After composing himself as best he could, David made a tour of the first floor. He moved quickly from one dirty room to the next until he got to the kitchen. There he stopped. On the table was an ashtray. In it was the butt of an Antonio y Cleopatra cigar. Just beyond the table was an open door leading down to the cellar.
David approached the doorway and looked down into utter darkness. Beside the doorway was a light switch. David tried it. An anemic glow filtered up the stairs.
Taking a deep breath, David started down. He stopped midway and let his eyes sweep around the cluttered basement. It was filled with old furniture, boxes, a steamer trunk, and a hodgepodge of tools and junk. David noticed that the floor was dirt just as it was in his house, although near the furnace there was a slab of concrete.
David continued down the stairs, then went over to the concrete. Bending down, he examined it closely. The slab was still dark with dampness. He put his hand on it to be sure. David shuddered. He straightened up and ran for the stairs. As far as he was concerned, he’d seen enough to go to the police. Only he wasn’t going to bother with the local police. He planned to call the state police directly. Reaching the top of the stairs, David stopped in his tracks. He heard the sound of car tires in the gravel of the driveway. A car had pulled in beside the house.
For a second David froze, not knowing what to do. He had little time to decide; the next thing he knew, he heard the car door open, then slam shut, then footsteps in the gravel.
David panicked. He pulled the door to the cellar shut and quickly descended the stairs. He was confident there’d be another way out of the basement, some sort of back stairs leading directly out.
At the rear of the basement were several doors. David lost no time weaving his way to them. The first one had an open hasp. As quietly as possible, he pulled it open. Beyond was a root cellar illuminated by a single low-watt bulb.
Hearing footsteps above, David quickly went to the second door. He gave the knob a tug, but the door wouldn’t budge. He exerted more strength. At last, it creaked open. It moved stiffly, as if it hadn’t been opened for years.
Beyond the door was what David had been looking for: a flight of concrete steps leading up to angled hatch-like doors. David closed the door to the basement behind him. He was now in darkness save for a sliver of light coming from between the two nearly horizontal doors above him.
David scrambled up the stairs and crouched just beneath the doors. He stopped to listen. He heard nothing. He put his hands on the doors and pushed. He was able to raise the doors half an inch, but no more; they were padlocked from outside.
Letting the doors down quietly, David tried to keep himself calm. His pulse was hammering in his temples. He knew he was trapped. His only hope was that he’d go undiscovered. But the next thing he heard was the door to the cellar crashing open followed by heavy footfalls on the cellar steps.
David squatted in the darkness and held his breath.
The footfalls drew nearer, then the door to his hideaway was yanked open. David found himself staring into the frenzied face of Werner Van Slyke.
Van Slyke appeared to be in a worse panic than David. He looked and acted as if he’d just taken an overwhelming dose of speed. His eyelids were drawn back, causing his unblinking eyes to bulge from their sockets. His pupils were so dilated he seemed to have no irises. Drops of perspiration were beaded on his forehead. His whole body was trembling, particularly his arms. In his right hand he clutched a pistol which he pointed at David’s face.
For a few moments neither of them moved. David frantically tried to think of a plausible reason for his presence, but he couldn’t think of a thing. All he could think about was the dancing barrel of the gun pointed at him. With Van Slyke’s trembling growing worse by the minute, David was afraid the gun might go off accidentally.