MR. H. CHESTERTON RADLEY-TODD
There lived in Los Angeles at that time one of those unaccountable
individuals whom nature, in fashioning, endows with such contradictory
qualities that their fellow creatures are unable to judge them
correctly.
He was a young man, fresh from college, whose name was engraved upon his
cards as H. Chesterton Radley-Todd, but whom his new acquaintances
promptly dubbed “Chesty Todd.” Having finished his collegiate course he
had been at a loss what to do next, so he drifted to the Pacific coast
and presently connected himself with the Los Angeles _Tribune_ as
literary critic, society reporter and general penistic roustabout.
Mr. Radley-Todd had a round, baby face; expressionless and therefore
innocent blue eyes that bulged a little; charmingly perfect teeth; an
awkward demeanor; a stumbling, hesitating mode of speech and the
intellectual acumen of a Disraeli. He was six feet and three inches tall
and dressed like a dandy. People estimated him as a mollycoddle at first
acquaintance; wondered presently if he possessed hidden talents, and
finally gave him up as a problem not worth solving. No one believed in
his ability, even when he demonstrated it; because, as they truly said,
he “did not look as if he amounted to shucks.”
That such a callow youth, predoomed to adverse judgment, should be able
to secure a position on a daily paper seemed remarkable. But the
_Tribune_ loves to employ green and budding “talent,” which can be had
at a nominal salary. The managing editor shrewdly contends that these
young fellows work with an enthusiasm and perseverance unknown to older
and more experienced journalists, because they have a notion that the
world is their oyster and a newspaper job the knife that opens it. When
they discover their mistake they are dismissed and other ambitious ones
take their places. Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd was at present enjoying
this fleeting prominence, and occasionally the editor would read his
copy with genuine amazement and wonder from what source he had stolen
its brilliance and power.
So, when the great aviation meet approached and every man, woman and
child in Southern California was eager for details concerning it and
demanded pages of description of the various participating aëroplanes
and aviators, in advance of their exhibition, and when Tom Dunbar, the
_Tribune’s_ expert on aviation, was suddenly stricken with pneumonia,
“Chesty” Todd was assigned to this important department.
“Dig for every scrap of information that can possibly be unearthed,”
said the editor to him. “Spread it out as much as you can, for the dear
public wants a cyclone of aërial gossip and will devour every word of
it. When there isn’t any broth don’t fear to manufacture some; any
‘mistake’ in the preliminaries will be forgotten as soon as the big meet
is in full swing.”
Chesty nodded; stumbled against a chair on his way out; stepped on the
toe of the private stenographer and slammed the door to muffle her
scream. Then he made his way to Dominguez Field; strolled among the
hangars with his hands in his pockets and imbibed unimportant
information by the column.
Two things, however, really interested the reporter. One was the popular
interest in the Kane Aircraft, which was now in its hangar and invited
inspection. Wilson and Brewster, the latter now openly in the employ of
Mr. Cumberford, guarded the local aëroplane and explained its unique
features to an eager throng. For, although the Kane hangar was in a
retired location—“around the corner,” in fact—a bigger crowd besieged
it, on this last day preceding the official opening of the meet, than
visited the older and better known devices. Stephen Kane’s remarkable
flight at Kane Park, which was followed by his peculiar accident, was of
course responsible for much of the interest manifested in his machine;
and this interest was shared by the experienced aviators present, who
silently examined the novel improvements of the young inventor and
forbore to discuss them or their alleged merits.
“What do you think of it?” Chesty Todd asked an aviator of national
prominence.
“Looks good,” was the evasive reply. “Cumberford, who is managing the
Kane campaign, has been trying hard to get a man to fly it, but so far
without success. Pity the thing can’t be exhibited. Young Kane, who was
entered as the aviator, broke his leg and is now out of it.”
The reporter made a mental note of this; he would find out the plans of
the Kane party and make a two column story of their hope or despair.
Later in the afternoon another thing puzzled him. Burthon, the direct
competitor of Kane, suddenly and without explanation withdrew his
aëroplane from the meet and actually took it from the field, closing his
hangar. The officials and others interested were amazed, and the action
aroused considerable comment.
Chesty Todd scented a story. He secured an automobile and followed
Burthon and Tot Tyler at a distance, until they placed the aëroplane in
the old workshop at South Pasadena. He crept up to the shed unobserved
and found half a dozen men busily putting the parts together again and
preparing the device for use. Why, since it had been withdrawn from the
aviation meet?
Todd and Burthon walked out and went to a near by restaurant, where the
reporter found them seated in a corner engaged in earnest conversation.
Chesty made signs to the waiter that he was deaf and dumb, secured a
seat at a table within hearing distance of Burthon and his chauffeur,
and overheard enough to give him a clew to their latest conspiracy. Then
he went away, regained his automobile and drove straight to the
Alexandria Hotel.
Mr. Cumberford had insisted on the Kanes taking rooms at the hotel
during the meet, and all three were now established there, Mrs. Kane
having decided to go each day to Dominguez, where Stephen and Sybil
could tell her of the events as they occurred. In a way the blind woman
would thus be able to participate and avoid the anxiety and suspense of
remaining at the bungalow while her daughter undertook the hazardous
feat of operating Stephen’s aëroplane. The Cumberford automobile was
placed at the disposal of mother and son, and the young inventor could
watch the flight of his machine while propped among the cushions, Sybil
being at his side to attend him and his mother.
The party had just finished dinner and assembled in the Cumberford
sitting room when Chesty Todd’s card was brought in. It was marked
“Tribune” and Mr. Cumberford decided to go down to the office and see
the reporter, as it was not his purpose to snub the press at this
critical juncture. However, the young man discouraged him at first
sight. His appearance was, as usual, against him.
“Will the Kane Aircraft take part in the contests?” he inquired.
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Cumberford.
“You have secured a man to—er—run the thing?”
“We have secured an operator.”
Chesty stared at him, his comprehensive mind alert. Why did Cumberford
turn his reply to evade the “man” proposition? Could a woman operate an
aëroplane? Perhaps none but an inexperienced youth would have dreamed of
the possibility.
“Has Stephen Kane any family?” he cautiously asked.
“A mother and sister. He is unmarried.”
“How old is the sister?”
“Seventeen.”
“Oh!” The age seemed to eliminate her. “And the mother?”
It was Cumberford’s turn to stare.
“The mother is blind,” he said.
Mr. Radley-Todd’s thoughts took another turn.
“Have you a family, sir?”
“I have a daughter, an only child. Mrs. Cumberford is not living.”
“And your daughter’s age, sir?”
“Seventeen. She is the same age as Orissa Kane.”
“Are the young ladies—er—interested in airships?”
Mr. Cumberford did not like these questions. He knew that a reporter is
akin to a detective, and began to fear the youth was on the track of
their secret. So he answered rather stiffly:
“Fairly so. Everyone seems interested in aviation these days. It
interests me.”
Chesty saw he would not confess; so he tried another tack.
“Mr. Burthon is your brother-in-law, I believe.”
Mr. Cumberford nodded.
“You are—eh—enemies?”
“Mr. Radley-Todd, or whatever your name is,” angrily glancing at the
card, “I do not object to being interviewed on the subject of the Kane
Aircraft, or the coming aviation meet. But your questions are becoming
personal and are wide of the mark. You will please confine yourself to
legitimate topics.”
The young man rose and bowed.
“Excuse me,” he said in his halting way; “a reporter is often forced to
appear impertinent when he does not intend to be so. At present I
am—er—face to face with a curious—er—complication. I have
discovered—eh—unintentionally—that your er, er—aviator will be in great
danger to-morrow. If it’s a man, I don’t care. I don’t like you, Mr.
Cumberford, and I wouldn’t lift a finger to save the Kane Aircraft from
going to pot. Why should I—eh? It’s nothing to me. But if one of those
girls—your daughter or Kane’s sister, is to fly the thing, I feel it
my—er—duty to say: look out!”
He started to go, but Cumberford grabbed his arm.
“What do you mean?” he demanded sternly.
“Is it a girl?”
“You won’t betray us? You won’t publish it?”
“Not at present.”
“Orissa Kane will operate the aircraft.”
Chesty looked at his boots reflectively.
“Don’t let her undertake it, sir,” he said. “If you can’t find a man,
follow Burthon’s example and withdraw your—eh—airship from the meet.
Better withdraw it, anyhow—that’s the best move—if you don’t wish to
court disaster.”
“Explain yourself, sir!”
“I won’t. I’m not going to spoil a good story for my paper—and a scoop
in the bargain—to satisfy your curiosity. But Miss Kane—May I see her a
moment?”
Mr. Cumberford reflected.
“If you warn her of danger you will take away her nerve. She’s the only
person on earth competent to operate the Kane Aircraft, and to withdraw
the aëroplane would mean the ruin of her brother’s fortune and
ambitions.”
“I don’t know her brother; I don’t care a fig for him. If I see the girl
I shall warn her,” said the reporter.
“Then you shall not see her.”
“Very good. But you will tell her to look out?”
“What for?”
“For danger.”
“When?”
“At all times; especially during her flight.”
“There is always danger of accident, of course.”
“This won’t be an accident—if it happens,” said Chesty Todd, decidedly.
“But who would wish to injure Orissa?” asked Cumberford, wonderingly.
“Think it over,” said the reporter. “If you’ve one deadly enemy—a person
who will stick at nothing, being desperate—that’s the man.”
With this he coolly walked away, leaving Mr. Cumberford considerably
disturbed. But he thought it over and decided to say nothing to Orissa.
The warning might refer to Burthon, who was the only person they might
expect trouble from, although to Cumberford’s astonishment Burthon had
quit the field at the last moment and abandoned the contest. Knowing
nothing of Sybil’s interview with her uncle, that action seemed to
indicate, to Cumberford’s mind, that Burthon had weakened.
Under no circumstances would he have permitted Orissa to face an unknown
danger, but it occurred to him, after thinking over the interview, that
Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd was a fair example of a fool.
------------------------------------------------------------------------