“THE KING IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE KING!”
The King, of all the company, seemed to be the only one who had
remained perfectly cool. He was like a man who realizing the gravity
of the situation yet had nerved himself to meet it.
“Mr. Edestone,” he said, as if speaking to one of his own naval
officers, “you will please show the last two pictures again, and for
the benefit of Admiral Brown you might give us some further details in
regard to the ship’s equipment and armament. May I also ask you where
these pictures were taken?”
“On the flat plains in the centre of the island of Newfoundland,”
Edestone informed him, “between the White Bear River and the east
branch of the Salmon, and from fifty to seventy-five miles from the
seacoast on the south. If Your Majesty will look into the middle
distance when the second picture is again thrown on the screen you
will see some small, dark objects; these are one of those immense
herds of caribou, which happen to be moving south over this vast
barren at the time of year that these pictures were taken--that is, in
October.”
He observed that the face of the King took on an expression blended
partly of astonishment and partly of resentment when he mentioned the
name of one of the Colonial possessions of the Empire, and hastened to
add:
“You will find, Sire, if you inquire of the Governor of that Province
that I was there with the full knowledge and consent of Your Majesty’s
Government to carry on certain scientific experiments. I selected this
deserted spot, so far removed from all human habitation, because there
I should not be disturbed. Until I showed these pictures here today no
one outside of my own men knew the nature of these experiments. The
guns were loaded with nothing more harmful than several hundred pounds
of black powder to produce the display of force which you have just
seen. I will admit,” he granted with a smile, “that if the newspapers
had got word of what was going on there they might have made some
excitement; I can assure you, however, that no act of mine could be
construed even by our most susceptible and timid State Department as a
violation of neutrality.”
“But where is your ship now?” asked the King, while the rest of the
company held their breath, awaiting the answer.
“That, Your Majesty, for reasons of state, I regret I cannot at this
time tell you, but you have my word and that of our Secretary that
wherever she may be, her mission is one of peace.”
“Peace!” snorted Admiral Brown. “With a six-foot armour-belt and
sixteen-inch guns! It is a ship of war, Your Majesty. We have the
right to demand whether or not it is now on or over British soil, and
if it is, to make such representations to the United States Government
as will cause her to withdraw it at once and apologize for having
violated the dignity of Great Britain.”
“And if they should refuse, Sir William,” asked the King, with a weary
smile, “would you undertake to drive it off?
“No, Admiral,” he continued, “up to this time we have no official
knowledge of this airship’s existence. Until we have, we will take Mr.
Edestone’s assurance that his own and his country’s intentions to us
are friendly.”
A wave of hot indignation had swept over the entire assembly, and it
was with some difficulty that the King was able to restore order.
“Please continue with your pictures, Mr. Edestone,” he said in a tone
of authority.
The lights again went out, the machine in the cabinet began to turn,
and as the dramatic scene was re-enacted before them his audience sat
in perfect silence while Edestone, as though he were recounting the
simplest and most ordinary facts, gave out the following information:
“This ship has a length over all of 907 feet. Its beam is 90 feet. Its
greatest circular dimension is described with a radius of 48 feet. She
would weigh, loaded with ammunition, fuel, provisions, and crew, if
brought in contact with the earth, 40,000 tons. Her weight as she
travels, after making allowance for the air displacement is generally
kept at about 3000 tons, which automatically adjusts itself to the
density of the surrounding atmosphere, but can be reduced to nothing
at pleasure. Its full speed has never been reached. This is simply a
matter of oil consumption; I have had her up to 180 miles. Her
steaming radius is about 50,000 miles, depending upon the speed. She
carries twelve 16-inch guns, twenty-two 6-inch guns, sixteen 4-inch
anti-aircraft guns, eight 3-pounders, four rapid-fire guns, six aerial
torpedo tubes, and six bomb droppers, which can simultaneously
discharge tons of explosives. She has a complement of 1400 officers
and men. She required three years and eight months to build at a cost
of $10,000,000. In action her entire ship’s company is protected by at
least six feet of steel, and there is no gun known that can pierce her
protection around the vital parts. As you have seen, she can approach
to within a few feet of the surface and remain perfectly stationary in
that position as long as she is not brought in electrical contact with
the earth.”
The machine in the cabinet had stopped. As the lights were again
turned on, Edestone, glancing in the direction of the gallery and
seeing that there was no one there, bowed merely to the company before
him. “I thank Your Majesty, Lords, and Gentlemen for your very kind
attention,” he said. He then stood quietly, waiting respectfully for
the King to speak.
“Mr. Edestone,” said the King as he rose, “you have certainly given us
a most instructive afternoon, and you must be exhausted after your
efforts.” He turned to Colonel Stewart, “Please insist upon Mr.
Edestone taking some refreshments before he leaves Buckingham Palace.”
He grasped the inventor firmly by the hand. “Good-bye, Mr. Edestone. I
shall probably not see you again,” and bowing to the rest of the
company he left the room deep in conversation with Sir Egbert Graves.
Edestone immediately became the centre of attraction.
“The King is dead; long live the King!” expresses the eagerness with
which man adapts himself to a new order of things. The older men were
stunned and seemed unable to throw off the gloom that had settled upon
them. They bowed to the inevitable fall of the old and its replacement
by the new. They were not buoyed up by the elasticity and confidence
of youth; they seemed to realize that their race was run and that it
were better that they step aside and give to younger men the task of
solving a new problem in a new way. They sat perfectly still with
dejected faces that seemed to see only dissolution.
The younger men were quicker to recover, and as they felt the old
foundations crumbling under their feet, saw visions of a new and
greater edifice. They gloried in the development of the age as they
did in their own strength to keep abreast of it, and rushed to meet
progress, to join it, and to become one with it. They did not stop to
think what the future might have in store for them, but seemed to be
intoxicated by its possibilities.
Crowding around Edestone they probed him with questions which he
answered with the greatest patience and in the most modest, quiet, and
dignified manner. When asked a question almost childish in its
simplicity, he appeared to acknowledge the compliment in the
assumption that he knew the answer, and gave it with the same
precision as one which called for the most complicated mathematical
calculation and reference to the most intricate formulae of the laws
of mechanics and physics. He was rescued and borne away by Colonel
Stewart who announced that, acting under His Majesty’s order, he was
obliged to give him some refreshments, whether he wanted them or not,
and if he did not come at once to his quarters and have a drink he
would be forced to order out the Guards. Drawing him aside the Colonel
whispered, “I must see you alone before you leave the Palace.”
Edestone turned and slowly left the room, bowing to each of the
separate groups.
“Now,” said Colonel Stewart, “come to my quarters first, as I have
something rather confidential to tell you. You can come back and join
the others afterward, if you care to.”
When they were comfortably seated in the Colonel’s private apartments,
and had provided themselves with drinks and cigars, the equerry leaned
toward his charge a trifle impressively.
“Mr. Edestone,” he said, “you do not look like a chap who would lose
his nerve if he suddenly found himself in a position that was more or
less dangerous. Indeed I rather gather that you are like one of your
distinguished Admirals--ready at all times for a fight or a frolic.”
Edestone smiled.
“The facts are, Mr. Edestone, that you are in a pretty ticklish
position, and had not Mr. Underhill notified Scotland Yard when he
did, I do not know what might have happened. These German spies who
have been following you all day are well known to them, and when our
men picked you up, which was when you left the Admiralty and were
talking to the taxi-chauffeur, they were convinced that you were in
real danger. Then when you were directed to the German restaurant and
afterward left it in the taxicab with this man Smith they had your cab
followed, at the same time notifying Mr. Underhill, and covering your
hotel.”
“This is most interesting,” said Edestone; “but if the business of
these men is known why are they not arrested?”
“Mr. Edestone,” said Colonel Stewart, “we Englishmen are not credited
with any sense by our friends the enemy, and relying upon our supposed
stupidity their work, which they take so much pride in, is by no means
as secret as they suppose it to be. There have been in London
thousands of what the Germans term ‘fixed posts.’ These are men who
have established places of business and have lived in the community
from ten to fifteen years. They receive a salary from the German
Government running from two pounds to four pounds a month and all
incurred expenses. The ‘fixed post’ men report to men higher up, who,
in turn, report to the Diplomatic Service. Under them, too, are all of
the patriotic emigrants from Germany, who act as spies without being
conscious of the fact that they are doing so. These receive no pay for
bringing in the bits of scandal or other information which is all
carefully noted and kept on file in Berlin under a system of card
indexes.
“That man Munchinger who keeps the restaurant where you lunched, and
the barber Hottenroth at your hotel, are both of them ‘fixed post’
men. This American architect was new and had not been quite placed as
yet. The chauffeur also seems to be one of them, although he is
entirely unknown to Scotland Yard.
“When you discharged your first taxi and took another, Smith and the
chauffeur spy followed you until they were frightened off by seeing my
carriage with the royal livery in front of your hotel. They drove off
then with such a rush that the chauffeur must have lost control of his
car, for it plunged into the Thames with Smith inside it, and before
he could be reached and rescued he was drowned. The chauffeur was
either drowned or ran away, as nothing has been seen of him since.”
Edestone rose, his face stern as he learned the news of Smith’s fate.
“Colonel Stewart,” he declared sharply, “that poor devil was
murdered.” And to support his accusation he told briefly of Smith’s
confession and behaviour in the cab.
The Colonel bowed. “I shall see that these facts are turned over to
the authorities,” he said, “but at present I am more concerned in
regard to you. These men are fanatics, you must understand, whose
faith teaches them to do anything that is for the benefit of the
Fatherland. We know most of them. We do not arrest them because they
are more useful to us as they are. As soon as one is arrested he is
immediately replaced by another, and it takes some little time before
we can pick up the new one. We have received reports to the effect
that a small army of them have been around Buckingham Palace all
afternoon, as well as at your hotel; so it is evident that Smith’s
story was no fancy and that these men are after you in desperate
earnest. Would you mind telling me, Mr. Edestone, what are your plans
for the future?”
“Not at all. My movements are extremely simple. I shall return to my
hotel, where I expect to remain until I retire. A friend of mine, an
American, Mr. Rebener, whom I have known for a great many years, will
dine with me there this evening.”
“An old friend of yours you say?” The Colonel’s eyes narrowed
slightly.
“Yes,” replied Edestone. “I have known him for fifteen years.” For
reasons of his own he had made it a point not to include Rebener’s
name among those mentioned by Smith in his confession, nor did he
refer to it now.
Colonel Stewart hesitated a moment. “Of course, Mr. Edestone,” he said
finally, “you Americans are neutrals and are at liberty to select your
friends where you please, but my advice to you would be not to take
London as the place to entertain people with German names. You will
probably understand that we cannot take any chances.”
“I have known Mr. Rebener,” repeated Edestone, “for years. He is one
of our most prominent men, and I am confident that he would not lend
himself to any of these Middle-Age methods.”
“You can never tell,” said Colonel Stewart darkly. “Germany holds out
to the faithful the promise of great rewards at the end of this war,
which she has convinced them cannot fail to end successfully for her.”
“No,” the American insisted stubbornly. “Mr. Rebener might readily
sell to Germany a few million dollars’ worth of munitions of war, and
likewise tell his friend, Count Bernstoff, anything that he might
hear. I will even go so far as to say that he might make an especial
effort to pick up bits of gossip here in London; and he will almost
certainly endeavour to use his influence with me in favour of Germany.
But that he would take part in a plot to kill, kidnap, or rob me is
incredible.”
“I see you are determined to have your own way, Mr. Edestone,” the
Colonel smiled, “so I come now to the most difficult part of my
mission. What do you propose to do with that instrument which you now
carry so carelessly in your coat pocket? You can readily understand
that it is not safe in your hotel, or, in fact, at hardly any other
place in London outside of the vaults of the Bank of England. We are
put in the delicate position of having to protect it without having
the privilege of asking that it be put in our charge.”
“I appreciate all that you say and have considered destroying it, but
have now come to the conclusion to keep it always with me, for, after
all that you tell me, I think that I am in pretty safe hands in
London.”
“But think, my dear fellow,” cried the Colonel jumping up, “what might
happen if this thing falls into the hands of the Germans! To prevent
that it would be my duty to shoot you on the spot.”
“Good work! Right-o!” laughed Edestone. “You have my permission to
shoot whenever it goes to the Germans. Don’t worry. They’ll not murder
and rob me in the middle of dear old London with all your fellows
about, and I do not expect to leave the hotel tonight.”