Читать книгу Whispering Death - Aidan de Brune - Страница 9

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FOR some time the inventor and Hardy sat in the laboratory at the foot of the Vaucluse garden, discussing Dr. Night and his theft of the Halliday 'plane.

The invalid inventor had taken a sudden liking to his companion. Before sending for Hardy he had learned much of him; many things, peculiarly, from the mysterious Asian, Dr. Night. Halliday now knew that Hardy was trustworthy.

That mattered much to him. For more than a dozen years he had lived in his little wheeled chair, at first morose and solitary; then withdrawing still more into himself as the idea of the gravity 'plane came and developed in his mind.

The idea had obsessed him. His early experiments had proved very fruitful.

Their success had caused him to withdraw from the world around him. He had almost completely cut himself away from his wife and daughter; living all his days in the laboratory; even taking his meals there. Many nights he refused to leave the place, tossing restlessly on the pallet bed he had had installed in one corner.

And as his hopes dawned for the success of his experiments there came dreams of great wealth. He knew that, his aeroplane once in the air and performing as he desired, he had the world at his mercy. No engine of destruction or commerce could live with his creation. Cities, nations, would have to bow to his imperial will.

Yet, in spite of the dawning knowledge of the power he was creating and the use he could make of it, Adam Halliday was true to his creed and nation. For himself and those kin to him he desired ease and comfort. For his Empire he planned supremacy—a superiority in the councils of the nations that could, not be challenged.

Through his dreams obtruded one thought. He was a crippled invalid; an inventor unknown and unhonoured. To gain acknowledgment of his success, when it came, he would have to mix with men on an absolute equality. He would have to come and go freely. How could he do that when he was chained to a wheeled chair?

Then Dr. Night had come to him. The cold, suave manner of the Oriental had completely deceived him. The pose of, great wealth, to be used to further a world of peace and justice, had evoked his confidence. He had given the man his secrets—except one. The secret of the unknown metal constituting the gravity box—the basic secret of his invention.

Now to him had come Robert Hardy. He had not to judge the journalist on his appearance, his words. Chance had brought to him a full knowledge of the man and his history. He knew that in Hardy he had the one instrument to set against the machinations of the Asian. He believed—nay, he was certain—that the journalist would again triumph over Dr. Night and retrieve the big mistake he had made.

Hardy stayed at Vaucluse until the afternoon was well advanced. Then Ruth Halliday offered to drive him into the city. Hardy accepted with some eagerness. He did not relish the long, slow journey in the tramcars.

The journalist left Halliday with a promise of a quick return. In the city Hardy intended to go straight to police headquarters and consult Inspector Frost. A guard and a watch must be set about the Halliday home and the laboratory. Dr. Night or his agents would return. The Asian had the 'plane fitted with the secret gravity-power; but he had no knowledge of the metals the plates were composed of He had the Whispering Death, but to duplicate it he would have to obtain from the inventor his secret formula—the formula of the repulsion plates that gave the machine its wonderful locomotion. Halliday was certain that no experiments nor analysis would yield the secret of the unknown metals.

Probably Dr. Night had by this time realised that he had been hasty in so abruptly alienating the inventor's trust in him. No doubt he had himself, or by one of the numerous agents he employed, tried to duplicate the plates. He had certainly failed. Now he would again turn his attention to Halliday. This time he would not have a solitary, trusting man to deal with. The inventor would be on his guard—he would be guarded. Dr. Night would have openly to avow his quest. He would first, thought Hardy, attempt a search of the laboratory, in the hopes of obtaining some memoranda of the formula. Failing in that direction, he would endeavour to take captive Halliday, and wring his secret from him.

"I am glad I brought you out to see father," Ruth spoke impulsively, after they had driven some distance along the Sydney road in silence.

"Why?" With a start Hardy came out of his thoughts.

"He likes you." The girl nodded her blonde head. "Mr. Hardy, father lives too much alone. He has almost deserted mother and me. He is lonely, solitary, spending all his days in his laboratory."

"What do you want me to do?" The journalist smiled at the gild's earnestness.

"Come and see him often. Oh, you will be always welcome. Father will welcome you and so will mother and I—not only because you draw father out of himself, but for your own sake."

"Thank you." Hardy meditated a moment. "You know something of your father's worries. I have asked him to confide fully in his wife and yourself. He must never be alone—not even when he is in his laboratory."

"He came up to the house before we drove away." Ruth looked puzzled. "He has not done that for a long time. Usually he goes down to the laboratory soon after daybreak, and only returns to the house at bedtime."

"He will not do so in future." The journalist promised. "Miss Halliday, you and your mother must guard and watch him."

"From that Chinaman?" asked the girl.

"From the Asian, Dr. Night:"

"But what can we do?" The girl turned to Hardy.

"Much. But I don't rely on you two alone. I am asking Inspector Frost this afternoon to set a guard around your house. From now on, until Dr. Night is apprehended, you will never be unwatched."

"How terrible." Ruth shuddered slightly. "Will we have to live under espionage long?"

"Not very long, I hope." Hardy spoke earnestly. "And to lighten your stress I am going to bring Mrs. Hardy out to visit you and your mother. You will like her—and she will be a safeguard to you all."

"But—your wife and Dr. Night?" Ruth hesitated. "Mr. Hardy, you must not expose her to our dangers."

"Doris will understand." The man spoke confidently. "And she knows Dr. Night. Look out!"

They had turned a corner sharply, almost running into a small crowd gathered on the near side of the roadway. Only the girl's quick resource saved the car from dashing into the people. She swerved and almost immediately came to a halt.

"Someone's hurt." The girl, standing up in the car, could see above the heads of the crowd. Hardy did not wait for any further report. He jumped from the car and pushed towards the centre of the crowd.

A man was lying in the roadway, a doctor and a policeman bending over him. Something in the man's form attracted Hardy. He pushed forward impulsively.

"Keep back there." The constable looked up angrily. "Where do you think you're going?"

"What's happened, sergeant?" Hardy opened his hand to show a little blue covered book, bearing the word "Press."

"Young fellow fell from tram." The constable nodded recognition of the police pass. "The tram was coming down the hill at a pretty bat, too. Pell on his shoulder. Doctor says a broken collarbone and fractured forearm. A couple of ribs damaged, also."

"Whew!" At last Hardy caught sight of the sufferer's face. "I know him, sergeant. Roy Iston, of the Mirror. Should have his police-pass on him."

"That's right. I found his pass. We're waiting for the ambulance."

"Mr. Hardy." The journalist turned, to see Ruth at his elbow. "Is he a friend of yours? You know I have the car here, and—it's a long way to the hospital."

"It's Roy Iston," Hardy explained rapidly. "He's on this Dr. Night story—though what he is doing out this way I can't imagine."

"A friend of yours!" the girl gasped. "Then why-"

"Why, what, Miss Halliday?" Hardy glanced, inquisitively at the girl.

"Why not take him to my home? Mother and I will nurse him."

"But—the trouble?" the journalist protested.

"And the advantage. He is your friend."

"I am chief sub-editor of the newspaper on the staff of which he is a reporter."

"That makes It better," the girl laughed gleefully. "Tell the policeman to put him in my car with the doctor. We will be home in ten minutes."

"But-"

"Oh, can't you see?" Ruth protested. "He will be able to tell us what to do—to advise us when you are not at Vaucluse. It is for the best. Mr. Hardy, can't you see what a great thing this will be for us all?"

Almost against his inclinations Hardy instructed the constable to help carry Roy to Ruth's car. The reporter was still insensible when they lifted him. As they propped him in a corner of the seat he opened his eyes drowsily.

"You, Mr. Hardy! Good-o! Where's that tramcar? Hurry, hurry, man Dr. Night was on it!"

"Dr. Night was on the car you fell from?" questioned the journalist hastily.

"Fell be damned!" Roy closed his eyes again wearily. "I never fell. He pushed me!"