Читать книгу The Vultures of Desolate Island - George E. Rochester - Страница 3
ОглавлениеMY MISSION
“Erkunstelt?”
I think some of the astonishment I felt was apparent in my voice.
“Yes, Erkunstelt!” repeated Sir Douglas Malcolm, quietly. “You know him?”
“Only by hearsay, as a wealthy financier who has little love for England,” I replied. “I have never met him.”
Sir Douglas nodded.
“So much the better,” he said. “The fact that you have never met will render your task somewhat easier. But I warn you, Beverley”—and his voice was very grave—“that if our suspicions prove correct you will find it necessary to exercise the utmost caution and discretion, for you will be in deadly peril. But I will make the matter more clear to you.”
He picked up a paper from the desk at which he was seated, and resumed.
“One is so used to seeing a flat map of the world that one loses sight of the fact that the shortest route between Britain and the Far-East is not obtained by taking a ruler and drawing a straight line across the map. The shortest route is viâ the Arctic.”
I nodded in silence.
“It is ten thousand miles from England to Japan, viâ Montreal,” went on Sir Douglas, “and it is eight thousand miles viâ the New Siberian Railway. But by air, over the eastern corner of Ireland, then over Franz Joseph Land, Emperor Nicholas II Land and Cape Chelyaskin, it is only six thousand five hundred miles. You understand?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Less than a year ago,” continued Sir Douglas, “the British Government decided to open up this Arctic air route. We have been wholly successful in the establishment of aerodromes, petrol dumps, repair depôts, etcetera, all along the route. But recently machine after machine has been reported as missing!”
“And you suspect foul play, sir?”
Sir Douglas nodded.
“Yes. At first such an explanation naturally did not occur to us,” he said. “However, a few weeks ago the skipper of a whaling vessel in the Barents Sea picked up floating wreckage which proved to be that of one of our missing machines. That wreckage had been riddled by bullets!”
“By bullets, sir?” I repeated, staring.
“Yes; the machine had obviously been shot down. Someone is raiding the Arctic air route, either with a view to plunder or with a view to driving us from it. We have already lost one hundred and fifty thousand pounds in cargo and bullion alone.”
“And you suspect——”
“Erkunstelt,” cut in Sir Douglas, crisply. “Shortly after we had established our aerodromes and bases he approached us on behalf of a certain foreign power who wished to purchase from us our landing rights and hangars. In short, they wished to take over the air route for themselves.”
“And England refused to sell?”
“Absolutely.”
“But surely, sir,” I said, “there are other reasons, and stronger ones, for suspecting Erkunstelt of having a hand in this piracy?”
“The moment we were convinced that piracy was afoot,” replied Sir Douglas grimly, “we entrusted the necessary investigations to Harry Davies!”
“The Flying Beetle!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, the Flying Beetle. This morning I received, in code, a telegram from him asking me to instruct you to obtain a job at Four Gables—Erkunstelt’s country house in Berwickshire.”
“But what sort of job, sir?” I demanded.
“That,” replied Sir Douglas, “is obviously left entirely to you. But undoubtedly Davies thinks Erkunstelt is worth watching.”
“But, sir,” I expostulated, “supposing I cannot get a job there!”
“You must try,” replied Sir Douglas, a trifle curtly.
“Very good, sir,” I said, flushing, for I was conscious of the snub. “May I ask what rôle the Flying Beetle has adopted during these investigations?”
Sir Douglas rose and laid his hand on my arm.
“Do you not know by now,” he said with a smile, “that the Flying Beetle works in his own way? All I can tell you is that he wishes you to go to Four Gables.”
“Shall I meet him there?” I demanded.
“I cannot say, Beverley.”
“Well, sir, can you tell me where his telegram was sent from?” I asked.
“Yes, from the town of Berwick.”
“Then he is in that neighbourhood, somewhere,” I commented, “and my sole instructions are, sir, that I am to obtain a post of some description in Erkunstelt’s household and watch the man?”
“Yes,” replied Sir Douglas, “the Flying Beetle must be fairly certain in his own mind that Erkunstelt is involved in this piracy, otherwise he would never have sent that telegram. But remember, if Erkunstelt is indeed guilty, then he will not scruple to deal with you out of hand should he discover you to be a member of the British Secret Service.”
“I suppose a search has been made for the pirates’ base, sir?” I said, for I wanted to know as much as possible about this affair upon which I was embarking.
“Yes, our machines have carried out search after search,” was the reply, “but without discovering the slightest sign or clue as to the pirates’ headquarters. That base must, of course, lie somewhere in or about the Arctic circle.”
“Then our only hope seems to lie in watching Erkunstelt,” I said.
“Yes. You will use your own discretion as to your procedure should any untoward happening occur,” replied Sir Douglas. “You will, of course, keep in constant touch with me.”
“Very good, sir,” I replied; “I will leave for the North to-night.”
