most important element to a rumrunner? I thought of things that would be important to a bootlegger, and
thought of the names I had rattled off to Judge earlier, trying to get her to smile: Booze, hair of the dog, firewater, hooch…

And then I had the key!

The solution was to press two tiles at the same time to create an element crucial to any rumrunner:

FIREWATER.

A slang word for liquor. I held my breath, reached out and pressed the two tiles FIRE and WATER.

With a soft whoosh, the inside wall of the fireplace swung open. I had done it!

Through the door made of brick, I saw only darkness. I grabbed a fireplace poker. My mother didn't raise a fool—I wasn't going
to end up trapped again. I lay the poker on the floor across the doorway. If it started to shut behind me, the door wouldn't
be able to completely close.

Grabbing the candelabra with five lit candles, I stepped through the door and into yet another secret passageway. Unlike the
last one I had discovered, this passageway had a straight line of stairs that led down. In the dim light of the candles, I
could make out at least two sets of footprints leading down the stairs.

Just as I thought, after I was two or three steps in, I heard a banging sound. The door had started to close, but the poker
blocked its path.

At the bottom of the staircase, I found myself in what appeared to be the entrance to a dungeon. It was a circular chamber
the size of a small cottage. Dangling from the low ceiling, ancient pipes that must have carried sewage or water at one time
wound here and there. Six vaulted tunnels of decaying brick sprouted from the chamber like rotting branches of a tree.

Etched numbers, one through six, had been carved over the opening of each tunnel. One more legacy of the rumrunner who had
built the mansion.

Which tunnel should I take? I looked more closely at the floor. The candlelight allowed me to see several feet down each tunnel,
and I could see tracks in several of them.

But there was only one obvious choice. I rushed down tunnel #4, holding the candelabra in front of me. The tracks in this
tunnel were the only ones that led away from the chamber.

There were rats in the tunnels!

I felt like I was racing the circle of light formed by the candles—and winning. My feet came down on damp Objects that first
squished and then crunched. I refused to consider what they might be. Several terrified rats squeaked in panic as they fled
into dark holes.

HOW TO BE LIKE HARRY HOUDINI BRICK WALL TRICK

1. A sheet is placed onstage, covering a trapdoor. Bricklayers build a brick wall on top of the sheet.
   
2. Audience members inspect the wall for hidden doors.
   
3. Screens are placed on either side of the wall.
   
4. Go behind one screen.
   
5. Your assistant under the stage should now open the trapdoor. This trapdoor will allow you to squeeze under the wall without
   the audience knowing.
   
6. Emerge on the other side of the wall and amaze the audience!
   

The tunnel took several sharp turns as I followed the tracks—and then I nearly smacked into a mold-covered wall.

It was a dead end.

No! I shouted inside my head. I must have taken the wrong tunnel and wasted precious time. But this is where the tracks had
led.

I took a breath and had a closer look. A brick wall might appear to be the end of the line to most people. But when looked
at through Houdini's eyes, a wall was another wonderful setup for an illusion.

Because I was looking for it, the steel ring concealed in the ground was almost instantly clear. Getting a good grip on this
handle, I pulled. The brick tunnels echoed with the screeching sound of the ancient hinges. A trapdoor in the floor swung
open.

Holding the candelabra down into the opening, I saw part of a small circular tunnel that was about three feet in diameter.
It dipped down on this side of the wall and straightened out. I could just barely make out where the passage rose back up
on the other side of the wall.

There were drag marks in the small passage, and they looked fresh. The Scotsman or even Judge could be on the other side.
I would have to go in. The candelabra would be too awkward to carry, so I set it on the ground and removed a single candle.
This would have to be enough light.

I lowered myself through the trapdoor, feeling like I was crawling into the mouth of a hungry lion.

If I crouched very low, I could make my way without having to crawl or rub my head against the slimy top of the tunnel. After
only a few feet, the passage curved up and led to an open trapdoor.

As I climbed into what appeared to be a small chamber carved into rock, my shirt caught on the locking mechanism of the trapdoor.
The door leaned back against the brick wall I had just passed under. A pipe that ran along the wall had drooped over the years,
coming to rest on top of the trapdoor.

The trapdoor

Two boxes sat immediately in front of me. Bringing the candle closer, I jiggled them and heard the distinctive clink of glass
against glass. I didn't need to smell it to know what the boxes contained. It was a hidden stash of liquor, and the lack of
dust on the boxes let me know they had been put there recently.

I took a step further into the hidden chamber. My small candle was the only source of light. The back wall of the room, if
there was one, remained hidden in the pitch black.

Just then, I heard the sound of breathing.

“Hello…?” I whispered, but inside my head, I screamed, Run!

There was silence and then, above the sound of my pounding hear, I could hear the breathing again. It sounded ragged, and
I realized someone might be in trouble.

Another step, and another, and the candlelight slid along the ground…over a shoe and then a second shoe…and before long, I
was looking at the Scotsman.

I gasped.

He lay face up, but a blindfold covered his eyes and gag prevented him from speaking. I saw his chest rising and lowering,
and realized the sounds of breathing didn't match with his. They were coming from further inside the room. I took two more
steps and…there was John.

Jumpin' John Hatherford, Judge's fiancé, the man we had all been searching for, right here in front of me. He lay awkwardly
on his side, as if someone had tossed him there. He was the source of the ragged breathing.

“John?” I said. “Can you hear me?” I brought the candle down to examine his face. His closed eyes fluttered slightly, but
beyond that, his pale skin showed little signs of life.