A KNIGHT OF THE AIR

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“Just when the pilot and Bennet had commenced to wind down the balloon, a report from a gun was heard.”—Page [156].

A KNIGHT OF THE AIR
Or, the Aerial Rivals

BY
HENRY COXWELL
AUTHOR OF ‘MY LIFE AND BALLOON EXPERIENCES’

LONDON
DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS
18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.

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THIS STORY
IS
Dedicated
BY PERMISSION
TO
Sir WILLIAM INGRAM, Bart.
WHO HAS ALWAYS
EXHIBITED A DEEP INTEREST
ON PRACTICAL AERONAUTICS

CONTENTS

A KNIGHT OF THE AIR

CHAPTER I
SHADOWED!

Mr Harry Goodall, a young, tall and well-set-up gentleman, was walking impatiently to and fro on the south side of Trafalgar Square, as if he were awaiting the arrival of someone who had agreed to meet him. The fact was, he was in a hurry to get to Sydenham, where he was about to try a scientific experiment, and was momentarily expecting a cab conveying a model apparatus which he was going to test. While he was waiting, his attention was drawn to two men who, in crossing the road, were nearly run over, and who, as soon as they caught sight of Goodall, nudged one another and whispered for a moment, and then disappeared behind one of the lions. Almost immediately the cab Goodall was expecting drew up with a long, coffin-shaped box on the top, and, at the same moment, the two men emerged from their hiding-place, and passed Goodall as he stepped into the cab. He noticed this action, and, for some undefined reason, he merely instructed the coachman to drive over Westminster Bridge. The cab bore him swiftly away, but “More haste less speed,” for, as they went down the incline on the Surrey side, the horse slipped and fell. A crowd gathered, and Goodall alighted. As he did so, he noticed a hansom pass him, in which were the same two men he had observed watching him in Trafalgar Square. Shortly afterwards, the cab horse was got up on to his legs again and the journey to Sydenham was proceeded with, after the coachman had received definite orders as to his destination.

As he drove along, it occurred to Goodall that he must be the object of these two men’s attention. The question was, were they detectives who had mistaken him for someone else, or were they spies put on by his uncle, who was, he knew, most averse to the hobby of his life, which, it may be said at once, was ballooning? However, he dismissed the matter from his mind as the cab drew up at the workmen’s entrance to the Crystal Palace, where he deposited the box with the officials and then drove on to the central entrance, where he exchanged civilities with the general manager, and with whom he chatted for a short time in the transept as to what he proposed doing in the way of experiments, and so on. Passing into the building, and wending his way through the groups of refreshment tables, although his mind was full of his project, he could not help noticing a party of people seated at one of the tables. It consisted of a young lady and two gentleman, while another person, as if an attendant on one of them, stood in the background. The lady was remarkably pretty, and one of her companions was an aristocratic-looking old gentleman—a country squire in appearance—but the other, whose face Mr Goodall had seen before, gave him a rude, fixed stare, and, as Goodall drew nearer, he recognised him as one of the two men who had passed him in the hansom, whilst the man in the background was his companion. Thinking that this third rencontre was, perhaps, after all, merely a coincidence, Mr Goodall passed on through the door of the tropical department, and soon afterwards entered a square, glass-built room of large dimensions, which is situated beneath the lofty North Tower, and which had been placed at Mr Goodall’s disposal to facilitate a series of aeronautical experiments, but not in a public capacity, demonstrating his own ideas on aeronautics, and which aimed at rescuing ballooning from the imputation that its pursuit, which had become valuable for military purposes, must necessarily be attended with continual risk, and with those frequent fatalities which have cast a slur on its more recent practice.

In Mr Goodall’s laboratory, or workroom, as he preferred to call it, was a smart young fellow named Trigger, who acted as his assistant, whilst two lady-like women, Mrs Chain and her daughter, were giving the finishing touches to a superb silk balloon, work with which Goodall had entrusted them out of compassion, being aware that they were in bad circumstances through having been swindled by a fraudulent financier, who had embezzled funds of theirs given him to invest.

“Good morning, Mrs Chain,” said Mr Goodall. “Did you ever see a more glorious day? And you, Miss Chain, you wish me success to-day, I hope?”

“Why, of course, Mr Goodall. I was just saying to Lucy”—with a nod over to a young woman, Tom Trigger’s sweetheart,—“that you seem as fortunate as the Queen with respect to weather.”

In addition to the silk balloon, at which they were working there were model machines in the workroom, together with a great mass of tackle, all appertaining to the practice of ballooning. The special contrivance that was to undergo a trial that day was a cone-pointed aerostat of thirteen feet in length, by four feet in central diameter, which Mr Goodall had brought with him in the cab. The amateur’s idea was to use it somewhat like a keel or centre-board boat of novel shape, which was to be driven by a screw propeller on the lake, so as to cause the air-ship, while floating in its own element, some feet above the aquatic contrivance, to deviate several points from the straight course of the wind, as steering by the aid of water, in Mr Goodall’s opinion, could be more easily managed than by steering solely in the air above.

Whilst this invention was being prepared for trial in the lower grounds on the lake, the shadows of two outside visitors were cast on the cotton screen which hung all round the workroom on the inside. As these persons came nearer to the front window, their shadows became more distinct, and they represented a tall man and a shorter person behind, but the leading one was very inquisitive, peering about, trying his level best to get a glimpse of what was going inside. Lucy, whose quick eye was the first to detect the intruder, drew Mr Goodall’s attention to him, when the aeronaut requested them to keep quiet while he had a good look at the profile of the man, as if it struck him very forcibly that it was one of the two who had been watching and following him in London and in the palace.

The little man moved away, but his companion remained looking through every nook and crevice to see who was inside. Miss Chain, who felt an irrepressible desire to catch a glimpse of the intruder, took advantage of a hole in the screen to satisfy her curiosity. She had no sooner looked than she started back with a scream, and fell fainting into a chair. The spy, hearing the cry, vanished immediately.

Miss Chain looked pale and frightened, but, with Lucy’s assistance, she soon recovered herself.

Trigger wanted to open the door and go after the man, but his master stopped him.

“You had better keep quiet,” said Mr Goodall, “as Miss Chain’s attack may be, after all, only the result of close air and overwork. A walk round the archery ground presently will do her all the good in the world, and, meanwhile, we can go down to the lake to try my air-ship.”

Lucy, although glad to see her friend’s recovery, looked upon the whole thing as a joke, and remarked as much, whereupon Mr Goodall, who overheard her, agreed, and laughingly said,—

“A phantom figure has possibly appeared.”

“Pardon me,” said Miss Chain; “it was no phantom I saw, Mr Goodall, but the figure of one who—”

“There now, don’t take on any more,” said Lucy, as she held the smelling salts nearer to Miss Chain’s face, and, giving her a significant nudge, silenced her.

“You will soon be all right,” said Mr Goodall, as he prepared to leave with Trigger. “You must take a holiday this afternoon and get some fresh air.”

When, however, the aeronaut and his assistant had left, poor Miss Chain cast a scared look at the screen and, turning to Lucy, said,—

“Holiday, indeed! This is the worst thing that has happened since I left Boulogne. I will tell you more of what I mean when we are in the open air. If I could only meet him face to face, Lucy, instead of only seeing his shadow!”

“No doubt you would let him have it hot,” replied Lucy, in her honest, blunt way; “but, as it is only a vision, you had better keep quiet until he does show up, and then if he opens his mouth and has anything to say worth hearing, I will chime in and help you.”

“Do you think, Lucy, that creature is prowling about without a fixed object? He must have heard that I am here. And wasn’t there another man with him just before I fainted?”

“There, goodness me, Miss Chain, don’t carry on in that way; let us go out and look at the flowers. Remember that I shall soon have to leave you for my new situation in the country, but I hope that you will come and see me in Sussex. Tom says it is at a fine park.”

“I wish I could go too, Lucy.”

“Who knows? The lady might want a companion some day. Come along, you’ll soon be better.”

“Not if I am worried again in this way by a would-be gentleman, who has now seen me working for my daily bread through his dishonesty. But here comes my mother. I am so glad, Lucy, that she went out before he appeared. Don’t say anything about it to her at present.”

“Never fear, Miss Chain, for I begin to see what you mean, though I didn’t at first, that you may have really seen that man who tricked you and your mother at Boulogne in the shameful way you told me about.”

“Hush! Let us drop the subject for to-day.”

CHAPTER II
AN ACCIDENT

Mr Goodall and Tom Trigger made their way down to a sheltered shed near the cricket ground of the Crystal Palace, with the air-ship, and they proceeded to inflate it through a small gas-pipe, which was three-quarters of an inch in diameter. This process occupied an hour, so that they had ample time to talk about Miss Chain’s fright and fit.

“What is your opinion of what happened just now in the workroom?” asked Mr Goodall.

“Hardly know, sir, I’m sure. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, and where there’s shadow there’s substance.”

“Yes, especially as a look through the peep-hole confirmed Miss Chain’s suspicions, whatever they were.”

“Do you think, sir, that he was looking after her?”

“To be candid, Trigger, I rather thought that the fellow was looking after me, and wanted to know where my balloons were located. I have come across him three times before this morning.”

“Indeed, sir, that seems odd.”

“I first saw him in Trafalgar Square, next he passed me in a hansom when my cab broke down, and then to my surprise he turned up in the palace, talking to a young lady and a gentleman, and he had that same little fellow with him whom we saw behind him outside the room. I noticed, too, that the tall man gave me an ugly look, as if he had some knowledge of what my business here consisted of.”

“I think I have heard you say, sir, that your uncle and your father both object to ballooning?”

“Yes, they do. That reminds me, I have just heard that my father has met with an accident on board one of his own ships. The mishap is reported to have occurred whilst he was on his way from Sydney to Cape Town, and my uncle, a merchant in London, is anxiously looking for further information. I must see him as soon as possible, Trigger. But, as regards these queer strangers who seem to be following me about, I scarcely know what to think, for the big, dark fellow is shadowing Miss Chain as well, it would appear. I hope my uncle has not told him that I am here.”

“I don’t suppose he has, sir. For my part, I rather think he is after the young lady.”

“After the pretty girl who was with him in the palace, do you mean?”

“No, sir, I meant after Miss Chain, for he may have known her before she came here. But these shadows are wonderful things to terrify people, though I don’t believe they’d send you into a fit, Mr Goodall.”

“They might—into a fit of laughter, Tom. But, look here, I want you to hurry on, for many reasons, my first ascent, as all the arrangements are made, and I did think of ascending this afternoon, but I have decided to be satisfied with a trial of the air-ship instead, and to baffle this spy. At the same time, the palace directors are relying upon my keeping faith this week, though no ascent has been announced, but the gas has been ordered, so that we must proceed as soon as possible.”

“The air-ship is full now, sir. Shall I turn off the gas?”

“Yes, and I will lead the way to the lake and hold her stem, while you keep abaft and carry the little steam propeller.”

“I am quite ready, sir. It is just the day for this sort of work.”

“Yes, and I hope that all will go well and lead to something successful. We must keep to this end of the lake and get her under weigh before the wind gets up, as a slight ripple is to be seen on the water down where those boats are. I hope that we shall not be interrupted by lookers-on.”

The aero-aquatic combination having been connected by cords, Mr Goodall took up his position on the windward bank, while Trigger went round to the opposite side to receive the air-ship, and, as one of the palace police was there in plain clothes, his services were accepted to assist Trigger when she crossed over, so nothing could have been more promising to the experimentalists, who looked like boys sailing their miniature cutters from side to side of a pond.

But, during the third spin, when the ardent aeronaut was intent on the working of his invention, two boats approached so as to afford the rowers a closer view of the attractive sight. In the first boat were two youths, who evidently knew how to use their sculls, but in the second boat a lady was standing up, eagerly watching the air-ship, which was moving so prettily over the water, whilst her companion, a fine-looking man, was pulling almost savagely to get ahead, when the two boats collided. For a moment the lady swayed to and fro, trying to regain her balance, then there was a splash and she had disappeared beneath the water.

Mr Goodall, who was on the side of the lake where the lady fell over, was expecting to see her reckless rower spring in to her assistance, but he either lost his head or lacked the courage to do so. Goodall therefore, found himself instinctively divesting himself of his coat, shoes and hat, when he dashed in just in time to catch the lady by her hair as she rose to the surface, and here he held her, whilst the more spirited youths helped to take her into their boat; but the gentleman, who looked as if he were jealous of Mr Goodall’s prompt aid, rendered some tardy assistance at last by holding on to the side of the youths’ boat whilst the lady was being lifted in. She was immediately taken to the bank, where Trigger and the policeman came to the rescue. At this juncture, her companion became demonstratively active, while Trigger ran to the cricket ground refreshment stall and brought back something to restore the lady, who was not too far gone to perceive who had rescued her in the nick of time; but her feeble effort to express her gratitude to Mr Goodall was checked by her now officious companion whose arm encircled her waist, whilst he ignored the aeronaut altogether, and seemed to take to himself the credit of having saved her.

With a smile at this effrontery, Mr Goodall went to see after his air-ship, which had got among the trees, and Trigger went to fetch his master’s clothes, which were on the opposite bank.

Meanwhile, the policeman advised that the lady should be taken in a cab to the Thicket Hotel, which was not far off in the Anerley Road, and there she was seen to and provided with dry clothes by the landlady.

When Trigger was alone with his master in the workroom, he could not help expressing his indignation at the “conceited snob,” who had never even thanked Mr Goodall for his services.

“I only wish,” Tom said, “we had him here, and if I wouldn’t pitch into him for his cowardly behaviour, may I never ascend with you again, sir!”

“I admire your pluck, Trigger, but you forget that he may have been here to take note of my movements. You did not notice, perhaps, that he was the spy, the shadow man, who accompanied the young lady whom I saw in the palace to-day. In the excitement of the moment, I did not at first identify the party, but I can very well understand the fellow’s feelings towards me; besides, I am sure that he is no friend to me. Mind that you do not, for the present, mention what has happened to Miss Chain or to Lucy. When I have changed my clothes, I’ll come back and look up the policeman to find out how the lady is. Remember, not a word, Trigger.”

“All right, sir; I’m as good as if I were under sealed orders, and I am not the man to break faith.”

Presently the policeman knocked at the door and informed Mr Goodall that the lady was getting on nicely, and that the gentleman had gone up to the Palace Club room to meet the lady’s father, and to inform him of what had taken place. A carriage was then ordered to take the trio to catch a train that was going south, but neither the lady nor the gentleman mentioned where they were going to, or whence they came.

After hearing these particulars, Mr Goodall, who seemed to know the man’s face, asked him his name.

“My name, sir, is Warner.”

“Ah! I recollect you now perfectly. What is your Christian name?”

“Unfortunately, it is Simon, sir; but I do not belong to the detective department, though I am as sharp, perhaps, as some of them that do.”

“I daresay, and I’ll get you to keep an eye on my workroom if you will.”

“With pleasure, sir. I know that you have a lot of valuable property here, and I told your assistant, when I helped him at the lake, that I would look round occasionally.”

“Thanks, Warner. Now, tell me more about the lady.”

“You saved her life, Mr Goodall, and not a moment too soon, but her companion tried to make her believe, after you left, that he rescued her. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and, whilst the gent was out of the way, I blurted out the plain truth.”

“And what did the lady say to your honest candour, Warner?”

“She replied, ‘You know, policeman, and I know that a strange gentleman in his shirt sleeves took me out of the water, and I had seen that stranger once before to-day in the palace, and should you see him again, express the deepest gratitude to him from me, and I shall hope to see you again, policeman, if you will leave me your name.’”

“Well done, Simon! You’ll be a rising man some day. I hope you left your name?”

“No, I didn’t, sir, for I heard the lady’s friend coming before I could say much more.”

“That was a pity, Warner, though, personally, I do not wish to be mixed up with that affair more than I have been, as my social position and family connection compel me to pursue my hobby in as quiet and private a manner as possible.”

“Yes, sir, I understood something of that sort from Trigger, who told me not to open my mouth too wide about his master’s doings. In my line we are careful about that, Mr Goodall; but, hang me if I could keep from popping in a word about you when I found that the lady was being told all wrong as to who saved her.”

“You are quite sure that you did not mention my name?”

“Oh no, sir; the lady was hurried off and I don’t suppose that we shall hear much more about the affair, as people of that sort like to hush up accidents that would drag their names into the newspapers.”

“Very well, then, Warner, give me a look up soon again. I should like to have another chat with you.”

“I know, sir, that the lady would have liked to have heard more about the gentleman who rescued her, as she asked me who you were and when you were going to make another experiment. Of course I said nothing on that subject.”

“Ah! Her friend ought to have saved her. I’ve met him several times before to-day. I suppose you don’t know who he is?”

“I do not, sir, but he looked as if your prompt plunge made him feel ashamed of himself.”

“He has been hanging about here to catch sight of Miss Chain or of me.”

“It’s my humble opinion, sir, that we shall see him again before long, and that little man as well.”

“Look sharp after them then, Warner!”

“I’ll do my best, sir, but I am not a trained detective like Hawksworth whom you know.”

“Do I? I was not aware that I knew anyone of that name.”

“I have seen him in your room, sir.”

“Have you? Then I didn’t know his calling.”

“He is that jolly, chatty person I have seen you speaking to.”

“Do you mean that intelligent, pleasant sort of man who used to interest himself so much in ballooning, and who used to keep an eye on people outside by looking through the peep-hole in the screen?”

“That’s the man I mean, sir. That is Jack Hawksworth, who is said to be a London detective. He has a case on here now, or I should say he is on the lookout for two criminals from Australia.”

“Now you mention it, I have been surprised to see him in two or three different ‘get-ups’ in the same day; but really I took him to be someone connected with the palace.”

“He has not been down long, sir, and I believe he only comes out here for a change, as he expects to spot his men among the fashionables inside. His make-up, they say, is wonderful. But I hope you will not let him know that I have mentioned who he is.”

“Oh that’s all right, Warner, but I shall certainly not satisfy his inquiries or encourage his visits for the future; but I shall always be glad to see you here, as you are skilful and discreet.”

“I forgot to mention, Mr Goodall, that the young lady alluded to the reckless way the dark gentleman rowed their boat to look at your air-ship. She also said he considered flying machines and flying men much more useful than balloons.”

“They undoubtedly would be, Warner, if they could be made to fly and navigate the air.”

“I thought, sir, that men and air machines had flown as high as the tower yonder.”

“Don’t you believe in anything of that kind, Warner. Why, a fortune could be made if they could cross and re-cross the North Tower.”

“Then, you don’t believe in directing balloons, sir, or in flying?”

“I have already shown you this morning that balloons, by the combined aid of air and water, can, to some extent, be guided on the ocean, and I shall some day try my plan on a larger scale, at sea, perhaps.”

“I should like to assist in that work, Mr Goodall.”

“Well, strange things happen. You may, for all we know, be able to render assistance in a trial of that sort. It is my desire to show while I am here the possibility of using balloons for one or two novel experiments, and to show that they are still, if skilfully handled, of more value than flying men, and machines which cannot fly.”

CHAPTER III
MESSRS GOODALL BROTHERS

For a short time we will leave the amateur aeronaut, in order to make the acquaintance of his uncle, Mr William Goodall, who was a merchant and shipowner in London.

His brother, Mr Henry Goodall, superintended the Sydney branch of the firm, and was Harry Goodall’s father.

Both uncle and father were very averse to ballooning, and they were unanimous in desiring that Harry should not only give up that pursuit and settle down to a mercantile calling, but that he should conform to their wishes as regards a young heiress, the only daughter of Squire Dove of Wedwell Hall, Sussex, who was a friend of theirs. The brothers, indeed, both desired that Harry should make Miss Dove’s acquaintance, with a view to future matrimony; but he was obstinate, and could not be persuaded to fall in with their views, of which he had been duly apprised.

About the time of the lake experiment, Mr William Goodall was expecting a call from a Mr Falcon, who had embarked at Sydney for Cape Town, with Henry Goodall in his ship, the Neptune. On the voyage, whilst a strong gale of wind was blowing, an accident had happened to the owner, which was witnessed by Mr Falcon and his servant. Captain Link, who commanded the Neptune on this occasion, was not himself an eye-witness of what took place, as he was on the poop directing the crew. Mr Falcon was indeed the only person who could give reliable information, with the exception of the ship’s steward,—who was lying seriously ill from injuries he received by falling on his head.

Under these circumstances, Mr Falcon came on in a steamer from the Cape, in advance of the Neptune, in order to give the London merchant full details of the mishap, and to transact some financial business with Squire Dove of Wedwell Hall, according to an arrangement made with the Sydney merchant, who had approved of Mr Falcon’s plans and desired that he should negotiate with Squire Dove on his arrival in England, though the financier was not empowered to do so by any written document that he could produce, but by an agreement, as he explained it, prior to the merchant’s accident.

One evening, while Mr William Goodall was dozing in his armchair, Mr Falcon was ushered into his presence, and so anxious was the merchant about his brother’s fate, that he opened the conversation without much ceremony; however, he did mention, as a business-like prelude, that his brother Henry had told him by letter that Mr Falcon was going to England on financial matters of great importance, and that he had kindly promised to try and persuade Harry to abandon ballooning. It was moreover mentioned that Mr Falcon would see Squire Dove, as the financier specially wished to add his name and his contributions to the new scheme which Mr Falcon had projected, and which he wished to float in London. Mr Goodall admitted, too, that his brother had spoken of his intention to handsomely reward Mr Falcon by testamentary disposition, if he were successful. Mr Falcon was questioned, too, as to a recent will which Henry Goodall was said to have made just before he left Sydney,—but the financier was not communicative on this subject.

“Now,” said Mr William Goodall, “tell me what has happened to my brother?”

“Certainly, sir; it is a painful duty, but I will do so to the best of my recollection. When I decided upon leaving Sydney, accompanied by my servant, an invaluable attendant, I had not the remotest idea that your brother would go part of the way with us. It appears that he had, only a day or two before the Neptune sailed, made up his mind to go as far as Cape Town on urgent business, the nature of which he did not mention to me. We had been great friends for some time in Sydney, and my servant, knowing his habits, was very useful to both of us on board. Your brother was almost invariably on deck, for he could not bear to be cooped up in his cabin owing to an asthmatic affection. And when a storm sprang up, without much warning, soon after a rapid fall of the barometer, and before ample preparations could be made to meet it, whilst the Neptune began to pitch and roll heavily, I begged of Mr Henry Goodall to go below; but it was useless, he would remain. My servant and I were both with him, when all hands were ordered to their stations, and we began to ship heavy seas. Of course Captain Link’s commands were promptly obeyed—men were sent at once aloft to shorten sail, but, before they had time to secure the upper sails, the ship was once or twice almost on her beam ends. The fore-royal and top-gallant sails were blown out of the roping, and then the Neptune righted, but, as she flew up to the wind, a fearfully heavy sea struck her on the port bow, sweeping her decks and dashing all three of us against the bulwarks. When the ship cleared herself of this terrific sea, I looked round, and, to my horror, your brother had disappeared. The steward, who had come on deck to have a look round, immediately gave the alarm that the owner was overboard, for he had caught sight of a dark object with outstretched arms being swept over the Neptune’s side. A moment afterwards, he himself was, by another heavy sea, struck down the companion ladder and stunned. The fury of the gale, however, was such that no man could live in such a sea. We laid to for more than an hour and kept a most careful lookout, but no object could be discerned, so that there remained no doubt, I am sorry to say, that the owner had perished.”

“Excuse my emotion, Mr Falcon, the news is so shocking; but tell me, did you or your servant see my poor brother go overboard?”

“We could not possibly do so, sir, as we were ourselves washed against the bulwarks, and narrowly escaped being swept over too, but the steward saw him go.”

“And what became of the steward?”

“God knows! I expect he is dead, sir. He was hurt in the spine and head, so that when I left Cape Town his life was despaired of.”

“Then there is no hope that my poor brother was saved?”

“None whatever, I fear, for we saw nothing near us, so far as the thick weather enabled us to perceive. An hour or two later, when the moon rose and the sea went down somewhat, we saw a dismasted vessel in the distance, but he could not have reached her.”

“I understand you to say that the weather had been thick previously?”

“Very thick, but, as I have said, it cleared afterwards, though no one on board had the slightest hope that the owner could have survived the fearful seas which raged at the time.”

At this point, Mr William Goodall was much moved by Mr Falcon’s recital, then, for some moments, he seemed to be absorbed in meditation, but, on regaining his self-possession, he exclaimed,—

“I may have to proceed to Sydney, Mr Falcon, but of course not before Captain Link’s arrival with the Neptune. Now I must ask you not to move in any financial matter connected with me, Squire Dove and others, or on behalf of my poor brother, at present, if you please, Mr Falcon, for I shall be most anxious to hear Captain Link’s version of this terrible affair.”

“I had your brother’s instructions to treat with Squire Dove as soon after my arrival as possible, sir.”

“Yes, yes; but now that he is dead, you will kindly, I hope, defer to my wishes under the sad circumstances; and, look here, Mr Falcon, I would not, should you decide upon seeing my nephew, tell him what has occurred.”

“In that respect, sir, I will attend to your wishes, but I must do something, known or unknown by him, to prevent your nephew from seeking an introduction to Miss Dove until he drops this frantic ballooning, for I pledged myself to do so to your late brother, Mr Goodall, before I left Sydney, and I believe, sir, that ‘prevention is better than cure.’”

“I agree with you there, but you may not be aware that my nephew is engaged in preparing for a series of ascents from the Crystal Palace grounds. However, I will not dictate to one of your clear discernment.”

“Don’t, please, Mr Goodall. I shall follow a plan of which I think you will not disapprove—a plan which may have a certain deterrent effect—but I shall not put myself forward in such a way that he will know me by name, nor shall I rashly check his movements.”

“No; I would not attempt to do anything that would scare him or make him angry; but if you can give him a distaste for his hobby, I presume you will be carrying out my late brother’s wish—”

“And my own desire, sir; but I had better not argue with him, perhaps, just now, though my eye will be more frequently upon him than he may be aware of; in fact, I have already seen him more than once, sir, though he had no idea of it.”

“Indeed! Then when Captain Link arrives, Mr Falcon, would you like to meet him, and join us on board near Gravesend?”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to see Link alone, sir?”

“Yes, I think perhaps it would—and now will you favour me with your address?”

“Allow me to hand you one of my cards, sir.”

“Ah! I perceive your name is Filcher Falcon.”

“Oh—ah—I have given you the wrong card.”

“Eh? A relative’s, perhaps?”

“You mustn’t guess again, Mr Goodall, but here is my own card and my hotel, sir; and if you will let me have the other card back, I shall feel much obliged.”

“Most certainly, Mr Falcon. And now, when do you propose to visit the Doves?”

“I’ve already looked in at Wedwell Hall, Mr Goodall, on my way up from Newhaven, as I had a packet to deliver as early after landing as possible—that was your brother’s express wish.”

“Was it really? But wouldn’t his awfully sudden death check your ardour a little, and, to be candid, I did not at all understand that you had seen the Doves. Then, of course, you have seen Miss Edith Dove, the squire’s only daughter?”

“I had that honour, sir, and found her a most charming young lady.”

“Well, then, as you have seen the young lady that my poor brother wished his son to marry, you can easily understand what a silly fellow my nephew is not to avail himself of such a splendid opportunity.”

“Say rather of such a golden opportunity, sir, which not one in a thousand could resist.”

“May I ask if Mrs Falcon accompanied you to this country?”

“At present, sir, I am struggling on in single infelicity.”

“Well, to be sure! I was not aware of that. But I perceive that you are of a facetious turn of mind. However, I should advise you to mind how you deal with my nephew, for, beneath a calm demeanour, he is a resolute and touchy young fellow and an expert in athletics,” said the old gentleman, who was really very proud of his nephew. “But perhaps you know what I mean, Mr Falcon?” he added.

“I don’t see much to fear, sir, but until your nephew throws up ballooning, it would be perfect madness for him to go down to Wedwell—to force himself into Miss Dove’s society.”

“Oh! that’s your candid opinion, is it? Then all I have to say further this evening, is to thank you for this visit, and to remind you that we must meet again shortly, if you have no objection.”

“Most readily, sir,” replied Mr Falcon, who took his departure with an air of assurance, which left an impression on the merchant’s mind that the colonial financier was a highly objectionable character, who was not a fit companion, much less adviser, for his nephew—and certainly not for Squire Dove’s rich and lovely daughter.

CHAPTER IV
AN APPEAL

Mr Falcon’s stirring details of the storm and of the loss of Henry Goodall, left no room for doubt in his brother’s mind that he had perished; and as the financier, with more haste than discretion, had visited the Doves and had met with a reception which was warmer than the merchant was prepared to hear of, it became advisable that he should send for his nephew to beg of him to forego the allurements of ballooning and submit himself forthwith to Miss Dove’s fascinations, which had proved captivating even to the colonial man of figures. However, Mr Goodall did not at present propose to tell his nephew of his father’s death.

The situation, judging from Mr Falcon’s disclosures as to his admiration of Miss Dove, was hourly becoming more critical, so that, on the arrival of the amateur aeronaut, his uncle, with ill-disguised earnestness, said,—

“Glad to see you, Harry, especially as urgent affairs almost demand a meeting between us. Now tell me what you have been doing? I hear that you have been pottering about at the Crystal Palace with your balloons, and associating with all sorts of people, instead of being in the city with me, or visiting the Doves, whose acquaintance you seem reluctant to make. I am informed that your poor father—”

“Surely nothing serious has happened to him, uncle?”

“I am not saying that, Harry, but I can tell you that your father has met with an accident, and that he was very anxious about you before he left Sydney. He has sent on a Mr Falcon to see us, and I am expecting Captain Link’s return shortly, when I shall hear more precise news. Now, why not go down at once to Wedwell Hall, in compliance with your father’s wish and my own? I am amazed at your shortsightedness and lack of curiosity in not wishing to see and know a wealthy and excellent young lady, endowed with many good qualities, and who will become the owner some day of a magnificent property, which you absolutely turn up your nose at.”

“Are you referring to Miss Dove, uncle?”

“You know I am; and if you fail to win her, someone else will. Some vulgar millionaire will carry her off while you are messing about in the clouds. I’ve no patience with you!”

“Do stop, uncle, for I am inclined to remain for the present just as I am. You cannot make a lover of science into a fortune hunter. If fate had already thrown me into the society of Miss Dove, I might, or might not, have fallen in love with her. As it is, I cannot withdraw from what I have in hand, nor, to be candid, can I become a merchant’s clerk as a means to an end.”

“Harry Goodall, I am shocked at your folly and want of worldly wisdom. I admire your courage in saying what you mean, and I have not a word to say against your general good conduct and exemption from the prevailing vices of the day, but your persistence in this hallucination, for I can call it nothing else, is most aggravating.”

“In what other respect, uncle?”

“Why, in mixing yourself up with questionable associates, instead of moving more among people in your own class of life.”

“There must be good among all classes, uncle, employers and employed. People in my service, whether men or women, have as high characters, probably, as many who are above them in social position,” replied the young man, with spirit. “Another point I will venture to mention, uncle. I am too young to think of settling down in life just yet.”

“You are not too young to have feminine associates at the Crystal Palace, so I am told,” said his uncle, turning round sharply.

“I employ respectable needlewomen. No harm will happen to them or to me at the Crystal Palace, uncle.”

“I trust not, but I think you would be better engaged by seeking lady-like society. However, I have done what I could for you, and so has your—your father, but your late indifference to our advice and wishes is most worrying.”

“You forget, uncle, that I am not actually declining to comply with your requests, so far as a visit to the Doves goes, but I cannot do so at present.”

“Then I decline to say any more to you, beyond this,—Take care, Harry Goodall, that you are not cut off with a bare pittance. Your future prospects depend upon your giving up your hobby, to begin with. Whilst you continue a balloonatic, if I may use a strong term, you will never be welcome at Wedwell.”

“I fail to see why, uncle.”

“Well, more fool you. That is all I have to say, beyond this one reminder. I happen to know that if you persist in not seeking Miss Dove’s hand, she will soon be wooed, and very likely won, while you are thinking about it. Then it will be too late, my boy, and as to myself, I may have to leave England, perhaps very soon; but your—your considerate father, before he left Sydney, commissioned a friend to seek you out and advise you to turn your attention to matters of business, and not to wilfully neglect Wedwell Hall.”

Scarcely had Mr Goodall concluded what he was saying, when a servant announced the arrival of the “Ship Photographer.”

“I don’t know such a person,” replied the merchant, “but perhaps you won’t mind seeing him, Harry? At anyrate, show him up,” said Mr Goodall to the servant.

“Which ship of mine have you photographed, pray?” said the merchant to the man as he entered.

“Mr Goodall’s air-ship, sir.”

“Air-ship? That must be a vessel belonging to my nephew?”

“Yes, sir.”

The aeronaut here interposed, indignantly asking by what right the man had gained admittance?

“Stay, stay, Harry,” cried the merchant; “he may have something worth showing—something nautical, perhaps?”

“Not altogether nautical, sir, but aeronautical,” replied the photographer, apologetically.

“Then your errand is connected with my nephew, and not with me?”

“Precisely, sir. I have hurried over from Sydenham to show my first proofs of the ‘Rescue of the Lady on the Lake.’”

“The rescue of the lady on the lake!” exclaimed the merchant, with surprise.

“I protest, uncle, against this liberty and intrusion,” said Harry. “I have had no notice that such a subject was to be published.”

“Sir,” said the photographer, “do permit me, with the most respectful deference, to explain that I was taking views around the lake at the Crystal Palace when you rescued that young lady from a watery grave.”

“What business had you—” began Harry.

“Go on, photographer,” cried the merchant. “My nephew seems to want to hide a praiseworthy act. Let me see these proofs that you have brought.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Ay—yes. I daresay they have an interest and value of their own, but, without my glasses, I cannot very well decipher the different figures. I must study them a little, for I fancy I know one face. You can leave these with me while you go below and get some refreshment. I will ring the bell.”

“All I want, gentlemen, is your authority to publish them.”

“On no account whatever,” said Harry, emphatically.

“I certainly agree with my nephew there,” added the merchant.

“James,” said Mr Goodall to the servant who came in answer to the bell, “see that some refreshment is sent up into the dining-room for this gentleman.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait one minute, Mr Photographer, while I take another glance at your photos. Yes, Harry, there you are, as plain as a pike-staff, in the water, lifting up a lady, who looks more dead than alive, into a boat. She has golden hair—dear, dear—and some distance from her is a man. Surely I know that face. Who is he, photographer?”

“He was said to be the lady’s intended, sir.”

“The deuce he was; he doesn’t look as if he were worthy of her. I’m glad to see my nephew occupies the post of honour.”

“It was a splendid act on the part of Mr Harry Goodall, but the gent who is holding down the boat to balance it whilst the lady is being lifted in, doesn’t show up to great advantage.”

“You don’t happen to know his name?” again asked Mr Goodall.

“No, sir; I wish I did, for several people have asked me, as he has been cutting rather a queer figure at the Crystal Palace lately, gentlemen, which you might have heard about?”

“Now,” said Mr Goodall, with a fixed look at the photographer, “you go down and have some refreshment whilst I have a chat with my nephew.”

“Much obliged, I’m sure, sir.”

“You, Harry, must buy the negative of this affair, and so prevent anything approaching to publicity; and if you attach no value to these photos, I do. There is one for you and I will keep the other, and here’s some extra cash to square the artist with, but don’t lose sight of him until you reach Sydenham, and make the best arrangement you can; that being done, do, my dear Harry, bring your travels in the air to a close. I am not without hope that you will yet make your mark in the world; in fact, you have done so already. If you are pledged to make these ascents, do so, dear boy, and then do something more congenial to my taste, for I will not hide from you that the accident to your father may prove a turning point to the fortunes of our firm, and that is why I wish to impress on you the great issues which may follow your decision as to giving up ballooning and seeking an alliance with Miss Dove.”

“When will this messenger from the pater come to see me, uncle?”

“I cannot answer that question off-hand. He may have been to the Palace without your knowing it; but be guarded, Harry; he may not be a well-wisher to you, after all.”

“Do you think the photo of the downcast man in the boat is like Mr Falcon?”

“I can’t say for certain until I have studied the photo more closely. There is some resemblance to the Sydney financier; at the same time, his figure is something like our friend Captain Link’s, though his expression of face is not so noble. I am rather puzzled to know what his movements have been down at Wedwell Hall. He has been to see the Doves on some monetary affairs, and I should have been glad to hear that you had been there as well. However, it would be of little use, I feel sure, for you to go there until you cut ballooning and join us in the City.”

“I will think seriously of what you have said, uncle, but I will make no promises.”

“Better not, Harry, if you would be likely to break them. I want performances not promises, and I have faith in you yet; that is, if you do not drift into the extreme flightiness of the days in which we live.”

“My own efforts, uncle, will not be in the form of flight; but they may tend to expose the extravagances of those who pretend that they can steer and fly.”

“And what then are you going to do with balloons?”

“I hardly know at present, uncle, but I hope to show that balloons and an air-ship can be made to do much more useful work than they are supposed to be capable of performing.”

“Well, Harry, if in that negative style you can do the least good, I wish you success, but I strongly recommend you to let aeronautics alone, and to seek my friend Squire Dove and his daughter. That will be a more profitable pastime, I should say.”

CHAPTER V
SCHEMING!

Harry Goodall returned to his rooms on Sydenham Hill, having travelled with the ship photographer, whose productions had worked such a marvellous change in Uncle Goodall.

A monetary settlement was speedily arrived at the same evening, when a lively chat ensued, in which the aeronaut agreed with the photographer as to the gentleman on the lake being known to Mr Goodall, who advised his nephew, after the dispute at his residence, to pull off his ascents quickly. However, the cheery conclusion of the aeronaut’s interview caused him to sleep soundly and to be up in good time the next morning to meet Tom Trigger, who had taken the opportunity of his master’s absence to go down with his Lucy to her new situation in Sussex, after which outing, Tom brought back such agreeable recollections of his trip, that Harry Goodall had to listen to what he had seen, and how the gamekeeper, Bennet, had given him a turn at rabbit shooting with a wonderful killing gun, which Trigger was supposed to have handled with surprising dexterity. He ended his story by saying that Lucy’s last words to him were that he should be kind to Miss Chain, who had been so cruelly imposed upon by the man whose shadow on the screen she had positively identified, and which Harry Goodall began himself to infer was no other than a correct representation of the mysterious Mr Falcon.

“But hold on, Tom,” cried his master, as his assistant was proceeding with what he had seen and done; “we shall have to finish your trip as we walk through the Palace. I am very glad to hear that Lucy has found such a nice situation, and as to Miss Chain’s tormentor, you and I may settle the reckoning with him some day perhaps, but I must remind you that we have not a moment to spare, for, weather permitting, an ascent must positively take place to-morrow.”

“Very good, sir,” said Trigger; “and may I ask how you got on with your uncle, sir?”

“The finish was better than the start, Tom. I held my ground and stood to my guns during a hotly-contested action on both sides, when a lucky turn was given to the affair by the arrival of a photographer from this establishment.”

“Oh, yes; he showed me a capital photo. When I told him where you were, then he handed me one, sir, which I gave to Lucy before she left here.”

“Be sure you tell her to destroy it, Tom, or not to show it.”

“I will, sir, next time I see her.”

“I have suppressed them, Tom, as they might expose just what I want to keep secret—namely, the rescue of that lady.”

“I don’t think, sir, that one I gave to Lucy will do much harm in her care, as she did not look at it much; besides, she doesn’t know about the lake affair.”

“Good! We must now confine ourselves, Trigger, to the necessary preparations for the morning. I wish those two parachutes to be seen to and the triangular frames for our model balloons, which will prove a novelty.”

“I suppose, sir, we shall want the small silk balloon for the signalling experiment?”

“Yes, you must see that they are all in readiness, as I do not intend to follow on the old lines, even with pilot balloons and parachutes. I will show, if possible, another and more instructive way of employing them than has hitherto been adopted. Balloons and parachutes as well can be applied, you know, Trigger, to better uses than they have been, as my respected instructor has impressed upon me, and he suggested also the modus operandi which I am about to try.”

“And I have no doubt they will succeed, sir. I was going to ask, too, whether Messrs Brock had not better see about your torpedoes and aerial shells which you intend using?”

“They are already made, Trigger; but you can let them know that they will be wanted to-morrow.”

“Do you expect any of the military aeronauts here, sir?”

“Oh, no. I have not invited anyone. What I undertake will be to show what has been left untouched by war-balloonists, although I admit that some of our military aeronauts are very clever and are likely to figure creditably in actual warfare. But of late, almost anybody is supposed to be qualified for public ballooning, so long as he is what is termed a break-neck fellow, and this qualification, without other equally important ones, has brought about such a long list of fatalities.”

“Everybody ought to know, sir, that successful aeronauts are born, not made.”

“Yes, quite so; but here comes Warner. I must have a few words with him in private, to ascertain if he has any tidings of the spy, or of this great detective, who has made our acquaintance without our knowing who he was.”

“Do you mean Hawksworth, sir?”

“Yes, that’s the very man, and Warner tells me he is an expert in his line; but, if I am not very much deceived, Warner would accomplish quite as much if he were promoted, and without so much flourish of trumpets.”

The next day, the gorgeous balloon was brought out betimes, though the ascent was not to take place until the afternoon, but Mr Goodall wished to have everything ready, so that the inflation could begin before the dinner hour. The supply of gas was known to be abundant, and a special main of large dimensions was found beneath a slight slope, where a roped circle was staked off to keep the ordinary visitors at a suitable distance. A telegram had been despatched to Mr Magnus Ohren, C.E., at the Lower Sydenham Gas Works, and to Mr C. Gandon, the engineer, to say that their inspector would be able to turn on at 11.30 a.m. to the minute, and by that time the first stream of gas was seen to raise the flat silk, so that in less than half an hour a dome of resplendent alternate segments of amber and crimson gores elicited the admiration of many spectators. In fact, there were already present, as regular daily visitors to the Palace, rather more than the amateur aeronaut cared about seeing, as he knew that they would increase in numbers as the day went on, for he dreaded anything approaching to a Bank Holiday crowd.

Whilst the filling of the giant machine was going on, Mr Falcon and his servant, Croft, stealthily entered the turnstile of the North Tower, to quietly discuss their past undertakings and future plans, well knowing that at such an early hour they would, in all probability, be alone on the balcony, having at the same time a good view of all that was going on. It was in this secluded spot that they drifted into a retrospect of their previous doings, but naturally their remarks were made in such a strain that no third person could make head or tail of what they were alluding to, although their ambiguity and references might have attracted the attention of Simon Warner, or of Hawksworth, had either of them been within earshot of their observations. However, as it happened, they were undisturbed for more than twenty minutes and chatted freely together, as the new lift at that time had not been attached to the tower.

“What a magnificent prospect we have, Croft!” exclaimed Falcon.

“It is that, sir, for we are ‘monarchs of all we survey;’ at least, we shall be so eventually, I hope.”

“How so, Eben? I shorten your Christian name of Ebenezer for prudential reasons.”

“I tumble to that, without objecting. What I mean, Mr Falcon, is this, You wish, if not entirely, to remove, at anyrate, to disable the amateur skyscraper yonder, as well as his balloon and his assistant.”

“Just so, but who would have thought, Eben, that a man playing the menial rôle you do would rise above the level of gaol-birds, and talk as you can when you like!”

“You needn’t taunt me with that; you know I was well brought up, and but for our adventures—”

“Hold on! I thought I heard footsteps. Take a look round, Eben, while I pose as an artist taking sketches, from a lofty standpoint, of the aeronautic scene.”

“What you say is all very fine, Mr F., but time is money. Let us come to the point.”

“Very well then, here goes. On our left is the balloon, looking as if it could be easily destroyed. An idea flashes upon my mind that I can manage that much at the descent, Eben.”

“Exactly; if you can manage to be there, Mr F.”