Читать книгу An Old Captivity - Nevil Shute Norway - Страница 4

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Ross went down to the station, and took the next train up to Coventry. He got there early in the afternoon, left his bag at the cloak room, and walked up through the town to the offices of Lockwood Tube and Wire Company. He told his business to the uniformed commissionaire; then he waited for some time in an oak-panelled waiting-room, reading the trade papers on the table. Finally he was led down a long panelled corridor and shown into an office.

A thin, middle-aged man, slightly bald, got up to meet him. “My name is Hanson,” he said. “I am Sir David’s secretary. I understand you have a note to Sir David from his brother?”

Ross showed the note. The secretary took it from him, opened it, and read it through. Then he laid it carefully upon his desk. “Ah, yes ... I see. You are Mr. Ross?”

The pilot said, “That’s right.”

“Sir David is busy at the moment. I think he may wish to see you in a few minutes. In the meantime, would you give me a few details of your experience in aviation, Mr. Ross?”

The few details proved to be a comprehensive survey of his life to that date, with cross references to people who could vouch for him, with their telephone numbers where he knew them. The secretary took this down in shorthand very rapidly. It took about twenty minutes; at the end of that time Mr. Hanson scanned his notes through quickly, and then said:

“Have you prepared any estimate of the cost of the journey that Mr. Cyril Lockwood proposes?”

Ross shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I only heard about it for the first time yesterday afternoon. I could give you a few very rough figures now, if you like.”

Hanson turned to a fresh page of his notebook.

“Perhaps that would be a good thing. Then I can give the whole picture to Sir David in a very few minutes.”

Ross sat in silence for a minute. Then he said, “Well, the most expensive single item is the aeroplane, of course. Seaplane, I should say—it’s a job for a float machine. And I don’t think we shall find it possible to get insurance for it.”

The secretary made a note. “Is that because of the great risk?”

“Not entirely. Flights of that sort are done so seldom that there’s no experience for underwriters to base a rate on.”

“I understand.” He made another note.

The pilot said, “We should have to have a six- or seven-seater cabin seaplane for the job. You won’t want to spend more money than you need, of course. I could pick up one that had done five or six hundred hours in Canada for about six thousand dollars. Probably less.”

The secretary laid down his pencil, and stared at Ross. “Do you mean a second-hand aeroplane, Mr. Ross?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause. Then Hanson picked up his pencil again, and made another note. “I doubt if Sir David would consider a second-hand machine for Mr. Cyril’s expedition,” he said patiently. “Still, I’ve made a note of the figure. What would a new one cost?”

“About twenty-five thousand dollars, for a Cosmos with a Wasp engine, on floats. A good second-hand one would be quite all right, and you can pick them up very cheaply now.”

The secretary shook his head. “I think Sir David would be very much against it.”

“All right. I’d rather have a new machine, of course; the work of maintenance will be much less. But I wouldn’t let that kill the expedition at the start.”

Hanson looked down his nose. “I do not think that that will be the case, Mr. Ross.”

The pilot was silent for a minute, revising his ideas. “If you decide to have a new machine, we’ll have to cable an order to the Cosmos people right away, because our time is getting very short indeed. They’re in Detroit. Or, better still, let me have five minutes on the telephone with Johnnie Finck, their sales manager.”

The secretary made another note. “Sir David would very much prefer to use a British aeroplane,” he said. “Isn’t that possible?”

The pilot shook his head. “If you want the best machine for flying in the North, you must go to the States for it,” he said. “The British manufacturer hasn’t gone for that market.”

“Sir David will be disappointed.”

Ross shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got to tell him what machine is best for the job. I only wish he’d start in building aeroplanes himself to suit Canadian conditions.”

The secretary gave him a long look. “He may want to talk that over with you,” he said discreetly. “In the meantime, we must take it that it’s an American machine.”

“That’s right.”

They proceeded with the budget, and came presently to the pilot’s remuneration.

“I should like some form of payment by results,” said Ross. “There’s about five months’ work in this thing, as I see it. You can pay me monthly at the rate of eight hundred a year, starting now, with a bonus of five hundred pounds if the job is done all right. We can define what that means with Mr. Cyril Lockwood later on. But I can tell you this—the job’s worth that amount of money.”

Hanson made his note. “I have no doubt of it,” he said drily. “I am quite prepared to put that to Sir David. In principle, it seems a very fair proposal.”

In half an hour they had covered all the ground; the secretary totted up the figures on his pad. “Including your estimate for the photography, nine thousand seven hundred and eighty pounds,” he said. “Call it ten thousand.” He eyed Ross keenly. “Sir David very much dislikes increasing estimates. Once a figure has been given, it has to be adhered to. If we said twelve thousand pounds to cover every contingency—should we be safe at that?”

Ross said, “Absolutely, I should think.”

The secretary made his note.

He looked over the pages of his notes. “I think that covers everything,” he said at last. He got up from his desk. “Now I’m going to ask you to excuse me for a minute or two.”

He went out through a side door into the next office, and closed it softly behind him. Ross was left waiting for a time; in the next room there was a low murmur of voices. Ten minutes later the secretary reappeared.

“Would you come in?” he said. “Sir David would like to see you.”

Ross went through into the next room, a large office furnished with rather shabby chairs, and a large desk. A thickset, heavy man in a black coat was sitting at the desk. He was going bald; he had a firm, determined face with much the same features as the don. The relationship was evident. The face was vaguely familiar to Ross from the illustrated papers; Sir David Lockwood was not a Lord Nuffield, but he was a very healthy man.

He raised his head, gave Ross a long, appraising look, and motioned to a chair with the end of the fountain pen in his hand. “Sit down.”

Ross obeyed in silence.

“You’ve been in Canada?”

“I was there for about four years.”

“What sort of a car did you drive out there?”

“A Packard.”

“Like it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

This, Ross felt, was not what he had come to talk about at all, but he began to talk diffidently about motor cars to the man who had forgotten more than Ross had ever known. Sir David kept him talking upon varied subjects for ten minutes by the clock. At the end of that time he had satisfied himself that the pilot talked good sense, that he was modest, probably competent to maintain things mechanical, probably honest and hardworking.

He turned to the letter that Hanson had laid before him. “You spent last night with my brother, I see. He tells me that he’s decided to go on this Greenland trip. He wants you to take him.”

“Yes, sir.” The pilot hesitated. “There’s one thing that I’m a bit worried about.”

The grey eyes of the manufacturer fixed his own. “Well, what’s that?”

Ross said, “His daughter seems to be very much against the flight. She had a talk with me about it this morning.”

“Alix? What’s it go to do with her? What’s she got against it?”

“She thinks her father is too old to go off on a trip like that.” The pilot hesitated. “I thought you’d better know the way she feels.”

The manufacturer gave a snort. “Too old? I never heard such nonsense in my life. That girl wants a good whipping—that’s what she wants. Too old! Has she said that to my brother?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“You don’t want to pay any attention to that. Is there any reason, in your view of it, why my brother shouldn’t go?”

Ross considered before answering. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “There’s a certain risk in flying so far over the open sea, of course. I should go by Reykjavik; that splits it up into two hops of about six hundred miles each over sea. But flying down the coast of Greenland ought to be all right if we wait and pick a decent day for it, and when we get to this place Brattalid we make a camp and operate from there quite normally. At least, that’s how I see it at the moment.”

Sir David nodded. “My brother has had good health all his life. He’s fifty-eight years old. Are you afraid of trouble if you take him with you?”

“Not in the least.”

“Of course not. Too old!” He sat brooding at his desk for a moment. Then he shot a sidelong glance at Ross. “He’s three years younger than I am.”

The pilot could not think of anything to say to that.

The manufacturer turned to the secretary. “Twelve thousand, Hanson?”

“Yes, Sir David. That was the outside figure—it includes the whole cost of the machine. It should come out a good deal less.”

The older man scrutinized the list of figures for a moment, then turned back to Ross. “It’s a lot of money. You’ll have to show results for that amount of money.”

The pilot shook his head. “I wouldn’t take this job if I had to guarantee results, sir. It’s too unusual. I’ll do my best, and in my judgment we can get the photographs Mr. Lockwood wants without much difficulty. But we may run into sheer bad luck.”

“I don’t want you to take more risks than are essential to the job. Especially if my brother’s going with you.”

Ross nodded. “It should be quite all right. But if it’s not, I shall play for safety first. In that case, we may spend the money and show no results—this year, at any rate.”

The manufacturer looked at him closely, weighing him up. At last he said, “Well, we’ll let it go at that. Mr. Hanson’s going to check up on your references. If those are satisfactory, he’ll write you a letter of engagement on the terms you want. You’ll have to fix up with Hanson and my brother the conditions for your bonus.”

He got up from his desk. “All right. I shall be seeing more of you, I expect.”

Ross said, “I’ll do my best to get this through all right, sir.”

“You’d better. Don’t pay any attention to that silly girl. I’ll sort her out at the week end.”

He paused, standing erect behind his desk. “I offered Cyril twenty-five thousand for his research six years ago,” he said. “He hasn’t taken a thousand yet. I hope this means he’s come to realise that money’s meant to be used.”

Ross left the room with Hanson. In the outer office he turned to the secretary, and said:

“We shall have to hop around now, Mr. Hanson, if we’re going to get through in time. How soon can we start and order the machine?”

The secretary looked down his nose. “Today is Friday. If all goes right, we should be able to engage you definitely on Monday, Mr. Ross. After that, you can make a start.”

“All right. I’m going back to Oxford now to see Mr. Lockwood. Over the week end I’ll make out a programme of what we’ve got to do. Unless I hear from you to the contrary, I’ll be back here on Monday morning.”

The secretary smiled. “I should be ready for you by that time. But you’ve got six weeks, or more. A day or two won’t make much difference.”

The pilot said, “That’s just where you go wrong, Mr. Hanson. If we get that machine delivered, shipped and erected in this country, ready to start, six weeks from now, we shall do damn well. I don’t believe it can be done that quickly. But that’s when we’ve got to have it. If we don’t get that order placed on Monday you can call the whole thing off.”

The secretary nodded. “I see what you mean. I’ll talk it over with Sir David.”

Ross left the works, and was carried swiftly in the works’ car to the station. He caught the next train back to Oxford. He got there at about nine o’clock at night, and rang up Lockwood from a telephone booth at the station.

The don said, “I have had a long talk with my brother on the telephone, Mr. Ross. Would you care to come and spend the night again? That’s fine. Come along now.”

Ross took a taxi to the house in Norham Gardens; the job seemed sufficiently secure for that expenditure. He was very tired; before meeting Lockwood he made an excuse to the parlourmaid and went and washed his face. Then he went to the study; the don was there with his daughter. Lockwood got up from his desk and came to meet him; the girl remained in her deep chair, reading her book.

Lockwood said, “You seem to have made a good impression on my brother, Mr. Ross.”

The pilot smiled. “I’m very glad to hear it. I had a long talk with his secretary before I saw Sir David.”

“You mean Mr. Hanson? He’s been with my brother a long time. He helps me a great deal with my income tax.”

They talked about the expedition generally for a time.

“I’ll have a look at the route over the week end,” said Ross. “The machine will have to be shipped to Southampton. I’ll get it assembled somewhere on Southampton Water. Then we’ll have to go to one of the places in the north of Scotland—Oban, or somewhere like that. From there to Reykjavik in Iceland must be eight or nine hundred miles—we’ll have to make that in one hop. From Reykjavik to Angmagsalik is five or six hundred I believe, and about the same from Angmagsalik to Julianehaab. But I’ll have to look it all up—I’m only speaking from memory. We’ll have to have radio for a trip like that. That’s another thing.”

“I suppose so,” said Lockwood vaguely. “Tell me, are there any hotels at these places, do you think?”

The pilot shook his head. “There won’t be anything at Angmagsalik or Julianehaab.”

“Where should we sleep?”

“Oh, there’s bound to be a Danish family who’ll take us in. I don’t think we shall have to camp until we get to this place Brattalid.”

He glanced at Lockwood. “Does anybody live at Brattalid?”

“I really couldn’t say. I believe it’s quite deserted.”

Ross nodded slowly. “It looks as though we’ll have to depend entirely on ourselves.” He thought about it for a minute or two. Seventy miles from anything, right up near the Arctic Circle. He would have to be very thorough in his plans for camp equipment and provisions.

He said, “Sir David seemed very anxious that everything should be done properly. It’s rather a relief, that.”

Lockwood asked, “Done properly—in what way?”

“I mean, he realises that the trip is going to cost a good bit of money. He wouldn’t hear of buying a second-hand ship.”

The don frowned a little. “How much is it going to cost, Mr. Ross?”

Ross said, “It’s a bit difficult to say, at this stage. Your brother gave me a limit of twelve thousand pounds.”

In the far corner of the room, in her deep chair by the fire, the girl dropped the book that she had been pretending to read. She turned and stared at the two men.

“Twelve thousand pounds!” she cried.

The pilot turned and looked at her. “Sir David gave me that as the outside figure that he was prepared to spend,” he said. “Actually, it won’t come to anything like that unless we get some real bad luck. If everything goes well, by the time we’ve sold the machine second-hand and cleaned it all up, I daresay it will have cost six or seven thousand.”

“But that’s a small fortune! It can’t possibly cost anything like that amount!”

The pilot’s lips tightened; he was very tired. “I’m afraid it can, Miss Lockwood. We shall probably drop three thousand selling the machine second-hand, as a start. Shipping it from Detroit to Southampton will cost about three hundred. Fuel and oil may cost another four hundred, by the time we’ve got it shipped to Greenland. I’m not quite sure about the cost of the photography—something between a thousand and fifteen hundred pounds by the time the mosaic is made up. We shan’t be far off the figure that I said.”

The girl said, “It’s perfectly fantastic!”

Ross sighed. “I’m sorry, but that’s what aircraft cost to run, Miss Lockwood.”

The girl got up from her chair and came over to her desk. There was an air about her that reminded Ross immediately of Sir David. “Daddy,” she said, “this wants looking into a bit more. Isobel told me that she flew to Rome the other day for fifteen pounds, and I believe that’s further. It can’t possibly cost this amount of money. Don’t make any decision tonight.”

The don glanced at Ross. “It seems to have gone up a good deal,” he said mildly. “You told me four thousand yesterday.”

In his fatigue, depression closed down on the pilot. “That was reckoning on a second-hand aeroplane,” he said. “But your brother won’t hear of that. If he’s got the money to spend, I think he’s quite right.”

Lockwood said, “Ah—yes, I had forgotten that. I suppose you lose more money when you’re selling a new machine than when you’re selling a second-hand one.”

“Certainly. It’s like a motor car.” He paused. “With the slump that’s on in Canada, the price of second-hand ships is very low. It makes a lot of difference.”

Lockwood nodded. “I quite understand.”

The girl burst out, “But, Daddy, Uncle David can’t possibly go spending thousands of pounds in this way. Think what that money would mean to them down at the Mission!”

The pilot came to the conclusion that he had had about as much as he could stand. He got up from his chair. “I’m a bit tired,” he said. “Would you mind if I went to bed now? We can go on with this in the morning.”

Lockwood looked with irritation at his daughter. He wished that she had kept out of it. He knew instinctively that the pilot was in the right in this contention, that Alix was making a fool of herself. He wanted to spend the rest of the evening with Ross making plans for the expedition; at the same time, he could hardly discipline his daughter in front of this young man. Besides, the pilot might be really tired. He said:

“By all means, Mr. Ross. You know the way to your room. We’ll go on with our arrangements after breakfast.”

The pilot nodded. “We shall be fresher then. After that, I must get back to London if we’re going on with this. Good night, Mr. Lockwood—don’t get up.” He passed the girl and nodded to her coldly. “Good night, Miss Lockwood.”

He went up to his room, undressed moodily, and got into bed. The job did not appear to be so very safe, after all. It was all right except for that infernal girl. He hoped that she’d marry a commercial traveller, and have triplets. Keep her quiet. But no commercial traveller would look at her. A little bitch, with ugly clothes and with an ugly mind. To hell with her.

He slept.

In the study below Alix faced her father. “I know you’re cross with me, Daddy,” she said quietly, “but I can’t help it. I’m quite sure there’s something wrong here. It can’t possibly be necessary to spend all those thousands of pounds.”

Lockwood said irritably, “My dear, your uncle has built up a very big business, and he’s got a very good business man as his secretary. Don’t you think we might leave the money side to them? After all, it’s their money. If you’re afraid that Mr. Ross is trying to cheat them, you can set your mind at rest. He’ll be a clever man if he gets anything past Hanson.”

The girl said, “I know, Daddy. But the whole thing is being so rushed. Don’t go any further with it tonight. Is Uncle David coming down tomorrow?”

“Yes. He’ll be here in the evening.”

“Daddy, how much is Mr. Ross going to make out of this expedition? How much are you paying him?”

Her father said, “I really don’t know. David said that they’d fixed up terms with him, but he didn’t say what they were.”

She stuck her chin out. “Well, I’d like to know.”

“My dear, he’s got to earn his living, like everybody else.”

“I know, Daddy. But he’s in such a hurry to rush us into this, and there’s really no hurry at all. It’s over ten weeks before you want to be there, on the first of August. I know you’ve got to get there, but Isobel flew further than that in one day when she went to Rome. It all makes one smell a rat.”

Lockwood, faced his daughter. “Do you think he’s a rogue?” he asked directly.

She hesitated. “No ... I don’t quite think that. But I think he wants this job very badly, and he’s trying to rush you into it.”

There was a long silence after she said that. Lockwood, for all his years, was still the victim of an inferiority complex. He knew himself to be a good lecturer, a useful member of his college, a fine classical scholar, and a brilliant archeologist. With these accomplishments, he was a child in business and in money matters, and he knew it. He knew it much too well. Various sad experiences as a young man had shown him that he could be imposed upon, and he had accepted the position with docility.

He said doubtfully, “I’m not sure that you’re right, Alix. I like him very well.”

“I know, Daddy. But that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s hoping to get a job out of you.”

He said, “All right, my dear. We’ll wait and talk it over with David when he comes.”

She said, a little hesitantly, “It’s going to be a terribly difficult expedition, anyway. You couldn’t go back to Crete, I suppose?”

“Crete?” He stared at her. “Don’t talk so foolishly. Nobody’s going to Crete. The work is in Greenland.”

She said no more.

Ross got up in the morning worried and upset. It seemed to him that the Lockwoods had got to realise that flying aeroplanes to Greenland cost a lot of money. Unless they were prepared to face that fact he would do better to wash his hands of it, go back to his aunt at Guildford, and scratch about for something else to do. A flight like that could only be done at all if money were no object, particularly in the time.

He went down moodily to breakfast. After the meal he went with Lockwood to the study. The don said, “David is coming here this evening, Mr. Ross. What are your movements?”

The pilot smiled. “I see that you’re not quite decided on this thing,” he said. “I think I’d better get back to London. I can start to look up points about the route and the formalities, although it’s Saturday. I’ve arranged to go to Coventry on Monday morning unless I hear from them to the contrary. We’d better stick to that arrangement. By that time you’ll know more about it.”

Lockwood nodded. He was a little ashamed of his vacillation; in the cold light of morning he could not quite see why he had agreed to hesitate. Moreover he liked the young man, and he realized that the uncertainty was making a bad start for the adventure, if it was to come off. Still, Alix was probably right; it would be better not to rush things.

He said, “I think that’s wise. My brother will be here this evening, and I’ll have a talk with him. We shall be able to make a definite decision one way or the other then. Are you on the telephone, Mr. Ross?”

The pilot hesitated. “I’m afraid I’m not. I’ll give you my address at Guildford; a telegram will get to me.”

“That will do perfectly. I will wire you if there’s any change in the arrangements.”

Ross went back to London, half convinced that the girl had killed his job stone dead. He went first to the Guild of Air Pilots; from there he went to the aeronautical department of the Automobile Association. He spent all afternoon there, plotting his route and examining the records of previous flights to Greenland. Late in the afternoon he tried to get in touch with a fuel company upon the telephone, but it was Saturday afternoon and he had no luck.

In the evening he went down to Guildford. He leaned against the kitchen wall, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, and told Aunt Janet all about it. She heard him to the end in pawky silence.

“It’s a terribly costly piece of resairch,” she said at last. “The lassie’s got the right idea of it, to my way of thinking.”

The pilot shrugged his shoulders. “If they want survey made of that part of the world, that’s what it will cost them,” he said. “I can’t tell you if they really want it done or not. I think they’re drawing back a bit now.”

“And well they may,” said his aunt drily. “It’s a mighty lot of money to be spending at one go.”

She turned to him. “If they dinna want you, Donald, what else would you do?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll have to find a job of some sort, soon.”

“Ay,” she said prosaically, “that’s a fact.” She got up and began moving about the kitchen. “Come on and help me lay the supper. Ye’ll do nae good with worrying.”

In Oxford the Bentley, driven by the well-disciplined, efficient young chauffeur in blue uniform, turned into Norham Gardens at about six o’clock and drew up at Lockwood’s house. The chauffeur sprang from his seat and came round to the door; Sir David heaved his heavy body up and got out. “You’d better wait a bit,” he grunted. “Give my bag to the maid.” He went forward into the house.

Ten minutes later he was lighting a cigar, seated alone with his brother Cyril in the study. “Well, how about the Arctic?” he said, heavily jocular. “Got your fur coat yet? Made all your plans?”

Not for the first time, Cyril Lockwood felt a fool over this thing. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t yet,” he said. “I thought we’d have another talk about it.”

“What’s the matter? I thought you’d made up your mind to go. Been talking to Alix?”

The don stared at the manufacturer. “How did you know about Alix?”

Sir David blew a long, aromatic cloud of smoke. “That pilot told me she was dead against you going on the trip at all.”

“He told you that? I wonder how he knew.”

“She had one of her little talks with him.”

“Did she, though. Well, it was straight of him to tell you about it. I thought he was a good lad, David.”

“Oh, ay—he’s all right. But there’s plenty more where that one came from. You want a good pilot if you’re going on a trip like that.”

“I suppose you do. Is he a good pilot?”

“I don’t know. Hanson will know by Monday.” He turned to the don. “Well, Cyril, are you going or not?”

The don hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s going to cost far more than I ever thought, David. I was quite staggered when Ross came back last night and told me the figures.”

The manufacturer said, “What’s that got to do with you?”

“It’s your money that you’ve put at my disposal, David—very generously. I’ve got to advise you how to spend it. I’ve got to be very sure that you spend it to the best advantage. And—well, I’m not sure. It seems to me that this Brattalid expedition may cost more than it’s worth.”

“Suppose you stick to archeology and let me spend my money my own way.”

The don stared at him. “My dear chap—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“And you haven’t. But look here, Cyril—you’ll hurt me very much if you don’t start and use that money that I put in your research account six years ago. In six years you’ve spent nine hundred and thirty-four pounds out of twenty-five thousand. If you tell me that in six years you couldn’t have done more if you’d spent more money—I’ll call you a bloody fool.”

The don nodded. “You’re perfectly right. But it seems such a lot to spend.”

“The tubes will make as much again when you’ve spent that.”

“I suppose so. How are the works going?”

“Can’t grumble, things being as they are. I got Hanson to figure out last week’s output if it was stretched out end to end. Forty-seven miles of drawn steel tubes we turned out—in one week. That’s over and above the wire.”

“It’s very wonderful, David.”

The other blew out a long cloud of smoke. “Ay,” he said quietly, “it’s very wonderful. In twenty years’ time I shall be dead, and all that tube will be just little smears of rust upon the ground. In thirty years Coventry folks won’t know the name of Lockwood, unless they go and read the plate up at the Hospital. But in thirty years people will still be talking of your work. In a hundred and thirty years. That’s what strikes me as wonderful.”

There was a short silence.

“That’s what it is,” the manufacturer said at last. “I make the money, and you make the name. I wish we could row together a bit more.”

The don shifted uneasily in his chair. “I didn’t know you felt like that,” he said. “It’s quite true. There is a lot that could be done ...”

“Then for God’s sake, go ahead and do it,” said the other testily. “This Brattalid thing, Cyril. Is it a good one? Will you find out something—something that’s worth knowing?”

The don leaned his arms upon the desk. “It’s a good one, David,” he said seriously. “I know the Irish went to Greenland. I know they did, but I can’t prove it yet. There’s just the one link missing, still. That’s the first thing that we’ve got to do—to establish definitely that they went there. After that there’s the ethnological problem. What happened to the Irish that were there? What happened to the Norse settlers?”

He stared across the room. “I never felt so certain in my life as I do about this thing,” he said quietly. “There’s something big there, David—waiting to be uncovered. I don’t say that I shall get it. But someone will, one day.”

The other said, “Go on and get it for yourself, and don’t be a bloody fool.”

The don laughed, and relaxed. “All right. I really had decided on it before I sent that young man up to see you. But then when he told me what it was all going to cost, it seemed too much to spend.”

“And Alix put her oar in, I suppose.”

“Alix thinks it’s too dangerous.”

“If Alix was ten years younger I’d stretch her out across the couch and tan the pants off her.” The manufacturer threw the stub of cigar into the grate. “When we get to thinking things are too dangerous—things that we want to do—we’ll be no more good,” he said. “That’s right, Cyril. That makes a static business, when you get to thinking things are dangerous that you want to do. And a static business is a ruined business in a year or two.”

The don said mildly, “Alix is a good girl.”

His brother said, “She looks it. She dresses like hell, Cyril. Put her in among our Coventry girls and she’d look like a dead fish.”

Lockwood sighed. “I suppose the truth of it is that she doesn’t get about enough.”

“Too true. She’ll be an old woman in a year or two unless she can snap out of it.”

He got up from his chair. “It’s settled that you’re going, then?”

“I think so. I’d like to have that young man Ross for the pilot, David, if he’s good enough. We get to know something about young men, here in Oxford. I’d have confidence in him, I think.”

“Ay. I daresay he could do the job as well as anyone. He’s coming up to Coventry on Monday. He’s in a great hurry to place the order for his aeroplane, because of the delivery.”

“I suppose that is very important,” said Lockwood vaguely.

“Well, you won’t be able to fly to Greenland without it.”

They walked in the garden till dinner time, talking of other matters. After dinner Lockwood had business in his study with a couple of young men; Sir David went out into the garden with Alix in the still, warm, summer evening. The old parlourmaid brought them their coffee at the table under the beech tree.

When she had gone the manufacturer said to the girl, “I hear you think your father’s too old to go to Greenland.”

She looked up, startled. “I never said that to him.”

“I should hope not. Pretty mean if you had. But you think it, just the same.”

She met his eyes. “Who told you that, Uncle David?”

“That pilot chap who came to see me.”

“Oh ... Well, I did say that to him. And I do think it.” She dropped her eyes. “I don’t want to be nasty. But Daddy’s nearly sixty, and Greenland is a job for a young man. I wouldn’t say that to him, because I wouldn’t want to hurt him. But it’s true, all the same.”

“Greenland’s the job your father wants to do.”

“I know it is. But he could find something else that wouldn’t be so strenuous.”

“You talk as if he was an invalid. Look at me. I’m three years older and three stone heavier. I wouldn’t mind going to Greenland.”

She said doubtfully, “You’re different. I mean, you’ve done things—all your life, Uncle David. But Daddy’s not like you. I’d be afraid of him getting wet and not changing, or eating bad food and getting ill. And if he got ill upon a trip like that, with only the pilot and mechanics, it would be awful.”

She paused. “It’d be almost as good if he left the field work to a younger man, and studied it back here.”

“Not quite as good. He knows more about this thing than anybody else. At least, that’s how I understand it.”

She hesitated. “I know. But one really must be practical.”

“Sometimes it’s better to be kind, Alix.”

There was a long silence.

“I hate the idea of him going in an aeroplane. He’s never done any flying.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“I suppose that’s why you’re so afraid of it for him.”

“I suppose so.”

Sir David said, “You’d better make the best of it and let him go. If you stick your toes in you can probably stop him, and you might be sorry all your life. Cyril’s more set on this thing than anything I can remember in the last ten years. You’d better make the best of it, and be a sport.”

She said irritably, “It’s all that wretched pilot, I believe. He wasn’t half so definite about it all before the pilot came. He just talked Daddy into it.”

Her uncle was doubtful. “Your father was very set on it when last I talked to him. I don’t think it’s anything new.”

There was a little pause.

“If only I could feel that he’d be well looked after if he did get ill ...” she said.

“Well, that’s a real point, I admit. Let’s see now if we can’t get over that.”

On Monday morning Ross left Guildford by an early train. He was depressed about the whole affair, but he had heard nothing from Lockwood and so his arrangement to go to Coventry held good. He got to the works at about half past eleven and was shown into Mr. Hanson’s office.

The secretary met him with a smile. “I think you will be able to go straight ahead today, Mr. Ross,” he said. “I have drafted this letter of engagement. If you would read it through now, I will have it retyped for Sir David to sign.”

The pilot sat down with the letter. A flood of relief swept over him; it was quite all right. He had got the job. Now he had a straight run of well-paid, interesting work to get his teeth into—a hard job, maybe, but not more than he could manage. He would increase his reputation if he pulled this off successfully.

He read the letter carefully. “That’s quite in order,” he said. “That covers everything.”

“All right. Sir David will sign it this afternoon.” The secretary put it with the other papers on his desk. “Now you will want to get to work, I expect. I hear you’re going to have another passenger.”

The pilot stared at him. “Who’s that?”

“Miss Lockwood. I understand she’s going with her father.”