'Go on, go on.' 'Tell me why you have been unable to rid us of that pestilence in our plans.'
'I assume you mean the American, this Jones individual.'
'You assume correctly. You have tried, how many times now? Three, maybe four, to eliminate him? And failed?'
'Twice, I remind you, with your handpicked assassins,' Griffin snapped.
Scruggs smiled and bowed to acknowledge his own failure. 'I submit. Then what keeps this person alive? And why are we so determined to kill him?'
'Let me answer,' broke in Marcia Mason. She explained the meetings she had attended, across the table from Professor Henry Jones, including her verbal entanglements with that insufferable man. 'What bothers me is that I have not found it possible to identify so many of the people with whom he works. Certainly that doddering old fossil, Pencraft, from the London university, is hardly a person to coordinate the investigations under way. So there are others. I am convinced Filipo Castilano will sooner or later have to be eliminated. But the others,' she clenched her fists in sudden fury, 'we still do not know all of them. I am convinced they communicate by codes which we cannot break, and no one knows for certain the entire list of the top people involved.'
They turned as a long sigh came from Griffin. 'There is more. I have learned of it only recently. Jones and his group crossed the Atlantic in a Ford airplane. A trimotor with very special modifications for range and performance.'
Scruggs was puzzled. 'So?'
'Jones and his group encountered our ship on the high seas.
'So they saw the ship.' Scruggs shrugged.
'They did more than that. They dove out of the clouds and they flew right alongside our vessel, even lower than its decks, and from what the deck crew could tell, took many photographs. From those I believe they will be able to divine the nature of the vessel.'
The shrug had become a frown. 'That is not good. Our ship can become a target. Even with the undersea boats for protection, it is vulnerable. This is most upsetting, Griffin.' Scruggs thought deeply for a moment. 'Why didn't you have the discs take care of them? You said their machine was a Ford? The discs are faster by hundreds of miles an hour. Why wasn't their machine destroyed? You also said it was over the ocean. What a perfect opportunity! They would have gone down at sea and been swallowed up in the vastness of the Atlantic.'
'The people flying that machine seemed able to anticipate what the discs would do, how they would fly, and what might be their limitations.'
'By the homed toads of my ancestors, how could they know this!'
'I do not yet know. But Jones either knows or has deduced far more than what I thought was possible. Remember, he is allied with the keenest technical minds of England and America. But I believe it is his own marvelous grasp of the past and his proven ability to meld many small details into larger facts and conclusions that is so troublesome to us.'
'How can you find out what he knows? The woman has already said their most vital communications are in code.'
'That is simple enough. We will invite him to visit us here,' said Griffin.
'The time for games is behind us. We have consolidated our position just as we planned originally. So it is time to get rid of Jones, to break apart this group behind him.'
'I thought you were inviting him here,' Scruggs said angrily.
'I did. And we are.'
'If you kill him here it would be the worst mistake yet—'
'He will not reach here,' Griffin answered. 'Jones is going to be at the university in London. We know that. We also know he plans a visit to Paris.'
'Which only means,' Mason warned, 'that if we know his plans, once again we are being allowed to know them.'
'Perhaps. Even likely. He will cross the channel by scheduled steamer. He will have some of his people with him.
That ship will never reach France, and neither will Jones.'
15
The passenger ferry Barclay eased from her slip at Portsmouth and moved along the northern coastline of the Isle of Wight, slowly gathering speed for the crosschannel run to Le Havre. The Barclay carried two hundred and nine passengers, thirtyeight crew members, and various vehicles as well as baggage, mail, and freight cargo. She was a solid vessel, well known on the run between England and France, and the late afternoon passage promised to be especially comfortable with a mild breeze and a sea surface unusually gentle for the English Channel.
The passenger manifest included the names of Professor Henry Jones of the University of London, his secretary, Frances Smythe, and their servant, Jocko Kilarney, who hovered protectively about Jones and the woman. Anyone catching sight of the trio found it obvious that Jones suffered from a terrible cold, bundled as he was in a heavy overcoat and muffler, a warm hat pulled fully over his head and ears. He sneezed and coughed in a dreadful manner, keeping a large handkerchief by his mouth as he breathed fitfully. Considerate of the other passengers, Jones and his two traveling companions remained by the
stern rail, using a protective curving wall to reduce the wind of passage.
The Barclay was in midchannel when excited calls and shouts rang out through the ferry. Passengers rushed from the interior to the outside decks, pointing at the sky. In the late afternoon sun, gleaming golden, reflecting light, cruised the mystery airship. The incredible giant seemed utterly silent against the rumble of the Barclay's engines, the wind from her speed, and the sounds of the channel surface against her hull.
Frances Smythe watched with the others. 'I do wish we'd sent up fighters to dispose of that thing,' she said to the two men. 'Rid ourselves once and for all.
People are beginning to believe we can't touch it.'
