Nabbed!: The 1925 Journal of G. Codd Fitzmorgan (13 page)

I needed to get help. “John, I'm going to get a doctor. I'll be right back.”

I turned to leave the small chamber—

Behind me, quick footsteps rushed out of the darkness. Before I could turn around to see who was approaching, I was grabbed
roughly from behind. A large arm pinned my arms against the sides of my body, and a blindfold slid over my head.

“Let me go, Mang!” I shouted, wriggling in the strong man's grasp.

“Don't move!” a voice hissed in a husky whisper. It was a man, that much I was sure of. “I'm going to tie you up. If you struggle…”

My assailant didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to.

The man gave me a push, indicating I should sit down on the damp floor. I felt the ends of the rope brush against me. And
I was suddenly more thankful for all my hours practicing to be an illusionist than ever before.

Breath on my cheek and then the voice was whispering in my ear again. “Not to worry. You can't see it now, but I'll leave
your candle up on the wall. After we land, I will let people know you are down here.”

After we land? This must be the owner of the second airplane.

I heard the shuffle of footsteps and grunting as if heavy objects were being moved—and then the trapdoor closed as my assailant
left the chamber. Seconds later, a strange vibrating noise filled the room. POP! A sharp hissing was followed by the sound
of running water, as if someone had just opened a large faucet all the way.

I remembered that the trapdoor had been supporting an ancient pipe. That support was removed when my assailant closed the
door—and the pipe must have ruptured. Then I felt a small pool of cold liquid spread out around me.

There was no doubt: the room was filling up with water!

TEC TIP

HOUDINI'S ADVICE FOR ESCAPING FROM ROPE BINDINS.

First: Be tied standing up.

Second: While being tied, swell the muscles, expand the chest, slightly hunch the shoulders, and hold the arms a little away
from the sides.

Third: Wear a coat or other extra clothing while being tied to improve the slack.

It was sloshing over my legs by the time I escaped the ropes and tore off my blindfold. I had to get John and the Scotsman
out of here, or they would drown! But as my eyes focused in the dim light of the candle, I could see instantly that they were
gone—and so were the boxes of liquor.

Mang must have dragged everything out with him!

I climbed to my feet as water from the ruptured pipe continued to pour into the small room. It had nearly reached my chest
when I dove under it and reached for the handle of the trapdoor.

I managed to find the steel ring and pulled. But it wouldn't budge. The locking mechanism must have clicked into place when
my assailant closed the door. Unable to hold my breath any longer, I rose back to the surface only to discover the water had
reached the level of my mouth and was getting closer to the flame of the candle. Unless I found a way out of here, the candle
wouldn't be the only thing to be extinguished.

My hands worked quickly but calmly under my jacket, and tore at the lining. The fabric gave way and I grabbed the lock kit
I always kept hidden there.

I swam back down below the surface, knowing that I only had one chance. By the time I ran out of breath and tried to go back
up, the water would have reached the ceiling. But I can do this blindfolded, I thought, and it's a good thing, because suddenly
the dim light of the candle was gone. The water must have put out the flame.

I worked fast and in complete darkness. The steel pick slipped, and I almost dropped it—something that would have had fatal
results. My lungs burned, bright spots exploded behind my eyes, and my limbs began to feel like they belonged to someone else.
Still my fingers continued to work. The tool twisted in the keyhole. Finally, I heard a wonderful CLICK!

TEC TIP

In his book, Houdini recommends that magicians carry a wire. This “lock pick” can be shaped and formed to meet the needs of
different locks. It works especially well on older locks!

I yanked on the handle and the trapdoor opened slowly. I swam through the small tunnel and banged my head against the trapdoor
on the other side.

I had to get out! My feet managed to grip the slippery rock. With all my might I pushed against the trapdoor. Like a cork
exploding from a bottle, I popped out of the tunnel, and the swirling water pushed me skittering across the dark passageway—

In a blur, I saw Judge's face. She was holding a lantern in one hand.

I had just a second to think, What's she doing here? When a hand wrapped around my ankle and pulled.

Never letting go of my ankle, Judge stumbled backward and banged into the wall but remained standing. I slid across the floor
on my belly, out of the rushing stream of water, and came to rest at her feet.

I stared up at her face, gasping for air. She moved the lantern closer to get a better look at me. “G. Codd, are you okay?”
Her voice was thick with worry. “Talk to me!”

For a moment, I was too stunned to speak and spluttered for air. “How did you find me?” I finally asked between periods of
sucking air into my still-burning lungs. “How did you get away from Mang?”

Judge helped me to my feet. “I'll answer all of your questions later. But right now…”

“Right now,” I said, finishing her sentence, “the bad guy is headed for the second airplane. We have to stop him!”

The storm had passed.

As Judge and I ran through the dark
tunnels beneath the Hatherford mansion, I filled her in on my adventures in the hidden
room. I quickly told her about discovering John and the Scotsman. Judge listened but didn't ask any question. She must be
in too much shock, I thought.

With Judge carrying her lantern, we sprinted up the stone stairway to the inside of the fireplace. The poker had prevented
the door from locking shut.

“That was good thinking, G. Codd,” Judge said, indicating the poker as we hurried past it and into the Great Hall. “Not only
did it keep you from getting locked inside, it was the clue that told me where you had gone.”

We rushed out of the double doors of the Great Hall and began to make our way around the side of the mansion. The storm had
finally traveled out to sea, and the sky was full of glittering stars. My dripping clothes soaked up the cool night air sent
shivers down my spine.

“Wait!” I cried, stopping. “Shouldn't we bring weapons? You never know what we might find!”

“I think I know what we'll discover,” Judge called over her shoulder. I sprinted to catch up with her. She continued, “Besides,
weapons like guns or knives are for fools, G. Codd. Your brain is the greatest weapon you have.”

Even in this crazy, frantic situation, Judge's words triggered memories in my head. I replayed her soothing advice about Occam's
razor, her confidence that I was skilled enough to handle the crime scene, her ability to track me through the underground
passages…

Bizarre timing, but suddenly one of my life's mysteries became clear to me. “Now I know …”, I said.

“What?” Judge asked, as we continued to run. “What do you know?”

“I know why you have the nickname Judge”.

She glanced at me and gave me a quick smile. But this was no time to philosophize. Just as we reached the edge of the hidden
airstrip, the silence of the nights was shattered by a loud coughing sound. An engine was starting up.

The second airplane was rolling out onto the airstrip. In order to take off, it would have to get past us.

“No, you don't”, Judge said quietly and stepped in front of the airplane.

The airplane made no signs of slowing. The propeller's blades spun like giant chopping knives. But Judge did not move.

Without hesitating, I stepped next to Judge.

“G. Codd, get back!” Judge shouted. Neither of us moved, however. We stood our ground as the hulking piece of machinery lumbered
toward us.

Like any magician, I held up both my hands so the pilot of the plane could see them.

“Nothing here”, I said, even though I knew I couldn't be heard above the roar of the engine. I waved my right hand to show
it was empty. “And nothing here”, I said waving my empty left hand. “Ohhhh, but what's this?”

With a quick sleight of hand, I produced a small metal rod in my right hand. I held it over my head to be sure the pilot could
see it.

My performance had the desired effect and was much more satisfying than any standing ovation would ever be. The plane came
to an almost immediate stop, and its engines shut down.

“You're too musch, G. Codd”, Judge said.

Earlier, after Judge and I had first discovered this second craft, I had returned to the airplane and removed the metal rod
from the rudder. I assumed it must perform an important function.

“No matter what happens”, Judge told me as the propeller wound down, “I want you to know how proud I am of you…”

The door to the cockpit opened and the pilot jumped out.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. The pilot was John Hatherford. Judge's fiancé.

Through the open door, I could see the Scotsman waving happily from the passenger seat. He shouted at me, “See you at the
nixt poppet shew!” John closed the door, blocking the Scotsman from view.

“Darling”, John said to Judge. He had a sad puppy dog look on his face. “I don't know what to say”.

Judge was frozen, her eyes wide, her mouth clamped shut.

John turned to me. “Hello, G. Codd, old pal. On the case as always, I see. Can I have my airplane part now? I'll need that
if I want to survive more than five seconds in the air”.

“No”, Judge said in a faraway voice. “I want the truth out of you, John. What is happening here?” Her voice rose. “And if
you lie, I swear I'll make your life very, very difficult”.

John must have realized the puppy dog look wasn't working. He replaced it with the lopsided grin that I had practiced so many
times in the mirror.

“I bet you've figured it out by now”, he said to Judge.

“He's smuggling liquor”, I said. “He's a bootlegger”.