"Bloxhame interrogated Secretary to the Board of Trade, who replied it
was perfectly true that the towers were built to the order of Gideon
Morse and were his property. Morse has entered into an agreement with
the Government engaging not to use the towers for wireless telegraphy or
for any other purpose than a strictly private one, which appears to be
that he intends to live on the platforms on the top. At his death the
whole property will pass into possession of the Government, to be used
for wireless purposes, or for the principal aeroplane station between
England and the Continent. Aeroplanes, when the existing buildings are
removed, will be able to alight from the platforms in numbers.
Expenditure from first to last, Board of Trade estimates at seven
millions. Feeling of House at such a magnificent gift to the Nation,
which is bound to fall in within twenty years or so, friendly and
satisfactory. In answer to a question from Commander Crosman, M.P. for
Rodwell, President Board of Aerial Control announces that strict orders
have been issued that aeroplanes are not to circle round the towers or
in any way annoy present proprietor. The House is greatly amused and
interested at this romantic news."
Williams departed to issue another "Extra Special," and I was once more
left alone. Obviously the secret was out, it was startling enough in all
conscience, and, as I thought, merely the whim of a madman. And yet
there were aspects of it which were inexplicable. There could be no
doubt whatever that Gideon Morse had flouted English society, which had
treated him with extreme kindness, in a way that it would never forget.
That surely was not the action of a sane man. If he had wanted to build
for himself a lordly "pleasure house" to which he might retire upon
occasions, a sane man would have arranged things very differently.
Certainly, and this was not without some bitter satisfaction to me, he
had ruined his daughter's chances of a brilliant marriage--for a long
time at any rate. I saw that secrecy had been necessary, though it had
been carried to an extreme degree; but why had he fooled me under the
guise of friendship? Surely he could have trusted my word.
I was furious as I thought of the way I had been done. I was furious
also, and worse than furious, alarmed, when I thought of Juanita. Had
she been in the plot the whole time? Did she like being spirited away
from all that could make a young girl's life bright and happy? What
_was_ at the bottom of it all?
The only thing to do was to try and keep ahead, or level, with my rival
contemporaries in the matter of news, and privately to wait on events,
and think the matter out definitely. For the next few days, weeks
perhaps, some of the acutest brains in England would be puzzled over
this problem, and if there was really anything more in it than the freak
of a colossal egotist, who thus, with a superb gesture, signified his
scorn of the world, then some light might come.
Suddenly I felt ill, and collapsed. I gave a few instructions, left the
office and went home to Piccadilly, and to bed.
It was about eight o'clock when Preston woke me. I had had a bath and
changed, and was wondering exactly what I should do for the rest of the
evening, when Preston came in and said that there was a boy who wished
to see me. He would neither give his name nor his business, but seemed
respectable.
I remembered Pat's mysterious telegram, which till now I had quite
forgotten, and with a certain quickening of the pulses I ordered the boy
to be shown up.
He came into the room with a scrape and a bow, a nice-looking lad of
sixteen, decently dressed in black.
"Who are you and what do you want?" I said.
He seemed a little nervous and his eyes were bright.
"Are you Sir Thomas Kirby?"
"Yes, what is it? By the way, haven't you been all the way to Norfolk to
find me?"
"Yes, sir, it's my day off, but unfortunately I found you had left, sir,
so I came on here as fast as I could. A gentleman at Cerne Hall gave me
your address."
"And how did you know I was at Cerne Hall?"
"It's on the envelope, sir."
"The envelope?"
"Yes, sir, the one I was to deliver to you personally, and on no account
to let it get into the hands of any one else, even one of your servants,
sir, and"--he breathed a little fast--"and the lady said that you would
certainly give me fifty pounds, sir, if I did exactly as she ordered,
and never breathed a word to a single soul."
In an instant I understood. The blood grew hot and raced into my veins
as I held out my hand, trembling with impatience, while the youth
performed a somewhat complicated operation of half undressing,
eventually producing a brown paper packet intricately tied with string,
from some inner recesses of his wardrobe.
"Who are you?" I asked while he was unbuttoning.
"James Smith, sir, one of the pages at the Ritz Hotel."
I tore off the wrappers imposed upon the letter by this cautious youth.
There was a letter addressed to me in a fine Italian hand which I knew
from having seen it in one word only--"Cerne."
Fortunately, I had plenty of money in the flat and there was no need to
give the excellent James Smith a check.
He gasped with joy as he tucked away the crackling bits of paper.
"And remember, not ever a word to any one, Smith."
"On my honor, sir," he said, saluting.
"And what will you do with it, Smith?"
"Please, sir, I hope to pelmanize myself into an hotel manager," he
said, and I let him go at that. I only hope that he will succeed.