Читать книгу The Amir's Ruby - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 6
ОглавлениеThe Mysterious Warning
Colin flew back to Bere Regis Aerodrome on the following morning. All necessary arrangements and instructions had been given him, including a "letter of introduction" in the shape of a thin sheet of silver about the size of a playing-card and inscribed with weird Eastern characters.
"That's a feather in your cap, Standish," declared Mr. Truscott. "And in the Company's, too, provided you succeed. Honestly, I haven't any knowledge of what you're going for and I'm not asking! You're taking the Condor, I suppose? She's the speediest ten-seater we have, and you'd better not be cramped for room. How about a crew?"
"Three, sir, all told. I would suggest Grey as Second Pilot."
"No fault to find with your choice, there. And who else?"
"Metcalfe, as engineer, sir."
"That Yorkshireman? Steady fellow but a bit slow in the uptake at times. Right: get on with it. When do you propose starting?"
"At dawn to-morrow," announced Standish.
Having warned his crew for duty—to the unconcealed delight of young Donald Grey, at least: Jack Metcalfe receiving his orders with stolid acquiescence—Standish consulted the ground foreman with a view to preparing the Condor for her hazardous voyage.
"I'll want her ready in all respects by four to-morrow morning, Symes," he ordered. "You might unship the wireless."
"Why, whatever for, sir?" inquired the mystified Symes. "Supposing you're in a crash?"
"Then the gear wouldn't be of much use to me, I fancy," rejoined Standish. "I'm not using it, so please return it to store."
As Colin walked away the foreman gazed in perplexity at his retreating form.
"Well, of all things!" he muttered. "What monkey-tricks is that youngster up to, I wonder?"
On approaching the outskirts of the village, Standish caught sight of a placard announcing the forthcoming boxing tournament to be held at the Londesboro' Hall, Bournemouth. Over the face of the placard was a pasted strip bearing the words in bold black letters: "Postponed till the 30th September."
"By Jove!" ejaculated the would-be competitor. "And I'm due back by or before then. Wonder if I'll be able to have a shot at it?"
Having made a few purchases in the village, Standish returned to the aerodrome. In view of the early start he turned in immediately after dinner, giving instructions to be called at 3 a.m. Then, possessing the happy quality of not worrying over coming events, he was soon in a sound and healthy sleep.
He had not been asleep for more than an hour—actually it was a quarter past nine—when he was aroused by a tap on his door.
"Hello! Come in!" replied Colin, instantly awake.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir," announced the mess-steward, "but there's an express letter for you."
"Thanks," replied the young pilot, stretching out his hand.
The envelope bore a Devonport postmark and was addressed in a feminine hand. Inside was half a sheet of paper on which was written:
"Take care! The Down 'Em Gang will be on the look-out for you on your return flight. E.M."
"Will you be wanting to send a reply, sir?"
"No thanks."
The steward went out, leaving Standish to examine the postmark of the mysterious warning. It had been posted at noon at Plymouth on that same day. He'd never heard of the Down 'Em Gang. Who were they, and why was he warned to look out for them on his homeward flight? What flight? Surely not the one to bring home the Atar-il-Kilk ruby? The actual reason for his flight to Bakhistan was known only to Sir Rugglestone Gorton and himself. It was beyond reason that the secret should have leaked out, that a gang should be able to make plans to intercept him, and that some unknown person, supposedly a woman, had learnt of the intentions and had sent him an express letter to warn him—all within the space of twenty-four hours.
Standish was still puzzling his brain when there was another knock upon the door. Without further warning the door was thrown open, and Mr. Truscott, looking very excited, bounded into the room.
"Glad you're awake, Standish!" he began, brandishing a copy of a London evening paper. "Read this! Cat's out of the bag with a vengeance. Someone's been talking and it was a secret between two people. And one of them is you! Hang it all, Standish! The Far Eastern Airways will be badly let down over this business. The deal will be off! Sir Rugglestone will——"
The excited Resident Managing Director paused for lack of words to express his astonishment and indignation.
"Well, what is it, sir?" asked Colin quietly.
Mr. Truscott handed him the paper.
On the front page in heavy-leaded letters appeared the heading:
"AIR DASH FOR AMIR'S RUBY
"A sensational flight by an experienced young pilot of the Far Eastern Airways—Mr. Colin Standish—will be undertaken in the course of the next few days. Mr. Standish has been specially selected by Sir Rugglestone Gorton, Bart., of Haxthorpe Hall, Yorkshire, to fetch home the great ruby known as the Atar-il-Kilk, recently bequeathed him by the late Amir Mir Ghani of Bakhistan."
It went on to say that the pilot was expected home on or before the 30th instant, and concluded with a description of the gem; its weight, history, and of the probable use its new owner intends to make of it.
"Well, sir, that's torn it!" remarked Standish, equally at a loss to understand how the jealously-guarded secret had leaked out.
"Torn it? Absolutely and utterly pulverized it, you mean," stormed Mr. Truscott. "Come along with me to the telephone. We'll see what Sir Rugglestone has to say. I guess I know that already!"
Waiting only to throw on a dressing-gown and thrust his feet into a pair of slippers, Colin accompanied his chief to the latter's private office.
It took some time for the exchange to get through to Haxthorpe Hall, but when connexion was made Sir Rugglestone answered the call in person.
"Yes, I know," he replied. "I've just seen it in the Yorkshire Herald. I've been expecting you to ring up.... Yes, it's unfortunate, very."
"I suppose our contract is cancelled?" asked Mr. Truscott.
"Not at all," declared Sir Rugglestone briskly. "Not at all. Unless, of course, Mr. Standish decides, in view of these revelations, that the attempt is too risky. In that case——"
"One moment, sir," interrupted the Managing Director. Then turning to Colin: "He wants us to carry on. The risk of being held up is enormous! But we must consider our reputation. Are you still willing? For goodness' sake say yes, Standish!"
"Yes," replied the young pilot.
"Mr. Standish is ready to carry on, Sir Rugglestone," reported Mr. Truscott.
"Then just let him carry on," rejoined Sir Rugglestone. "That's all. Goodnight."
And he rang off.
