The Great Airship Part 29

"Oh, let's leave that question to later," said d.i.c.k airily. "He ain't going by the window, that's certain. Then we watch at each end of the gallery, and if he gets up to monkey tricks, why, we bowl him over."

Little did the magnate imagine that three at least of his fellow pa.s.sengers were waiting for his appearance. Not that the worthy Sergeant showed much concern. Now and again, on his numerous visits to the pantry, he slid that panel aside and squinted into the cabin. But he went on with his duties, prepared the table, set the chairs, and finally rang the gong briskly. As he did so the clock in the saloon chimed eight. It was precisely half an hour after Mr. Andrew's usual hour for dinner, and with soldier-like exactness the Sergeant announced the meal at the very moment for which it had been ordered. He escorted Joe and his uncle, the Commander and the Major, to their places, announced that Mr. Reitberg wished to be excused, and murmured in Joe's ear the fact that d.i.c.k and Alec had returned to the ship and had then departed again.

"Then we won't wait," said Andrew brusquely. "Let us go on with the meal."

"Certainly, sir," replied the Sergeant.

At once he served the soup, with the help of an a.s.sistant. Then he took his stand behind Andrew, waiting and watching the diners as becomes a well-trained attendant. But had he forgotten the rascal in that adjacent cabin? Had he allowed the matter to escape his mind? It would seem so, indeed, though there was no excuse, for but a matter of ten minutes earlier he had watched the crafty Carl set the hands of his two clocks to eight-fifteen and wind the springs. Why, he must be mad, crazy, for at that very moment Carl Reitberg was preparing to emerge from his cabin. But Sergeant Evans went on with his waiting methodically. He removed the empty soup plates and the tureen, and having placed clean, hot plates before the diners handed the fish to each in turn. There was no hurry about his movements, no sign of anxiety about his face. He did not even bother to observe the clock. Instead, he offered sherry to each of the gentlemen present, put the decanter back upon the sideboard, and motioned to his a.s.sistant to hasten to the kitchen for the next course.

It was ten minutes after the hour. In five minutes those bombs with which the dastardly Carl hoped to wreck the vessel would explode. In five short minutes----Hark! What was that? Joe turned slowly in his chair. Andrew glanced across at the Major.

"d.i.c.k and Alec larking again," observed the Commander dryly. "A little more shipboard discipline is what our Mr. d.i.c.ky Hamshaw requires. What a noise the brats are making."

There was indeed quite an uproar in the gallery outside. The voices of Hawkins, Hurst, and Larkin were heard in succession. And then the door of the saloon was burst unceremoniously open, figures appeared outside, and a moment later Carl Reitberg was thrust into the chamber, Hawkins and Larkin gripping his shoulders, while d.i.c.k and Alec followed immediately behind them.

"Caught him in the act, sir!" shouted d.i.c.k, excitedly, addressing Andrew. "Watched him place two bombs in position along the gallery. Here they are. At least we guess they're bombs, though they're wrapped in paper."

That saloon had never before witnessed such a curious gathering, nor such excitement if one describes the matter fully. Not that Joe and his fellow diners betrayed great concern. Their stern faces merely showed disgust, loathing for this Carl Reitberg, while the well-trained Sergeant looked on with polite indifference, showing just a trace of annoyance, as if he objected to the dinner being so unceremoniously disturbed. But there coolness ceased altogether. d.i.c.k and Alec were dishevelled, red-hot with excitement, trembling with the importance of their discovery. Hawkins's broad face showed a righteous anger which was on the point of boiling over, while Private Larkin's fierce face gave one the idea that he was within an ace of exploding. In the centre, pinioned by the arms, pale and wabbling, was the magnate, speechless with fright, his pig-like eyes rolling with terror.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE COLLAPSE OF CARL REITBERG

_Page 276_]

It was one of those unexpected situations when one would have felt surprise if the dinner were not abandoned, the crew of the ship aroused, and a huge commotion set going. But Andrew Provost had already given abundant proof of his coolness. Joe, too, was not so easily frightened, while a calm demeanour on the part of the Commander and the Major was to be expected. But no one would quite have antic.i.p.ated the line of action which Andrew adopted.

"And so you have discovered this Mr. Reitberg, our guest aboard, in the midst of an attempt to wreck the vessel!" he said softly. "Well, well, you may be mistaken."

"Impossible, sir," cried Alec. "We watched him first. He's a ruffian."

"But--but still there may be some little error," Andrew a.s.serted. "We will give our guest the benefit of the doubt for the moment and investigate the matter. Place a chair there for him, Sergeant."

"But--but these beastly things are set to go off in four minutes,"

shouted d.i.c.k suddenly. "Look, sir. I've stripped the paper from the bombs. There's a clock attached to the outside of each. It's ticking, and the hands are set at eight-fifteen. They'll explode then and blow the place to pieces."

"Four minutes, you said. I make it but three," Joe exclaimed of a sudden, taking the bombs. "That's too bad. d.i.c.k, you must give it up as hopeless. You couldn't possibly get these bombs away to a safe distance in that short s.p.a.ce of time. Eh, Major?"

"Hopeless. Let 'em cut and run, d.i.c.k and Alec and the others. I'm too old to make the attempt. Put the bombs on the table."

Was everyone mad? Had these diners gone completely crazy? d.i.c.k looked round in bewilderment, and went scarlet with anger. For the Major was actually sipping his sherry, while Joe was thrusting a morsel of fish into his mouth. As for the Sergeant, he placed a chair for the magnate between Joe and Andrew, plumped that perspiring and shaking individual into it, and having taken the two bombs from d.i.c.k put them on the table within a foot of Carl Reitberg. We make no excuse for Hawkins and his friend. They turned at Andrew's nod and bolted.

"Not for me, thanks," said d.i.c.k desperately. "Sherry, please, Sergeant."

"Ditto," gasped Alec, seating himself.

"In fact, we swim or sink together. Or shall we say, we stand shoulder to shoulder awaiting the last great flight of this giant vessel?"

There was a quizzing tone in the Major's voice, and he was actually winking. Winking! And so was the Sergeant.

"Sherry, sir. Yes, sir," he observed, in his ordinary, matter-of-fact tones, placing a gla.s.s before our two young heroes. "And don't you expect nothing," he whispered. "Them things is O.K. You'll yet eat a dinner."

Meanwhile things were hardly going comfortably for Mr. Reitberg. The rascal sat far back in his chair, tilting it backward, his two hands gripping the table, and his bulging eyes fixed on the hands of the two clocks attached to his infernal machines. He was livid with fear. A cold, clammy perspiration covered his forehead. His fat cheeks shook and wobbled in an ugly manner, and what little hair he had positively bristled. His breath came in choking grunts, wheezing from his lungs, while his lips were dry and parted.

"One minute more; only one minute," he gasped at last, staring at the clock faces. "Only one minute."

"Pardon--rather more. Perhaps two or three seconds," observed the Major icily. "Then, Mr. Reitberg----"

"Take me away. Let me leave the place. Throw those bombs out of the window--I say, throw them away. They'll explode; they'll kill me.

They'll tear me to pieces."

The wretch foamed at the mouth, his attention concentrated all the while on those two clock faces. His eyes were bloodshot now, his nails digging like talons into the table.

"Then they are really bombs? You actually meant to wreck the vessel?"

asked Andrew.

But the rascal cowering in a frenzy of terror at the table hardly seemed to hear his words, much less to heed them. He was bending lower now, ducking his head, and yet looking upward from beneath his brows at the hands on those two dials. They were near the quarter. In ten seconds they would reach the point at which he had set the trigger. And then----

"Take me away!" he screamed, foaming at the mouth, and looking hideous in his terror. "Kill me now. Shoot me. Don't let me be blown to pieces by these bombs. Ah! I will kill myself."

He made a desperate effort to seize a knife from the table, and no doubt would have done himself some severe injury. But the Commander seized his arm.

"No," he said sternly. "This is your trial, a trial of your own making.

Learn now what it is to set bombs to slaughter other people. Endure to the full the torment that others were to suffer."

The strain was too great for the magnate. A gurgling cry escaped him, and a moment later he was stretched full length on the carpet.

"Call in the others," commanded Joe curtly. "Let us go on with our dinner. And by the way, Sergeant, tell Mr. d.i.c.k and his friend that there's no danger."

"No danger!" shouted the midshipman. "None! Why, I've been hanging on to my chair hard expecting to be blown to pieces."

"Like Mr. Reitberg, only different," smiled Andrew. "Lads, you've shown splendid pluck. Now, let's eat. As for the bombs, they happen to be empty."

CHAPTER XVI

Record High Flying

It required quite an amount of explanation and apology to mollify the hot-headed and indignant d.i.c.ky Hamshaw and his friend Alec when they learned how all their energy, all their suspense and anxiety for the great airship and the safety of their friends had been unnecessary and thrown away.

"And--and you mean to tell us that the bombs are empty?" demanded the former, with some curtness, as soon as the fainting form of the rascal, Carl Reitberg, had been borne to his cabin. "I--this is no laughing matter."

"Precisely," answered the Major, with a little smile. "And, d.i.c.k, I'm not surprised at your anger. You see, we knew that those bombs had been rendered harmless."

"Then, sir, why not tell Alec and myself?"

The midshipman was almost boiling. But still, he had never been anything else but a good officer, and discipline was discipline. "Beg pardon, sir," he said. "But it makes a chap rather ratty. Here have I been hanging on to this chair, trying to keep cool and look it, when every instant I expected to be blown to atoms. I thought you must all be mad to go on so coolly with your dinners."