Uncle Brian's Secret
Brian Strong did not carry out his promise to show Peter his
anti-aircraft invention that evening. Nor did he for several days.
Circumstances prevented it. There was a steady stream of
callers--Rioguayan officials to discuss matters concerning the
development of the Mercantile Air Service. They were delightfully
polite, because they had not the slightest suspicion that Brian
Strong knew they were trying to bluff him, and the Englishman was
equally cautious to convey the impression that he was working merely
for the industrial good of the republic.
All things considered, Peter was enjoying himself. He entered
whole-heartedly into his part of the contract: to aid his relative
to the utmost to circumvent the Rioguayan authorities in the scheme
to twist the British lion's tail. In his spare time he devoted
himself to learning the language of the country, his instructor
being a Rioguayan employee who had lived in New York for nearly
twenty years. Much of his time was spent in the engineering shops,
while opportunities were given him to take practical instruction in
managing the controls of a planeless flying-boat, in which all
would-be pilots had to qualify before entering into the actual
conditions of flight.
Thus a week went by and still the building that held Uncle Brian's
secret device remained a sealed book to him. In fact, Brian Strong
was so busy with work that demanded the almost constant presence of
Don Ramon Diaz and his colleagues, that he himself had to steer
clear of the experimental room.
"And how progresses the new type of searchlight, Señor Strong?"
inquired Don Ramon. "I should like to see what you are doing in that
direction."
"It is not progressing to the extent I should like," was the reply.
"In fact, there are one or two important details that have
completely baffled me. Of course, if you would like to see how far
I've got with the design----"
"No, no," said Don Ramon. "It is not really necessary. When you have
overcome the difficulties, then it will be a different matter."
"Quite so," agreed Uncle Brian with well-feigned disinterestedness.
"After all, there's nothing much to be seen. If and when the
apparatus is perfected--when I've tested it thoroughly and am
satisfied that it fulfils all that is required of it--then, no
doubt, you will be willing to negotiate for the exclusive rights say
for one year."
This conversation had the desired result. It put Don Ramon off the
scent. He was not keenly interested in an improved searchlight.
Those the republic already possessed were of a particularly powerful
type and sufficient for defence purposes. He begrudged the time the
Englishman spent in the work, but, he reasoned, a refusal on the
part of the Rioguayan authorities to allow Brian Strong to
experiment in that line might probably result in the foreigner
"cutting up rough" and refusing to proceed with his aerial work.
That, for the present, would never do. Until the El Toro works could
be run independently--without the aid and supervision of Brian
Strong--it was policy to humour the unsuspecting Englishman.
One evening at dinner, Uncle Brian suddenly inquired of his nephew:
"Are you under any obligation to the Admiralty, Peter? Have they any
call upon you?"
"I signed a paper stating my willingness to serve in the event of
hostilities," replied Peter. "I fancy we all did--those who were
pushed out under the so-called economy stunt."
"Humph!" ejaculated Uncle Brian. "It seems to me that signing the
document is unnecessary. If it came to a scrap, or even the
suggestion of a scrap, you young fellows would clamour to be in
it--and the older men too. I remember after the Boer War there were
hundreds of men 'fed up' with their treatment at the hands of the
War Office. They had good cause for complaint, too. 'Wait till the
next war,' they said, 'and we'll take precious good care to be out
of it.' But did they? The majority were amongst the first to
volunteer. That's the Briton all over. He'll grouse, but if danger
threatens from without, he'll be there! And the greater the danger
the greater the enthusiasm to meet it.... Peter, my boy, you'll be
more useful to your country out here than at home--or even in the
navy. Come along; let's take a stroll as far as my experimental
shed."
Nothing loth, Peter fell in with the suggestion. He was curious to
know the secret that the experimental shed held. His uncle had
hinted at something very mysterious, but beyond that he was dumb.
It was moonlight. Away down the valley came sounds of revelry from
the employees' quarters--men singing to the accompaniment of
guitars. The works and aviation sheds appeared deserted, but Peter
knew by this time that each place was strictly guarded. And during
the walk he fancied he heard movements behind the cacti that
bordered the road.
Brian Strong's private experimental shed stood well apart from the
rest of the works. It was by no means a large or a pretentious
building, measuring forty feet by twenty and constructed of
corrugated iron.
Although Uncle Brian was perfectly aware that the Rioguayan
authorities could inspect the building at any time, his careless
assurances, coupled with the warning that any interference might
destroy the fruit of months of research, had resulted in a state of
immunity. He was allowed to carry on undisturbed.
But on the other hand, he guarded himself against a possible visit
from his State employers. There were drawings in the office, but
they referred to commonplace machinery and appliances. Of his
invention, his _magnum opus_, no plans were in existence, save those
that lived in his brain. He took extreme caution lest the future
enemies of his country should score on that point.
Producing a bunch of keys, Uncle Brian unlocked the comparatively
frail door and switched on a light. Peter was about to cross the
threshold when his uncle stopped him.
"Half a minute," exclaimed Uncle Brian. "Wait till I've put little
Timothy to bed."
His nephew looked in astonishment. Right in the middle of the
concrete floor was a coiled-up snake. Hearing footsteps, the reptile
raised its head, revealing a pair of deep-set eyes that glittered in
the artificial light.
Without hesitation, Uncle Brian grasped the snake at a point about
four inches behind the head. The reptile immediately coiled itself
round his arm.
"Timothy is quite harmless," explained Uncle Brian. "I got him from
an old Indian up-country. I need hardly say the poison sac has been
removed. He makes an excellent guard."
"So I should imagine," remarked Peter. "Dashed if I could handle the
brute, poisonous or otherwise."
The snake was placed in a box. Uncle Brian poured out some milk from
a bottle, placed the saucer beside the reptile, and closed the lid.
"Now we can get to work," he said briskly.
Peter glanced around him. There was little or nothing to suggest
anything mysterious about the place. On one side of the building was
a long bench, absolutely littered with tools, scraps of metal, old
bottles, and other debris, together with a lathe and an engineer's
vice. Underneath the bench was a similar assortment of rubbish.
"Bit of a lash up, eh?" commented Uncle Brian. "'Fraid I am a bit
untidy, but I can generally clear a space when I want to get to
work. Bear a hand and shift some of this stuff."
He pointed to a confused heap at one end of the bench. When the pile
of stuff was removed there stood revealed a small contraption that
looked as if it were a box camera with an acetylene motor-lamp
attached.
"There's my patent searchlight," he announced, with boyish
enthusiasm. "Don Ramon Diaz and all his precious pals can fool about
with that to their hearts' content. They won't be a penny the wiser.
Look at it. See if you can make anything of it."
Peter did as he was requested.
"Can't make head or tail of it, Uncle," he confessed frankly.
Uncle Brian proceeded to connect up a couple of terminals with a
wall switch.
"Now then," he resumed, "out with the light." The next instant the
place was in total darkness, the painted glass windows effectually
shutting out the brilliant moonlight.
There was a slight _click_. Peter, looking in the direction where he
imagined the apparatus was, could discern nothing, but on the
opposite wall was a small circular patch of greenish-hued light.
"Seen anything like that before?" inquired his Uncle.
"Rather," replied Peter. "Anti-aircraft searchlights during the war.
Couldn't see the beam in its passage through air; when it hit a
solid substance it lit it up."
"This is somewhat similar, but very different," said Uncle Brian.
"Sounds a rummy thing to say, but there you are. I'll demonstrate.
On with the light, Peter."
Again the room was flooded with electric light. Uncle Brian pointed
to a four-cylindered motor standing in one corner.
"Get to work on that," he continued. "Turn the engine over as fast
as you can and see that the plugs are firing. They are already loose
in the cylinders. You may as well remove the magneto dust-cap while
you are about it."
Peter did as requested, placing the plugs on the tops of the
cylinders, so that he could observe the sparks jumping the gaps
between the points and the central rods. There was no mistaking the
efficient state of that magneto. It was giving a miniature Brocks'
firework display.
"Now!" exclaimed Uncle Brian.
His nephew continued to turn the geared starting-handle for another
dozen revolutions.
Then he stood up and wiped the perspiration from his face.
"By Jove!" he almost shouted. "It's it--absolutely _it_!"