My machine will be neither French nor German, nor Austrian nor Russian,
nor English nor American.
The invention will remain my own, and I shall use it as pleases me.
With it, I hold control of the entire world, and there lies no force
within the reach of humanity which is able to resist me, under any
circumstances whatsoever.
Let no one attempt to seize or stop me. It is, and will be, utterly
impossible. Whatever injury anyone attempts against me, I will return a
hundredfold.
As to the money which is offered me, I despise it! I have no need of
it. Moreover, on the day when it pleases me to have millions, or
billions, I have but to reach out my hand and take them.
Let both the Old and the New World realize this: They can accomplish
nothing against me; I can accomplish anything against them.
I sign this letter:
The Master of the World.
X.
OUTSIDE THE LAW
Such was the letter addressed to the government of the United States.
As to the person who had placed it in the mail-box of the police, no
one had seen him.
The sidewalk in front of our offices had probably not been once vacant
during the entire night. From sunset to sunrise, there had always been
people, busy, anxious, or curious, passing before our door. It is true,
however, that even then, the bearer of the letter might easily have
slipped by unseen and dropped the letter in the box. The night had been
so dark, you could scarcely see from one side of the street to the
other.
I have said that this letter appeared in facsimile in all the
newspapers to which the government communicated it. Perhaps one would
naturally imagine that the first comment of the public would be, “This
is the work of some practical joker.” It was in that way that I had
accepted my letter from the Great Eyrie, five weeks before.
But this was not the general attitude toward the present letter,
neither in Washington, nor in the rest of America. To the few who would
have maintained that the document should not be taken seriously, an
immense majority would have responded: “This letter has not the style
nor the spirit of a jester. Only one man could have written it; and
that is the inventor of this unapproachable machine.”
To most people this conclusion seemed indisputable owing to a curious
state of mind easily explainable. For all the strange facts of which
the key had hitherto been lacking, this letter furnished an
explanation. The theory now almost universally accepted was as follows.
The inventor had hidden himself for a time, only in order to reappear
more startlingly in some new light. Instead of having perished in an
accident, he had concealed himself in some retreat where the police
were unable to discover him. Then to assert positively his attitude
toward all governments he had written this letter. But instead of
dropping it in the post in any one locality, which might have resulted
in its being traced to him, he had come to Washington and deposited it
himself in the very spot suggested by the government’s official notice,
the bureau of police.
Well! If this remarkable personage had reckoned that this new proof of
his existence would make some noise in two worlds, he certainly figured
rightly. That day, the millions of good folk who read and re-read their
daily paper could to employ a well-known phrase, scarcely believe their
eyes.
As for myself, I studied carefully every phrase of the defiant
document. The hand-writing was black and heavy. An expert at
chirography would doubtless have distinguished in the lines traces of a
violent temperament, of a character stern and unsocial. Suddenly, a cry
escaped me—a cry that fortunately my housekeeper did not hear. Why had
I not noticed sooner the resemblance of the handwriting to that of the
letter I had received from Morganton?
Moreover, a yet more significant coincidence, the initials with which
my letter had been signed, did they not stand for the words “Master of
the World?”
And whence came the second letter? “On Board the ‘Terror.’” Doubtless
this name was that of the triple machine commanded by the mysterious
captain. The initials in my letter were his own signature; and it was
he who had threatened me, if I dared to renew my attempt on the Great
Eyrie.
I rose and took from my desk the letter of June thirteenth. I compared
it with the facsimile in the newspapers. There was no doubt about it.
They were both in the same peculiar hand-writing.
My mind worked eagerly. I sought to trace the probable deductions from
this striking fact, known only to myself. The man who had threatened me
was the commander of this “Terror”—startling name, only too well
justified! I asked myself if our search could not now be prosecuted
under less vague conditions. Could we not now start our men upon a
trail which would lead definitely to success? In short, what relation
existed between the “Terror” and the Great Eyrie? What connection was
there between the phenomena of the Blueridge Mountains, arid the no
less phenomenal performances of the fantastic machine?
I knew what my first step should be; and with the letter in my pocket,
I hastened to police headquarters. Inquiring if Mr. Ward was within and
receiving an affirmative reply, I hastened toward his door, and rapped
upon it with unusual and perhaps unnecessary vigor. Upon his call to
enter, I stepped eagerly into the room.
The chief had spread before him the letter published in the papers, not
a facsimile, but the original itself which had been deposited in the
letter-box of the department.
“You come as if you had important news, Strock?”
“Judge for yourself, Mr. Ward;” and I drew from my pocket the letter
with the initials.
Mr. Ward took it, glanced at its face, and asked, “What is this?”
“A letter signed only with initials, as you can see.”
“And where was it posted?”
“In Morganton, in North Carolina.”
“When did you receive it?”
“A month ago, the thirteenth of June.”
“What did you think of it then?”
“That it had been written as a joke.”
“And now Strock?”
“I think, what you will think, Mr. Ward, after you have studied it.”
My chief turned to the letter again and read it carefully. “It is
signed with three initials,” said he.
“Yes, Mr. Ward, and those initials belong to the words, ‘Master of the
World,’ in this facsimile.”
“Of which this is the original,” responded Mr. Ward, taking it up.
“It is quite evident,” I urged, “that the two letters are by the same
hand.”
“It seems so.”
“You see what threats are made against me, to protect the Great Eyrie.”
“Yes, the threat of death! But Strock, you have had this letter for a
month. Why have you not shown it to me before?”
“Because I attached no importance to it. Today, after the letter from
the ‘Terror,’ it must be taken seriously.”
“I agree with you. It appears to me most important. I even hope it may
prove the means of tracking this strange personage.”
“That is what I also hope, Mr. Ward.”
“Only what connection can possibly exist between the ‘Terror’ and the
Great Eyrie?”
“That I do not know. I cannot even imagine.”
“There can be but one explanation,” continued Mr. Ward, “though it is
almost inadmissible, even impossible.”
“And that is?”
“That the Great Eyrie was the spot selected by the inventor, where he
gathered his material.”
“That is impossible!” cried I. “In what way would he get his material
in there? And how get his machine out? After what I have seen, Mr.
Ward, your suggestion is impossible.”
“Unless, Strock—”
“Unless what?” I demanded.
“Unless the machine of this Master of the World has also wings, which
permit it to take refuge in the Great Eyrie.”
At the suggestion that the “Terror,” which had searched the deeps of
the sea, might be capable also of rivaling the vultures and the eagles,
I could not restrain an expressive shrug of incredulity. Neither did
Mr. Ward himself dwell upon the extravagant hypothesis.
He took the two letters and compared them afresh. He examined them
under a microscope, especially the signatures, and established their
perfect identity. Not only the same hand, but the same pen had written
them.
After some moments of further reflection, Mr. Ward said, “I will keep
your letter, Strock. Decidedly, I think, that you are fated to play an
important part in this strange affair or rather in these two affairs.
What thread attaches them, I cannot yet see; but I am sure the thread
exists. You have been connected with the first, and it will not be
surprising if you have a large part in the second.”
“I hope so, Mr. Ward. You know how inquisitive I am.”
“I do, Strock. That is understood. Now, I can only repeat my former
order; hold yourself in readiness to leave Washington at a moment’s
warning.”
All that day, the public excitement caused by the defiant letter
mounted steadily higher. It was felt both at the White House and at the
Capitol that public opinion absolutely demanded some action. Of course,
it was difficult to do anything. Where could one find this Master of
the World? And even if he were discovered, how could he be captured? He
had at his disposal not only the powers he had displayed, but
apparently still greater resources as yet unknown. How had he been able
to reach Lake Kirdall over the rocks; and how had he escaped from it?
Then, if he had indeed appeared on Lake Superior, how had he covered
all the intervening territory unseen?
What a bewildering affair it was altogether! This, of course, made it
all the more important to get to the bottom of it. Since the millions
of dollars had been refused, force must be employed. The inventor and
his invention were not to be bought. And in what haughty and menacing
terms he had couched his refusal! So be it! He must be treated as an
enemy of society, against whom all means became justified, that he
might be deprived of his power to injure others. The idea that he had
perished was now entirely discarded. He was alive, very much alive; and
his existence constituted a perpetual public danger!
Influenced by these ideas, the government issued the following
proclamation:
“Since the commander of the ‘Terror’ has refused to make public his
invention, at any price whatever, since the use which he makes of his
machine constitutes a public menace, against which it is impossible to
guard, the said commander of the ‘Terror’ is hereby placed beyond the
protection of the law. Any measures taken in the effort to capture or
destroy either him or his machine will be approved and rewarded.”
It was a declaration of war, war to the death against this “Master of
the World” who thought to threaten and defy an entire nation, the
American nation!
Before the day was over, various rewards of large amounts were promised
to anyone who revealed the hiding place of this dangerous inventor, to
anyone who could identify him, and to anyone who should rid the country
of him.
Such was the situation during the last fortnight of July. All was left
to the hazard of fortune. The moment the outlaw re-appeared he would be
seen and signaled, and when the chance came he would be arrested. This
could not be accomplished when he was in his automobile on land or in
his boat on the water. No; he must be seized suddenly, before he had
any opportunity to escape by means of that speed which no other machine
could equal.
I was therefore all alert, awaiting an order from Mr. Ward to start out
with my men. But the order did not arrive for the very good reason that
the man whom it concerned remained undiscovered. The end of July
approached. The newspapers continued the excitement. They published
repeated rumors. New clues were constantly being announced. But all
this was mere idle talk. Telegrams reached the police bureau from every
part of America, each contradicting and nullifying the others. The
enormous rewards offered could not help but lead to accusations,
errors, and blunders, made, many of them, in good faith. One time it
would be a cloud of dust, which must have contained the automobile. At
another time, almost any wave on any of America’s thousand lakes
represented the submarine. In truth, in the excited state of the public
imagination, apparitions assailed us from every side.
At last, on the twenty-ninth of July, I received a telephone message to
come to Mr. Ward on the instant. Twenty minutes later I was in his
cabinet.
“You leave in an hour, Strock,” said he.
“Where for?”
“For Toledo.”
“It has been seen?”
“Yes. At Toledo you will get your final orders.”
“In an hour, my men and I will be on the way.”
“Good! And, Strock, I now give you a formal order.”
“What is it, Mr. Ward?”
“To succeed! This time to succeed!”
XI.
THE CAMPAIGN
So the undiscoverable commander had reappeared upon the territory of
the United States! He had never shown himself in Europe either on the
roads or in the seas. He had not crossed the Atlantic, which apparently
he could have traversed in three days. Did he then intend to make only
America the scene of his exploits? Ought we to conclude from this that
he was an American?
Let me insist upon this point. It seemed clear that the submarine might
easily have crossed the vast sea which separates the New and the Old
World. Not only would its amazing speed have made its voyage short, in
comparison to that of the swiftest steamship, but also it would have
escaped all the storms that make the voyage dangerous. Tempests did not
exist for it. It had but to abandon the surface of the waves, and it
could find absolute calm a few score feet beneath.
But the inventor had not crossed the Atlantic, and if he were to be
captured now, it would probably be in Ohio, since Toledo is a city of
that state.
This time the fact of the machine’s appearance had been kept secret,
between the police and the agent who had warned them, and whom I was
hurrying to meet. No journal—and many would have paid high for the
chance—was printing this news. We had decided that nothing should be
revealed until our effort was at an end. No indiscretion would be
committed by either my comrades or myself.
The man to whom I was sent with an order from Mr. Ward was named Arthur
Wells. He awaited us at Toledo. The city of Toledo stands at the
western end of Lake Erie. Our train sped during the night across West
Virginia and Ohio. There was no delay; and before noon the next day the
locomotive stopped in the Toledo depot.
John Hart, Nab Walker and I stepped out with traveling bags in our
hands, and revolvers in our pockets. Perhaps we should need weapons for
an attack, or even to defend ourselves. Scarcely had I stepped from the
train when I picked out the man who awaited us. He was scanning the
arriving passengers impatiently, evidently as eager and full of haste
as I.