A Young Inventor's Pluck Part 29

She listened attentively, and not hearing Corrigan began to wonder if he had left the building.

"If he has I must escape somehow," she told herself. "I wonder if I can't pry open that door?"

She knelt over the door and tried it with her bare hands. But this was not sufficient, and getting up she looked around for something which might prove useful to her. In a corner of the loft rested a rusty iron bar, somewhat sharpened at one end. She brought this forth and after inspecting it felt certain that it would prove just what was needed.

Approaching the trapdoor she called out softly:

"Mr. Corrigan! Mr. Corrigan, are you down there?" And then, receiving no answer, she went on: "Mr. Corrigan, I must speak to you. Won't you please listen?"

Still the silence continued, and now her heart arose within her. He must certainly have gone away, and if that was so, now was her time to escape!

Trembling with anxiety, Deb began to work away on the door with the iron bar. At last she got the end of the bar in the crack of the door, and then she began to pry the door upwards. At first it refused to budge, but suddenly the bolt gave way and then the door came open with ease.

She was at liberty, or at least liberty was within her grasp, and with her heart thumping madly in her breast, she began to descend to the floor below, bar in hand. Once she thought she heard a noise outside and stopped short. What if that awful man should be coming back! But the noise ceased and was not repeated, and she went on and soon stood at the spot where he had first made her a prisoner.

The door to the roadway was open, and poor Deb could hardly resist the temptation to fly forth at the top of her speed. But then she remembered that Corrigan might be within easy distance of the mill. If that was so, and he caught sight of her, he would surely make after her.

"I must watch my chance, and if he is around, I must get away on the sly," was what she told herself. Curiously enough, while up in the loft, she had not discovered Jack's model, which was tucked away out of her sight.

With bated breath she tiptoed her way to the open doorway and peered forth. No one was in sight on the road, nor at the water's edge near the mill. All was as silent as a tomb, save for the distant rus.h.i.+ng of the water over the rocks.

Waiting no longer, Debt left the mill and started for the road. She was still terribly frightened and ran on as if some great demon was after her trying to clutch her shoulder. In her agitation she did not notice a tree root growing in her pathway, and catching her foot in this, she pitched headlong on the stones and gra.s.s.

It was a cruel fall, and as she fell she could not keep back a cry of alarm, followed by one of pain, for her elbow was hurt not a little.

At the cry there was a cras.h.i.+ng in the bushes overlooking the river at a point above the mill, and a moment later Corrigan appeared. He had gone out on a point of land to see if he could catch sight anywhere of Andy Mosey.

"What! did you get away?" he roared.

"Let me go!" screamed Deb. "Oh, my elbow! Let me go!"

"Let you go nothing!" he answered, and caught hold of her once more.

"Come back with me! Come back this minute!"

"No, no!" she moaned. "I--I don't want to go back!"

"But you shall go back," he answered. And despite her struggles he lifted her into his arms once more and returned with her to the mill.

CHAPTER XX.

MONT TELLS His STORY

As Jack and Mont journeyed on the way to Corney, the young machinist noticed that the young man was rather silent, and when spoken to replied only in monosyllables.

"I suppose he's speculating about those papers and the stranded yacht,"

thought Jack. "Perhaps they will be valuable to him when he comes to settle up with his uncle. I'd just like to know what interest father had in that tool machinery. Perhaps the patent is still ours, or a royalty on it. As soon as I find Deb, and things are settled a bit, I'm going to investigate the whole subject."

Jack's surmise concerning Mont was correct.

"What do you think of my uncle?" asked the young man, after a long period of silence.

"What do I think of him?" asked the young machinist in turn. "In what way?"

"Why, as to his dealings with people in general."

"Well, I--I really, Mont, I don't want to say anything that will hurt your feelings," stammered Jack, not wis.h.i.+ng to be harsh with so dear a friend, and yet determined to speak only the truth.

"Never mind my feelings. Just speak your mind."

Jack was silent a moment.

"I think he's outrageously mean and close!" he burst out. "He doesn't treat you, nor any one else in the tool works fairly! He's the hardest master to work for in the town!"

The young machinist could be blunt when the occasion demanded, and he did not mince matters now.

"I guess you are right," replied Mont, shaking his head affirmatively.

"And yet----" he hesitated.

"What?"

"I hardly dare say what is in my mind, Jack. But I want a friend's advice."

"And I'll give it willingly."

"And keep the matter to yourself?"

"Certainly, if you wish it."

"Then I've got this to say about my uncle, Felix Gray," declared Mont.

"He is either treating me first-rate--which I don't believe--or else he is the worst scoundrel in Corney!"

Jack was dumfounded.

"The worst scoundrel in Corney?" he repeated almost breathlessly. "You surely don't mean it!"

"Yes, I do," replied the young man, decidedly.

"Don't think I say so hastily. I've thought over the matter a long time. Things can't go on as they have much longer, and when the break comes, I want somebody to know my side of the story."

"Yes, go on."

"In the first place, you must remember that Mr. Gray is not my full uncle. He and my father were only half brothers, so we are not so closely connected as people imagine."

"That's so," replied Jack, trying to catch a glimpse of what his friend was driving at.