"How long do you think we have been flying over this sea of cloud,
Professor?" demanded Mildmay, as the party turned to leave the
pilot-house.
"I am ashamed to say that I cannot reply to that question," answered the
professor. "The fact is," he continued, "that I have been so busily
thinking about our adventure of to-night, and endeavouring to arrange
for every possible contingency, that I failed to notice when we first
encountered the cloud. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I heard you tell Sir Reginald, when you came down into the
dining-saloon a little while ago, that, according to your reckoning, we
ought to be somewhere off the mouth of the Humber. Now, don't you think
it would be a good plan for us to dip below this cloud-bank for a minute
or two, just to verify our position?"
"Certainly; we will do so, if you wish," answered the professor, with
the utmost readiness. And therewith he manipulated a lever and a valve,
and turned to the ladies, who were now in the act of descending the
pilot-house staircase.
"If you care to wait a minute or two, ladies," said he, "you will have
an opportunity to go out on deck and take a look round, while the
Captain, here, is making his observations. I have stopped the engines,
so that there will be no danger of your being blown overboard; and we
are now sinking rapidly, so that presently we shall be low enough to
enable you to breathe without difficulty."
Even as von Schalckenberg spoke it became evident that the _Flying Fish_
was descending, for she now plunged suddenly into the very heart of the
sea of cloud, where she was in a moment enveloped in a dense mist
through which nothing could be seen, not even the two ends of the
promenade deck. For nearly a minute the airship remained wrapped in the
fleecy whiteness of the cloud stratum, then she emerged as suddenly as
she had plunged into it. At the same moment the professor manipulated
another valve, intently watching the barometer-tube meanwhile; and
presently it became apparent that the descending movement had ceased,
and that the _Flying Fish_ was hanging suspended in mid-air, about a
thousand feet below the vast cloud-veil that now obscured the heavens.
"Now," he remarked, as he joined the party, who were standing at the
foot of the pilot-house staircase, "we may venture outside; we are only
three thousand feet above the sea-level, and the ship is almost
motionless. Permit me."
So saying, the professor threw open the door giving egress to the deck,
and the whole party passed outside into the raw, nipping morning air.
With one consent the whole party made straight for the rail, and looked
downward, past the bulging sides of the ship, until their gaze rested
upon the grey sea below, the sight of which proved that the professor's
calculations could not be very far wrong. The first glance at the
far-spreading sheet of water at which they were gazing sufficed to show
that, thus far, the calm of the preceding night still continued
unbroken, for the surface was as smooth and lustrous as that of
plate-glass, save where, here and there, a steamer or two--dwindled to
the dimensions of toys--ploughed up a ripple on either bow that swept
away astern, diverging as it went, until it gradually faded and was lost
a mile away. In addition to the steamers, there were perhaps a dozen
sailing craft--colliers and fishing-smacks, mostly--in sight, the
wrinkling canvas of which, as they rolled gently upon the invisible
swell, with their bows pointing all round the compass, afforded further
confirmation, if such were needed, of the absolute stillness of the
atmosphere.
Meanwhile, Mildmay, after a single glance over the side, walked aft to
the extremity of the promenade deck, whence he levelled a pair of
powerful binoculars into the misty distance for a minute or two. Then,
apparently satisfied, he closed the glasses, and walked forward to where
von Schalckenberg was chatting to the others, and directing their
attention to such objects as happened to be in sight. As Mildmay
approached, the professor turned to him and said--
"Well, Captain, have you succeeded in identifying our position?"
"Thanks, yes," answered Mildmay. "The air is not very clear this
morning, but I have just managed to make out Spurn Point and the mouth
of the Humber in the far distance, astern. I have no doubt, therefore,
that your reckoning is absolutely correct. It is just in the single
matter of keeping a `dead reckoning' that an ocean ship has the
advantage of this craft. In the ocean the currents flow in fairly
well-defined courses, and at moderate and pretty well-known rates; it is
therefore an easy matter to make proper allowance for them. But up
aloft, here, the speed and direction of the air-currents are so
uncertain that it is impossible to take them into one's calculations;
hence it becomes necessary to check one's reckoning by means of frequent
observations."
"Do you think that any of the people in those ships down there will see
us?" asked Feodorovna. "We can see them very plainly, and it is only
reasonable, therefore, to suppose that they can see us equally plainly.
Yet, when I looked at them just now through Sir Reginald's telescope, I
could not detect any indication that we were seen. One would suppose
that the sight of such an enormous object as this, floating in the air,
would occasion tremendous excitement among the beholders."
"And no doubt it would; indeed, we have had proof that such is the case
whenever we happen to be seen," replied the professor. "But we have
also had the best of reasons for believing that this polished hull of
ours, perfectly reflecting, as it does, every hue and tint of the
surrounding atmosphere, renders it difficult, if not impossible, to
distinguish the ship when she is afloat among the clouds. Nevertheless,
you have reminded us that some keen-eyed individual may by chance
discover our presence, so, as we are really anxious not to attract
attention, we may as well get above the clouds again, when you have all
looked your fill."
This hint proved sufficient, and five minutes later the _Flying Fish_
was once more above the clouds, with the pilot-house door and every
scuttle closed, sweeping to the northward and eastward at full speed.
At length, well on in the afternoon, the professor announced that,
according to his reckoning, they had reached their destination, and the
engines were stopped. It had remained cloudy all day, and after that
one brief descent early in the morning, nothing had been seen. Mildmay,
after studying the clouds attentively, was of opinion that a breeze had
sprung up, and had been blowing for some two or three hours--a
circumstance that, if his opinion proved correct, would have an
important influence upon their position--and he was anxious to ascertain
how far his surmise was verified by facts. A descent was therefore
effected until the ship was once more below the cloud curtain, when it
was found that, instead of being immediately over the city of Saint
Petersburg--as she should have been, according to the professor's
reckoning--the _Flying Fish_ was floating almost exactly over a town of
considerable size situate on the northern shore of a lake of somewhat
triangular shape, measuring some forty-five miles long by about twenty
miles wide. This town the professor, who knew this part of Russia well,
at once identified as Novgorod, nearly a hundred miles south of Saint
Petersburg. Captain Mildmay's suspicions were thus confirmed, and a set
of observations that were at once taken revealed the fact that the
_Flying Fish_ was drifting southward with the wind at the brisk pace of
close upon thirty miles an hour. This, however, was a matter of no
great consequence, since the travellers had plenty of time in hand. The
direction and speed of the wind having been ascertained, due allowance
was made for it, the engines were once more sent ahead, the course was
altered, and in a trifle over an hour the _Flying Fish_ was within sight
of the towers and spires of the Russian capital. The engines were then
slowed down again until the ship was just stemming the fresh breeze that
was now blowing, and an ascent was made until the cloud canopy had been
once more placed between the ship and the earth, thus preventing any
possibility of premature discovery.
This altitude was maintained until the sun had set magnificently beneath
the cloud horizon, when the four men entered the pilot-house and, the
professor taking charge as pilot, the descent to Pargolovo was very
leisurely commenced.
The chateau of Count Vasilovich was situate on the western side of the
lake and on the northern slope of the hills that stretch away in the
direction of Konnaia, at a point as nearly as possible eight miles from
the northern bank of the Neva; and as soon as the _Flying Fish_ emerged
from the stratum of cloud that shrouded the landscape, the professor
went out on deck with his binoculars to look for the spot at which he
had decided that the great ship was to be brought to earth. He soon
found it, and shouted his instructions to Mildmay, who was tending the
helm and the engines; and twenty minutes later the descent was quietly
and safely accomplished, the _Flying Fish_ finding a very easy berth
among some trees, within a hundred yards of the road leading from the
park entrance to the chateau, and within a mile of the latter.
It was by this time a quarter to seven, Russian time. The professor,
therefore, and Mildmay, who had volunteered to accompany him, quickly
made their way down the spiral staircase to the trap-door in the bottom
of the ship, and let themselves out, carefully closing the trap behind
them.
The night was overcast, dark, and inclined to be stormy, a cold, bleak,
blusterous, northerly breeze was blowing off the lake and roaring
through the branches of the leafless trees, and the look of the sky
threatened rain; yet the wide, white carriage-drive loomed up ghostly
through the darkness, and presently, when the eyes of the watchers grew
accustomed to the gloom, they found that it would be easy for them to
discern a mounted figure on the road at a distance of a hundred yards or
so. They sheltered themselves under the lee of a giant elm, and set
themselves patiently to await in silence the approach of their
unsuspecting prey.
The minutes sped slowly away, until at length it seemed to the two
watchers that they must have been in ambush for a full hour, yet neither
Vasilovich nor any other person had put in an appearance. They began to
compare notes in a low voice, and at length Mildmay determined to run
the risk of striking a match for a moment to ascertain the time. This
he did, von Schalckenberg assisting him to observe such precautions as
should insure the tiny, momentary flame against being seen. Mildmay's
watch declared the hour to be a quarter to six, British time.
"Why, that makes it about ten minutes to eight, Russian time!" murmured
the captain, as he blew out the vesta. "Do you think he has been
detained, Professor? or is it possible that he is no longer residing
here? He may be away on a visit somewhere, you know."
"True, he _may_ be; but I do not believe he is; he is not a sufficiently
sociable man to render it at all likely that he is visiting, either in
Saint Petersburg or elsewhere," answered the professor. "Of course," he
continued, "the man may have been detained, as you suggest; indeed, that
is probably the explanation of his non-appearance. Or he may be
unwell--too unwell to leave his chateau. Those are the only two
alternative explanations I can suggest to account for his
non-appearance."
"Well, what is to be done under the circumstances?" demanded Mildmay.
"Is it any use to wait here any longer, think you?"
"No," answered the professor, "I do not think it is; he is not likely to
pass here now, as he has not done so already. I will go up to the
castle and ascertain his whereabouts."
"All right," returned Mildmay, "I will go with you. It is scarcely safe
for you to go alone. The fellow may--"
"Have no fear on my account, I beg," interrupted von Schalckenberg. "I
assure you it will be quite safe for me to go alone; more safe, indeed,
than were two of us to go together, because in the latter case he
might--assuming that he is in the castle--suspect something, while if I
go alone he will suspect nothing."
"Very well," assented Mildmay, "let it be as you will. But I will, at
all events, accompany you to the castle, and stand by, outside, to lend
you a hand if needful."
"You sailors are very masterful men," observed the professor; "you must
have your own way, I suppose. But be careful that you are not seen by
anybody, as the suspicions of these Russians are easily aroused, and it
would then, perhaps, be very awkward for us both. Shall we go at once?"
"Yes, certainly," answered Mildmay. "But I think we had better return
to the ship for a moment, and acquaint Sir Reginald with our non-success
thus far, and what it is that we propose to do. It is always well to
provide against contingencies as far as possible."
"Right!" assented the professor. "Let us go at once. I am chilled to
the bone with so long a waiting."
A quarter of an hour sufficed the pair to return to the ship, explain
the state of affairs to the rest of the party, and make their way back
to the spot at which they had been so patiently maintaining their watch;
and another half-hour of steady walking took them within sight of the
chateau, where Mildmay snugly ensconced himself behind a big clump of
laurels, through the boughs of which he was able to maintain a close
watch upon the main entrance of the building.
The chateau did not, in this instance, belie its designation, being, in
fact, a massive, gloomy-looking, castellated, stone building, with
battlements, turrets, small windows, a moat, a drawbridge, and a
portcullis, the lower portion of which showed in the head of the archway
that gave access to the interior of the building. The drawbridge was
lowered, and, from his coign of vantage, Mildmay saw the professor
boldly cross it and walk up to the gate, through which, after a brief
parley with the gate-keeper, he disappeared.
Von Schalckenberg's inquiries were of a very prosaic and commonplace
nature. He simply asked whether Count Vasilovich happened to be at
home; and upon being informed--somewhat to his surprise--that he was, he
scribbled a word or two in Russian upon one of his cards, and directed
the gate-keeper to send it up to the count at once. The gate-keeper
very civilly invited the professor into his lodge, a small room formed
in the thickness of the castle wall, and, ringing a bell, sent in the
card by a servant who appeared some three or four minutes later.
An interval of some ten minutes now elapsed, during which the professor
warmed himself at the gate-keeper's fire, contriving meanwhile, by a few
skilfully put questions, to extract the information that, the count's
horse having fallen lame that day in the streets of Saint Petersburg,
Vasilovich had returned home by rail, and had reached the castle by way
of the other gate, which sufficiently accounted for the watchers having
missed him.
At length the servant who had taken in von Schalckenberg's card returned
with the information that the count would see the professor; and
forthwith the pair set out across the courtyard, entering the building
by way of a heavily studded oaken door, which the servant carefully
locked and barred behind him, to the momentary dismay of the visitor,
who was scarcely prepared to find the observance of so much precaution
on the part of the man whom he had come to take prisoner. However, he
slipped his hands into the side pockets of his heavily furred overcoat,
and then withdrew them again with a quiet smile of renewed confidence;
he was essentially a man of resource, and his faith in himself quickly
reasserted itself.
The professor's conductor led him through a long, stone-vaulted passage,
dimly lighted at intervals by oil lamps, that flared and smoked in the
draughts that chased each other to and fro, until at the very end he
paused before a door, at which he knocked deferentially. An
inarticulate growl answered from the other side, whereupon the servant
flung open the door, motioned von Schalckenberg to enter, and promptly
closed the portal behind him.
Pushing aside a heavy curtain, or _portiere_, that stretched across the
doorway, the professor found himself in a large and lofty room, ceiled
and wainscoted in oak, the walls hung with oil pictures so completely
darkened and obscured with smoke and grime that it was impossible to
distinguish what they were meant to depict. The stone floor was
carpeted with skins, and a long, massive oak dining-table ran the length
of the room, which was lighted during the day by three heavily curtained
windows, and now by a solitary lamp. At the far end of the room stood
one of the enormous porcelain stoves, which are such a feature of
Russian interiors, balanced at the other end by an immense sideboard.
The table was undraped, save at the far end, where sat, with his back to
the glowing stove, a burly, thick-set man, attired in an undress
military uniform. He appeared to be about forty years of age; he wore
his hair cropped short, and his face was partially hidden by a heavy,
unkempt beard and moustache. He had evidently just dined, for the
draped extremity of the table was littered with the remains of a repast,
he was smoking an immense pipe, while a tumbler of steaming vodki stood
close to his hand upon the table. This individual was Count Vasilovich;
and he was alone. He made no movement to rise at von Schalckenberg's
entrance, but stared intently at his visitor, twisting the card in his
hand in a nervous, impatient way.