The Great Airship Part 28

"It's him!" growled Hawkins fiercely in Private Larkin's ear when he caught sight of d.i.c.k and Alec. "Now then, all together, and mind there ain't no skulking."

"'Oo's a skulking, I'd like to know?" came in grumbling tones from the soldier even in the midst of a fierce salute. "One would think as you naval chaps was the only ones as could do a job of this sort nice and handy! 'Sides, I'm salutin' Mr. Alec, 'im as is fit ter be a soldier, and will be. I ain't no doubt as he'll pa.s.s the Navy. It ain't in his line, yer see. Too much red tape and pipeclay for 'is liking."

It was another effort on the part of this pleasant individual to get up a fierce argument, and had the men been gathered in their quarters aboard the airs.h.i.+p no doubt Hawkins would have obliged him. But there was too much to be seen on every hand, and therefore, with a growling "Come along, you," he led the way past our heroes and down the bazaar.

"Hallo! Mr. Carl Reitberg of all people! Thought he was abed, quite done up after that little affair of ours on the north-west frontier,"

exclaimed d.i.c.k, some few minutes later. "The high and mighty Carl Reitberg seated in a gharri careering about the streets of Delhi. Look at him shouting because the crowd don't move aside soon enough for his majesty. And where is he going?"

"Which reminds me that we haven't kept up that watch since we came to Delhi," said Alec. "Think he's up to any games?"

How could one answer that question? No doubt the magnate had his own business to transact, and indeed, halted at a bank and entered. When he emerged d.i.c.k saw that he was tucking a well-filled purse into his pocket. He struggled into his cab, mopped his forehead with a handkerchief of brilliant hue, and then gave directions to the driver.

"Vote we follow," cried d.i.c.k. "I don't like our guest's face, to be quite frank with you. What's he drawing money for? Where's he going?"

"Might just as well expect other folks to be asking the same question about us. But we'll follow. Here, out of the way, you son of a gun. Hi!

Gharri!"

Alec displaced the dusky individual who barred his path, and waved frantically to a cabman. A minute later the two were seated in the gharri, which at once set out in pursuit of the one that Carl Reitberg had taken.

"Booking office of the railway," said d.i.c.k, ten minutes later, seeing Carl descend and enter an office so labelled. "Had enough of the airs.h.i.+p it seems, and will make the trip to the coast by train. But that's queer, ain't it?"

"What's queer? Why? How?" asked Alec in a breath.

"Don't be a donkey! Carl Reitberg's queer."

"Ill? He don't look it. Seems to be he's very much alive-o!"

d.i.c.k turned an indignant, not to say angry glance upon his companion.

"You are thick!" he said bluntly. "I wasn't referring to the health of our estimable friend. I was referring to his actions. They're queer, ain't they?"

"No--why? Why shouldn't he return by train and steamer if he wishes to do so?"

"Because at breakfast this morning he told us all how he was enjoying the trip. Pretended even to have been charmed with our little brush with those Pathans. Said nothing would induce him to part with the airs.h.i.+p till she had landed him in England."

"My! Yes. Greasy beggar," reflected Alec. "What's it mean? Playing double. But perhaps he ain't booking. Look here, I'll hop in and listen to what's pa.s.sing."

Mr. Carl Reitberg was without a doubt booking a seat for Bombay. Alec squeezed himself through the throng of Europeans in the booking office, and managed to reach a spot just behind the magnate. There he heard him enquiring for the next s.h.i.+p sailing from Bombay, and watched as he booked a cabin.

"You're right; it's mighty queer," he told d.i.c.k on returning. "What does it mean?"

"Everything, perhaps; perhaps nothing. He's foxy, and means to clear out, that's plain. But it don't say that he means us or the s.h.i.+p a mischief. Not that I'd trust him. Sergeant Evans is full of dark hints, and could tell us a yarn, I'm sure, if we encouraged him. I'm going to set a watch on Mr. Reitberg."

"Those beggarly brats," reflected the magnate, ten minutes later, when he emerged from the office and saw a gharri pa.s.sing with our two young friends aboard. "Sight-seeing, I suppose. Well, they've not seen me buying my ticket. No one has. I've thrown dust in their eyes nicely. Now I can return to the s.h.i.+p, wait my chance, and then----"

It made him chuckle. He sat back in the gharri smiling and perspiring, mopping his forehead from time to time. And it was with a wonderfully elastic step that he strode from the gharri to the airs.h.i.+p, roughly pus.h.i.+ng aside the throng of natives and entered the gallery.

"It'll be a big affair," he told himself with a grim smile. "Of course, as I've said before, I'm sorry about the crew. But that's their lookout.

A hundred or more of these natives blown to pieces will make not the smallest difference. Dinner-time to-night'll suit admirably. Then we're all aboard. The men'll be in their quarters, with perhaps one patrolling on the deck above, and two outside, to keep the curious natives at a distance. I'll be late for dinner; yes, that's the card to play. I send my compliments to Mr. Andrew, and beg to be excused as the heat has upset me. Excellent! A splendid excuse. Then, when all's quiet, I set the bombs in position, creep out of the s.h.i.+p, and while Delhi is lamenting the terrible catastrophe, and thousands are chattering, I simply board the train and take the road for England."

He sat down in his cabin to mop his forehead again, and then took off his coat and waistcoat. "Come in," he cried testily, to a knock at the door.

It was Sergeant Evans, respectful and polite as ever. "Dinner half an hour later this evening, sir," he said. "I'll put your things out now, so as not to disturb you later."

"Terribly hot," gasped Carl. "Hardly feel as if I could eat anything.

Shouldn't wonder if I didn't turn up for dinner, Sergeant."

Like the well-trained, polite fellow he was the Sergeant expressed no surprise. He merely touched the b.u.t.ton which controlled the electric fan and set it going.

"Hot in here, sir," he said. "That'll make things cooler. Hope you'll feel better presently. Half-past six now, sir. Perhaps a little sleep would put you right, and make you ready for dinner."

"Perhaps," agreed Carl laconically, mopping his forehead again. "I'll try. But don't disturb me. If I don't turn up after the gong has gone, leave me to myself. I'll be sleeping."

The face of the Sergeant was inscrutable as he left the cabin. If it said anything at all, it expressed commiseration for this somewhat stout and unwieldy sportsman, and the hope that he would soon feel more himself. But if his features meant that, his immediately following actions contrasted curiously with them. For the worthy Sergeant pa.s.sed into his own quarters, and from thence into his pantry. And by a curious freak of fortune that pantry happened to be immediately next to the cabin occupied by the worthy Carl Reitberg.

"Don't I know him? Oh no! Certainly not!" observed the Sergeant beneath his breath. "Mr. Carl Reitberg, yes, that's his name now; I.D.B. back in South Africa in the old days. He's feeling queer, and he don't expect he'll come along to dinner. Well, we'll hope he will. But we'll see what's happening in the meanwhile."

So straightway he crept to the wall of the pantry, and slid aside a tiny panel, some two inches long, and of half that height. It was quite a simple contrivance, and had merely required a sharp knife and a slip of sheet celludine. A hot iron had cemented the runners of this slide to the wall, while anyone entering either the pantry or the adjacent cabin would have found it difficult to detect this opening. An inch-square aperture gave a wide view of the quarters allotted to the magnate, and of that individual himself.

"Felt ill, did he? Poor chap!" observed the Sergeant. "Thought he'd follow my advice and have a sleep. Looks like trying, don't he?"

The fat form of the magnate was engaged at that precise moment in anything but an attempt to fall asleep. He was leaning over that precious box which he had brought aboard with him, and which he would have others believe contained valuables of great interest. The seals were broken already, and half a dozen of the screws with which the lid was secured were already drawn. The magnate was puffing heavily in his efforts to loosen one which was strangely tight and refractory. At length, however, after a fierce struggle, he succeeded, and some ten minutes later had the box open.

"And here's where the fun begins," said the watching Sergeant. "I'm as keen as possible to see what he's got in that box, and what he'll do with 'em. Ah! Two nicely rolled parcels, Mr. Carl, fresh and clean from the hands that wrapped 'em in Old England. Valuables, to be sure!

Priceless; deserved a safe if only this s.h.i.+p would have carried one."

There was a grim smile on his lips as he closely watched the movements of the scoundrel bending over the box. For here indeed was a conspirator. If there had been any doubt, the man's own movements would have betrayed his uneasiness, his guilty thoughts, for Carl was decidedly uneasy. Never a man of courage, rather the reverse, as he had abundantly proved, the doing of this miserable and wicked deed he contemplated shook him severely. Though he imagined he had braced up his shaky nerves for the adventure, and though he encouraged himself by the thought that there was no personal danger in the matter, no fear of discovery, and no difficulty in getting clear away, yet he was frightened, frightened of his own image. It caused the Sergeant to smile, indeed, when Carl, suddenly catching sight of his own reflection in the mirror opposite him, blanched and gripped the table.

"Gave me quite a turn," he gasped, his strong accent more noticeable than ever. "_Himmel!_ But this deed requires more force than I had imagined. But there is no danger. Can be none while I have my ticket for the train and boat in my pocket. As for the bombs, they cannot explode till the clockwork is wound. Then I merely set the hands to the hour at which I desire the explosion, and--leave."

"Very simple," smiled the Sergeant. "And I wonder where he'll put his bombs and how this s.h.i.+p's going to suffer. Of all the rascals I ever set eyes on, it's him. Sportsman! Tis.h.!.+"

He had seen enough, and went off to the saloon to lay his table and make ready for dinner. There was a thoughtful look upon his face, an expectant smile which boded little goodwill for Mr. Reitberg. As for d.i.c.k and Alec, they were nonplussed by the disappearance of the one they had determined to watch. He had gone to ground in his cabin and was resting there.

"Having a sleep, sir," the Sergeant told them navely. "Finds it precious hot. Don't fancy he'll turn up for dinner."

"Then I'm going straight to Joe and Mr. Andrew," d.i.c.k whispered to Alec.

"We've found out that this sportsman's going to hook it. Then what's he up to?"

"Something, perhaps; nothing, perhaps. Let's hang on a bit and watch when the others are at dinner. Carl can't slip out of his cabin by the window, now can he?"

d.i.c.k admitted the fact briskly.

"Then he has to come by way of the gallery. Good! We watch at either end. We nab him if he tries hanky-panky."

"And if he don't. Supposing he just clears off for the station?"

The question was somewhat of a facer, for how could d.i.c.k and Alec then interfere? Carl had as much right to leave the s.h.i.+p as they had. Then, supposing he went by the ordinary route, through the gallery and so into the open, who could arrest him? It would be an outrage, a breach of good manners; worse, in fact.