SCHEMING!
Harry Goodall returned to his rooms on Sydenham Hill, having travelled
with the ship photographer, whose productions had worked such a
marvellous change in Uncle Goodall.
A monetary settlement was speedily arrived at the same evening, when a
lively chat ensued, in which the aeronaut agreed with the photographer
as to the gentleman on the lake being known to Mr Goodall, who advised
his nephew, after the dispute at his residence, to pull off his ascents
quickly. However, the cheery conclusion of the aeronaut’s interview
caused him to sleep soundly and to be up in good time the next morning
to meet Tom Trigger, who had taken the opportunity of his master’s
absence to go down with his Lucy to her new situation in Sussex, after
which outing, Tom brought back such agreeable recollections of his
trip, that Harry Goodall had to listen to what he had seen, and how
the gamekeeper, Bennet, had given him a turn at rabbit shooting with a
wonderful killing gun, which Trigger was supposed to have handled with
surprising dexterity. He ended his story by saying that Lucy’s last
words to him were that he should be kind to Miss Chain, who had been
so cruelly imposed upon by the man whose shadow on the screen she had
positively identified, and which Harry Goodall began himself to infer
was no other than a correct representation of the mysterious Mr Falcon.
“But hold on, Tom,” cried his master, as his assistant was proceeding
with what he had seen and done; “we shall have to finish your trip as
we walk through the Palace. I am very glad to hear that Lucy has found
such a nice situation, and as to Miss Chain’s tormentor, you and I may
settle the reckoning with him some day perhaps, but I must remind you
that we have not a moment to spare, for, weather permitting, an ascent
must positively take place to-morrow.”
“Very good, sir,” said Trigger; “and may I ask how you got on with your
uncle, sir?”
“The finish was better than the start, Tom. I held my ground and stood
to my guns during a hotly-contested action on both sides, when a lucky
turn was given to the affair by the arrival of a photographer from this
establishment.”
“Oh, yes; he showed me a capital photo. When I told him where you
were, then he handed me one, sir, which I gave to Lucy before she left
here.”
“Be sure you tell her to destroy it, Tom, or not to show it.”
“I will, sir, next time I see her.”
“I have suppressed them, Tom, as they might expose just what I want to
keep secret--namely, the rescue of that lady.”
“I don’t think, sir, that one I gave to Lucy will do much harm in her
care, as she did not look at it much; besides, she doesn’t know about
the lake affair.”
“Good! We must now confine ourselves, Trigger, to the necessary
preparations for the morning. I wish those two parachutes to be seen to
and the triangular frames for our model balloons, which will prove a
novelty.”
“I suppose, sir, we shall want the small silk balloon for the
signalling experiment?”
“Yes, you must see that they are all in readiness, as I do not intend
to follow on the old lines, even with pilot balloons and parachutes. I
will show, if possible, another and more instructive way of employing
them than has hitherto been adopted. Balloons and parachutes as well
can be applied, you know, Trigger, to better uses than they have been,
as my respected instructor has impressed upon me, and he suggested also
the _modus operandi_ which I am about to try.”
“And I have no doubt they will succeed, sir. I was going to ask, too,
whether Messrs Brock had not better see about your torpedoes and aerial
shells which you intend using?”
“They are already made, Trigger; but you can let them know that they
will be wanted to-morrow.”
“Do you expect any of the military aeronauts here, sir?”
“Oh, no. I have not invited anyone. What I undertake will be to show
what has been left untouched by war-balloonists, although I admit that
some of our military aeronauts are very clever and are likely to figure
creditably in actual warfare. But of late, almost anybody is supposed
to be qualified for public ballooning, so long as he is what is termed
a break-neck fellow, and this qualification, without other equally
important ones, has brought about such a long list of fatalities.”
“Everybody ought to know, sir, that successful aeronauts are born, not
made.”
“Yes, quite so; but here comes Warner. I must have a few words with him
in private, to ascertain if he has any tidings of the spy, or of this
great detective, who has made our acquaintance without our knowing who
he was.”
“Do you mean Hawksworth, sir?”
“Yes, that’s the very man, and Warner tells me he is an expert in his
line; but, if I am not very much deceived, Warner would accomplish
quite as much if he were promoted, and without so much flourish of
trumpets.”
* * * * *
The next day, the gorgeous balloon was brought out betimes, though the
ascent was not to take place until the afternoon, but Mr Goodall wished
to have everything ready, so that the inflation could begin before the
dinner hour. The supply of gas was known to be abundant, and a special
main of large dimensions was found beneath a slight slope, where a
roped circle was staked off to keep the ordinary visitors at a suitable
distance. A telegram had been despatched to Mr Magnus Ohren, C.E., at
the Lower Sydenham Gas Works, and to Mr C. Gandon, the engineer, to
say that their inspector would be able to turn on at 11.30 a.m. to the
minute, and by that time the first stream of gas was seen to raise the
flat silk, so that in less than half an hour a dome of resplendent
alternate segments of amber and crimson gores elicited the admiration
of many spectators. In fact, there were already present, as regular
daily visitors to the Palace, rather more than the amateur aeronaut
cared about seeing, as he knew that they would increase in numbers as
the day went on, for he dreaded anything approaching to a Bank Holiday
crowd.
* * * * *
Whilst the filling of the giant machine was going on, Mr Falcon and his
servant, Croft, stealthily entered the turnstile of the North Tower,
to quietly discuss their past undertakings and future plans, well
knowing that at such an early hour they would, in all probability, be
alone on the balcony, having at the same time a good view of all that
was going on. It was in this secluded spot that they drifted into a
retrospect of their previous doings, but naturally their remarks were
made in such a strain that no third person could make head or tail of
what they were alluding to, although their ambiguity and references
might have attracted the attention of Simon Warner, or of Hawksworth,
had either of them been within earshot of their observations. However,
as it happened, they were undisturbed for more than twenty minutes and
chatted freely together, as the new lift at that time had not been
attached to the tower.
“What a magnificent prospect we have, Croft!” exclaimed Falcon.
“It is that, sir, for we are ‘monarchs of all we survey;’ at least, we
shall be so eventually, I hope.”
“How so, Eben? I shorten your Christian name of Ebenezer for prudential
reasons.”
“I tumble to that, without objecting. What I mean, Mr Falcon, is this,
You wish, if not entirely, to remove, at anyrate, to disable the
amateur skyscraper yonder, as well as his balloon and his assistant.”
“Just so, but who would have thought, Eben, that a man playing the
menial _rôle_ you do would rise above the level of gaol-birds, and talk
as you can when you like!”
“You needn’t taunt me with that; you know I was well brought up, and
but for our adventures--”
“Hold on! I thought I heard footsteps. Take a look round, Eben, while
I pose as an artist taking sketches, from a lofty standpoint, of the
aeronautic scene.”
“What you say is all very fine, Mr F., but time is money. Let us come
to the point.”
“Very well then, here goes. On our left is the balloon, looking as if
it could be easily destroyed. An idea flashes upon my mind that I can
manage that much at the descent, Eben.”
“Exactly; if you can manage to be there, Mr F.”
“Well, look here, Eben, the wind, don’t you see, is blowing down to
Gravesend, and, as I want to look round Tilbury way, to find out when
a certain ship enters the Thames, I shall presently move in that
direction to watch what comes in, and also what comes down that way
from aloft; for I may as well tell you, that as Goodall served me out
by his masterly rescue of that lady, I mean to give him a Roland for an
Oliver by spoiling his beauty, so that he cannot present himself at
Wedwell. You follow me, Eben, don’t you?”
“I do, and will gladly consent to do as you propose.”
“That’s settled then; I need say no more on that head.”
“But supposing that you do mar and cripple the hobbyist and his hobby,
what is your special object for taking on such a risky performance?”
“Why, you short-sighted man, to have the heiress, Miss D., all to
myself, of course. I don’t want, between ourselves, such a man as
Harry Goodall to even show his face at Wedwell Park--either as a young
merchant or in any other capacity; for we must have two strings to our
bow, in case our work on board the _Neptune_ fails to pay. We did our
stroke of business on the other side of the world, and the owner of the
_Neptune_ is--”
“Hold on, Mr F.; let’s have no more reminders of that sort, if you
please. But, by-the-bye, how about the will?”
“Not proven, at present, Eben; but didn’t I manage that finely, and the
life assurances in Sydney as well. They, you remember, preceded the
starting of my financial scheme, which the squire is nibbling at, and
I will give him something else to nibble at,--namely, a novel mode of
flight.”
“Ay, ay, nibbling is all very well in its way, and so is flying, but
will the squire bolt the bait as you are preparing it?”
“I think so, Eben, but you must hear the rest of my plan. Now listen,
on the left, well under us, is the balloon, and on our right, almost
directly beneath us, is Goodall’s workroom, through the top of which we
can see everything, as there is no screen there--”
“Ah! now I begin to grasp what you wish to do.”
“What then?”
“Why, to drop a shell down there, and--”
“Nothing of the sort, Eben. Wrong again, my boy. All I want is this,
You see that door below, leading into the engine-house, near the
foundation of the glass-room?”
“Yes; what of that?”
“Well, just inside that engine-house there used to be, and most likely
is now, a disused back staircase that leads to the glass-room. I now
propose that you should just explore there, and if the Chains are
thereabout, or Goodall or Tom T., you can hold off--any way you will,
if you once gain access, during the dinner hour, so as to grope your
way about and leave your marks, for, as you know, I formerly had some
financial business with the Chains, and don’t want to see much more of
them. But mind what you are about. Don’t be rash, Eben. I only want
this to be a little voyage of discovery.”
“You can consider that done, Mr F. I see now that I know what your
little game is; but what else am I to do?”
“You must first creep and then go ahead afterwards, when I tell you to
do so. The first part of my plan of campaign is this,--The Chains must
be shifted, but not removed, mind that--you know what I mean--neither
dynamite nor bloodshed, but milder measures.”
“Such as you adopted--”
“Halt, man, halt. In the name of common sense, what were you going to
say?”
“Not much more I can tell you, guv’nor. The fact is, we must cut it
short and get to work. Just lend me your opera glass please.”
“What for?”
“Why to see what I can make of that fellow talking to Mr G. near the
blessed balloon. Does he look anything like Jack Hawksworth?”
“What, that muff who was expected in New South Wales! I shouldn’t fear
him, Eben, but I can see Warner drawing this way; he is the one to
avoid.”
“Then we’d better make a move.”
“Agreed, Eben; but half way down the steps we had quite as well wheel
round behind the shaft, so as to give Mr W. the go by, in case he is
looking about and has seen us up here already.”
“One more word before we separate, Mr F. Whom am I to have if you carry
off the heiress?”
“You shall have that smart girl, Lucy, and a pub, close to Wedwell,
with a handsome retiring allowance, and, if you get into Goodall’s
workroom, mind you collar that manuscript of a ‘New Flying Machine,’
which is thought to be all rubbish--it may be useful to us--as well as
other tit-bits.”
* * * * *
During the progress of this lofty chat, Mr Harry Goodall and Tom
Trigger were still busy in letting up the net-work, so that the new
balloon rapidly developed, and it was the opinion of everyone present
that so symmetrical a balloon had not been seen at the palace for many
years previously.
After some little time had elapsed, Miss Chain and her mother rather
impulsively left the workroom. Soon after they had done so, a slight
disturbance took place close to the North Tower, near to which Miss
Chain and her mother were sauntering. Here a cry was raised that a
thief was in custody. There were two or three policemen on duty near
the balloon, Warner being one of them, and now Warner was seen to be
bringing someone to the enclosure. He was a diminutive man, though
stiffly built, and had been seen coming out of the engine-house, from
which there was access by a disused back staircase to Mr Goodall’s
room, where, of course, the prisoner had no business to be.
Tom Trigger, who about this time went into the workroom for the
parachutes, noticed that the inner door had been forced open and left
ajar.
Warner’s clothes showed that there must have been a tussle with his
prisoner before he was brought to the aeronaut, who said to him,--
“What have you been doing, my man, and where do you come from?”
“My name is Eben, sir. I came with my master from Sussex, and I was
looking about for him--he came to see the balloon, but I expect he has
left for Tilbury, as he had to go that way this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it,” said Harry Goodall, who did not think much of
his offence. “Do you think you need detain him?” he added, turning to
Warner.
“I must do that, sir. He will have to go before our inspector and the
general manager, as he was inside the company’s private premises.
Besides, I have reason to know he was in your room, too, Mr Goodall.”
“Someone has been there,” said Trigger, who had returned. “The inside
door was open, a thing we’ve never seen before.”
In reply to a question as to the state of Warner’s clothes, the
policeman said,--
“He is a downright Pocket Hercules, Mr Goodall--he floored me by his
wonderful strength. I had been following him from the tower, where he
had been for some time with a big, swell-looking chap, whom I have seen
before, sir, though to-day he was got up in quite a different suit.
They had been looking down from the balcony on your balloon store,
and they came down together--the tall customer left, but this man went
inside your workroom, I saw him there, after which he came out through
the engine-house.”
Trigger then explained that he had seen them dodging about earlier in
the morning.
“I thought they looked like two of the party at the lake, sir.”
“Nothing of the sort,” cried the prisoner. “My master is a rich
gentleman, and we came up by the Brighton line.”
“You must get to the bottom of this elsewhere,” said Mr Goodall.
“I shall be glad, sir,” said Warner, “if you could spare Trigger for a
short time to state what he saw.”
“If anybody swears he saw me inside the room,” cried the intruder, “he
will be a confounded--”
“Hush, my man, I insist upon it, you will only aggravate your case,”
said Harry Goodall, “and now that I get a closer look at your face,
didn’t I see you and a tall, dark man a day or two since in Trafalgar
Square?”
“No, sir, it must have been someone else, sir.”
“I am sure it was not--however,” said Mr Goodall, turning to Warner,
“he can’t stay here any longer. Remove him.”
Whilst Miss Chain and her mother were walking round, keeping within
call of the aeronaut in case they were wanted, they observed a figure
which seemed familiar to them pass by as he hurried down the grounds.
He had on spectacles and a profusion of sandy-looking hair, which they
took to be a wig, for he closely resembled the “shadow man” in his gait
and walk. And when a reversible-looking coat flew open, as he hastily
sped along, Mrs Chain exclaimed,--
“Look at that cable-laid watch chain, dear! How very like your
father’s!”
“I do believe it is,” said Miss Chain, as the man hurried onwards.
“Surely he is Filcher who robbed us in Boulogne, anyway he is the
‘spy’--the one who has been tormenting us here.”
During the time that Trigger and Warner were absent at the police
station, the amateur aeronaut had a few hasty words with Hawksworth,
the so-called detective, who had deigned to listen to a part of the
altercation, at a distance, between Warner and his prisoner. Hawksworth
appeared to have been highly amused at the feeble attempt to find
out something against this little fellow, who had not, he thought,
from what little he had heard, done anything worth noticing, beyond
mistaking his way while leaving the tower. This self-sufficient officer
was of opinion that the paltry evidence elicited by Warner amounted to
very little--there was no proof of his guilt.
“I really,” replied the aeronaut, “have no time or mind to enter
just now upon a discussion as to detective theories. Warner, whose
intelligence I am ready to support on a more suitable occasion, has
taken this man in the act of having committed a trespass, and he is
acting not upon ‘vague clues or roundabout rumours,’ but on stubborn
facts. I believe that Warner knows perfectly well what he is about, and
that the prisoner knows more about this tall confederate than you do
probably.”
“Most likely, Mr Goodall,” replied Hawksworth, “for I merely caught a
portion of what was said; you mentioned something about a second tall
man, sir?”
“I cannot spare time to enlighten you any further, Mr Hawksworth.”
“But this silly, card-sharping looking lad merely said,” whispered the
tall detective derisively, “that he came from Sussex--had he hailed
from the other side of the world, sir, I should have opened my own
eyes.”
“Yes, I have heard that you are expecting two clients from Australia;
but we had better stop chatting, there are listeners near us, Mr
Hawksworth.”
“You are right, sir, and I am wrong in interfering, perhaps. Kindly
excuse me for having blundered.”
“I am afraid _you have blundered_,” cried Simon Warner, “if you think
that little man is guileless, for he looked at you as if he knew you.”
“I am perfectly ignorant as to who he is, or what he is doing here!”
exclaimed the detective.
“More’s the pity,” cried Warner, who then placed Croft, the Pocket
Hercules, under proper care.