We got out of the cab and descended into the as yet
unfinished subway station. Holmes led the way into what
appeared a depthless abyss. Although at ground level this
section of the underground—subway to the native New
Yorkers—had a grand looking entrance with marble pilasters
and a rich looking stone staircase covered with an archway
of wrought iron, one did not have to travel far before the
light became thinner and the tunnel rough and unfinished. As
we descended I got the uncomfortable feeling of a fly
entering beneath a web.

At the bottom of the stairs we could see to the north that
this was the direction in which the main thrust of the
excavation work was concentrated. The work to this point had
consisted of excavating from above and covering over as the
excavation was completed, but from 53rd Street on for
approximately a mile the construction was being carried
forth in true tunneling fashion. The 42nd Street Underground
station was the last one prior to the beginning of the
tunnel construction. To the south the track was laid and the
tunnel was completely covered over, although the interior
was still unfinished relative to the fancy brickwork and
painting we’d witnessed in the completed lines. It was in
this, the southerly direction, where Holmes led.

After we’d gone no more than a hundred yards Holmes handed
me his match tin and held up the dark lantern while I
lighted it. What little illumination there was from the
subway entrance was fading fast, both with the distance
between us and it and with the approaching night. In another
hundred yards we would be completely at the mercy of the
darkness were it not for Holmes’ lantern. I followed closely
behind as Holmes quickened his pace. The air, which had been
thick and cloying with humidity when we’d entered the
station, had suddenly grown strangely cool, most probably
due to the increasing depth underground and perhaps the
proximity to the East River.

Since we had exited the hansom Holmes had barely spoken. Now
he turned and said, “Just ahead, we’ll need to remove the
grating.” He motioned to a large metal lattice structure
covering a ventilation duct. “Ever since the police found
that Braden fellow at Grand Central, I’ve been studying the
ventilation system. This shaft connects to the one at Grand
Central, and if you look from this angle,” he descended to
one knee, looking from the lower right-hand corner of the
grate into the shaft up towards the upper left, “you can
just catch a glimpse of what may be a shelf upon which there
appears to be some clothing or rags. I believe this may be
where Barlucci has been hiding during the day.”

“Ah, yes, his nest didn’t you say?”

“Exactly. Give me a hand here, will you?” He was busy prying
off the grate with a coach wrench he’d produced from under
his jacket. I took my handkerchief from my pocket and
removed my tie. Wrapping them around my hands as makeshift
gloves, I grabbed the lower edge of the grating pulling as
Holmes pried. It was extremely heavy and as it came loose,
it crashed to the ground.

“Well, if he’s in there, I’m sure that woke him up. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” said I, feeling a little annoyed.

“Quite all right, I don’t think he was using this particular
nest today. I’m hoping, however, he will return to it this
evening, or next. In the meantime, I shall search for others
during the day until I discover him. Now, take the lantern.
I’ll go first.” He stepped up onto the ledge and entered.
The duct was of such size that once he’d entered past the
opening, he was nearly able to stand. But as he turned, the
twin overlapping doors of a steel ventilation damper slammed
shut.

“Holmes,” I called. “Holmes, can you hear me.”

After a brief silence he said, “Yes, Watson, I can hear you.
And although I can’t see much, this appears to be some sort
of emergency damper meant to seal the shaft in the event gas
is detected.”

“Gas? I don’t smell anything.”

“Nor do I, but I suppose there is the chance the gas may be
odorless. In that event, I wouldn’t risk discussing this too
much further. The damper has a self-latching mechanism and I
think it would behoove each of us to vacate the area as best
we can.”

“But Holmes, I can’t leave you trapped like this.”

“Nonsense, Watson. You forget I’ve studied the ventilation
system in some detail. By the time you reach the street,
I’ll have found my own way out, most probably at a street
grating near the 42nd Street station.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, now let’s waste no more time arguing the matter. If
there is a poisonous gas leak, the longer we tarry the
greater our peril.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll await you at the station grate.”
I felt like a villain, leaving my friend trapped in the
duct, but there was nothing I could do. I was also quite
aware that having studied the ducting, he would most
probably find his way out prior to my own escape. I hurried
back to the station, aided by the light of the dark lantern.
In just a few minutes I’d emerged onto 42nd Street and made
my way to the grating just above the station. The rain had
stopped and the air was heavy and warm. After ten minutes
and no Holmes, I began to become worried.

It must have been time for a shift change in the tunneling
endeavor because just then a wagon loaded with workers drove
by in the direction of the dig. I hailed it and engaged the
foreman in coming to my aid. I explained that Holmes and I
had been investigating the ducting when the damper,
apparently triggered by a gas leak in the tunnel, had
slammed closed trapping my friend inside. He told me that
this was impossible since the dampers were not yet
connected. A panic consumed me as I realized Holmes must
have fallen into a trap.

The foreman and three of his crew followed me back into the
tunnel, back to where Holmes had disappeared. Using the
tools of their trade, the men worked on the damper, finally
prying it open. I raised the lantern I’d only minutes before
taken from Holmes. Climbing inside, I called, “Holmes.” He
was nowhere to be found. I was answered only by silence.