to the tower," Wentworth said abruptly. "I always get a thrill out of the sway in windy weather, out of the feeling of power in man's conquest of the elements."
Kirkpatrick smiled wryly. "Seeking inspiration, Dick?"
Wentworth nodded shortly. "I have a feeling that the answer is right here." He stretched out his gloved hand and closed the fingers palm upward. "But I can't quite grasp it. Something tells me that I know everything that is essential to finding the answer."
The elevator was wafted upward silently. Through the shaft, the wind moaned and made hollow bass whinings. While they were moving the sway of the building was not noticeable, but once they reached the observation room, it could be felt. Kirkpatrick looked about him with alert, quick glances. There were no visitors to the tower so early in the morning.
"You may like this swaying business, but I don't care for it at all," Kirkpatrick said.
"The building is entirely safe," Wentworth said shortly, staring about also, looking out over the city where the wind was snatching smoke from the chimneys, dancing bits of paper high in the air. "Engineers always allow a safety margin of three or four hundred percent in stresses. They probably did more than that here."
A particularly strenuous gust howled about the corners of the building, and somewhere deep in the building there was a faint, creaking groan.
Kirkpatrick grimaced. "I still don't like it," he muttered. "Are you going up any higher?"
Wentworth looked out once more over the gale-lashed city and nodded slowly. "I think I shall," he said. "There is something about wind . . ." He paused and cocked his head, listening. Above the screaming of the wind, he caught a faint regular sound, a muffled thump, thump, thump.
"Do you hear that?" Wentworth asked quickly.
Kirkpatrick frowned at him. "I hear the wind and I hear the building making funny noises."
Wentworth moved his hand impatiently. "I don't mean that. I mean a sound like someone knocking. Listen."
They listened again to that faint muffled thump, thump, thump. On its heels came another sound from deep in the bowels of the building. Another creaking groan.
"Listen, Wentworth," Kirkpatrick's face was worried, "I'll swear this building is creaking."
Wentworth did not hear him. He was striding rapidly around a corner of the hall whence the thumping seemed to come. He stood there, waiting. Once more the sound reached his ears, more loudly this time. With a subdued cry, he sprang to the door of a porter's closet. He tried the knob, found it locked. His hand flew to the Spider's tool kit beneath his arm and rapidly he forced the lock. Kirkpatrick came around the corner just as the bolt snicked back and Wentworth yanked the door open.
Together they peered into the half-dark. Brooms and mops were stacked against the wall, pails were on the floor and among the pails lay something that moved. Wentworth splashed light from a pocket flash into the gloom and a cry spilled from his lips: "Ram Singh!"
The Hindu had beaten on the door with his bound feet. Now he tossed and bumped on the floor. He made fearful sounds behind his gag. Wentworth flung down on his knees, yanked away the cloth that blocked Ram Singh's speech.
"Quickly, sahib! " the Hindu's voice sounded sepulchral as it croaked from his dry throat. "Quickly! This building is going to fall!"
"What?" It was a startled curse from Kirkpatrick.
"God!" Wentworth barked. "That's it! Those fiends have put the steel-eater on the girders of this building! I knew the answer was here!"
He was hauling Ram Singh from the close confines of the closet, slicing off his bonds with a pocket knife.
"That is it, sahib,' "the Hindu gasped. "They left me here to die as a warning to . . ." He choked off the words, coughed down the "to the Spider " he had started to say. "They say that when the wind blows strong, it will fall."
The three men stood rigid, heard once more the groaning complaint of the building. It
Kirkpatrick smiled wryly. "Seeking inspiration, Dick?"
Wentworth nodded shortly. "I have a feeling that the answer is right here." He stretched out his gloved hand and closed the fingers palm upward. "But I can't quite grasp it. Something tells me that I know everything that is essential to finding the answer."
The elevator was wafted upward silently. Through the shaft, the wind moaned and made hollow bass whinings. While they were moving the sway of the building was not noticeable, but once they reached the observation room, it could be felt. Kirkpatrick looked about him with alert, quick glances. There were no visitors to the tower so early in the morning.
"You may like this swaying business, but I don't care for it at all," Kirkpatrick said.
"The building is entirely safe," Wentworth said shortly, staring about also, looking out over the city where the wind was snatching smoke from the chimneys, dancing bits of paper high in the air. "Engineers always allow a safety margin of three or four hundred percent in stresses. They probably did more than that here."
A particularly strenuous gust howled about the corners of the building, and somewhere deep in the building there was a faint, creaking groan.
Kirkpatrick grimaced. "I still don't like it," he muttered. "Are you going up any higher?"
Wentworth looked out once more over the gale-lashed city and nodded slowly. "I think I shall," he said. "There is something about wind . . ." He paused and cocked his head, listening. Above the screaming of the wind, he caught a faint regular sound, a muffled thump, thump, thump.
"Do you hear that?" Wentworth asked quickly.
Kirkpatrick frowned at him. "I hear the wind and I hear the building making funny noises."
Wentworth moved his hand impatiently. "I don't mean that. I mean a sound like someone knocking. Listen."
They listened again to that faint muffled thump, thump, thump. On its heels came another sound from deep in the bowels of the building. Another creaking groan.
"Listen, Wentworth," Kirkpatrick's face was worried, "I'll swear this building is creaking."
Wentworth did not hear him. He was striding rapidly around a corner of the hall whence the thumping seemed to come. He stood there, waiting. Once more the sound reached his ears, more loudly this time. With a subdued cry, he sprang to the door of a porter's closet. He tried the knob, found it locked. His hand flew to the Spider's tool kit beneath his arm and rapidly he forced the lock. Kirkpatrick came around the corner just as the bolt snicked back and Wentworth yanked the door open.
Together they peered into the half-dark. Brooms and mops were stacked against the wall, pails were on the floor and among the pails lay something that moved. Wentworth splashed light from a pocket flash into the gloom and a cry spilled from his lips: "Ram Singh!"
The Hindu had beaten on the door with his bound feet. Now he tossed and bumped on the floor. He made fearful sounds behind his gag. Wentworth flung down on his knees, yanked away the cloth that blocked Ram Singh's speech.
"Quickly, sahib! " the Hindu's voice sounded sepulchral as it croaked from his dry throat. "Quickly! This building is going to fall!"
"What?" It was a startled curse from Kirkpatrick.
"God!" Wentworth barked. "That's it! Those fiends have put the steel-eater on the girders of this building! I knew the answer was here!"
He was hauling Ram Singh from the close confines of the closet, slicing off his bonds with a pocket knife.
"That is it, sahib,' "the Hindu gasped. "They left me here to die as a warning to . . ." He choked off the words, coughed down the "to the Spider " he had started to say. "They say that when the wind blows strong, it will fall."
The three men stood rigid, heard once more the groaning complaint of the building. It
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