The Great Attempt
A motley crowd thronged the narrow streets of the old city of Delhi,
that city to which for so many years the eyes of the natives of India
had ever been turned, the same quaint, battlemented stronghold which had
seen those mutineers arrive flushed with the success of their first
massacres of sahibs and mem-sahibs and children, had witnessed the
struggle of sepoys to overthrow the British Raj.
A noisy crowd of gesticulating people, as dusky almost as ebony, some
resplendent in many-coloured robes and turbans, others, the coolies,
clad in but the lightest raiment, bargained at the numerous booths, or
sat on their haunches in the sun, basking in the heat, smoking their
hubble-bubbles. Now and again a sowar passed, mounted on his wiry
animal, as fine a soldier as this jewel in England's glorious crown
could well produce. Then came a Gurkha maybe, though very few were to be
found in the neighbourhood of Delhi; a tall Sikh followed, his dark eyes
glowing beneath his huge and picturesque turban. In short, a motley
crowd, a crowd of surpassing interest, wended its way hither and
thither, some about their ordinary business, some on shopping bent,
others merely idling, trusting to meet chance acquaintances when they
could forgather in some quiet corner and chatter about the huge airship.
"Ripping!" declared Alec, when he and Dick had looked on at the throng
for perhaps an hour, and had strolled through a number of streets. "It's
quite the most interesting thing I have ever seen. Look! There are
English people mixed up with the natives."
There was every nationality one could imagine almost. Slim, sly men from
the hills, in the neighbourhood of the North-West, a couple of Afghan
merchants but recently arrived by way of the Khyber Pass, a Parsee
banker, a native clerk, a postman of dusky colour. Then a group of
chattering women, a bevy of girls from the nearest school, clad in
garments very similar to those worn by their European sisters. And later
a gorgeously-caparisoned elephant, with some native prince in the
howdah. A band sounded in the distance, and presently a British regiment
swung by, the natives on either side salaaming to the colours, which
Dick saluted in naval style. Nor were our two young friends the least
interesting of the people bustling about the streets of Delhi. A couple
of clean, jolly, well-set-up young Englishmen they looked, their white
drill suits and topees suiting them admirably. But there were others of
interest also. Three sailors swung by, barging through the crowd with
that curious roll so common to men of the sea. Need we say that they
were Hawkins, Hurst, and Pierson, with the cantankerous and unlovely
Private Larkin in close attendance? And didn't they take good care to
salute our two young friends!
"It's him!" growled Hawkins fiercely in Private Larkin's ear when he
caught sight of Dick and Alec. "Now then, all together, and mind there
ain't no skulking."
"'Oo's a skulking, I'd like to know?" came in grumbling tones from the
soldier even in the midst of a fierce salute. "One would think as you
naval chaps was the only ones as could do a job of this sort nice and
handy! 'Sides, I'm salutin' Mr. Alec, 'im as is fit ter be a soldier,
and will be. I ain't no doubt as he'll pass the Navy. It ain't in his
line, yer see. Too much red tape and pipeclay for 'is liking."
It was another effort on the part of this pleasant individual to get up
a fierce argument, and had the men been gathered in their quarters
aboard the airship no doubt Hawkins would have obliged him. But there
was too much to be seen on every hand, and therefore, with a growling
"Come along, you," he led the way past our heroes and down the bazaar.
"Hallo! Mr. Carl Reitberg of all people! Thought he was abed, quite done
up after that little affair of ours on the north-west frontier,"
exclaimed Dick, some few minutes later. "The high and mighty Carl
Reitberg seated in a gharri careering about the streets of Delhi. Look
at him shouting because the crowd don't move aside soon enough for his
majesty. And where is he going?"
"Which reminds me that we haven't kept up that watch since we came to
Delhi," said Alec. "Think he's up to any games?"
How could one answer that question? No doubt the magnate had his own
business to transact, and indeed, halted at a bank and entered. When he
emerged Dick saw that he was tucking a well-filled purse into his
pocket. He struggled into his cab, mopped his forehead with a
handkerchief of brilliant hue, and then gave directions to the driver.
"Vote we follow," cried Dick. "I don't like our guest's face, to be
quite frank with you. What's he drawing money for? Where's he going?"
"Might just as well expect other folks to be asking the same question
about us. But we'll follow. Here, out of the way, you son of a gun. Hi!
Gharri!"
Alec displaced the dusky individual who barred his path, and waved
frantically to a cabman. A minute later the two were seated in the
gharri, which at once set out in pursuit of the one that Carl Reitberg
had taken.
"Booking office of the railway," said Dick, ten minutes later, seeing
Carl descend and enter an office so labelled. "Had enough of the airship
it seems, and will make the trip to the coast by train. But that's
queer, ain't it?"
"What's queer? Why? How?" asked Alec in a breath.
"Don't be a donkey! Carl Reitberg's queer."
"Ill? He don't look it. Seems to be he's very much alive-o!"
Dick turned an indignant, not to say angry glance upon his companion.
"You are thick!" he said bluntly. "I wasn't referring to the health of
our estimable friend. I was referring to his actions. They're queer,
ain't they?"
"No--why? Why shouldn't he return by train and steamer if he wishes to
do so?"
"Because at breakfast this morning he told us all how he was enjoying
the trip. Pretended even to have been charmed with our little brush with
those Pathans. Said nothing would induce him to part with the airship
till she had landed him in England."
"My! Yes. Greasy beggar," reflected Alec. "What's it mean? Playing
double. But perhaps he ain't booking. Look here, I'll hop in and listen
to what's passing."
Mr. Carl Reitberg was without a doubt booking a seat for Bombay. Alec
squeezed himself through the throng of Europeans in the booking office,
and managed to reach a spot just behind the magnate. There he heard him
enquiring for the next ship sailing from Bombay, and watched as he
booked a cabin.
"You're right; it's mighty queer," he told Dick on returning. "What does
it mean?"
"Everything, perhaps; perhaps nothing. He's foxy, and means to clear
out, that's plain. But it don't say that he means us or the ship a
mischief. Not that I'd trust him. Sergeant Evans is full of dark hints,
and could tell us a yarn, I'm sure, if we encouraged him. I'm going to
set a watch on Mr. Reitberg."
"Those beggarly brats," reflected the magnate, ten minutes later, when
he emerged from the office and saw a gharri passing with our two young
friends aboard. "Sight-seeing, I suppose. Well, they've not seen me
buying my ticket. No one has. I've thrown dust in their eyes nicely. Now
I can return to the ship, wait my chance, and then----"
It made him chuckle. He sat back in the gharri smiling and perspiring,
mopping his forehead from time to time. And it was with a wonderfully
elastic step that he strode from the gharri to the airship, roughly
pushing aside the throng of natives and entered the gallery.
"It'll be a big affair," he told himself with a grim smile. "Of course,
as I've said before, I'm sorry about the crew. But that's their lookout.
A hundred or more of these natives blown to pieces will make not the
smallest difference. Dinner-time to-night'll suit admirably. Then we're
all aboard. The men'll be in their quarters, with perhaps one patrolling
on the deck above, and two outside, to keep the curious natives at a
distance. I'll be late for dinner; yes, that's the card to play. I send
my compliments to Mr. Andrew, and beg to be excused as the heat has
upset me. Excellent! A splendid excuse. Then, when all's quiet, I set
the bombs in position, creep out of the ship, and while Delhi is
lamenting the terrible catastrophe, and thousands are chattering, I
simply board the train and take the road for England."
He sat down in his cabin to mop his forehead again, and then took off
his coat and waistcoat. "Come in," he cried testily, to a knock at the
door.
It was Sergeant Evans, respectful and polite as ever. "Dinner half an
hour later this evening, sir," he said. "I'll put your things out now,
so as not to disturb you later."
"Terribly hot," gasped Carl. "Hardly feel as if I could eat anything.
Shouldn't wonder if I didn't turn up for dinner, Sergeant."
Like the well-trained, polite fellow he was the Sergeant expressed no
surprise. He merely touched the button which controlled the electric fan
and set it going.
"Hot in here, sir," he said. "That'll make things cooler. Hope you'll
feel better presently. Half-past six now, sir. Perhaps a little sleep
would put you right, and make you ready for dinner."
"Perhaps," agreed Carl laconically, mopping his forehead again. "I'll
try. But don't disturb me. If I don't turn up after the gong has gone,
leave me to myself. I'll be sleeping."
The face of the Sergeant was inscrutable as he left the cabin. If it
said anything at all, it expressed commiseration for this somewhat stout
and unwieldy sportsman, and the hope that he would soon feel more
himself. But if his features meant that, his immediately following
actions contrasted curiously with them. For the worthy Sergeant passed
into his own quarters, and from thence into his pantry. And by a
curious freak of fortune that pantry happened to be immediately next to
the cabin occupied by the worthy Carl Reitberg.
"Don't I know him? Oh no! Certainly not!" observed the Sergeant beneath
his breath. "Mr. Carl Reitberg, yes, that's his name now; I.D.B. back in
South Africa in the old days. He's feeling queer, and he don't expect
he'll come along to dinner. Well, we'll hope he will. But we'll see
what's happening in the meanwhile."
So straightway he crept to the wall of the pantry, and slid aside a tiny
panel, some two inches long, and of half that height. It was quite a
simple contrivance, and had merely required a sharp knife and a slip of
sheet celludine. A hot iron had cemented the runners of this slide to
the wall, while anyone entering either the pantry or the adjacent cabin
would have found it difficult to detect this opening. An inch-square
aperture gave a wide view of the quarters allotted to the magnate, and
of that individual himself.
"Felt ill, did he? Poor chap!" observed the Sergeant. "Thought he'd
follow my advice and have a sleep. Looks like trying, don't he?"
The fat form of the magnate was engaged at that precise moment in
anything but an attempt to fall asleep. He was leaning over that
precious box which he had brought aboard with him, and which he would
have others believe contained valuables of great interest. The seals
were broken already, and half a dozen of the screws with which the lid
was secured were already drawn. The magnate was puffing heavily in his
efforts to loosen one which was strangely tight and refractory. At
length, however, after a fierce struggle, he succeeded, and some ten
minutes later had the box open.
"And here's where the fun begins," said the watching Sergeant. "I'm as
keen as possible to see what he's got in that box, and what he'll do
with 'em. Ah! Two nicely rolled parcels, Mr. Carl, fresh and clean from
the hands that wrapped 'em in Old England. Valuables, to be sure!
Priceless; deserved a safe if only this ship would have carried one."
There was a grim smile on his lips as he closely watched the movements
of the scoundrel bending over the box. For here indeed was a
conspirator. If there had been any doubt, the man's own movements would
have betrayed his uneasiness, his guilty thoughts, for Carl was
decidedly uneasy. Never a man of courage, rather the reverse, as he had
abundantly proved, the doing of this miserable and wicked deed he
contemplated shook him severely. Though he imagined he had braced up his
shaky nerves for the adventure, and though he encouraged himself by the
thought that there was no personal danger in the matter, no fear of
discovery, and no difficulty in getting clear away, yet he was
frightened, frightened of his own image. It caused the Sergeant to
smile, indeed, when Carl, suddenly catching sight of his own reflection
in the mirror opposite him, blanched and gripped the table.
"Gave me quite a turn," he gasped, his strong accent more noticeable
than ever. "_Himmel!_ But this deed requires more force than I had
imagined. But there is no danger. Can be none while I have my ticket for
the train and boat in my pocket. As for the bombs, they cannot explode
till the clockwork is wound. Then I merely set the hands to the hour at
which I desire the explosion, and--leave."
"Very simple," smiled the Sergeant. "And I wonder where he'll put his
bombs and how this ship's going to suffer. Of all the rascals I ever set
eyes on, it's him. Sportsman! Tish!"
He had seen enough, and went off to the saloon to lay his table and make
ready for dinner. There was a thoughtful look upon his face, an
expectant smile which boded little goodwill for Mr. Reitberg. As for
Dick and Alec, they were nonplussed by the disappearance of the one they
had determined to watch. He had gone to ground in his cabin and was
resting there.
"Having a sleep, sir," the Sergeant told them naïvely. "Finds it
precious hot. Don't fancy he'll turn up for dinner."
"Then I'm going straight to Joe and Mr. Andrew," Dick whispered to Alec.
"We've found out that this sportsman's going to hook it. Then what's he
up to?"
"Something, perhaps; nothing, perhaps. Let's hang on a bit and watch
when the others are at dinner. Carl can't slip out of his cabin by the
window, now can he?"
Dick admitted the fact briskly.
"Then he has to come by way of the gallery. Good! We watch at either
end. We nab him if he tries hanky-panky."
"And if he don't. Supposing he just clears off for the station?"
The question was somewhat of a facer, for how could Dick and Alec then
interfere? Carl had as much right to leave the ship as they had. Then,
supposing he went by the ordinary route, through the gallery and so into
the open, who could arrest him? It would be an outrage, a breach of good
manners; worse, in fact.
"Oh, let's leave that question to later," said Dick airily. "He ain't
going by the window, that's certain. Then we watch at each end of the
gallery, and if he gets up to monkey tricks, why, we bowl him over."
Little did the magnate imagine that three at least of his fellow
passengers were waiting for his appearance. Not that the worthy Sergeant
showed much concern. Now and again, on his numerous visits to the
pantry, he slid that panel aside and squinted into the cabin. But he
went on with his duties, prepared the table, set the chairs, and finally
rang the gong briskly. As he did so the clock in the saloon chimed
eight. It was precisely half an hour after Mr. Andrew's usual hour for
dinner, and with soldier-like exactness the Sergeant announced the meal
at the very moment for which it had been ordered. He escorted Joe and
his uncle, the Commander and the Major, to their places, announced that
Mr. Reitberg wished to be excused, and murmured in Joe's ear the fact
that Dick and Alec had returned to the ship and had then departed again.
"Then we won't wait," said Andrew brusquely. "Let us go on with the
meal."
"Certainly, sir," replied the Sergeant.
At once he served the soup, with the help of an assistant. Then he took
his stand behind Andrew, waiting and watching the diners as becomes a
well-trained attendant. But had he forgotten the rascal in that adjacent
cabin? Had he allowed the matter to escape his mind? It would seem so,
indeed, though there was no excuse, for but a matter of ten minutes
earlier he had watched the crafty Carl set the hands of his two clocks
to eight-fifteen and wind the springs. Why, he must be mad, crazy, for
at that very moment Carl Reitberg was preparing to emerge from his
cabin. But Sergeant Evans went on with his waiting methodically. He
removed the empty soup plates and the tureen, and having placed clean,
hot plates before the diners handed the fish to each in turn. There was
no hurry about his movements, no sign of anxiety about his face. He did
not even bother to observe the clock. Instead, he offered sherry to each
of the gentlemen present, put the decanter back upon the sideboard, and
motioned to his assistant to hasten to the kitchen for the next course.
It was ten minutes after the hour. In five minutes those bombs with
which the dastardly Carl hoped to wreck the vessel would explode. In
five short minutes----Hark! What was that? Joe turned slowly in his
chair. Andrew glanced across at the Major.
"Dick and Alec larking again," observed the Commander dryly. "A little
more shipboard discipline is what our Mr. Dicky Hamshaw requires. What a
noise the brats are making."
There was indeed quite an uproar in the gallery outside. The voices of
Hawkins, Hurst, and Larkin were heard in succession. And then the door
of the saloon was burst unceremoniously open, figures appeared outside,
and a moment later Carl Reitberg was thrust into the chamber, Hawkins
and Larkin gripping his shoulders, while Dick and Alec followed
immediately behind them.
"Caught him in the act, sir!" shouted Dick, excitedly, addressing
Andrew. "Watched him place two bombs in position along the gallery. Here
they are. At least we guess they're bombs, though they're wrapped in
paper."
That saloon had never before witnessed such a curious gathering, nor
such excitement if one describes the matter fully. Not that Joe and his
fellow diners betrayed great concern. Their stern faces merely showed
disgust, loathing for this Carl Reitberg, while the well-trained
Sergeant looked on with polite indifference, showing just a trace of
annoyance, as if he objected to the dinner being so unceremoniously
disturbed. But there coolness ceased altogether. Dick and Alec were
dishevelled, red-hot with excitement, trembling with the importance of
their discovery. Hawkins's broad face showed a righteous anger which was
on the point of boiling over, while Private Larkin's fierce face gave
one the idea that he was within an ace of exploding. In the centre,
pinioned by the arms, pale and wabbling, was the magnate, speechless
with fright, his pig-like eyes rolling with terror.
[Illustration: THE COLLAPSE OF CARL REITBERG
_Page 276_]
It was one of those unexpected situations when one would have felt
surprise if the dinner were not abandoned, the crew of the ship aroused,
and a huge commotion set going. But Andrew Provost had already given
abundant proof of his coolness. Joe, too, was not so easily frightened,
while a calm demeanour on the part of the Commander and the Major was to
be expected. But no one would quite have anticipated the line of action
which Andrew adopted.
"And so you have discovered this Mr. Reitberg, our guest aboard, in the
midst of an attempt to wreck the vessel!" he said softly. "Well, well,
you may be mistaken."
"Impossible, sir," cried Alec. "We watched him first. He's a ruffian."
"But--but still there may be some little error," Andrew asserted. "We
will give our guest the benefit of the doubt for the moment and
investigate the matter. Place a chair there for him, Sergeant."
"But--but these beastly things are set to go off in four minutes,"
shouted Dick suddenly. "Look, sir. I've stripped the paper from the
bombs. There's a clock attached to the outside of each. It's ticking,
and the hands are set at eight-fifteen. They'll explode then and blow
the place to pieces."
"Four minutes, you said. I make it but three," Joe exclaimed of a
sudden, taking the bombs. "That's too bad. Dick, you must give it up as
hopeless. You couldn't possibly get these bombs away to a safe distance
in that short space of time. Eh, Major?"
"Hopeless. Let 'em cut and run, Dick and Alec and the others. I'm too
old to make the attempt. Put the bombs on the table."
Was everyone mad? Had these diners gone completely crazy? Dick looked
round in bewilderment, and went scarlet with anger. For the Major was
actually sipping his sherry, while Joe was thrusting a morsel of fish
into his mouth. As for the Sergeant, he placed a chair for the magnate
between Joe and Andrew, plumped that perspiring and shaking individual
into it, and having taken the two bombs from Dick put them on the table
within a foot of Carl Reitberg. We make no excuse for Hawkins and his
friend. They turned at Andrew's nod and bolted.
"Not for me, thanks," said Dick desperately. "Sherry, please, Sergeant."
"Ditto," gasped Alec, seating himself.
"In fact, we swim or sink together. Or shall we say, we stand shoulder
to shoulder awaiting the last great flight of this giant vessel?"
There was a quizzing tone in the Major's voice, and he was actually
winking. Winking! And so was the Sergeant.
"Sherry, sir. Yes, sir," he observed, in his ordinary, matter-of-fact
tones, placing a glass before our two young heroes. "And don't you
expect nothing," he whispered. "Them things is O.K. You'll yet eat a
dinner."
Meanwhile things were hardly going comfortably for Mr. Reitberg. The
rascal sat far back in his chair, tilting it backward, his two hands
gripping the table, and his bulging eyes fixed on the hands of the two
clocks attached to his infernal machines. He was livid with fear. A
cold, clammy perspiration covered his forehead. His fat cheeks shook and
wobbled in an ugly manner, and what little hair he had positively
bristled. His breath came in choking grunts, wheezing from his lungs,
while his lips were dry and parted.
"One minute more; only one minute," he gasped at last, staring at the
clock faces. "Only one minute."
"Pardon--rather more. Perhaps two or three seconds," observed the Major
icily. "Then, Mr. Reitberg----"
"Take me away. Let me leave the place. Throw those bombs out of the
window--I say, throw them away. They'll explode; they'll kill me.
They'll tear me to pieces."
The wretch foamed at the mouth, his attention concentrated all the while
on those two clock faces. His eyes were bloodshot now, his nails digging
like talons into the table.
"Then they are really bombs? You actually meant to wreck the vessel?"
asked Andrew.
But the rascal cowering in a frenzy of terror at the table hardly seemed
to hear his words, much less to heed them. He was bending lower now,
ducking his head, and yet looking upward from beneath his brows at the
hands on those two dials. They were near the quarter. In ten seconds
they would reach the point at which he had set the trigger. And then----
"Take me away!" he screamed, foaming at the mouth, and looking hideous
in his terror. "Kill me now. Shoot me. Don't let me be blown to pieces
by these bombs. Ah! I will kill myself."
He made a desperate effort to seize a knife from the table, and no doubt
would have done himself some severe injury. But the Commander seized his
arm.
"No," he said sternly. "This is your trial, a trial of your own making.
Learn now what it is to set bombs to slaughter other people. Endure to
the full the torment that others were to suffer."
The strain was too great for the magnate. A gurgling cry escaped him,
and a moment later he was stretched full length on the carpet.
"Call in the others," commanded Joe curtly. "Let us go on with our
dinner. And by the way, Sergeant, tell Mr. Dick and his friend that
there's no danger."
"No danger!" shouted the midshipman. "None! Why, I've been hanging on to
my chair hard expecting to be blown to pieces."
"Like Mr. Reitberg, only different," smiled Andrew. "Lads, you've shown
splendid pluck. Now, let's eat. As for the bombs, they happen to be
empty."