The City in the Clouds

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On the morning of the fourteenth of September I met Captain Pat Mooreand Lord Arthur Winstanley at Liverpool Street station. We were allthree of us asked to Cerne as guests of that fine old sportsman, SirWalter Stileman. A special carriage was reserved for us and our servantsfilled it with luncheon baskets and gun cases.

  It was almost exactly three months since my eventful night at the Ritzwith Gideon Morse, and the disappearance of little William Rolston.

  What had passed since that time I can set out fully in a very few words.First of all the position in which I stood with regard to Juanita. Itwas somewhat extraordinary, satisfactory, and yet unsatisfactory,utterly tantalizing. Morse had kept his promise. I _had_ seen a greatdeal of his daughter. At Henley, at Cowes--on board the millionaire'swonderful yacht or on my own, in the sacred gardens of the R. Y. S.,where we met and met again. Yet these meetings were always in public.Juanita was surrounded by men wherever she went. She was the reigningbeauty of her year. Her minutest doings were chronicled in the Societypapers with a wealth of detail that was astounding. I used to read thestuff, including that of my own Miss Easey, with a sort of impotentrage. Some of it was true, a lot of it was lies and surmise, but to meit was all distasteful. Juanita lived in the full glare of the publiceye, and a royal princess could hardly have been more unapproachable. Ofcourse I used stratagems innumerable, and more than once she wenthalf-way to meet me, but the long desired _tete-a-tete_ never came topass. It was not only because of the troop of admirers that crowdedround her, of which I was only one, but there was an extraordinaryadroitness, "a hidden hand" at work somewhere, to keep us apart. I wasquite certain of this, yet I could not prove it, though even if I had itwould have been of little use. Old Senora Balmaceda, who overwhelmed mewith kindness and attention, was simply wonderful in her watch overJuanita.

  As for Gideon Morse, he would talk to me by the hour--and his talk waswell worth listening to--but somehow or other he was always in the waywhen I wanted to be alone with his daughter. Of course I sometimesthought I was exaggerating, and that I was so hard hit that I saw thingsin a jaundiced or prejudiced light. Yet certainly Juanita was oftenalone for a short time with other men than I, notably with the young andgood-looking Duke of Perth, whom I hated as cordially as I knew how.

  Then, in August, I had a nasty knock. The Morses went off to Scotlandfor the grouse shooting as guests of the Duke, and I wasn't asked, orever in the way of being asked if it comes to that, to join the "smalland select house-party" that the papers were so full of. I had tocontent myself with pictures on the front page of the IllustratedWeeklies depicting Juanita in a tweed skirt and a tam o' shanter, sideby side with Perth, wearing a fatuous smile and a gun. I had one crumbof consolation only and that was, when saying good-by to Juanita, I feltsomething small and hard in the palm of her hand. It was a littletightly folded piece of paper and on it was one word, "Cerne."

  That of course helped a great deal. It was obvious what she meant. Whenwe met at Sir Walter Stileman's, then at last my opportunity would come.

  And now about the little journalist and his extraordinary disappearance.I made every possible inquiry, engaging the most skilled agents andsparing no money in the quest, but I found out nothing--absolutelynothing. The red-headed lad with the prominent ears had vanished intothin air, had flashed into my life for a moment and then gone out of itwith the completeness of an extinguished candle. He had been, he was nomore. Poor Miss Dewsbury, on whom the disappearance had a marked effect,discussed the matter with me a dozen times. We broached theory aftertheory only to reject them, and at last we ceased to talk about thematter at all. I remember her words on the last time we talked of it.They were prophetic, though I did not know it then.

  "All I can say is, Sir Thomas, that voices, not my own, whisperconstantly in my ear that the shadow of the three giant towers uponRichmond Hill lies across your path."

  Poor thing, she was almost hysterical in those times, and I paid littleheed to her words. As for the scoop, no other paper had even hinted atRolston's revelation. I had faithfully kept my word to Morse, notforgetting that he had promised to explain everything--in September.

  As the train swung out of Liverpool Street and Pat and Arthur wereragging each other as to who should have the _Times_ first, Iexperienced a sense of mental relief. Only a few hours now and the greatquestion of my life would be settled, once and for all. No more doubts,no more uncertainties.

  During the last three months, Arthur and Pat had left me very much tomyself. They had behaved with the most perfect tact and kindness,Arthur, as I have said, having obtained for me the invitation to Cerne.Now, after we had traveled for a couple of hours and the luncheonbaskets had been opened, old Pat lit a cigar and looked across at me.His big, brown face was grave, and he played with his mustache as if insome embarrassment.

  He and Arthur glanced at each other, and I understood what was in theirminds.

  "Look here, you fellows," I said, "about the sacred Brotherhood--what isit in Spanish?"

  "Santa Hermandad," said Arthur.

  "Well, you've kept your oath splendidly. I cannot thank you enough. Ihave had the running all to myself--as far as you two are concerned, fortwelve weeks."

  "Yes, twelve weeks," Pat replied, with a sigh. "We've kept out of theway, old fellow, and I tell you it's been hard!"

  Arthur nodded in corroboration, and somehow or other I felt myself acur. Since boyhood we three had been like brothers, and it was a hardfate indeed that led us to center all our hopes upon something thatcould belong to one alone.

  Despite what must have been their burning eagerness to know how thingsstood, both of them were far too delicate-minded and well-bred to ask aquestion. I knew it was up to me to satisfy them.

  "Without going into details," I said, "I'll tell you just how it is, howI think it is, for I may be quite wrong, and presuming upon what doesn'texist."

  I thought for a moment, and chose my words carefully. It was extremelydifficult to say what I had to say.

  "It comes to about this," I got out at last. "I've every reason tobelieve that she likes me. There's nothing decisive, but I've been givensome hope. I very nearly put it to the test three months ago, but wasinterrupted and never had the chance again. At Cerne I'm going to try,finally. By hook or crook, in forty-eight hours, I'll have some news foryou. And if I get the sack, then let the next man go in and win if hecan, and I'll join the third in doing everything that lies in my powerto help him."

  "I am next," said Pat Moore, "not that I've the deuce of a chance. But Ithink you've spoken like a damn good sort, Tom, and we thank you. Arthurand I will do our best to keep every one else off the grass while you goin and try your luck. Faith! I'll make love to the duenna with the whitehair meself and keep her out of the way, and Arthur here will consultwith Morse upon the expediency of investing his large capital, which hehasn't got, in a Brazil-nut farm. Anyhow, Perth, who has been thesafety bet with all the tipsters, won't be there. He's such a rottenshot that Sir Walter wouldn't dream of asking him. The bag has got to bekept up. For three years now, only Sandringham has beat it and a dufferat a drive would send the average down appallingly."

  "What about me?" I asked, with a sinking of the heart.

  "God forgive me," said Arthur, "I've lied about you to Sir Walter likethe secretary of a building society to a maiden lady with two thousandpounds. He was astonished that he had never heard of your shooting--ofcourse, he knows all the shots of the day, and I had to tell him a fairystory about your late lamented father who was a Puritan and would neverlet his son join country house-parties because they played cards afterdinner."

  I smiled, on the wrong side of my mouth. My dear old governor had beenanything but a Puritan: I feared the scandal which would inevitablyensue when I went out for the first big drive.

  "That's all right, Tom," said Arthur, "you'll simply have to sprain yourankle, or I'll give you a good hack in the shin privately if you like.Sir Walter has only to send a wire to get a fi
rst-class gun down. Thereare at least a dozen men I know who would almost commit parricide forthe chance."

  After that, by general consent, the subject of the league was dropped.We all knew where we were, and for the rest of the journey we talked ofordinary things.

  It was a bright afternoon in early autumn when we stopped at the littlelocal station and got into a waiting motor-car, while our servantscollected our things and followed in the baggage lorry. For myself, Ifelt in the highest spirits as we buzzed along the three miles to CerneHall. There was a pleasant nip in the air; the vast landscape was yellowgold, as acre after acre of stubble stretched towards the horizon. Graychurch towers embowered in trees broke the vast monotony, and Isurrendered myself to a happy dream of Juanita, while Arthur and Pattalked shooting and marked covies that rose on either side as we whirredby.

  When we arrived at Cerne Hall it was not yet tea-time, and everybody wasout. The butler showed us to our rooms, all close together in the southwing of the fine old house, and I smoked a cigarette while Preston wasunpacking.

  "Everybody arrived yet, Preston?" I asked.

  "Not yet, Sir Thomas, so I understand. I and Captain Moore's man and hislordship's was havin' a cherry brandy in the housekeeper's room justnow, and the bulk of the house-party will be arriving by the latertrain, between tea and dinner, Sir Thomas."

  "And Mr. Morse?"

  "Only just before dinner, Sir Thomas; he always travels in a specialtrain."

  I saw by Preston's face that he considered this a snobbish andostentatious thing to do, and, in the case of an ordinarymulti-millionaire, I should certainly have agreed with him. But Irecalled facts that had come to my notice about the famous Brazilian,and I wondered. There was the astounding scene at the Ritz, forinstance, and more than that. I had not been following up Juanita forthree months, in town, at Henley, and at Cowes, without noticing thatMr. Gideon Morse seemed to have an unobtrusive but quite singularentourage.

  More than once, for example, I had caught sight of a certain greathulking man in tweeds, a professional Irish-American bruiser, if everthere was one.

  Tea was in the hall of the great house. I was introduced to Sir Walter,a delightful man, with a hooked nose, a tiny mustache, the remains ofgray hair, and a charming smile. Lady Stileman also made me mostwelcome. Her hair was gray, but her figure was slight and upright as agirl's, and many girls in the County must have envied her daintyprettiness, and the charm of her lazy, musical voice.

  Circumstances paired me off with a vivacious young lady whose face Iseemed to know, whose surname I could not catch, but whom every onecalled "Poppy."

  "I say," she said, after her third cup of tea and fourth egg sandwich,"you're the _Evening Special_, aren't you?"

  I admitted it.

  "Well," she said, "I do think you might give me a show now and then.Considering the press I generally get, I've never been quite able tounderstand why the _Special_ leaves me out of it."

  I thought she must be an actress--and yet she hadn't quite that manner.At any rate I said:

  "I'm awfully sorry, but you see I'm only editor, and I've nothing reallyto do with the dramatic criticism. However, please say the word, andI'll ginger up my man at once."

  "Dramatic criticism!" she said, her eyes wide with surprise. "SirThomas, can it really be that you don't know who I am?"

  It was a little embarrassing.

  "Do you know, I know your face awfully well," I said, "though I'm quitesure we've never met before or I should have remembered, and when LadyStileman introduced us just now all I caught was Poppy."

  She sighed--I should put her between nineteen and twenty in age--"Well,for a London editor, you _are_ a fossil, though you don't look more thanabout six-and-twenty. Why, Poppy Boynton!"

  Then, in a flash, I knew. This was the Hon. Poppy Boynton, LordPortesham's daughter, the flying girl, the leading lady aviator, who hadlooped the loop over Mont Blanc and done all sorts of mad, extraordinarythings.

  "_Of course_, I know you, Miss Boynton! Only, I never expected to meetyou here. What a chance for an editor! Do tell me all your adventures."

  "Will you give me a column interview on the front page if I do?"

  "Of course I will. I'll write it myself."

  "And a large photograph?"

  "Half the back page if you like."

  "You're a dear," she said in a business-like voice. "On secondthoughts, I'll write the interview myself and give it you before weleave here. And, meanwhile, I'll tell you an extraordinary flight ofmine only yesterday."

  I was in for it and there was no way out. Still, she was extremelypretty and a celebrity in her way, so I settled myself to listen.

  "What did you do yesterday morning?" I asked. "Did you loop the loopover Saint Paul's or something?"

  "Loop the loop!" she replied, with great contempt. "That's an infantilestunt of the dark ages. No, I went for my usual morning fly beforebreakfast and saw a marvel, and got cursed by a djinn out of the ArabianNights."

  This sounded fairly promising for a start, but as she went on I jerkedlike a fish in a basket.

  "You know the great wireless towers on Richmond Hill?"

  "Of course. The highest erection in the world, isn't it, more than twicethe height of the Eiffel Tower? You can see the things from all parts ofLondon."

  "On a clear day," she nodded, "the rest of the time the top is quitehidden by clouds. Now it struck me I'd go and have a look at them closeto. Our place, Norman Court, is only about fifteen miles farther up theThames. I started off in my little gnat-machine and rose to aboutfifteen hundred feet at once, when I got into a bank of fleecy wetcloud, fortunately not more than a hundred yards or so thick. It waskeeping all the sun from London about seven-thirty yesterday morning.When I came out above, of course I wasn't sure of my direction, but as Iturned the machine a point or so I saw, standing up straight out of thecloud at not more than six miles away, the tops of the towers. I headedstraight for them."

  She lit a cigarette and I noticed her face changed a little. There wasan introspective look in the eyes, a look of memory.

  "As I drew near, Sir Thomas, I saw what I think is the most marveloussight I have _ever_ seen. You people who crawl about on earth never dosee what _we_ see. I have flown over Mont Blanc and seen the dawn uponthe Matterhorn and Monte Rosa from that height, and I thought that wasthe most heavenly thing ever seen by mortal eye. But yesterday morning Ibeat that impression--yes!--right on the outskirts of London and only afew hours ago! Down from below nobody can really see much of the towers.You haven't seen much, for instance, have you?"

  "Only that they're now all linked together at the top by the mostintricate series of girders, on the suspension principle, I suppose.There are a lot of sheds and things on this artificial space, or atleast it looks like it."

  "Sheds and things! Sir Thomas, I thought I saw the New Jerusalemfloating on the clouds! The morning sun poured down upon a vast, hangingspace of which you can have no conception, and rising up on every sidefrom snowy-white ramparts were towers and cupolas with gilded roofswhich blazed like gold. There were fantastic halls pierced with Orientalwindows, walls which glowed like jacinth and amethyst, and parapets ofpearl.

  "It was a city, a City in the Clouds, a place of enchantment floatinghigh, high up above the smoke and the din of London--serene, majestic,and utterly lovely. I tell you"--here her voice dropped--"the visioncaught at my heart, and a great lump came into my throat. I'm prettyhard-bitten, too! As I went past one side of the immense triangle--whichmust occupy several acres--on which the city is built, I saw an innercourtyard with what seemed like green lawns. I could swear there weretrees planted there and that a great fountain was playing like a streamof liquid diamonds.

  "I was so startled, and almost frightened, that I ripped away forseveral miles till, descending a little through the cloud-bank, I foundI was right over Tower Bridge.

  "But I swore I'd see that majestic city again, and I spiraled up andturned.

  "There it was, many mil
es away now, a mere speck upon the billowing snowof the cloud-bank, and as I raced towards it once more it grew and grewinto all its former loveliness. I adjusted my engines and went as slowas I possibly could--perhaps you know that our modern aeroplanes, withthe new helicopter central screw, can glide at not much more thanfifteen miles an hour, for a short distance that is. Well, that's what Idid, and once more the place burst upon me in all its wonder. It's themarvel of marvels, Sir Thomas; I haven't got words even to hint at it. Icould see details more clearly now, and I floated by among the rampartson one side, not a pistol shot away. And then, upon the top of a littleflat tower there appeared the most extraordinary figure.

  "It was a gigantic yellow-faced man in a long robe and wide sleeves,and he threw his hands above his head and cursed me. Of course the noiseof the engine drowned all he said, but his face was simply fiendish. Ijust caught one flash of it, and I never want to see anything like itagain."

  I sat spellbound in my chair while she told me this and again the sensethat I was being borne along, whither I knew not, by some irresistiblecurrent of fate, possessed me to the exclusion of all else.

  "Why, you look quite tired and gray, Sir Thomas," said Miss Boynton. "Ido hope I haven't bored you."

  "Bored me! I was away up in the air with you, looking upon thatenchanted city. But why, what do you make of it, have you told any one?"

  "Only father and my sister, who said that it must have been an illusionof the mist, a refraction of the air at high altitudes that transformedthe wireless instrument sheds to fairyland."

  She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

  "As if I didn't know all about that!" she said. "Why, it wasn't muchmore than two thousand feet up--a mere hop."

  I had to think very rapidly at this juncture. The news took one's breathaway. To begin with, one thing seemed perfectly clear. Gideon Morse hadpurposely told me as little as he possibly could. Yet, upon reflection,I found that he had told me no lies. He had admitted that he was at thebottom of this colossal enterprise--was it some Earl's Court of the air,the last word in amusement catering? It might well be so, thoughsomehow or other the thought annoyed me. Moreover, the capital outlaymust have been so vast that such a scheme could never pay interest uponit. Then I recollected that in a few hours more I should have mypromised talk with Morse and he would explain everything as he hadpromised. There was still a chance of a big scoop for the _EveningSpecial_.

  "Look here, Miss Boynton," I said, "if you keep what you have seen asecret for the next two days, and then let me publish an account of it,my paper would gladly pay two hundred and fifty pounds for the story."

  Her eyes opened wide, like those of a child who has been promised a verybig box of chocolates indeed.

  "Can do," she said, holding out a pretty little hand which flying had inno way roughened or distorted. I took it, and so the bargain was made.

  Soon afterwards more guests began to arrive, and the great hall was fullof laughing, chattering figures, among whom were several people that Iknew. However, I was in no mood for society or small talk and I retiredto my own room and sat dreaming before a comfortable fire until Prestoncame in and told me it was time to dress.

  I was ashamed to ask him if the Morses had arrived, but I wentdownstairs into a large yellow drawing-room half full of people, andlooked round eagerly.

  Lady Stileman was standing by one of the fireplaces talking to MissBoynton, and I went up to them. Apparently it was a wonderful year for"birds," as partridges, and partridges alone, are called in Norfolk.They had hatched out much later than usual, hence the waiting until themiddle of September, but covies were abnormally large and the youngbirds already strong upon the wing. Fortunately Lady Stileman did allthe talking; I smiled, looked oracular and said "Quite so" at intervals.My eye was on the drawing-room door which led out into the hall. Once,twice, it opened, but only to admit strangers to me. The third time,when I made sure I should see her for whom I sought, no one came in buta footman in the dark green livery of the house. He carried a salver,and on it was the orange-colored envelope of a telegram.

  With a word of excuse Lady Stileman opened it. She nodded to the man togo and then turned to me and Poppy Boynton.

  "Such a disappointment," she said. "Mr. Morse and his wonderfully prettydaughter were to have been here, as I think you know. Now he wires tosay that business of the utmost importance prevents either him or hisdaughter coming. Fortunately," the good lady concluded, "he doesn'tshoot, so that won't throw the guns out. Walter would be furious if thathappened."

  Arthur and Pat Moore came into the room at that moment, and Arthur toldme, an hour or so afterwards, that I looked as if I had seen a ghost,and that my face was white as paper.