“I am sure Lord Flanborough doesn’t mind my telling you,” said Sir Ralph to the little party, “that this will carry twenty tons of bar gold tonight.”
“What will be the value of that?” asked one of the interested audience.
“£2,867,200,” said Sir Ralph impressively; “representing six months’ output of the whole of Lord Flanborough’s gold properties.”
The directors made appropriate noises to signify their astonishment.
There were visitors to Seahampton interested in this great transportation, who were not invited to participate in the function. One of these, a dark foreign looking man, went no nearer to the docks than a little public house in the ancient High Street. He was visited by a man who was pallid of face and laconic of speech.
“It’s all up!” he said under his breath.
“What is wrong?” said the other in the same tone.
“It is quite impossible to get the driver or the fireman. They are two old servants of the company, both have money saved and would no more think of accepting a bribe than Flanborough himself.”
“You didn’t press the matter, I hope?” asked the other quickly.
The pallid man shook his head.
“I went as far as I dared with the driver,” he said. “I found out he had a son in the army in India and I told him that I had met the boy and got quite friendly with the old chap—but he is a sea-green incorruptible, Gregori.”
“I will get on the phone to Kate,” said the other. “I suppose we shall have to hold up the train somewhere—I don’t want to do any shooting if it can be avoided. Are the drivers armed?”
“It is funny you should ask that,” said the pallid man, sipping his beer. “The old man is armed for the first time in his life. He was full of it and quite proud of his ability to loose off a gun.”
Gregori looked very serious.
“Kate must be prepared with the alternative scheme,” he said. “Anyway, you will join me here with Cunningham at eight o’clock. I am perfectly prepared for almost all contingencies. Millet has given me a dozen authorities to meet almost any developments. Did you see the train?”
“I couldn’t get near it,” said the other. “I left just before Sapson brought his party to make their inspection.”
Sir Ralph had carried his guests from the siding to the engine shed and shown them the brand new Atlantic locomotive which was to draw the train to London.
“They don’t seem to have finished it yet,” said one of the guests, and pointed to a workman busily drilling a hole in the front plate.
Ralph laughed.
“They omitted to put a bracket for the lamp. You see, I wanted three green lights in a line for the Gold Train—it is very necessary that it should be very accurately and easily distinguished and signalled. By some chance only two of the brackets were in place when the engine came from the works. It is all the more annoying, because I had already given definite instructions upon that point, but we shall not go wrong for a lamp,” he said humorously.
It is agreed that the three hours between two and five on a Sunday afternoon are the three dullest in the hundred and sixty-eight which constitute a week. After the guests had left for London Sir Ralph and Lord Flanborough remained at the little station hotel—Ralph had already projected a more palatial establishment to meet the increased traffic—for it had been arranged that they should greet the Charter Queen on her arrival.
At three o’clock that afternoon Ralph burst unceremoniously into Lord Flanborough’s private sitting room where his lordship sat dozing.
“Have you had a wire?” he said.
He held a pink form in his own hand.
“A wire! What about?” asked Lord Flanborough startled.
“Read this.”
The telegram was signed “Michael,” and read:
“Simultaneous attempt made to burgle your strong room at Austral-African office and Flanborough’s safe at headquarters of mining corporation. Both unsuccessful. Both doors blown out by nitro-gelatine. Will confirm by phone.”
Lord Flanborough looked at the other open-mouthed.
“This is very serious,” he said.
“I have ordered a special to take us to town. We will wait till we get the phone message through.”
Ten minutes after they were in communication with Michael.
“Both doors have been blown out,” he repeated, “and there are one or two very puzzling features about the burglaries. Nobody could have been present in either office when the explosions occurred. There was no fire and, so far as I can see, nothing has been taken away. You had better come up and examine things for yourself.”
“It is rather awkward,” said Sir Ralph thoughtfully as he hung up the receiver; “my ‘special’ driver is also the driver of the gold special.”
“It doesn’t require any great genius to drive a gold special,” snapped Flanborough; “put another man on to work tonight’s train and let us get up to town as soon as we can.”
The special was waiting in the station by the time they had reached the platform. Sir Ralph stayed long enough to give a few instructions to the superintendent and then boarded the train and was soon flying northward.
That Sunday morning had been an interesting one for Michael. He had been aroused by telephone at five o’clock only to learn from an apologetic operator that the wrong number had been called. Although it was two hours before he usually rose, he had his bath and dressed and not waking his servants made himself some coffee.
It was a bright morning, such as so often precedes a day of rain, when he turned into the deserted street. He had no particular aim or destination but he was in that mood which invites exercise. He walked down the Marylebone Road and
