About a fortnight after the memorable scene in my flat when the league
came into being, I was sitting in my editorial room at the offices of
the _Evening Special_.
I had met Juanita once at a large dinner party and exchanged half a
dozen words with her--that was all. My head was full of plans, I was
trying to map out a social campaign that would give me the opportunity I
longed for, but as yet everything was tentative and incomplete. The
exciting business of journalism, the keeping of one's thumb upon the
public pulse, the directing of public thought into this or that channel,
was most welcome at a time like this, and I threw myself into it with
avidity.
I had just returned from lunch, and the first editions of the paper were
successfully afloat, when Williams, my acting editor, and Miss Dewsbury,
my private secretary, came into my room.
"Things are very quiet indeed," said Williams.
"But the circulation is all right?"
"Never better. Still, I am thinking of our reputation, Sir Thomas."
I knew what he meant. We had never allowed the _Evening Special_--highly
successful as it was--to go on in a jog-trot fashion. We had a
tremendous reputation for great "stunts," genuine, exclusive pieces of
news, and now for weeks nothing particular had come our way.
"That's all very well, Williams, but we cannot make bricks without
straw, and if everything is as stagnant as a duck pond, that's not our
fault."
Miss Dewsbury broke in. She was a little woman of thirty with a large
head, fair hair drawn tightly from a rather prominent brow, and wore
tortoise-shell spectacles. She looked as if her clothes had been flung
at her and had stuck, but for all that Julia Dewsbury was the best
private secretary in London, true as steel, with an inordinate capacity
for work and an immense love for the paper. I think she liked me a
little too, and she was well worth the four hundred a year I paid her.
"I," said Miss Dewsbury, "live at Richmond."
Both Williams and I cocked our ears. Julia never wasted words, but she
liked to tell her story her own way, and it was best to let her do so.
"Ah!" said Williams appreciatively.
"And I believe," she went on, "that one of the biggest newspaper
stories, ever, is going to come from Richmond. It is something that will
go round the world, if I am not very much mistaken, and we've got to
have it first, Sir Thomas."
Williams gave a low whistle, and I strained at the leash, so to speak.
"I refer," Miss Dewsbury went on, "to the great wireless erections on
Richmond Hill."
For a moment I felt disappointed. I didn't see how interest could be
revived in that matter and I said so.
"Nearly a year ago," I remarked, "every paper in England was booming
with it. We did our share, I'm sure. No one could have protested more
vigorously, and it was the _Special_ that got all those questions asked
in Parliament. But surely, Miss Dewsbury, it's dead as mutton now. It's
an accepted fact and the public have got used to it."
"There's nothing," said Williams, "more impossible than to reanimate a
dead bit of news. It's been tried over and over again and it's never
been a real success."
Miss Dewsbury smiled, the smile that means "When you poor dear, silly
men have done talking, then you shall hear something." I saw that smile
and took courage again.
"Suppose," said Miss Dewsbury, "that we just look up the facts as a
preliminary to what I have to say."
She went to a side table on which was a dial with little ivory tablets,
each bearing a name--Sub-editor's room, Composing room, Mr. Williams,
Library, etc., and she pulled a little handle over the last disk,
immediately speaking into a telephone receiver above.
"Facts relating to great wireless installment on Richmond Hill."
A bell whirred and she came back to the table where we were sitting. In
twenty seconds--so perfect was our organization at the _Special_
office--a youth entered with a portfolio containing a number of Press
cuttings, photographs, etc.
Miss Dewsbury opened it.
"A year ago," she said, "the real estate market was greatly interested
to learn that Flight, Jones & Rutley, the well-known agents, had secured
several acres of property on the top of Richmond Hill. The buyer's name
was not discovered, but an enormously wealthy syndicate was suggested.
At that time, opportunely chosen, many leases had fallen in. Others that
had some time still to run were bought at a greatly enhanced value,
while several portions of freehold property were also purchased at ten
times their worth. Houses immediately began to be demolished, immense
compensation was paid to those who hung out and refused to quit the
newly purchased area. Pressure, it is hinted, of a somewhat
unwarrantable kind, was also applied. The sum involved was enormous, but
every claim was cheerfully settled, with the result that this area of
several acres was entirely denuded of buildings and surrounded by a high
wall, in an incredibly short space of time."
"The most beautiful view in England spoiled forever!" said Williams with
a sigh.
Miss Dewsbury turned over a few leaves.
"Of course you will both remember the agitation that went on, the
opposition of the local and County Councils, the rage of Societies for
preserving the ancient monuments and historic places of interest, etc.,
etc. The newspapers, including ours, took up the matter vigorously.
Then, with a curious unanimity, all opposition began to die away. It is
quite certain that huge sums were spent in buying over the objectors,
though no actual proof was ever discovered. The matter was altogether
too delicate a thing and was far too skillfully worked.
"Then the unknown purchaser began to build the three great towers now
approaching completion. An army of workmen was gathered together in a
new industrial city between Brentford and Hounslow. Fleets of ships
bearing steel girders and so forth arrived from America, together with a
hundred highly trained engineers, all of them Americans. It was given
out that the most powerful wireless station in the whole world was to be
constructed. Again much opposition, appeals to the Government, questions
to the Board of Trade and so forth. I remember that very much the same
sort of thing happened in Paris, when the Eiffel Tower was first
constructed. England's agitation was opposed by the scientific bodies of
the day, and there were other forces behind which brought pressure to
bear on the Government. That also is certain, though nothing has
actually transpired as yet in this regard. Now we've three monstrous
towers, _each of nearly two thousand feet in height_--twice the height
of the Eiffel--dominating London. Every day almost we, who live in
Richmond and the surrounding towns, see these monsters shooting up
higher into the air. Often half of them is veiled by clouds. The most
tremendous engineering feat in the history of the world is nearly
accomplished."
Now all this was quite familiar to me and in common with many Londoners
I had begun to take a sort of lazy pride in the gaunt lattice-work of
steel which seemed climbing to heaven itself. All the same I saw no
great journalistic opportunity and I said so.
"Let us consider a little," continued the imperturbable Julia. "These
towers are _not_ Government owned. They are the property of some
private syndicate. The secret has been kept with extraordinary success.
All the Marconi shareholders of the City, all the big financial
corporations, even foreign Governments, have been trying to get at the
root of the matter. Each and all have utterly failed. Yet our own
Government knows, and sooner or later a pronouncement will have to be
made. If we could anticipate this, then the interest of the public would
rise to fever heat again, and we should have a scoop of the first
magnitude."
I saw that immediately, and so did Williams, but as it was obvious Miss
Dewsbury hadn't quite finished we just nodded and let her go on.
"Now I have reason for thinking," she said, "and I am not speaking
lightly, Sir Thomas, that there's something behind this affair of a
totally unexpected and startling nature. Some day, no doubt, the towers
will be used for scientific purposes, but there's a deep mystery
surrounding everything, and one very different from what we might
suppose. I think we can penetrate it."
"Splendid!" I cried, for I knew very well that Julia Dewsbury would not
say as much as she had unless there was certainty behind her words. "And
how do you propose to start work?"
As I was looking at her she flushed, and I nearly fell off my chair. It
had never occurred to me that Miss Dewsbury could blush, in fact, that
she was human at all, I am afraid, and I wondered what on earth was the
matter.
"May I make a little personal explanation, Sir Thomas?" she said. "I
live in a quiet street at the foot of Richmond Hill, where I occupy a
large and comfortable bed-sitting room in 'Balmoral,' Number 102, Acacia
Road. The house is kept by an excellent woman, who only takes in one
other lodger. You pay me a very handsome salary, Sir Thomas, and I might
be expected to live in a more commodious way--a flat in Kensington or
something like that. But I have other claims upon me. There are two
young sisters and a brother to be educated, and I am their sole support.
That's why I live in a small lodging house at Richmond, which, again, is
the reason that I have recently come into contact with some one who may
be of inestimable value to the paper."
She blushed again, upon my soul she did, and I heard Williams gasp in
astonishment. I kicked him, under the table.
"The other bed-sitting room at 'Balmoral' has recently been occupied by
a young man, perhaps I should rather say a youth, Mr. William Rolston.
He seemed very lonely and quite poor, and on discussing him with Mrs.
O'Hagan, my landlady, she informed me that she more than suspected that
he had at times to economize grievously in the matter of food. I myself
used to hear the click of a typewriter across the passage, sometimes
continuing till late at night, and from the frequency with which bulky
envelopes arrived for him by post, it was easy to deduce that he was an
unsuccessful author or journalist. This naturally excited my interest.
Mrs. O'Hagan has no idea that I am connected with the _Evening Special_,
she thinks I am typist in a city firm of hardware merchants. And when I
made my acquaintance with Mr. Rolston, as I did some time ago owing to
his back number Remington going wrong, I told him nothing but that I
myself was a typist and stenographer. I was enabled to put his machine
right and we became friends. Am I boring you, Sir Thomas, and Mr.
Williams?" she said suddenly, with a quick look at both of us.
"On the contrary," I replied, "you are paying us a great compliment,
Miss Dewsbury, in allowing us to know something of your own private
affairs in order that you may explain how you propose to do the paper a
signal service."
I can swear that the little woman's eyes grew bright behind her
tortoise-shell spectacles and she went on with renewed confidence of
manner.
"I have been associated with journalism for eight years now," she said.
"During that time innumerable journalists have passed before me. In my
own way I have studied them all, and I believe I can detect the real
journalist almost as well as Mr. Williams can."
"A good deal better, I should think," said the acting editor,
"considering the people I have trusted and the mistakes I have sometimes
made."
"At any rate, I can say, with my whole heart, that Bill--I mean Mr.
Rolston--though he is only twenty-one and has never had a chance in his
life yet, has the makings in him of the most successful journalist of
the day. He will rise to the very top of the tree. But as we all know,
though great merit will come to the surface in time, chance is a great
element in retarding or accelerating the process. I think that Mr.
Rolston's chance has come now."
"You mean?" I asked.
"That this boy, utterly unknown, with hardly a left foot in Fleet Street
as yet, has had the acumen to see, right to his hand, one of the
greatest journalistic sensations of modern times. I refer to the three
towers on Richmond Hill. We have been for evening strolls together and
the boy has poured out his whole heart to me--as he might to a mother or
any older woman"--and here poor Julia blushed again, and I thought I saw
her lips quiver for a moment.
"The day before yesterday he said to me: 'Miss Dewsbury, of course you
don't understand anything about journalism, but I'm on the track of the
very biggest thing you could possibly imagine. I have been lying low and
saying nothing. I'm hot on the scent.' He hinted at what it was, without
giving me very many details, though these were quite sufficient to show
me that he was making no idle boast. Then he said: 'But what use is it?
If I went with what I've got already to any of the papers, I might or
might not get to see some unimaginative news-editor who'd squash me into
a cocked hat in five minutes. That's the worst of being absolutely
unknown and without any pull. If only I could get to see a real editor
of one of the big papers, a man who would give me a patient hearing, a
man with imagination, I would engage to convince him in ten minutes and
my fortune would be made.'"
She stopped, leant back in her chair and looked at me inquiringly.
"Good heavens!" I cried. "Have him up _at once_. I am quite certain that
you could never have been deceived, Miss Dewsbury. You have not been
with me for four years without my knowing how valuable your intuition
is. Send him to me at once."
Miss Dewsbury gave a dry, gratified chuckle.
"I may have stretched things a little far in having too much confidence
in my position here," she said, "but I was determined to gamble on it,
and I've won. This morning, before I left for the office, I gave Mrs.
O'Hagan a little note for Bill--he has an unfortunate habit of lying in
bed in the morning. The note told him that by an odd coincidence, I
thought I might put him in the way of writing an article for the
_Evening Special_ and that he was to be in the cafe at the corner by
three o'clock, precisely."
She looked at her wrist-watch.
"It's five minutes to now. I will send for him at once."
"Rolston, did you say the name was, Miss Dewsbury?" said Williams.
"Yes,--Rolston. But the messenger can't mistake him. He's about five
feet two high, very slim, with an innocent, baby face, and very dark red
hair. Oh, and his ears stick out at the sides of his head almost at
right angles. Please say nothing about my part in the matter, as yet at
any rate," Miss Dewsbury asked as she went away, and some minutes
afterwards a page boy ushered in one of the most curious little figures
I have ever seen.
Mr. Rolston was short, slim and well proportioned. He looked active as a
monkey and tough as whipcord. He was rather shabbily dressed in an old
blue suit. His face was childish only in contour and complexion, and for
the rest he could have sat as a model for Puck to any painter. There was
something impish and merry in his rather slanting eyes, and his button
of a mouth was capable of some very surprising contortions. His
round-shaped ears, like the ears of a mouse, stood out on each side of
his head and completed the elfish, sprite-like impression.
"Sit down, Mr. Rolston," I said, pointing to a chair on the other side
of the table.
The little man bowed very low and slid into the chair. I had an odd
impression that he would shortly produce a nut and begin to crack it
with his teeth. I could see that he was in a whirl of amazement and at
the same time horribly nervous, and I tried to put him at his ease.
"I understand," I said, "that you are a journalist, Mr. Rolston."
"Yes, Sir Thomas," he replied, in a cultivated voice, though with a
curious guttural note in it, and I marked that he knew my name.
"I also understand--never mind how--that for some time past you have
been wishing to see the editor of a large London daily, to penetrate
right to the fountain head, so to speak. Well, here you are, I am the
editor of the _Evening Special_. What have you to propose to me?"
I passed a box of cigarettes over the table towards him, but he shook
his head.
"It's about the three great towers now approaching completion at
Richmond."
"You have some special information?"
"Some very startling information, indeed, Sir Thomas. An idea came to me
some months ago. I thought it worth while testing, and it's proved
trumps."
"If you have anything in the nature of a scoop, Mr. Rolston, I need
hardly say that it will be very well worth your while. If, when I have
heard what you have to say, I cannot use your information, I will give
you my personal word that all you tell me shall be kept an entire
secret."
"That's good enough for any one," he answered with a sudden grin. "Well,
sir, these towers will eventually lapse to the British Government as a
gift from the private individual who has erected them, but they will
remain his property and be used for his own purposes until his death.
And these purposes are not wireless telegraphy, or even scientific in
any shape or form. Indeed, wireless telegraphy is expressly forbidden."
Well, at that I sat upright in my chair. Here was news indeed--if it
were true.
"That's big stuff," I replied at once, "if you can substantiate it."
"I think you will believe me when I have finished," he replied quietly.
"I have risked my life more than once to get at the facts. My father,
Sir Thomas, was a missionary in China. I was brought up to speak the
Chinese language as well as English. I am one of the very few Europeans
who do so fluently. Moreover, I kept it up till I was sixteen and came
to England, and I have never forgotten it. You have heard, I suppose,
that there's a gang of Chinese coolies at work on the towers, and some
of the Trade Unions have been making themselves nasty about it, and the
American labor?"
"Yes, there was some agitation."
"In addition to these coolies, there are many Chinese officials of a
much higher class, people who will remain when the towers are finished,
as they will be in an incredibly short space of time, for the work is
being carried on both by day and night. Speed, speed, speed! is the
order, and nothing in the world is allowed to stand in the way of it."
"You interest me very much. Please continue."
"Speaking Chinese as I do, being perfectly familiar with Chinese dress
and customs, it has not been difficult for me to disguise
myself--blacken my hair, assume a yellow complexion and so forth.
"By this means I have penetrated to the very heart of the workings at
night, and," he blushed faintly, "I have listened to conversations of an
extraordinary character, lying on the roof of a certain office building
for hours. Details you shall have, and in plenty, but here is the sum of
my discoveries. There is no syndicate. There never was. The work, upon
which millions have been spent, has been, from the very first, designed
and originated by one individual, with the specialized help of the most
famous engineers of America."
"And his motive?" I asked, and I don't mind saying that I was almost
trembling with excitement.
"The dream of a genius, or the whim of a madman," Rolston answered in a
grave voice. "The world will call it one or the other without a doubt.
At any rate it's the product of a colossal imagination. For myself, I am
dead certain that there's some deeper and stranger motive beneath it
all, but that can rest for the present. Sir Thomas, between those three
great towers, two thousand feet up in the air, will very shortly come
into being a fantastic pleasure city like a dream of the Arabian Nights!
It will be unique in the history of the world, and already the
preparations are so far advanced that it will be completed with
extraordinary rapidity."
"A pleasure city!" I gasped. "A Pleasure City in the Clouds!"
"On two stages right up at the very summit, suspended by a system of
cantilevers of the most intricate modern construction and of toughened
steel. I understand that a triangle measuring in all four acres will
support a marvelous series of palaces, a Lhassa of the air!"
"Why Lhassa, Mr. Rolston?"
"Because," he replied, "it's to be a Forbidden City, which no one will
be allowed to penetrate or see. It is a marvelous conception only
possible to enormous wealth and the vision of a superman."
I left my chair and began pacing up and down the room as the freakish
grandeur of the conception burst fully upon me. Towering over London,
dwarfing Saint Paul's to a child's toy, a City in the Clouds!
I stopped suddenly, wheeled round and shouted: "But who, Mr. Rolston, is
the madman, genius or superman who has imagined this and actually
carried it out in sober twentieth-century England?"
"That's the greatest secret of all," he said, looking round the room as
if frightened.
Then he slid from his chair and was at my side in a moment.
"It's a Mr. Gideon Mendoza Morse from Brazil," he whispered.