I clinked glasses with him, and drank in honor of the chief of police.

“And now,” demanded Elias Smith, “what is worrying him?”

At this I made known to the mayor of Morganton the cause and the

purpose of my mission in North Carolina. I assured him that my chief

had given me full power, and would render me every assistance,

financial and otherwise, to solve the riddle and relieve the

neighborhood of its anxiety relative to the Great Eyrie.

Elias Smith listened to me without uttering a word, but not without

several times refilling his glass and mine. While he puffed steadily at

his pipe, the close attention which he gave me was beyond question. I

saw his cheeks flush at times, and his eyes gleam under their bushy

brows. Evidently the chief magistrate of Morganton was uneasy about

Great Eyrie, and would be as eager as I to discover the cause of these

phenomena.

When I had finished my communication, Elias Smith gazed at me for some

moments in silence. Then he said, softly, “So at Washington they wish

to know what the Great Eyrie hides within its circuit?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith.”

“And you, also?”

“I do.”

“So do I, Mr. Strock.”

He and I were as one in our curiosity.

“You will understand,” added he, knocking the cinders from his pipe,

“that as a land-owner, I am much interested in these stories of the

Great Eyrie, and as mayor, I wish to protect my constituents.”

“A double reason,” I commented, “to stimulate you to discover the cause

of these extraordinary occurrences! Without doubt, my dear Mr. Smith,

they have appeared to you as inexplicable and as threatening as to your

people.”

“Inexplicable, certainly, Mr. Strock. For on my part, I do not believe

it possible that the Great Eyrie can be a volcano; the Alleghanies are

nowhere of volcanic origins. I, myself, in our immediate district, have

never found any geological traces of scoria, or lava, or any eruptive

rock whatever. I do not think, therefore, that Morganton can possibly

be threatened from such a source.”

“You really think not, Mr. Smith?”

“Certainly.”

“But these tremblings of the earth that have been felt in the

neighborhood!”

“Yes these tremblings! These tremblings!” repeated Mr. Smith, shaking

his head; “but in the first place, is it certain that there have been

tremblings? At the moment when the flames showed most sharply, I was on

my farm of Wildon, less than a mile from the Great Eyrie. There was

certainly a tumult in the air, but I felt no quivering of the earth.”

“But in the reports sent to Mr. Ward—”

“Reports made under the impulse of the panic,” interrupted the mayor of

Morganton. “I said nothing of any earth tremors in mine.”

“But as to the flames which rose clearly above the crest?”

“Yes, as to those, Mr. Strock, that is different. I saw them; saw them

with my own eyes, and the clouds certainly reflected them for miles

around. Moreover noises certainly came from the crater of the Great

Eyrie, hissings, as if a great boiler were letting off steam.”

“You have reliable testimony of this?”

“Yes, the evidence of my own ears.”

“And in the midst of this noise, Mr. Smith, did you believe that you

heard that most remarkable of all the phenomena, a sound like the

flapping of great wings?”

“I thought so, Mr. Strock; but what mighty bird could this be, which

sped away after the flames had died down, and what wings could ever

make such tremendous sounds. I therefore seriously question, if this

must not have been a deception of my imagination. The Great Eyrie a

refuge for unknown monsters of the sky! Would they not have been seen

long since, soaring above their immense nest of stone? In short, there

is in all this a mystery which has not yet been solved.”

“But we will solve it, Mr. Smith, if you will give me your aid.”

“Surely, Mr. Strock; tomorrow we will start our campaign.”

“Tomorrow.” And on that word the mayor and I separated. I went to a

hotel, and established myself for a stay which might be indefinitely

prolonged. Then having dined, and written to Mr. Ward, I saw Mr. Smith

again in the afternoon, and arranged to leave Morganton with him at

daybreak.

Our first purpose was to undertake the ascent of the mountain, with the

aid of two experienced guides. These men had ascended Mt. Mitchell and

others of the highest peaks of the Blueridge. They had never, however,

attempted the Great Eyrie, knowing that its walls of inaccessible

cliffs defended it on every side. Moreover, before the recent startling

occurrences the Great Eyrie had not particularly attracted the

attention of tourists. Mr. Smith knew the two guides personally as men

daring, skillful and trustworthy. They would stop at no obstacle; and

we were resolved to follow them through everything.

Moreover Mr. Smith remarked at the last that perhaps it was no longer

as difficult as formerly to penetrate within the Great Eyrie.

“And why?” asked I.

“Because a huge block has recently broken away from the mountain side

and perhaps it has left a practicable path or entrance.”

“That would be a fortunate chance, Mr. Smith.”

“We shall know all about it, Mr. Strock, no later than tomorrow.”

“Till tomorrow, then.”

III.

THE GREAT EYRIE

The next day at dawn, Elias Smith and I left Morganton by a road which,

winding along the left bank of the Catawba River, led to the village of

Pleasant Garden. The guides accompanied us, Harry Horn, a man of

thirty, and James Bruck, aged twenty-five. They were both natives of

the region, and in constant demand among the tourists who climbed the

peaks of the Blueridge and Cumberland Mountains.

A light wagon with two good horses was provided to carry us to the foot

of the range. It contained provisions for two or three days, beyond

which our trip surely would not be protracted. Mr. Smith had shown

himself a generous provider both in meats and in liquors. As to water

the mountain springs would furnish it in abundance, increased by the

heavy rains, frequent in that region during springtime.

It is needless to add that the Mayor of Morganton in his role of

hunter, had brought along his gun and his dog, Nisko, who gamboled

joyously about the wagon. Nisko, however, was to remain behind at the

farm at Wildon, when we attempted our ascent. He could not possibly

follow us to the Great Eyrie with its cliffs to scale and its crevasses

to cross.

The day was beautiful, the fresh air in that climate is still cool of

an April morning. A few fleecy clouds sped rapidly overhead, driven by

a light breeze which swept across the long plains, from the distant

Atlantic. The sun peeping forth at intervals, illumined all the fresh

young verdure of the countryside.

An entire world animated the woods through which we passed. From before

our equipage fled squirrels, field-mice, parroquets of brilliant colors

and deafening loquacity. Opossums passed in hurried leaps, bearing

their young in their pouches. Myriads of birds were scattered amid the

foliage of banyans, palms, and masses of rhododendrons, so luxuriant

that their thickets were impenetrable.

We arrived that evening at Pleasant Garden, where we were comfortably

located for the night with the mayor of the town, a particular friend

of Mr. Smith. Pleasant Garden proved little more than a village; but

its mayor gave us a warm and generous reception, and we supped

pleasantly in his charming home, which stood beneath the shades of some

giant beech-trees.

Naturally the conversation turned upon our attempt to explore the

interior of the Great Eyrie. “You are right,” said our host, “until we

all know what is hidden within there, our people will remain uneasy.”

“Has nothing new occurred,” I asked, “since the last appearance of

flames above the Great Eyrie?”

“Nothing, Mr. Strock. From Pleasant Garden we can see the entire crest

of the mountain. Not a suspicious noise has come down to us. Not a

spark has risen. If a legion of devils is in hiding there, they must

have finished their infernal cookery, and soared away to some other

haunt.”

“Devils!” cried Mr. Smith. “Well, I hope they have not decamped without

leaving some traces of their occupation, some parings of hoofs or horns

or tails. We shall find them out.”

On the morrow, the twenty-ninth of April, we started again at dawn. By

the end of this second day, we expected to reach the farm of Wildon at

the foot of the mountain. The country was much the same as before,

except that our road led more steeply upward. Woods and marshes

alternated, though the latter grew sparser, being drained by the sun as

we approached the higher levels. The country was also less populous.

There were only a few little hamlets, almost lost beneath the beech

trees, a few lonely farms, abundantly watered by the many streams that

rushed downward toward the Catawba River.

The smaller birds and beasts grew yet more numerous. “I am much tempted

to take my gun,” said Mr. Smith, “and to go off with Nisko. This will

be the first time that I have passed here without trying my luck with

the partridges and hares. The good beasts will not recognize me. But

not only have we plenty of provisions, but we have a bigger chase on

hand today. The chase of a mystery.”

“And let us hope,” added I, “we do not come back disappointed hunters.”

In the afternoon the whole chain of the Blueridge stretched before us

at a distance of only six miles. The mountain crests were sharply

outlined against the clear sky. Well wooded at the base, they grew more

bare and showed only stunted evergreens toward the summit. There the

scraggly trees, grotesquely twisted, gave to the rocky heights a bleak

and bizarre appearance. Here and there the ridge rose in sharp peaks.

On our right the Black Dome, nearly seven thousand feet high, reared

its gigantic head, sparkling at times above the clouds.

“Have you ever climbed that dome, Mr. Smith?” I asked.

“No,” answered he, “but I am told that it is a very difficult ascent. A

few mountaineers have climbed it; but they report that it has no

outlook commanding the crater of the Great Eyrie.”

“That is so,” said the guide, Harry Horn. “I have tried it myself.”

“Perhaps,” suggested I, “the weather was unfavorable.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Strock, it was unusually clear. But the wall of

the Great Eyrie on that side rose so high, it completely hid the

interior.”

“Forward,” cried Mr. Smith. “I shall not be sorry to set foot where no

person has ever stepped, or even looked, before.”

Certainly on this day the Great Eyrie looked tranquil enough. As we

gazed upon it, there rose from its heights neither smoke nor flame.

Toward five o’clock our expedition halted at the Wildon farm, where the

tenants warmly welcomed their landlord. The farmer assured us that

nothing notable had happened about the Great Eyrie for some time. We

supped at a common table with all the people of the farm; and our sleep

that night was sound and wholly untroubled by premonitions of the

future.

On the morrow, before break of day, we set out for the ascent of the

mountain. The height of the Great Eyrie scarce exceeds five thousand

feet. A modest altitude, often surpassed in this section of the

Alleghanies. As we were already more than three thousand feet above sea

level, the fatigue of the ascent could not be great. A few hours should

suffice to bring us to the crest of the crater. Of course, difficulties

might present themselves, precipices to scale, clefts and breaks in the

ridge might necessitate painful and even dangerous detours. This was

the unknown, the spur to our attempt. As I said, our guides knew no

more than we upon this point. What made me anxious, was, of course, the

common report that the Great Eyrie was wholly inaccessible. But this

remained unproven. And then there was the new chance that a fallen

block had left a breach in the rocky wall.

“At last,” said Mr. Smith to me, after lighting the first pipe of the

twenty or more which he smoked each day, “we are well started. As to

whether the ascent will take more or less time—”

“In any case, Mr. Smith,” interrupted I, “you and I are fully resolved

to pursue our quest to the end.”

“Fully resolved, Mr. Strock.”

“My chief has charged me to snatch the secret from this demon of the

Great Eyrie.”

“We will snatch it from him, willing or unwilling,” vowed Mr. Smith,

calling Heaven to witness. “Even if we have to search the very bowels

of the mountain.”

“As it may happen, then,” said I, “that our excursion will be prolonged

beyond today, it will be well to look to our provisions.”

“Be easy, Mr. Strock; our guides have food for two days in their

knapsacks, besides what we carry ourselves. Moreover, though I left my

brave Nisko at the farm, I have my gun. Game will be plentiful in the

woods and gorges of the lower part of the mountain, and perhaps at the

top we shall find a fire to cook it, already lighted.”

“Already lighted, Mr. Smith?”

“And why not, Mr. Strock? These flames! These superb flames, which have

so terrified our country folk! Is their fire absolutely cold, is no

spark to be found beneath their ashes? And then, if this is truly a

crater, is the volcano so wholly extinct that we cannot find there a

single ember? Bah! This would be but a poor volcano if it hasn’t enough

fire even to cook an egg or roast a potato. Come, I repeat, we shall

see! We shall see!”

At that point of the investigation I had, I confess, no opinion formed.

I had my orders to examine the Great Eyrie. If it proved harmless, I

would announce it, and people would be reassured. But at heart, I must

admit, I had the very natural desire of a man possessed by the demon of

curiosity. I should be glad, both for my own sake, and for the renown

which would attach to my mission if the Great Eyrie proved the center

of the most remarkable phenomena—of which I would discover the cause.

Our ascent began in this order. The two guides went in front to seek

out the most practicable paths. Elias Smith and I followed more

leisurely. We mounted by a narrow and not very steep gorge amid rocks

and trees. A tiny stream trickled downward under our feet. During the

rainy season or after a heavy shower, the water doubtless bounded from

rock to rock in tumultuous cascades. But it evidently was fed only by

the rain, for now we could scarcely trace its course. It could not be

the outlet of any lake within the Great Eyrie.

After an hour of climbing, the slope became so steep that we had to

turn, now to the right, now to the left; and our progress was much

delayed. Soon the gorge became wholly impracticable; its cliff-like

sides offered no sufficient foothold. We had to cling by branches, to

crawl upon our knees. At this rate the top would not be reached before

sundown.

“Faith!” cried Mr. Smith, stopping for breath. “I realize why the

climbers of the Great Eyrie have been few, so few, that it has never

been ascended within my knowledge.”

“The fact is,” I responded, “that it would be much toil for very little

profit. And if we had not special reasons to persist in our attempt.”

“You never said a truer word,” declared Harry Horn. “My comrade and I

have scaled the Black Dome several times, but we never met such

obstacles as these.”

“The difficulties seem almost impassable,” added James Bruck.

The question now was to determine to which side we should turn for a

new route; to right, as to left, arose impenetrable masses of trees and

bushes. In truth even the scaling of cliffs would have been more easy.

Perhaps if we could get above this wooded slope we could advance with

surer foot. Now, we could only go ahead blindly, and trust to the

instincts of our two guides. James Bruck was especially useful. I

believe that that gallant lad would have equaled a monkey in lightness

and a wild goat in agility. Unfortunately, neither Elias Smith nor I

was able to climb where he could.

However, when it is a matter of real need with me, I trust I shall

never be backward, being resolute by nature and well-trained in bodily

exercise. Where James Bruck went, I was determined to go, also; though

it might cost me some uncomfortable falls. But it was not the same with

the first magistrate of Morganton, less young, less vigorous, larger,

stouter, and less persistent than we others. Plainly he made every

effort, not to retard our progress, but he panted like a seal, and soon

I insisted on his stopping to rest.

In short, it was evident that the ascent of the Great Eyrie would

require far more time than we had estimated. We had expected to reach

the foot of the rocky wall before eleven o’clock, but we now saw that

mid-day would still find us several hundred feet below it.

Toward ten o’clock, after repeated attempts to discover some more

practicable route, after numberless turnings and returnings, one of the

guides gave the signal to halt. We found ourselves at last on the upper

border of the heavy wood. The trees, more thinly spaced, permitted us a

glimpse upward to the base of the rocky wall which constituted the true

Great Eyrie.

“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Smith, leaning against a mighty pine tree, “a

little respite, a little repose, and even a little repast would not go

badly.”

“We will rest an hour,” said I.

“Yes; after working our lungs and our legs, we will make our stomachs

work.”

We were all agreed on this point. A rest would certainty freshen us.

Our only cause for inquietude was now the appearance of the precipitous

slope above us. We looked up toward one of those bare strips called in

that region, slides. Amid this loose earth, these yielding stones, and

these abrupt rocks there was no roadway.

Harry Horn said to his comrade, “It will not be easy.”

“Perhaps impossible,” responded Bruck.

Their comments caused me secret uneasiness. If I returned without even

having scaled the mountain, my mission would be a complete failure,

without speaking of the torture to my curiosity. And when I stood again

before Mr. Ward, shamed and confused, I should cut but a sorry figure.

We opened our knapsacks and lunched moderately on bread and cold meat.

Our repast finished, in less than half an hour, Mr. Smith sprang up

eager to push forward once more. James Bruck took the lead; and we had

only to follow him as best we could.

We advanced slowly. Our guides did not attempt to conceal their doubt

and hesitation. Soon Horn left us and went far ahead to spy out which

road promised most chance of success.

Twenty minutes later he returned and led us onward toward the

northwest. It was on this side that the Black Dome rose at a distance

of three or four miles. Our path was still difficult and painful, amid

the sliding stones, held in place only occasionally by wiry bushes. At

length after a weary struggle, we gained some two hundred feet further

upward and found ourselves facing a great gash, which broke the earth

at this spot. Here and there were scattered roots recently uptorn,

branches broken off, huge stones reduced to powder, as if an avalanche

had rushed down this flank of the mountain.

“That must be the path taken by the huge block which broke away from

the Great Eyrie,” commented James Bruck.

“No doubt,” answered Mr. Smith, “and I think we had better follow the

road that it has made for us.”

It was indeed this gash that Harry Horn had selected for our ascent.

Our feet found lodgment in the firmer earth which had resisted the

passage of the monster rock. Our task thus became much easier, and our

progress was in a straight line upward, so that toward half past eleven

we reached the upper border of the “slide.”

Before us, less than a hundred feet away, but towering a hundred feet

straight upwards in the air rose the rocky wall which formed the final

crest, the last defence of the Great Eyrie.

From this side, the summit of the wall showed capriciously irregular,

rising in rude towers and jagged needles. At one point the outline

appeared to be an enormous eagle silhouetted against the sky, just

ready to take flight. Upon this side, at least, the precipice was

insurmountable.

“Rest a minute,” said Mr. Smith, “and we will see if it is possible to

make our way around the base of this cliff.”

“At any rate,” said Harry Horn, “the great block must have fallen from

this part of the cliff; and it has left no breach for entering.”

They were both right; we must seek entrance elsewhere. After a rest of

ten minutes, we clambered up close to the foot of the wall, and began

to make a circuit of its base.

Assuredly the Great Eyrie now took on to my eyes an aspect absolutely

fantastic. Its heights seemed peopled by dragons and huge monsters. If

chimeras, griffins, and all the creations of mythology had appeared to

guard it, I should have been scarcely surprised.

With great difficulty and not without danger we continued our tour of

this circumvallation, where it seemed that nature had worked as man

does, with careful regularity. Nowhere was there any break in the

fortification; nowhere a fault in the strata by which one might clamber

up. Always this mighty wall, a hundred feet in height!

After an hour and a half of this laborious circuit, we regained our

starting-place. I could not conceal my disappointment, and Mr. Smith

was not less chagrined than I.

“A thousand devils!” cried he, “we know no better than before what is

inside this confounded Great Eyrie, nor even if it is a crater.”

“Volcano, or not,” said I, “there are no suspicious noises now; neither

smoke nor flame rises above it; nothing whatever threatens an

eruption.”

This was true. A profound silence reigned around us; and a perfectly

clear sky shone overhead. We tasted the perfect calm of great

altitudes.

It was worth noting that the circumference of the huge wall was about

twelve or fifteen hundred feet. As to the space enclosed within, we

could scarce reckon that without knowing the thickness of the

encompassing wall. The surroundings were absolutely deserted. Probably

not a living creature ever mounted to this height, except the few birds

of prey which soared high above us.

Our watches showed three o’clock, and Mr. Smith cried in disgust, “What

is the use of stopping here all day! We shall learn nothing more. We

must make a start, Mr. Strock, if we want to get back to Pleasant

Garden to-night.”

I made no answer, and did not move from where I was seated; so he

called again, “Come, Mr. Strock; you don’t answer.”

In truth, it cut me deeply to abandon our effort, to descend the slope

without having achieved my mission. I felt an imperious need of

persisting; my curiosity had redoubled. But what could I do? Could I

tear open this unyielding earth? Overleap the mighty cliff? Throwing

one last defiant glare at the Great Eyrie, I followed my companions.

The return was effected without great difficulty. We had only to slide

down where we had so laboriously scrambled up. Before five o’clock we

descended the last slopes of the mountain, and the farmer of Wildon

welcomed us to a much needed meal.

“Then you didn’t get inside?” said he.

“No,” responded Mr. Smith, “and I believe that the inside exists only

in the imagination of our country folk.”

At half past eight our carriage drew up before the house of the Mayor

of Pleasant Garden, where we passed the night. While I strove vainly to

sleep, I asked myself if I should not stop there in the village and

organize a new ascent. But what better chance had it of succeeding than

the first? The wisest course was, doubtless, to return to Washington

and consult Mr. Ward.

So, the next day, having rewarded our two guides, I took leave of Mr.

Smith at Morganton, and that same evening left by train for Washington.

IV.

A MEETING OF THE AUTOMOBILE CLUB

Was the mystery of the Great Eyrie to be solved some day by chances

beyond our imagining? That was known only to the future. And was the

solution a matter of the first importance? That was beyond doubt, since

the safety of the people of western Carolina perhaps depended upon it.

Yet a fortnight after my return to Washington, public attention was

wholly distracted from this problem by another very different in

nature, but equally astonishing.

Toward the middle of that month of May the newspapers of Pennsylvania

informed their readers of some strange occurrences in different parts

of the state. On the roads which radiated from Philadelphia, the chief

city, there circulated an extraordinary vehicle, of which no one could

describe the form, or the nature, or even the size, so rapidly did it

rush past. It was an automobile; all were agreed on that. But as to

what motor drove it, only imagination could say; and when the popular

imagination is aroused, what limit is there to its hypotheses?

At that period the most improved automobiles, whether driven by steam,

gasoline, or electricity, could not accomplish much more than sixty

miles an hour, a speed that the railroads, with their most rapid

expresses, scarce exceed on the best lines of America and Europe. Now,

this new automobile which was astonishing the world, traveled at more

than double this speed.

It is needless to add that such a rate constituted an extreme danger on

the highroads, as much so for vehicles, as for pedestrians. This

rushing mass, coming like a thunder-bolt, preceded by a formidable

rumbling, caused a whirlwind, which tore the branches from the trees

along the road, terrified the animals browsing in adjoining fields, and

scattered and killed the birds, which could not resist the suction of

the tremendous air currents engendered by its passage.

And, a bizarre detail to which the newspapers drew particular

attention, the surface of the roads was scarcely even scratched by the

wheels of the apparition, which left behind it no such ruts as are

usually made by heavy vehicles. At most there was a light touch, a mere

brushing of the dust. It was only the tremendous speed which raised

behind the vehicle such whirlwinds of dust.

“It is probable,” commented the New York Herald, “that the extreme

rapidity of motion destroys the weight.”

Naturally there were protests from all sides. It was impossible to

permit the mad speed of this apparition which threatened to overthrow

and destroy everything in its passage, equipages and people. But how

could it be stopped? No one knew to whom the vehicle belonged, nor

whence it came, nor whither it went. It was seen but for an instant as

it darted forward like a bullet in its dizzy flight. How could one

seize a cannon-ball in the air, as it leaped from the mouth of the gun?

I repeat, there was no evidence as to the character of the propelling

engine. It left behind it no smoke, no steam, no odor of gasoline, or

any other oil. It seemed probable, therefore, that the vehicle ran by

electricity, and that its accumulators were of an unknown model, using

some unknown fluid.

The public imagination, highly excited, readily accepted every sort of

rumor about this mysterious automobile. It was said to be a

supernatural car. It was driven by a specter, by one of the chauffeurs

of hell, a goblin from another world, a monster escaped from some

mythological menagerie, in short, the devil in person, who could defy

all human intervention, having at his command invisible and infinite

satanic powers.

But even Satan himself had no right to run at such speed over the roads

of the United States without a special permit, without a number on his

car, and without a regular license. And it was certain that not a

single municipality had given him permission to go two hundred miles an

hour. Public security demanded that some means be found to unmask the

secret of this terrible chauffeur.

Moreover, it was not only Pennsylvania that served as the theater of

his sportive eccentricities. The police reported his appearance in

other states; in Kentucky near Frankfort; in Ohio near Columbus; in

Tennessee near Nashville; in Missouri near Jefferson; and finally in

Illinois in the neighborhood of Chicago.

The alarm having been given, it became the duty of the authorities to

take steps against this public danger. To arrest or even to halt an

apparition moving at such speed was scarcely practicable. A better way

would be to erect across the roads solid gateways with which the flying

machine must come in contact sooner or later, and be smashed into a

thousand pieces.

“Nonsense!” declared the incredulous. “This madman would know well how

to circle around such obstructions.”

“And if necessary,” added others, “the machine would leap over the

barriers.”

“And if he is indeed the devil, he has, as a former angel, presumably

preserved his wings, and so he will take to flight.”

But this last was but the suggestion of foolish old gossips who did not

stop to study the matter. For if the King of Hades possessed a pair of

wings, why did he obstinately persist in running around on the earth at

the risk of crushing his own subjects, when he might more easily have

hurled himself through space as free as a bird.

Such was the situation when, in the last week of May, a fresh event

occurred, which seemed to show that the United States was indeed

helpless in the hands of some unapproachable monster. And after the New

World, would not the Old in its turn, be desecrated by the mad career

of this remarkable automobilist?

The following occurrence was reported in all the newspapers of the

Union, and with what comments and outcries it is easy to imagine.

A race was to be held by the automobile Club of Wisconsin, over the

roads of that state of which Madison is the capital. The route laid out

formed an excellent track, about two hundred miles in length, starting

from Prairie-du-chien on the western frontier, passing by Madison and

ending a little above Milwaukee on the borders of Lake Michigan. Except

for the Japanese road between Nikko and Namode, bordered by giant

cypresses, there is no better track in the world than this of

Wisconsin. It runs straight and level as an arrow for sometimes fifty

miles at a stretch. Many and noted were the machines entered for this

great race. Every kind of motor vehicle was permitted to compete, even

motorcycles, as well as automobiles. The machines were of all makes and

nationalities. The sum of the different prizes reached fifty thousand

dollars, so that the race was sure to be desperately contested. New

records were expected to be made.

Calculating on the maximum speed hitherto attained, of perhaps eighty

miles an hour, this international contest covering two hundred miles

would last about three hours. And, to avoid all danger, the state

authorities of Wisconsin had forbidden all other traffic between

Prairie-du-chien and Milwaukee during three hours on the morning of the

thirtieth of May. Thus, if there were any accidents, those who suffered

would be themselves to blame.

There was an enormous crowd; and it was not composed only of the people

of Wisconsin. Many thousands gathered from the neighboring states of

Illinois, Michigan, Iowa, Indiana, and even from New York. Among the

sportsmen assembled were many foreigners, English, French, Germans and

Austrians, each nationality, of course, supporting the chauffeurs of

its land. Moreover, as this was the United States, the country of the

greatest gamblers of the world, bets were made of every sort and of

enormous amounts.

The start was to be made at eight o’clock in the morning; and to avoid

crowding and the accidents which must result from it, the automobiles

were to follow each other at two minute intervals, along the roads

whose borders were black with spectators.

The first ten racers, numbered by lot, were dispatched between eight

o’clock and twenty minutes past. Unless there was some disastrous

accident, some of these machines would surely arrive at the goal by

eleven o’clock. The others followed in order.

An hour and a half had passed. There remained but a single contestant

at Prairie-du-chien. Word was sent back and forth by telephone every

five minutes as to the order of the racers. Midway between Madison and

Milwaukee, the lead was held by a machine of Renault brothers, four

cylindered, of twenty horsepower, and with Michelin tires. It was

closely followed by a Harvard-Watson car and by a Dion-Bouton. Some

accidents had already occurred, other machines were hopelessly behind.

Not more than a dozen would contest the finish. Several chauffeurs had

been injured, but not seriously. And even had they been killed, the

death of men is but a detail, not considered of great importance in

that astonishing country of America.

Naturally the excitement became more intense as one approached the

finishing line near Milwaukee. There were assembled the most curious,

the most interested; and there the passions of the moment were

unchained. By ten o’clock it was evident, that the first prize, twenty

thousand dollars, lay between five machines, two American, two French,

and one English. Imagine, therefore, the fury with which bets were

being made under the influence of national pride. The regular book

makers could scarcely meet the demands of those who wished to wager.

Offers and amounts were hurled from lip to lip with feverish rapidity.

“One to three on the Harvard-Watson!”

“One to two on the Dion-Bouton!”

“Even money on the Renault!”

These cries rang along the line of spectators at each new announcement

from the telephones.

Suddenly at half-past nine by the town clock of Prairie-du-chien, two

miles beyond that town was heard a tremendous noise and rumbling which

proceeded from the midst of a flying cloud of dust accompanied by

shrieks like those of a naval siren.

Scarcely had the crowds time to draw to one side, to escape a

destruction which would have included hundreds of victims. The cloud

swept by like a hurricane. No one could distinguish what it was that

passed with such speed. There was no exaggeration in saying that its

rate was at least one hundred and fifty miles an hour.

The apparition passed and disappeared in an instant, leaving behind it

a long train of white dust, as an express locomotive leaves behind a

train of smoke. Evidently it was an automobile with a most

extraordinary motor. If it maintained this arrow-like speed, it would

reach the contestants in the fore-front of the race; it would pass them

with this speed double their own; it would arrive first at the goal.

And then from all parts arose an uproar, as soon as the spectators had

nothing more to fear.

“It is that infernal machine.”

“Yes; the one the police cannot stop.”

“But it has not been heard of for a fortnight.”

“It was supposed to be done for, destroyed, gone forever.”

“It is a devil’s car, driven by hellfire, and with Satan driving!”

In truth, if he were not the devil, who could this mysterious chauffeur

be, driving with this unbelievable velocity, his no less mysterious

machine? At least it was beyond doubt that this was the same machine

which had already attracted so much attention. If the police believed

that they had frightened it away, that it was never to be heard of

more, well, the police were mistaken which happens in America as

elsewhere.

The first stunned moment of surprise having passed, many people rushed

to the telephones to warn those further along the route of the danger

which menaced, not only the people, but also the automobiles scattered

along the road.

When this terrible madman arrived like an avalanche they would be

smashed to pieces, ground into powder, annihilated!

And from the collision might not the destroyer himself emerge safe and

sound? He must be so adroit, this chauffeur of chauffeurs, he must

handle his machine with such perfection of eye and hand, that he knew,

no doubt, how to escape from every situation. Fortunately the Wisconsin

authorities had taken such precautions that the road would be clear

except for contesting automobiles. But what right had this machine

among them!

And what said the racers themselves, who, warned by telephone, had to

sheer aside from the road in their struggle for the grand prize? By

their estimate, this amazing vehicle was going at least one hundred and

thirty miles an hour. Fast as was their speed, it shot by them at such

a rate that they could hardly make out even the shape of the machine, a

sort of lengthened spindle, probably not over thirty feet long. Its

wheels spun with such velocity that they could scarce be seen. For the

rest, the machine left behind it neither smoke nor scent.

As for the driver, hidden in the interior of his machine, he had been

quite invisible. He remained as unknown as when he had first appeared

on the various roads throughout the country.

Milwaukee was promptly warned of the coming of this interloper. Fancy

the excitement the news caused! The immediate purpose agreed upon was

to stop this projectile, to erect across its route an obstacle against

which it would smash into a thousand pieces. But was there time? Would

not the machine appear at any moment? And what need was there, since

the track ended on the edge of Lake Michigan, and so the vehicle would

be forced to stop there anyway, unless its supernatural driver could

ride the water as well as the land.

Here, also, as all along the route, the most extravagant suggestions

were offered. Even those who would not admit that the mysterious

chauffeur must be Satan in person allowed that he might be some monster

escaped from the fantastic visions of the Apocalypse.

And now there were no longer minutes to wait. Any second might bring

the expected apparition.

It was not yet eleven o’clock when a rumbling was heard far down the

track, and the dust rose in violent whirlwinds. Harsh whistlings

shrieked through the air warning all to give passage to the monster.

It did not slacken speed at the finish. Lake Michigan was not half a

mile beyond, and the machine must certainly be hurled into the water!

Could it be that the mechanician was no longer master of his mechanism?

There could be little doubt of it. Like a shooting star, the vehicle

flashed through Milwaukee. When it had passed the city, would it plunge

itself to destruction in the waters of Lake Michigan?

At any rate when it disappeared at a slight bend in the road no trace

was to be found of its passage.

V.

ALONG THE SHORES OF NEW ENGLAND

At the time when the newspapers were filled with these reports, I was

again in Washington. On my return I had presented myself at my chief’s

office, but had been unable to see him. Family affairs had suddenly

called him away, to be absent some weeks. Mr. Ward, however,

undoubtedly knew of the failure of my mission. The newspapers,

especially those of North Carolina, had given full details of our

ascent of the Great Eyrie.

Naturally, I was much annoyed by this delay which further fretted my

restless curiosity. I could turn to no other plans for the future.

Could I give up the hope of learning the secret of the Great Eyrie? No!

I would return to the attack a dozen times if necessary, and despite

every failure.

Surely, the winning of access within those walls was not a task beyond

human power. A scaffolding might be raised to the summit of the cliff;

or a tunnel might be pierced through its depth. Our engineers met

problems more difficult every day. But in this case it was necessary to

consider the expense, which might easily grow out of proportion to the

advantages to be gained. A tunnel would cost many thousand dollars, and

what good would it accomplish beyond satisfying the public curiosity

and my own?

My personal resources were wholly insufficient for the achievement. Mr.

Ward, who held the government’s funds, was away. I even thought of

trying to interest some millionaire. Oh, if I could but have promised

one of them some gold or silver mines within the mountain! But such an

hypothesis was not admissible. The chain of the Appalachians is not

situated in a gold bearing region like that of the Pacific mountains,

the Transvaal, or Australia.

It was not until the fifteenth of June that Mr. Ward returned to duty.

Despite my lack of success he received me warmly. “Here is our poor

Strock!” cried he, at my entrance. “Our poor Strock, who has failed!”

“No more, Mr. Ward, than if you had charged me to investigate the

surface of the moon,” answered I. “We found ourselves face to face with

purely natural obstacles insurmountable with the forces then at our

command.”

“I do not doubt that, Strock, I do not doubt that in the least.

Nevertheless, the fact remains that you have discovered nothing of what

is going on within the Great Eyrie.”

“Nothing, Mr. Ward.”

“You saw no sign of fire?”

“None.”

“And you heard no suspicious noises whatever?”

“None.”

“Then it is still uncertain if there is really a volcano there?”

“Still uncertain, Mr. Ward. But if it is there, we have good reason to

believe that it has sunk into a profound sleep.”

“Still,” returned Mr. Ward, “there is nothing to show that it will not

wake up again any day, Strock. It is not enough that a volcano should

sleep, it must be absolutely extinguished unless indeed all these

threatening rumors have been born solely in the Carolinian

imagination.”

“That is not possible, sir,” I said. “Both Mr. Smith, the mayor of

Morganton and his friend the mayor of Pleasant Garden, are reliable

men. And they speak from their own knowledge in this matter. Flames

have certainly risen above the Great Eyrie. Strange noises have issued

from it. There can be no doubt whatever of the reality of these

phenomena.”

“Granted,” declared Mr. Ward. “I admit that the evidence is

unassailable. So the deduction to be drawn is that the Great Eyrie has

not yet given up its secret.”

“If we are determined to know it, Mr. Ward, the solution is only a

solution of expense. Pickaxes and dynamite would soon conquer those

walls.”

“No doubt,” responded the chief, “but such an undertaking hardly seems

justified, since the mountain is now quiet. We will wait awhile and

perhaps nature herself will disclose her mystery.”

“Mr. Ward, believe me that I regret deeply that I have been unable to

solve the problem you entrusted to me,” I said.

“Nonsense! Do not upset yourself, Strock. Take your defeat

philosophically. We cannot always be successful, even in the police.

How many criminals escape us! I believe we should never capture one of

them, if they were a little more intelligent and less imprudent, and if

they did not compromise themselves so stupidly. Nothing, it seems to

me, would be easier than to plan a crime, a theft or an assassination,

and to execute it without arousing any suspicions, or leaving any

traces to be followed. You understand, Strock, I do not want to give

our criminals lessons; I much prefer to have them remain as they are.

Nevertheless there are many whom the police will never be able to track

down.”

On this matter I shared absolutely the opinion of my chief. It is among

rascals that one finds the most fools. For this very reason I had been

much surprised that none of the authorities had been able to throw any

light upon the recent performances of the “demon automobile.” And when

Mr. Ward brought up this subject, I did not conceal from him my

astonishment.

He pointed out that the vehicle was practically unpursuable; that in

its earlier appearances, it had apparently vanished from all roads even

before a telephone message could be sent ahead. Active and numerous

police agents had been spread throughout the country, but no one of

them had encountered the delinquent. He did not move continuously from

place to place, even at his amazing speed, but seemed to appear only

for a moment and then to vanish into thin air. True, he had at length

remained visible along the entire route from Prairie-du-Chien to

Milwaukee, and he had covered in less than an hour and a half this

track of two hundred miles.

But since then, there had been no news whatever of the machine. Arrived

at the end of the route, driven onward by its own impetus, unable to

stop, had it indeed been engulfed within the waters of Lake Michigan?

Must we conclude that the machine and its driver had both perished,

that there was no longer any danger to be feared from either? The great

majority of the public refused to accept this conclusion. They fully

expected the machine to reappear.

Mr. Ward frankly admitted that the whole matter seemed to him most

extraordinary; and I shared his view. Assuredly if this infernal

chauffeur did not return, his apparition would have to be placed among

those superhuman mysteries which it is not given to man to understand.

We had fully discussed this affair, the chief and I; and I thought that

our interview was at an end, when, after pacing the room for a few

moments, he said abruptly, “Yes, what happened there at Milwaukee was

very strange. But here is something no less so!”

With this he handed me a report which he had received from Boston, on a

subject of which the evening papers had just begun to apprise their

readers. While I read it, Mr. Ward was summoned from the room. I seated

myself by the window and studied with extreme attention the matter of

the report.

For some days the waters along the coast of Maine, Connecticut, and

Massachusetts had been the scene of an appearance which no one could

exactly describe. A moving body would appear amid the waters, some two

or three miles off shore, and go through rapid evolutions. It would

flash for a while back and forth among the waves and then dart out of

sight.

The body moved with such lightning speed that the best telescopes could

hardly follow it. Its length did not seem to exceed thirty feet. Its

cigar-shaped form and greenish color, made it difficult to distinguish

against the background of the ocean. It had been most frequently

observed along the coast between Cape Cod and Nova Scotia. From

Providence, from Boston, from Portsmouth, and from Portland motor boats

and steam launches had repeatedly attempted to approach this moving

body and even to give it chase. They could not get anywhere near it.

Pursuit seemed useless. It darted like an arrow beyond the range of

view.

Naturally, widely differing opinions were held as to the nature of this

object. But no hypothesis rested on any secure basis. Seamen were as

much at a loss as others. At first sailors thought it must be some

great fish, like a whale. But it is well known that all these animals

come to the surface with a certain regularity to breathe, and spout up

columns of mingled air and water. Now, this strange animal, if it was

an animal, had never “blown” as the whalers say; nor had it ever made

any noises of breathing. Yet if it were not one of these huge marine

mammals, how was this unknown monster to be classed? Did it belong

among the legendary dwellers in the deep, the krakens, the octopuses,

the leviathans, the famous sea-serpents?

At any rate, since this monster, whatever it was, had appeared along

the New England shores, the little fishing-smacks and pleasure boats

dared not venture forth. Wherever it appeared the boats fled to the

nearest harbor, as was but prudent. If the animal was of a ferocious

character, none cared to await its attack.

As to the large ships and coast steamers, they had nothing to fear from

any monster, whale or otherwise. Several of them had seen this creature

at a distance of some miles. But when they attempted to approach, it

fled rapidly away. One day, even, a fast United States gun boat went

out from Boston, if not to pursue the monster, at least to send after

it a few cannon shot. Almost instantly the animal disappeared, and the

attempt was vain. As yet, however, the monster had shown no intention

of attacking either boats or people.

At this moment Mr. Ward returned and I interrupted my reading to say,

“There seems as yet no reason to complain of this sea-serpent. It flees

before big ships. It does not pursue little ones. Feeling and

intelligence are not very strong in fishes.”

“Yet their emotions exist, Strock, and if strongly aroused—”

“But, Mr. Ward, the beast seems not at all dangerous. One of two things

will happen. Either it will presently quit these coasts, or finally it

will be captured and we shall be able to study it at our leisure here

in the museum of Washington.”

“And if it is not a marine animal?” asked Mr. Ward.

“What else can it be?” I protested in surprise.

“Finish your reading,” said Mr. Ward.

I did so; and found that in the second part of the report, my chief had

underlined some passages in red pencil.

For some time no one had doubted that this was an animal; and that, if

it were vigorously pursued, it would at last be driven from our shores.

But a change of opinion had come about. People began to ask if, instead

of a fish, this were not some new and remarkable kind of boat.

Certainly in that case its engine must be one of amazing power. Perhaps

the inventor before selling the secret of his invention, sought to

attract public attention and to astound the maritime world. Such surety

in the movements of his boat, grace in its every evolution, such ease

in defying pursuit by its arrow-like speed, surely, these were enough

to arouse world-wide curiosity!

At that time great progress had been made in the manufacture of marine

engines. Huge transatlantic steamers completed the ocean passage in

five days. And the engineers had not yet spoken their last word.

Neither were the navies of the world behind. The cruisers, the torpedo

boats, the torpedo-destroyers, could match the swiftest steamers of the

Atlantic and Pacific, or of the Indian trade.

If, however, this were a boat of some new design, there had as yet been

no opportunity to observe its form. As to the engines which drove it,

they must be of a power far beyond the fastest known. By what force

they worked, was equally a problem. Since the boat had no sails, it was

not driven by the wind; and since it had no smoke-stack, it was not

driven by steam.

At this point in the report, I again paused in my reading and

considered the comment I wished to make.

“What are you puzzling over, Strock?” demanded my chief.

“It is this, Mr. Ward; the motive power of this so-called boat must be

as tremendous and as unknown as that of the remarkable automobile which

has so amazed us all.”

“So that is your idea, is it, Strock?”

“Yes, Mr. Ward.”

There was but one conclusion to be drawn. If the mysterious chauffeur

had disappeared, if he had perished with his machine in Lake Michigan,

it was equally important now to win the secret of this no less

mysterious navigator. And it must be won before he in his turn plunged

into the abyss of the ocean. Was it not the interest of the inventor to

disclose his invention? Would not the American government or any other

give him any price he chose to ask?

Yet unfortunately, since the inventor of the terrestrial apparition had

persisted in preserving his incognito, was it not to be feared that the

inventor of the marine apparition would equally preserve his? Even if

the first machine still existed, it was no longer heard from; and would

not the second, in the same way, after having disclosed its powers,

disappear in its turn, without a single trace?

What gave weight to this probability was that since the arrival of this

report at Washington twenty-four hours before, the presence of the

extraordinary boat hadn’t been announced from anywhere along the shore.

Neither had it been seen on any other coast. Though, of course, the

assertion that it would not reappear at all would have been hazardous,

to say the least.

I noted another interesting and possibly important point. It was a

singular coincidence which indeed Mr. Ward suggested to me, at the same

moment that I was considering it. This was that only after the

disappearance of the wonderful automobile had the no less wonderful

boat come into view. Moreover, their engines both possessed a most

dangerous power of locomotion. If both should go rushing at the same

time over the face of the world, the same danger would threaten mankind

everywhere, in boats, in vehicles, and on foot. Therefore it was

absolutely necessary that the police should in some manner interfere to

protect the public ways of travel.

That is what Mr. Ward pointed out to me; and our duty was obvious. But

how could we accomplish this task? We discussed the matter for some

time; and I was just about to leave when Mr. Ward made one last

suggestion.

“Have you not observed, Strock,” said he, “that there is a sort of

fantastic resemblance between the general appearance of this boat and

this automobile?”

“There is something of the sort, Mr. Ward.”

“Well, is it not possible that the two are one?”

VI.

THE FIRST LETTER

After leaving Mr. Ward I returned to my home in Long Street. There I

had plenty of time to consider this strange case uninterrupted by

either wife or children. My household consisted solely of an ancient

servant, who having been formerly in the service of my mother, had now

continued for fifteen years in mine.

Two months before I had obtained a leave of absence. It had still two

weeks to run, unless indeed some unforeseen circumstance interrupted

it, some mission which could not be delayed. This leave, as I have

shown, had already been interrupted for four days by my exploration of

the Great Eyrie.

And now was it not my duty to abandon my vacation, and endeavor to

throw light upon the remarkable events of which the road to Milwaukee

and the shore of New England had been in turn the scene? I would have

given much to solve the twin mysteries, but how was it possible to

follow the track of this automobile or this boat?

Seated in my easy chair after breakfast, with my pipe lighted, I opened

my newspaper. To what should I turn? Politics interested me but little,

with its eternal strife between the Republicans and the Democrats.

Neither did I care for the news of society, nor for the sporting page.

You will not be surprised, then, that my first idea was to see if there

was any news from North Carolina about the Great Eyrie. There was

little hope of this, however, for Mr. Smith had promised to telegraph

me at once if anything occurred. I felt quite sure that the mayor of

Morganton was as eager for information and as watchful as could have

been myself. The paper told me nothing new. It dropped idly from my

hand; and I remained deep in thought.

What most frequently recurred to me was the suggestion of Mr. Ward that

perhaps the automobile and the boat which had attracted our attention

were in reality one and the same. Very probably, at least, the two

machines had been built by the same hand. And beyond doubt, these were

similar engines, which generated this remarkable speed, more than

doubling the previous records of earth and sea.

“The same inventor!” repeated I.

Evidently this hypothesis had strong grounds. The fact that the two

machines had not yet appeared at the same time added weight to the

idea. I murmured to myself, “After the mystery of Great Eyrie, comes

that of Milwaukee and Boston. Will this new problem be as difficult to

solve as was the other?”

I noted idly that this new affair had a general resemblance to the

other, since both menaced the security of the general public. To be

sure, only the inhabitants of the Blueridge region had been in danger

from an eruption or possible earthquake at Great Eyrie. While now, on

every road of the United States, or along every league of its coasts

and harbors, every inhabitant was in danger from this vehicle or this

boat, with its sudden appearance and insane speed.

I found that, as was to be expected, the newspapers not only suggested,

but enlarged upon the dangers of the case. Timid people everywhere were

much alarmed. My old servant, naturally credulous and superstitious,

was particularly upset. That same day after dinner, as she was clearing

away the things, she stopped before me, a water bottle in one hand, the

serviette in the other, and asked anxiously, “Is there no news, sir?”

“None,” I answered, knowing well to what she referred.

“The automobile has not come back?”

“No.”

“Nor the boat?”

“Nor the boat. There is no news even in the best informed papers.”

“But—your secret police information?”

“We are no wiser.”

“Then, sir, if you please, of what use are the police?”

It is a question which has phased me more than once.

“Now you see what will happen,” continued the old housekeeper,

complainingly. “Some fine morning, he will come without warning, this

terrible chauffeur, and rush down our street here, and kill us all!”

“Good! When that happens, there will be some chance of catching him.”

“He will never be arrested, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is the devil himself, and you can’t arrest the devil!”

Decidedly, thought I, the devil has many uses; and if he did not exist

we would have to invent him, to give people some way of explaining the

inexplicable. It was he who lit the flames of the Great Eyrie. It was

he who smashed the record in the Wisconsin race. It is he who is

scurrying along the shores of Connecticut and Massachusetts. But

putting to one side this evil spirit who is so necessary, for the

convenience of the ignorant, there was no doubt that we were facing a

most bewildering problem. Had both of these machines disappeared

forever? They had passed like a meteor, like a star shooting through

space; and in a hundred years the adventure would become a legend, much

to the taste of the gossips of the next century.

For several days the newspapers of America and even those of Europe

continued to discuss these events. Editorials crowded upon editorials.

Rumors were added to rumors. Story tellers of every kind crowded to the

front. The public of two continents was interested. In some parts of

Europe there was even jealousy that America should have been chosen as

the field of such an experience. If these marvelous inventors were

American, then their country, their army and navy, would have a great

advantage over others. The United States might acquire an incontestable

superiority.

Under the date of the tenth of June, a New York paper published a

carefully studied article on this phase of the subject. Comparing the

speed of the swiftest known vessels with the smallest minimum of speed

which could possibly be assigned to the new boat, the article

demonstrated that if the United States secured this secret, Europe

would be but three days away from her, while she would still be five

days from Europe.

If our own police had searched diligently to discover the mystery of

the Great Eyrie, the secret service of every country in the world was

now interested in these new problems.

Mr. Ward referred to the matter each time I saw him. Our chat would

begin by his rallying me about my ill-success in Carolina, and I would

respond by reminding him that success there was only a question of

expense.

“Never mind, my good Strock,” said he, “there will come a chance for

our clever inspector to regain his laurels. Take now this affair of the

automobile and the boat. If you could clear that up in advance of all

the detectives of the world, what an honor it would be to our

department! What glory for you!”

“It certainly would, Mr. Ward. And if you put the matter in my charge—”

“Who knows, Strock? Let us wait a while! Let us wait!”

Matters stood thus when, on the morning of June fifteenth, my old

servant brought me a letter from the letter-carrier, a registered

letter for which I had to sign. I looked at the address. I did not know

the handwriting. The postmark, dating from two days before, was stamped

at the post office of Morganton.

Morganton! Here at last was, no doubt, news from Mr. Elias Smith.

“Yes!” exclaimed I, speaking to my old servant, for lack of another,

“it must be from Mr. Smith at last. I know no one else in Morganton.

And if he writes he has news!”

“Morganton?” said the old woman, “isn’t that the place where the demons

set fire to their mountain?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, sir! I hope you don’t mean to go back there!”

“Why not?”

“Because you will end by being burned up in that furnace of the Great

Eyrie. And I wouldn’t want you buried that way, sir.”

“Cheer up, and let us see if it is not better news than that.”

The envelope was sealed with red sealing wax, and stamped with a sort

of coat of arms, surmounted with three stars. The paper was thick and

very strong. I broke the envelope and drew out a letter. It was a

single sheet, folded in four, and written on one side only. My first

glance was for the signature.

There was no signature! Nothing but three initials at the end of the

last line!

“The letter is not from the Mayor of Morganton,” said I.

“Then from whom?” asked the old servant, doubly curious in her quality

as a woman and as an old gossip.

Looking again at the three initials of the signature, I said, “I know

no one for whom these letters would stand; neither at Morganton nor

elsewhere.”

The hand-writing was bold. Both up strokes and down strokes very sharp,

about twenty lines in all. Here is the letter, of which I, with good

reason, retained an exact copy. It was dated, to my extreme

stupefaction, from that mysterious Great Eyrie:

Great Eyrie, Blueridge Mtns,

To Mr. Strock: North Carolina, June 13th.

Chief Inspector of Police,

34 Long St., Washington, D. C.

Sir,

You were charged with the mission of penetrating the Great Eyrie.

You came on April the twenty-eighth, accompanied by the Mayor of

Morganton and two guides.

You mounted to the foot of the wall, and you encircled it, finding

it too high and steep to climb.

You sought a breech and you found none. Know this: none enter the

Great Eyrie; or if one enters, he never returns.

“Do not try again, for the second attempt will not result as did

the first, but will have grave consequences for you.

“Heed this warning, or evil fortune will come to you.

“M. o. W.”

VII.

A THIRD MACHINE

I confess that at first this letter dumfounded me. “Ohs!” and “Ahs!”

slipped from my open mouth. The old servant stared at me, not knowing

what to think.

“Oh, sir! is it bad news?”

I answered for I kept few secrets from this faithful soul by reading

her the letter from end to end. She listened with much anxiety.

“A joke, without doubt,” said I, shrugging my shoulders.

“Well,” returned my superstitious handmaid, “if it isn’t from the

devil, it’s from the devil’s country, anyway.”

Left alone, I again went over this unexpected letter. Reflection

inclined me yet more strongly to believe that it was the work of a

practical joker. My adventure was well known. The newspapers had given

it in full detail. Some satirist, such as exists even in America, must

have written this threatening letter to mock me.

To assume, on the other hand, that the Eyrie really served as the

refuge of a band of criminals, seemed absurd. If they feared that the

police would discover their retreat, surely they would not have been so

foolish as thus to force attention upon themselves. Their chief

security would lie in keeping their presence there unknown. They must

have realized that such a challenge from them would only arouse the

police to renewed activity. Dynamite or melinite would soon open an

entrance to their fortress. Moreover, how could these men have,

themselves, gained entrance into the Eyrie unless there existed a

passage which we had failed to discover? Assuredly the letter came from

a jester or a madman; and I need not worry over it, nor even consider

it.

Hence, though for an instant I had thought of showing this letter to

Mr. Ward, I decided not to do so. Surely he would attach no importance

to it. However, I did not destroy it, but locked it in my desk for safe

keeping. If more letters came of the same kind, and with the same

initials, I would attach as little weight to them as to this.

Several days passed quietly. There was nothing to lead me to expect

that I should soon quit Washington; though in my line of duty one is

never certain of the morrow. At any moment I might be sent speeding

from Oregon to Florida, from Maine to Texas. And this unpleasant

thought haunted me frequently if my next mission were no more

successful than that to the Great Eyrie, I might as well give up and

hand in my resignation from the force. Of the mysterious chauffeur or

chauffeurs, nothing more was heard. I knew that our own government

agents, as well as foreign ones, were keeping keen watch over all the

roads and rivers, all the lakes and the coasts of America. Of course,

the size of the country made any close supervision impossible; but

these twin inventors had not before chosen secluded and unfrequented

spots in which to appear. The main highway of Wisconsin on a great race

day, the harbor of Boston, incessantly crossed by thousands of boats,

these were hardly what would be called hiding-places! If the daring

driver had not perished of which there was always strong probability;

then he must have left America. Perhaps he was in the waters of the Old

World, or else resting in some retreat known only to himself, and in

that case—

“Ah!” I repeated to myself, many times, “for such a retreat, as secret

as inaccessible, this fantastic personage could not find one better

than the Great Eyrie!” But, of course, a boat could not get there, any

more than an automobile. Only high-flying birds of prey, eagles or

condors, could find refuge there.

The nineteenth of June I was going to the police bureau, when, on

leaving my house, I noticed two men who looked at me with a certain

keenness. Not knowing them, I took no notice; and if my attention was

drawn to the matter, it was because my servant spoke of it when I

returned.

For some days, she said, she had noticed that two men seemed to be

spying upon me in the street. They stood constantly, perhaps a hundred

steps from my house; and she suspected that they followed me each time

I went up the street.

“You are sure?” I asked.

“Yes, sir, and no longer ago than yesterday, when you came into the

house, these men came slipping along in your footsteps, and then went

away as soon as the door was shut behind you.”

“You must be mistaken!”

“I am not, sir.”

“And if you met these two men, you would know them?”

“I would.”

“Good;” I cried, laughing, “I see you have the very spirit for a

detective. I must engage you as a member of our force.”

“Joke if you like, sir. But I have still two good eyes, and I don’t

need spectacles to recognize people. Someone is spying on you, that’s

certain; and you should put some of your men to track them in turn.”

“All right; I promise to do so,” I said, to satisfy her. “And when my

men get after them, we shall soon know what these mysterious fellows

want of me.”

In truth I did not take the good soul’s excited announcement very

seriously. I added, however, “When I go out, I will watch the people

around me with great care.”

“That will be best, sir.”

My poor old housekeeper was always frightening herself at nothing. “If

I see them again,” she added, “I will warn you before you set foot out

of doors.”

“Agreed!” And I broke off the conversation, knowing well that if I

allowed her to run on, she would end by being sure that Beelzebub

himself and one of his chief attendants were at my heels.

The two following days, there was certainly no one spying on me, either

at my exits or entrances. So I concluded my old servant had made much

of nothing, as usual. But on the morning of the twenty-second of June,

after rushing upstairs as rapidly as her age would permit, the devoted

old soul burst into my room and in a half whisper gasped “Sir! Sir!”

“What is it?”

“They are there!”

“Who?” I queried, my mind on anything but the web she had been spinning

about me.

“The two spies!”

“Ah, those wonderful spies!”

“Themselves! In the street! Right in front of our windows! Watching the

house, waiting for you to go out.”

I went to the window and raising just an edge of the shade, so as not

to give any warning, I saw two men on the pavement.

They were rather fine-looking men, broad-shouldered and vigorous, aged

somewhat under forty, dressed in the ordinary fashion of the day, with

slouched hats, heavy woolen suits, stout walking shoes and sticks in

hand. Undoubtedly, they were staring persistently at my apparently

unwatchful house. Then, having exchanged a few words, they strolled off

a little way, and returned again.

“Are you sure these are the same men you saw before?”

“Yes, sir.”

Evidently, I could no longer dismiss her warning as a hallucination;

and I promised myself to clear up the matter. As to following the men

myself, I was presumably too well known to them. To address them

directly would probably be of no use. But that very day, one of our

best men should be put on watch, and if the spies returned on the

morrow, they should be tracked in their turn, and watched until their

identity was established.

At the moment, were they waiting to follow me to police headquarters?

For it was there that I was bound, as usual. If they accompanied me I

might be able to offer them a hospitality for which they would scarce

thank me.

I took my hat; and while the housekeeper remained peeping from the

window, I went down stairs, opened the door, and stepped into the

street.

The two men were no longer there.

Despite all my watchfulness, that day I saw no more of them as I passed

along the streets. From that time on, indeed, neither my old servant

nor I saw them again before the house, nor did I encounter them

elsewhere. Their appearance, however, was stamped upon my memory, I

would not forget them.

Perhaps after all, admitting that I had been the object of their

espionage, they had been mistaken in my identity. Having obtained a

good look at me, they now followed me no more. So in the end, I came to

regard this matter as of no more importance than the letter with the

initials, M. o. W.

Then, on the twenty-fourth of June, there came a new event, to further

stimulate both my interest and that of the general public in the

previous mysteries of the automobile and the boat. The Washington

Evening Star published the following account, which was next morning

copied by every paper in the country.

“Lake Kirdall in Kansas, forty miles west of Topeka, is little known.

It deserves wider knowledge, and doubtless will have it hereafter, for

attention is now drawn to it in a very remarkable way.

“This lake, deep among the mountains, appears to have no outlet. What

it loses by evaporation, it regains from the little neighboring

streamlets and the heavy rains.

“Lake Kirdall covers about seventy-five square miles, and its level is

but slightly below that of the heights which surround it. Shut in among

the mountains, it can be reached only by narrow and rocky gorges.

Several villages, however, have sprung up upon its banks. It is full of

fish, and fishing-boats cover its waters.

“Lake Kirdall is in many places fifty feet deep close to shore. Sharp,

pointed rocks form the edges of this huge basin. Its surges, roused by

high winds, beat upon its banks with fury, and the houses near at hand

are often deluged with spray as if with the downpour of a hurricane.

The lake, already deep at the edge, becomes yet deeper toward the

center, where in some places soundings show over three hundred feet of

water.

“The fishing industry supports a population of several thousands, and

there are several hundred fishing boats in addition to the dozen or so

of little steamers which serve the traffic of the lake. Beyond the

circle of the mountains lie the railroads which transport the products

of the fishing industry throughout Kansas and the neighboring states.

“This account of Lake Kirdall is necessary for the understanding of the

remarkable facts which we are about to report.”

And this is what the Evening Star then reported in its startling

article. “For some time past, the fishermen have noticed a strange

upheaval in the waters of the lake. Sometimes it rises as if a wave

surged up from its depths. Even in perfectly calm weather, when there

is no wind whatever, this upheaval sometimes arises in a mass of foam.

“Tossed about by violent waves and unaccountable currents, boats have

been swept beyond all control. Sometimes they have been dashed one

against another, and serious damage has resulted.

“This confusion of the waters evidently has its origin somewhere in the

depths of the lake; and various explanations have been offered to

account for it. At first, it was suggested that the trouble was due to

seismic forces, to some volcanic action beneath the lake; but this

hypothesis had to be rejected when it was recognized that the

disturbance was not confined to one locality, but spread itself over

the entire surface of the lake, either at one part or another, in the

center or along the edges, traveling along almost in a regular line and

in a way to exclude entirely all idea of earthquake or volcanic action.

“Another hypothesis suggested that it was a marine monster who thus

upheaved the waters. But unless the beast had been born in the lake and

had there grown to its gigantic proportions unsuspected, which was

scarce possible, he must have come there from outside. Lake Kirdall,

however, has no connection with any other waters. If this lake were

situated near any of the oceans, there might be subterranean canals;

but in the center of America, and at the height of some thousands of

feet above sea-level, this is not possible. In short, here is another

riddle not easy to solve, and it is much easier to point out the

impossibility of false explanations, than to discover the true one.

“Is it possible that a submarine boat is being experimented with

beneath the lake? Such boats are no longer impossible today. Some years

ago, at Bridgeport, Connecticut, there was launched a boat, The

Protector, which could go on the water, under the water, and also upon

land. Built by an inventor named Lake, supplied with two motors, an

electric one of seventy-five horse power, and a gasoline one of two

hundred and fifty horse power, it was also provided with wheels a yard

in diameter, which enabled it to roll over the roads, as well as swim

the seas.

“But even then, granting that the turmoil of Lake Kirdall might be

produced by a submarine, brought to a high degree of perfection, there

remains as before the question how could it have reached Lake Kirdall?

The lake, shut in on all sides by a circle of mountains, is no more

accessible to a submarine than to a sea-monster.

“In whatever way this last puzzling question may be solved, the nature

of this strange appearance can no longer be disputed since the

twentieth of June. On that day, in the afternoon, the schooner ‘Markel’

while speeding with all sails set, came into violent collision with

something just below the water level. There was no shoal nor rock near;

for the lake in this part is eighty or ninety feet deep. The schooner

with both her bow and her side badly broken, ran great danger of

sinking. She managed, however, to reach the shore before her decks were

completely submerged.

“When the ‘Markel’ had been pumped out and hauled up on shore, an

examination showed that she had received a blow near the bow as if from

a powerful ram.

“From this it seems evident that there is actually a submarine boat

which darts about beneath the surface of Lake Kirdall with most

remarkable rapidity.

“The thing is difficult to explain. Not only is there a question as to

how did the submarine get there? But why is it there? Why does it never

come to the surface? What reason has its owner for remaining unknown?

Are other disasters to be expected from its reckless course?”

The article in the Evening Star closed with this truly striking

suggestion: “After the mysterious automobile, came the mysterious boat.

Now comes the mysterious submarine.

“Must we conclude that the three engines are due to the genius of the

same inventor, and that the three vehicles are in truth but one?”

VIII.

AT ANY COST

The suggestion of the Star came like a revelation. It was accepted

everywhere. Not only were these three vehicles the work of the same

inventor; they were the same machine!

It was not easy to see how the remarkable transformation could be

practically accomplished from one means of locomotion to the other. How

could an automobile become a boat, and yet more, a submarine? All the

machine seemed to lack was the power of flying through the air.

Nevertheless, everything that was known of the three different

machines, as to their size, their shape, their lack of odor or of

steam, and above all their remarkable speed, seemed to imply their

identity. The public, grown blase with so many excitements, found in

this new marvel a stimulus to reawaken their curiosity.

The newspapers dwelt now chiefly on the importance of the invention.

This new engine, whether in one vehicle or three, had given proofs of

its power. What amazing proofs! The invention must be bought at any

price. The United States government must purchase it at once for the

use of the nation. Assuredly, the great European powers would stop at

nothing to be beforehand with America, and gain possession of an engine

so invaluable for military and naval use. What incalculable advantages

would it give to any nation, both on land and sea! Its destructive

powers could not even be estimated, until its qualities and limitations

were better known. No amount of money would be too great to pay for the

secret; America could not put her millions to better use.

But to buy the machine, it was necessary to find the inventor; and

there seemed the chief difficulty. In vain was Lake Kirdall searched

from end to end. Even its depths were explored with a sounding-line

without result. Must it be concluded that the submarine no longer

lurked beneath its waters? But in that case, how had the boat gotten

away? For that matter, how had it come? An insoluble problem!

The submarine was heard from no more, neither in Lake Kirdall nor

elsewhere. It had disappeared like the automobile from the roads, and

like the boat from the shores of America. Several times in my

interviews with Mr. Ward, we discussed this matter, which still filled

his mind. Our men continued everywhere on the lookout, but as

unsuccessfully as other agents.

On the morning of the twenty-seventh of June, I was summoned into the

presence of Mr. Ward.

“Well, Strock,” said he, “here is a splendid chance for you to get your

revenge.”

“Revenge for the Great Eyrie disappointment?”

“Of course.”

“What chance?” asked I, not knowing if he spoke seriously, or in jest.

“Why, here,” he answered. “Would not you like to discover the inventor

of this three-fold machine?”

“I certainly should, Mr. Ward. Give me the order to take charge of the

matter, and I will accomplish the impossible, in order to succeed. It

is true, I believe it will be difficult.”

“Undoubtedly, Strock. Perhaps even more difficult than to penetrate

into the Great Eyrie.”

It was evident that Mr. Ward was intent on rallying me about my

unsuccess. He would not do that, I felt assured, out of mere

unkindness. Perhaps then he meant to rouse my resolution. He knew me

well; and realized that I would have given anything in the world to

recoup my defeat. I waited quietly for new instructions.

Mr. Ward dropped his jesting and said to me very generously, “I know,

Strock, that you accomplished everything that depended on human powers;

and that no blame attaches to you. But we face now a matter very

different from that of the Great Eyrie. The day the government decides

to force that secret, everything is ready. We have only to spend some

thousands of dollars, and the road will be open.”

“That is what I would urge.”

“But at present,” said Mr. Ward, shaking his head, “it is much more

important to place our hands on this fantastic inventor, who so

constantly escapes us. That is work for a detective, indeed; a master

detective!”

“He has not been heard from again?”

“No; and though there is every reason to believe that he has been, and

still continues, beneath the waters of Lake Kirdall, it has been

impossible to find any trace of him anywhere around there. One would

almost fancy he had the power of making himself invisible, this Proteus

of a mechanic!”

“It seems likely,” said I, “that he will never be seen until he wishes

to be.”

“True, Strock. And to my mind there is only one way of dealing with

him, and that is to offer him such an enormous price that he cannot

refuse to sell his invention.”

Mr. Ward was right. Indeed, the government had already made the effort

to secure speech with this hero of the day, than whom surely no human

being has ever better merited the title. The press had widely spread

the news, and this extraordinary individual must assuredly know what

the government desired of him, and how completely he could name the

terms he wished.

“Surely,” added Mr. Ward, “this invention can be of no personal use to

the man, that he should hide it from the rest of us. There is every

reason why he should sell it. Can this unknown be already some

dangerous criminal who, thanks to his machine, hopes to defy all

pursuit?”

My chief then went on to explain that it had been decided to employ

other means in search of the inventor. It was possible after all that

he had perished with his machine in some dangerous maneuver. If so, the

ruined vehicle might prove almost as valuable and instructive to the

mechanical world as the man himself. But since the accident to the

schooner “Markel” on Lake Kirdall, no news of him whatever had reached

the police.

On this point Mr. Ward did not attempt to hide his disappointment and

his anxiety. Anxiety, yes, for it was manifestly becoming more and more

difficult for him to fulfill his duty of protecting the public. How

could we arrest criminals, if they could flee from justice at such

speed over both land and sea? How could we pursue them under the

oceans? And when dirigible balloons should also have reached their full

perfection, we would even have to chase men through the air! I asked

myself if my colleagues and I would not find ourselves some day reduced

to utter helplessness? If police officials, become a useless

incumbrance, would be definitely discarded by society?

Here, there recurred to me the jesting letter I had received a

fortnight before, the letter which threatened my liberty and even my

life. I recalled, also, the singular espionage of which I had been the

subject. I asked myself if I had better mention these things to Mr.

Ward. But they seemed to have absolutely no relation to the matter now

in hand. The Great Eyrie affair had been definitely put aside by the

government, since an eruption was no longer threatening. And they now

wished to employ me upon this newer matter. I waited, then, to mention

this letter to my chief at some future time, when it would be not so

sore a joke to me.

Mr. Ward again took up our conversation. “We are resolved by some means

to establish communication with this inventor. He has disappeared, it

is true; but he may reappear at any moment, and in any part of the

country. I have chosen you, Strock, to follow him the instant he

appears. You must hold yourself ready to leave Washington on the

moment. Do not quit your house, except to come here to headquarters

each day; notify me, each time by telephone, when you start from home,

and report to me personally the moment you arrive here.”

“I will follow orders exactly, Mr. Ward,” I answered. “But permit me

one question. Ought I to act alone, or will it not be better to join

with me?”

“That is what I intend,” said the chief, interrupting me. “You are to

choose two of our men whom you think the best fitted.”

“I will do so, Mr. Ward. And now, if some day or other I stand in the

presence of our man, what am I to do with him?”

“Above all things, do not lose sight of him. If there is no other way,

arrest him. You shall have a warrant.”

“A useful precaution, Mr. Ward. If he started to jump into his

automobile and to speed away at the rate we know of, I must stop him at

any cost. One cannot argue long with a man making two hundred miles an

hour!”

“You must prevent that, Strock. And the arrest made, telegraph me.

After that, the matter will be in my hands.”

“Count on me, Mr. Ward; at any hour, day or night, I shall be ready to

start with my men. I thank you for having entrusted this mission to me.

If it succeeds, it will be a great honor—”

“And of great profit,” added my chief, dismissing me.

Returning home, I made all preparations for a trip of indefinite

duration. Perhaps my good housekeeper imagined that I planned a return

to the Great Eyrie, which she regarded as an ante-chamber of hell

itself. She said nothing, but went about her work with a most

despairing face. Nevertheless, sure as I was of her discretion, I told

her nothing. In this great mission I would confide in no one.

My choice of the two men to accompany me was easily made. They both

belonged to my own department, and had many times under my direct

command given proofs of their vigor, courage and intelligence. One,

John Hart, of Illinois, was a man of thirty years; the other, aged

thirty-two, was Nab Walker, of Massachusetts. I could not have had

better assistants.

Several days passed, without news, either of the automobile, the boat,

or the submarine. There were rumors in plenty; but the police knew them

to be false. As to the reckless stories that appeared in the

newspapers, they had most of them, no foundation whatever. Even the

best journals cannot be trusted to refuse an exciting bit of news on

the mere ground of its unreliability.

Then, twice in quick succession, there came what seemed trustworthy

reports of the “man of the hour.” The first asserted that he had been

seen on the roads of Arkansas, near Little Rock. The second, that he

was in the very middle of Lake Superior.

Unfortunately, these two notices were absolutely unreconcilable; for

while the first gave the afternoon of June twenty-sixth, as the time of

appearance, the second set it for the evening of the same day. Now,

these two points of the United States territory are not less than eight

hundred miles apart. Even granting the automobile this unthinkable

speed, greater than any it had yet shown, how could it have crossed all

the intervening country unseen? How could it traverse the States of

Arkansas, Missouri, Iowa and Wisconsin, from end to end without any one

of our agents giving us warning, without any interested person rushing

to a telephone?

After these two momentary appearances, if appearances they were, the

machine again dropped out of knowledge. Mr. Ward did not think it worth

while to dispatch me and my men to either point whence it had been

reported.

Yet since this marvelous machine seemed still in existence, something

must be done. The following official notice was published in every

newspaper of the United States under July 3d. It was couched in the

most formal terms.

“During the month of April, of the present year, an automobile

traversed the roads of Pennsylvania, of Kentucky, of Ohio, of

Tennessee, of Missouri, of Illinois; and on the twenty-seventh of May,

during the race held by the American Automobile Club, it covered the

course in Wisconsin. Then it disappeared.

“During the first week of June, a boat maneuvering at great speed

appeared off the coast of New England between Cape Cod and Cape Sable,

and more particularly around Boston. Then it disappeared.

“In the second fortnight of the same month, a submarine boat was run

beneath the waters of Lake Kirdall, in Kansas. Then it disappeared.

“Everything points to the belief that the same inventor must have built

these three machines, or perhaps that they are the same machine,

constructed so as to travel both on land and water.

“A proposition is therefore addressed to the said inventor, whoever he

be, with the aim of acquiring the said machine.

“He is requested to make himself known and to name the terms upon which

he will treat with the United States government. He is also requested

to answer as promptly as possible to the Department of Federal Police,

Washington, D. C., United States of America.”

Such was the notice printed in large type on the front page of every

newspaper. Surely it could not fail to reach the eye of him for whom it

was intended, wherever he might be. He would read it. He could scarce

fail to answer it in some manner. And why should he refuse such an

unlimited offer? We had only to await his reply.

One can easily imagine how high the public curiosity rose. From morning

till night, an eager and noisy crowd pressed about the bureau of

police, awaiting the arrival of a letter or a telegram. The best

reporters were on the spot. What honor, what profit would come to the

paper which was first to publish the famous news! To know at last the

name and place of the undiscoverable unknown! And to know if he would

agree to some bargain with the government! It goes without saying that

America does things on a magnificent scale. Millions would not be

lacking for the inventor. If necessary all the millionaires in the

country would open their inexhaustible purses!

The day passed. To how many excited and impatient people it seemed to

contain more than twenty-four hours! And each hour held far more than

sixty minutes! There came no answer, no letter, no telegram! The night

following, there was still no news. And it was the same the next day

and the next.

There came, however another result, which had been fully foreseen. The

cables informed Europe of what the United States government had done.

The different Powers of the Old World hoped also to obtain possession

of the wonderful invention. Why should they not struggle for an

advantage so tremendous? Why should they not enter the contest with

their millions?

In brief, every great Power took part in the affair, France, England,

Russia, Italy, Austria, Germany. Only the states of the second order

refrained from entering, with their smaller resources, upon a useless

effort. The European press published notices identical with that of the

United States. The extraordinary “chauffeur” had only to speak, to

become a rival to the Vanderbilts, the Astors, the Goulds, the Morgans,

and the Rothschilds of every country of Europe.

And, when the mysterious inventor made no sign, what attractive offers

were held forth to tempt him to discard the secrecy in which he was

enwrapped! The whole world became a public market, an auction house

whence arose the most amazing bids. Twice a day the newspapers would

add up the amounts, and these kept rising from millions to millions.

The end came when the United States Congress, after a memorable

session, voted to offer the sum of twenty million dollars. And there

was not a citizen of the States of whatever rank, who objected to the

amount, so much importance was attached to the possession of this

prodigious engine of locomotion. As for me, I said emphatically to my

old housekeeper: “The machine is worth even more than that.”

Evidently the other nations of the world did not think so, for their

bids remained below the final sum. But how useless was this mighty

struggle of the great rivals! The inventor did not appear! He did not

exist! He had never existed! It was all a monstrous pretense of the

American newspapers. That, at least, became the announced view of the

Old World.

And so the time passed. There was no further news of our man, there was

no response from him. He appeared no more. For my part, not knowing

what to think, I commenced to lose all hope of reaching any solution to

the strange affair.

Then on the morning of the fifteenth of July, a letter without postmark

was found in the mailbox of the police bureau. After the authorities

had studied it, it was given out to the Washington journals, which

published it in facsimile, in special numbers. It was couched as

follows:

IX.

THE SECOND LETTER