The Mystery of the Vanished Victim (13 page)

The whole fourth floor served as a reception room for large official parties. No one was there now. Confidently, the two men advanced down the hall to a short flight of steps that led to the heavy attic door. Srigar took out his key ring, fitted a key into the lock, and pushed.

Gully shook his head, blinking. A strange room began to take shape. It was a dusty, musty-smelling attic, dimly lit by one narrow window. The light was enough to show Gully that the attic was used only for storage. Piles of books and papers, odd lamps, and broken furniture cluttered the low-roofed space.

His head buzzed. Through the buzzing he heard three distant blasts of an automobile horn. Gully shivered. He realized that the ambassador’s white convertible must be leaving the private garage, bound for the airport and Prince Behar.

Gully was having trouble breathing. He opened his mouth to gulp some air—and almost choked. He was gagged.

Instinctively he tried to tear the gag off. But his hands and arms seemed paralyzed; and then he realized that a thick, coarse rope with stinging fibers was tightly bound around his wrists behind his back. His ankles, too …

He looked around, still dazed. And there was Prema. And Balbir. And they were both tied up and gagged as helplessly as he was … Prema’s big black eyes were frantically trying to communicate with him. She was conscious! As Gully looked away in despair, Balbir came to.

The three were sitting a few feet apart. Gully watched Balbir strain wildly at the ropes confining him and tried to signal by shaking his head violently. But Balbir continued to fight the ropes until he was exhausted.

It seemed to Gully that hours and hours had gone by. He was almost shocked when the bell in some nearby church steeple gave a single resonant chime. Only one o’clock.

Only one o’clock, Gully thought, the spark of hope fizzling out. One o’clock … that meant that if he were right—
if
he were right? The actions of Dhavata and Srigar, Dhavata’s admission,
proved
he was right!— then Dr. Jind, or Prince Behar, or both, had only two hours to live.

And here the three of them were—the only ones in New York who now had proof that there was a plot! Here they were in the Jalpuri embassy’s attic, as helpless to communicate their knowledge and stop the assassins as if they had been three astronauts marooned on Mars.

T
HEY
needed help and it had to come quickly. Gully raised his bound feet and brought his heels down hard on the attic floor with a thumping noise. Again and again, his heels beat the floor. Balbir joined in the noise-making. Thump! Thump! Their heels slammed on the floor, sending clouds of dust swirling through the attic. Then the boys waited, listening attentively. A minute of unanswered silence slowly passed. No one had heard them. No rescuer was coming. If they were to get free before it was too late, they had to free themselves.

Gully twisted his fingers back, trying to pick at the ropes that held his wrists. But the rope had been cleverly tightened just beyond his reach. Gully lay flat on the floor, rolling across it until he reached Balbir. Then, using his legs, he maneuvered himself till he and Balbir were back to back. Now his fingers clawed desperately and blindly at the knotted rope around Balbir’s wrists. But Gully’s fingers began to ache. The ropes had been tied by an expert. Gully could not untie them, hampered as he was by his own bonds.

Half choked by the gag, his heart racing from the fruitless exertion, Gully breathed as deeply as he could through his nostrils, then finally sank back against an old chair to rest. Soon he was ready to make another attempt … but what could he try this time?

Gully’s eyes turned to Prema. She was in a corner, the approach to her blocked by a long-abandoned day bed. No, Gully realized, he could not roll close to Prema to try to untie her bonds. They were undoubtedly tied as tightly and cleverly as his and Balbir’s, anyway. Glancing around in a frantic search for inspiration, his gaze stopped at an old green flower vase on a low table near Prema. Here, Gully thought excitedly, was a chance!

The problem was how to communicate with her. She had her eyes fixed on him, so at least he had her attention … Gully stared at the vase. Prema looked blank. Break the vase, Gully kept thinking. Break the vase! But his wishful attempt at mental telepathy had no effect. Prema still looked at him with puzzled eyes. In vain, Gully tried to call to her, but only muffled sounds came through the gag. Maybe he could reach the vase himself, Gully thought. He tried … tried. … It was hopeless. The day bed was in the way, a huge and heavy obstacle he could neither pass nor move an inch.

Gully tugged at his wrist bonds in frustrated fury. If he could only make Prema understand! He felt his fingers becoming numb from the tightness of the rope. He wiggled his fingers, trying to make the blood flow to them … And suddenly it came to him. Wiggling fingers … those finger movements that the dancers in the All-India Restaurant had used … Prema had taught him some of them! If he could only remember … what had she called them?—
mudras
, that was it!
Mudras
signs … Gully wiggled his fingers to attract her attention to his hands. Twisting his head, he glanced over his shoulder. Prema nodded. She was watching the fingers, waiting for the
mudras
signs. Smart girl! Gully thought, she’d got it right away!

Now Gully racked his brain, trying to recall the signs she had made him repeat. Yes, he remembered, she had shown him the sign for “break,” when she made him use the finger signs to say “the sun broke through the clouds.” Carefully, Gully arranged his fingers into the position for the
mudras
sign of “break.” Then he stared at the vase. Gully saw a flash of understanding in Prema’s watching dark eyes.

Gully swung back to see what she did. Slowly, Prema raised her rope-bound feet level with the flower vase. One foot was bare; on the other she still wore her low, wooden-heeled sandal. When her feet were a yard away from the vase, Prema paused. Then she twisted her body quickly. The swinging feet caught the vase sharply and sent it hurtling from the low table. It fell to the floor with a low thud and rolled, unbroken, across the floor to a slow stop near Prema. Its thick glass was too strong for the short fall to shatter.

Gully slumped in despair. The vase was their last bid for freedom. Then he saw Prema raising her feet again. Down they came, the wooden heel of her sandaled foot striking the vase squarely at its base. There was a crackling noise as the green glass shattered. Prema turned her head, her eyes radiant with triumph. Then she placed her feet next to a large jagged piece of glass and swung her heels toward Gully. Across the dusty floor the piece of glass scudded, passed under the day bed, and came to a stop beside Gully.

Now, Gully thought, it’s all up to me. Using his tied feet to push, he wiggled his way backwards toward the jagged piece of glass. Carefully, his searching fingers neared, touched, and gingerly grasped the glass. Then Gully painfully worked himself around so that he and Balbir were back to back. While the fingers of his right hand held the sharp piece of glass, the fingers of his left hand felt for Balbir’s bonds. Carefully, Gully worked the glass into place across the restraining rope. Back and forth he rubbed it, pressing down with his fingers.

For three tiring minutes Gully sawed at Balbir’s bonds. Now he stopped, his fingers aching from their cramped position. Then he went back to work. At last, Gully felt the rope strands snapping under the cutting glass! Redoubling his efforts at this sign of success, Gully sawed faster. Suddenly the glass met with no resistance. Balbir’s hands were free!

Swinging his hands in front of him, Balbir yanked out his gag, gasping for breath with his dry mouth.

“Thank you, Gully! Thank you!” Balbir exclaimed, untying his own feet with urgent speed. Then Balbir pulled away Gully’s gag.

“Prema … her gag,” Gully gasped with his first breath.

Balbir hurried to the girl on the other side of the day bed. In a moment her gag was out, her hands freed and her feet untied. Then Balbir returned to Gully and released him.

The three of them stood rubbing their wrists and enjoying their first easy breaths of freedom.

“Why did they do this?” Prema demanded. “Gully, tell me!”

“Later, Prema. First, let’s get out of here!”

“Why won’t you tell me?” she demanded. “Is it because it affects my father?”

Gully sighed. “Yes,” he said gently. “I’m sure Dhavata and Srigar are involved in a plot to assassinate either Prince Behar or your father—or both.”

“Oh, no!” Prema whispered.

“They plan to do it as the Prince and your father ride to the United Nations,” Gully continued.

“Then there is not much time!” Balbir cried.

Balbir turned to the thick oak door. He pushed hard against it, but the lock held. He beat furiously with his fists.

“Open up! Open up!” Balbir shouted.

Then he stopped pounding and calling to listen intently. Not a sound could be heard outside.

“It’s no use,” moaned Prema. “The only people here are on the first floor, and they couldn’t possibly hear us.”

“Gully, perhaps we can batter it down,” Balbir panted.

Gully and Balbir stepped back a few feet, then hurled themselves against the door, their shoulders slamming it hard. The door hardly quivered. Again the boys struck it together, again with no result.

“It’s too thick. We’ll never get out that way,” Prema exclaimed, desperation in her voice.

“The window!”

Quickly Gully ran to the lone narrow window of the attic, and poked his head out. It was two floors down to the terrace of Dr. Jind’s quarters. The rear yard was two floors below that. No, Gully concluded, they couldn’t jump.

“Our only hope,” he told the others as he pulled his head back into the attic, “is if someone in that apartment house sees or hears us.”

Leaning out again, Gully scanned the rows and rows of windows of the building opposite. Surely, in all those apartments, someone would hear him.

“Help! Help!” Gully yelled.

Then he waited. Not a window opened, not a face appeared.

“Let me,” Prema demanded.

She peered out and saw a little boy coming to a window one floor above. If only he would hear her! He stopped to feed some tropical fish flashing in a tank by the partly open window. Prema drew a deep breath.

“Help us! Help!” she screamed.

The little boy looked up. But as Prema was about to call again, a low-flying plane droned above the buildings. Louder and louder the roar of its engines sounded. When the echo died down, Prema glanced back at the window. The boy was gone.

“We lost our chance. We
lost
it!” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t, Prema.” Gully awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“But there is so little time
left
,” Prema moaned.

Balbir picked up some fragments of the shattered vase and rushed to the window. Leaning far out, he dropped them onto the terrace two floors below. They landed with a clatter. Balbir watched expectantly, his black eyes searching from window to window for some curious person to check the noise. No one appeared. Balbir slowly turned away, a grim look fixed on his broad face.

“The terrace!” Gully said suddenly.

“But, Gully,” Balbir sighed, “it must be thirty feet down.”

“We can make a rope!”

Frantically they searched the attic. Three pairs of eager hands groped through the litter, but not a single piece of rope could be found. An old electric extension cord seemed strong enough, but it was barely six feet long.

“It’s no use,” Prema said. “No use.”

“I must have been blind,” Gully exclaimed. “We have just what we need right here.
Balbir’s turban!
”

In a moment Balbir had unwound his turban.

“It should be long enough, Gully, but will it be strong enough?” Balbir asked, as he unwound the yellow turban.

Gully tied one end of the turban securely to the leg of the massive day bed and pulled with all his strength. The muslin held! He flung the free end out of the window.

“No, Balbir!” Gully put a restraining hand on the Sikh boy’s shoulder as Balbir started to climb through the window. “You’re heavier than I am. I’ll do it.”

“Why should you take the risk, Gully?” Balbir cried. “We wouldn’t be here if I had not spoken foolishly when Dhavata and Srigar were in my room.”

“I’m lighter, I tell you.”

“Then let me go!” Prema said. “I’m the lightest!”

Gully settled the argument by boosting himself onto the ledge.

Grabbing the muslin tightly, he forced a smile to his friends and eased through the window. The muslin line dangled below, fluttering in a light breeeze. Careful not to look down, Gully wound his legs around the muslin and released one hand. He let himself down slowly, his body brushing against the brick facing of the house. Suddenly, Gully felt himself sliding along—his hands were sweating. He gripped the turban desperately, but still his hands kept slipping … and he was sliding faster … faster …

G
ULLY
glanced down, his eyes wide with fear. He was dangling high above the terrace. His hands kept clawing the muslin line to get a grip, but they failed to hold and the friction of the slipping cloth burned his hands viciously. Then his long legs caught the fluttering ribbon in desperation and wound around it. He stopped! His legs held him in place as he swung across the building.

Carefully, Gully released the braking hold of his legs, and slid down a bit further. He braked again, then lowered himself another foot or two. Slowly, he descended till he hovered only a yard above the second-floor terrace. Gully let go and dropped onto the red tiles. He was safe! Automatically, he looked up. The unwound turban snapped in the breeze, and far above, Balbir’s dark face peered out of the narrow window with obvious relief.

“Are you all right, Gully?” he shouted.

“I’ll have you and Prema out in a minute,” Gully yelled back.

He went quickly to the tall French doors that opened onto the terrace. He turned the curving wrought iron handles—and found that the doors were locked.