"Oh, yes, Wells is fast. I'm not saying that speed's everything. Butit's nearly everything nowadays, even for a heavy. That's why half thesegiants would be simply at the mercy of a comparatively light fellow likeCarpentier."
Over against the window bay a _Globe_ was dropped an inch. CyrilTurner's eye was seen over it. He is in the Home Office, quite high up,and is an untrammeled sort of spirit when he leaves Whitehall for thefreer air of Piccadilly.
"That's true of other things besides boxing," he interjected.
Mowbray turned. "What is?"
"What you're saying about weight and speed. Labor's discovered it too."
"I don't quite know what you mean, but if I've said something wiser thanI intended----" said Mowbray, claiming it if he had.
"Well, Labor has discovered it. Look at the way they strike nowadays.The New Strike's as different as chalk and cheese from the Old. Totallydifferent methods--more scientific altogether. Masters and men used tostand up foot to foot like Smithfield Butchers and slog till neither ofthem could stand. Pure battering-ram principle, and the fellow who wonwasn't much better off than the one who lost. But now it's allswiftness and surprise. No warning--just what you'd call a lightningpunch where it's going to hurt most and then dance away again. That'swhy they go for the transport and postal services and all thedistributing machinery instead of stopping production. It paralyzes justthe same. Solar plexus business. And swiftness is the secret, as yousay, not brute strength any more."
Another paper was lowered. It was Hay's _Evening News_. Hay is a retiredMajor of Gunners, and I have bought very good cigars from him and verypassable port.
"And that isn't all either," he said. "It goes far beyond strikes."
"War?" said somebody. Everybody in the Club knows Hay and his talk.
Hay nodded. "You'll see where speed comes in _then_--speed and theabsence of warning. The nation that can get a thousand bombing-planesinto the air first will be able to do what it likes with the others."
"Oh, come, Major!" somebody laughed. "That's rather looking for trouble,isn't it?"
"No good shutting your eyes to it," Hay returned. "Turner said somethingabout transport just now. They're talking a lot about relieving London'straffic congestion. Well, it wants relieving; but do you know how I'drelieve it? I'd dig new ways ... well underground. Big ones, to holdplenty of people. Tube Stations won't be much good the next time. AndI'd start digging them now."
"Hay's had a hint from the League of Nations."
"Well, I'm a League of Nations man up to a point. Up to this point--thatthe next show's going to be so unutterably ghastly that a generationthat leaves anything undone to prevent it ought to be wiped off themap--_any_thing undone, you understand, whether you personally believein it or whether you don't. We're only at the beginning of the New War,and it will be far more 'lightning' than any of Turner's New Strikes."
"Democracy'll prevent it."
"As it's doing in Russia, eh? Just as likely to make it. Democracy's gotsuch damnably high-falutin ideals and so little sense of ordinarydecency. For an inhuman thing that belongs to everybody and pleasesnobody give me the Will of the People. If you read your history you'llfind that hot air's usually followed by bloodshed. And they won't stickat much. Personally I prefer a King's war with guns to a democratic onewith black typhus germs."
"Sunny soul, our Major, isn't he?" somebody laughed again.
"Well," said Hay, disappearing behind his paper again, "a thousandbombing-planes will do it the next time. I hope we aren't forgetting howto make 'em, and use 'em. Waiter, bring me a whisky-and-soda, please."
III
For a time nothing was heard in the smoking-room but the rustle of theturning papers and the clink of a coffee-cup in a saucer.Sluggishly--for the idleness that had latterly overmastered me tired meto my very marrow--I was comparing Hay's words with what Cecil Hubbardhad said on the same subject. "Continuity of manufacture and thetraining of men"--you might call this "civil" aviation if you liked,but according to both men it was indistinguishable from the question ofnational defense. And, further, Hubbard, unless I was mistaken, hadallowed young Smith some portion of vision in the matter. "It doesn'tmatter whether he's twenty-four or a hundred-and-four"--"The wind blewwhither it list"--"While the old Burleighs had been nodding someyoungster had been getting away with the job."
Well, I myself, no longer very young, could only sigh and agree that itseemed to be a young man's business. In other fields of action youth,the cutting-edge, was directed by the experienced hand and the wise headthat too has been young in its day; but in this field none but youth hasor has had the experience. Its time is short, it reaps its harvest inits Spring. We in the August of our lives may say, "Thus and thus shouldbe done," but a young head shakes and we are silenced. The judgment ofan infant answers us. A Samuel speaks, and our lips are closed withinour beards. We administer, advise, finance, organize, but his is themounting heart.
In the midst of my meditation I became aware that I was being spoken toby Mowbray. I told you he was a sculptor. He is no great intimate ofEsdaile's, but naturally they are not unacquainted.
"I beg your pardon. What were you saying?" I said.
"This Scepter action. I see it's down on the List. You're a friend ofEsdaile's. I suppose it won't affect him in any way?"
"What's the action about?" I asked.
"Here you are. '_The Aiglon Aviation Company v. The Scepter AssuranceCorporation._' The Scepter people are resisting the claim on the groundsthat the machine had no business to be where it was. They also allegenegligence on the pilot's part, or so at least McIlwaine tells me. He'sbriefed. Is it true you were at Esdaile's when it happened?"
"Yes."
"Do you know the pilot?"
"No. I believe he's away with Esdaile in the country at present."
"Well, he can be getting ready to come back to town. It's down forTrinity term. I should say the whole action turns on him. Worrying sortof thing to have to go through on the top of a bad crash, but theScepter's got to fight it. If flying ever comes to anything theposition's got to be made clear."
"_If_ it comes to anything?" I queried idly....
"Apart from Hay's point of view, I mean. I don't see myself that it'sachieved very much yet outside war. Too risky and uncertain altogether.There isn't a flyer on the Rhine at present who'll take his leave byaeroplane; he might lose a day. And if this Atlantic flight does comeoff it'll be rather like Channel-swimming--done once and then not againfor another forty years. Just a record. I can't see there's much more init yet."
Here Atkinson's voice struck in. I hadn't heard him enter.
"Yes, but what about other places--Australia, for instance? It'scatching on there all right from what I'm told. Say you've a stationninety miles from your front door to your back. An aeroplane'll do in anhour or two what it would take you two or three days to do in a buggy.Any number of these fellows are running their private planes now. Andwe're making the machines."
"And there isn't much doubt they'll be having a go at the Cape-to-Cairoroute presently," somebody else remarked. (I am giving this desultoryconversation very much as it happened, since I felt exceedinglydesultory myself and it all contributed to the impression of ChummySmith and the nature of his job that was slowly building itself up in mymind.)
"Well, that's a different thing again. I should say the value of thatwould be largely scientific, at any rate at first. Like the Shackletonand Scott expeditions."
Mowbray laughed. "Are you one of those who think those were primarilyscientific?" he asked.
"What else were they?"
Whereupon we had the matter from the point of view of Ronald Mowbray,ex-amateur champion and still the soundest of referees.
"Pure sport and adventure, of course," he replied promptly. "Oh yes, Iknow somebody put up the money for a lot of instruments, and they tookall sorts of observations and kept journals and all the rest of it. Iknow all that. Quite useful too in its way. But wh
en you get right downto brass tacks those fellows did it because they jolly well wanted toand for no other reason on earth. What's better? Chuck in your scienceand 'contributions to the sum of human knowledge' as a make-weight ifyou like, but they weren't just out for that in cold blood. No, norscience books nor lecture-tours either. It was just an epic lark. Afterall, a fellow's got to have a go at something."
There was a general laugh. It was so very like Mowbray himself. Both inhis boxing and his sculpture he was in the habit of "having a go." Andthat was the end of that rambling conversation as far as I wasconcerned. One of the waiters approached and bent over my shoulder.
"Lord Glenfield would like to speak to you at the telephone, sir," hesaid.
IV
Besides being Ringmaster-in-Chief of the _Daily Circus_ and of a goodmany other journals, Lord Glenfield is a very good friend of mine; buthe had never rung me up at my Club before. He was speaking from hishouse in Portman Square, and he wanted to know whether I was leaving theClub immediately, and if not whether he might come round. I was a littlesurprised, but told him to come by all means; and he said he would bealong in twenty minutes.
Now Glenfield is a very much feared man, and with reason; but I speak ofhim as I have always found him. Before I knew him better I had thevanity to think that he had offered me my comfortably-paid job for thesake (such as it was) of my literary name; but I was soon undeceived. Itappeared he was so good as to like me. Certainly he has always shown methe greatest consideration, and I am going to ask you to notice how headded to it that night.
His car glided up to the club door in exactly the twenty minutes he hadmentioned, and we sought a padded alcove at the head of the stairs. Heis a big and handsome man, hardly yet gray, and had I needed a leg-up inmy own Club it was certainly a distinction to be seen with him. I drew aheavy curtain for the sake of privacy, and then asked him to have coffeeand a liqueur.
"I will. In fact, that's why I rang you up instead of sending for you,"he said with a certain pleasant grimness. "Understand?"
"Not quite."
"Well, if you're to be had up on the carpet I prefer that it should beyour own carpet."
I saw, and I hope you too see the kindliness and delicacy of his action.Apparently I was in for a wigging, which was to be, not less, but stillmore of a wigging that I, his subordinate, was permitted to act as hishost. As he said, he could have summoned me to his office or house,dressed me down, and dismissed me again; but Glenfield knows men and howto bind them to him by accepting things at their hands. It is so easyfor Glenfield to give.
"Well, can you guess?" he said, nodding to me over his liqueur.
"Perhaps I can," I answered.
"Then what about it? Are you getting tired of the job?"
"Not," I answered slowly, "of the job. But I'm tired--very tired."
He diagnosed me with a swift look.
"South of France any good to you? Or Norway? Or anywhere else? I supposeyoung what's-his-name--Willett--could carry on?"
"Oh, of course he's been running the whole show for weeks," I admitted.Then, "Look here, Glenfield; I'd better resign."
"Don't be an ass," he replied promptly. "If I'd meant you to resign doyou suppose I should have come here to-night? I sack men in my office,not while I'm drinking their liqueurs. Now tell me what's wrong. Youhaven't been yourself for some time."
I frowned, hardly knowing what to reply.
"This is most awfully good of you, but I hardly think it's a case for aholiday," I said at last with some embarrassment.
"Well, tell me about it. Is it working double tides, or just post-warslump? We've all got that more or less."
I mused and shook my head. "I wish you'd let me resign," I said again.
He has an imperious eye, and I did not attempt to meet it. "Why?" hedemanded....
I did not answer. Willett had loyally covered my too frequent absenceand neglect, but I knew and Glenfield knew that I had let my paper down.The Circus was slipping backward. Possibly there was something inGlenfield's suggestion about post-war slump. Now, when all the worldshould have been working as it had never worked before, so little workseemed worth the doing. The _Circus_, which after all is a vastlyimportant instrument of democratic government, seemed to me a thing ofstunts and japes and cynical mockery of the recent stupendous years; myown work, once so much to me that I had sacrificed to it the joy andease of half a life, seemed a thing that the world could do perfectlywell without. I missed my timber and gun-cotton and cordage andcorrugated iron. My real books were my stores-ledgers "A" and "B," theRegulations for Engineer Services my only Muse. I feared--nay, I almosthoped--that I should write no more novels. My bolt seemed shot. It is adepressing thing to have been a younger novelist and to have wasted yourlife.
But I could not honestly take the way out that Glenfield suggested. Overand above the burden that I shared with everybody else, I _had_ let myprivate affairs come between me and the work Glenfield paid me to do.The infernal Case had cramped itself on my shoulders and was making aslacker and a fraud of me. I wished that Glenfield had taken any way butthis kindly one. There was only one answer to make to him.
"Well?" he said at last.
"Oh--let me send in my resignation," I growled. "I've let you down andwill take the consequences."
"Consequences my eye," he replied bluntly. "The drop's nothing--athousand or two--we can pick that up in no time. It's you I'm worryingabout, not the paper. You've something on your mind. What is it? I've abit of a pull here and there, you know, and I may be able to help."
To hear Lord Glenfield describe his appalling power as "a bit of a pullhere and there" was almost comic; nobody living knows where his powerends. I consider it the most singular phenomenon of a democratic agethat it gives to a few men such power as no ancient emperor ever dreamedof. Indeed, if one's conception of democracy is that it is the age'sailment, it seems to carry within itself hope of its own cure. Few menhave been so bitterly attacked as Glenfield, but in my opinion he is thenatural corrective to our new disease of numbers, our malady ofstultifying votes.
"Of course, I'm assuming it's a purely private affair," he went on.
"Oh, it's public enough--or looks like being--that's part of thetrouble----"
"Yes?" he said invitingly....
V
Let me see, how many does that make--I mean when, half an hour later, Ihad given him as much as I then knew of the outline of this story? Howmany people were parties in greater or less degree to the highlyimportant public matter that we were struggling to keep from the lightof day?
There were the five men at our breakfast-party: Esdaile, Rooke,Mackwith, Hubbard and myself. And the three women: Mrs. Esdaile, Mrs.Cunningham and Joan. Westbury, and an unknown number of his associates;and Inspector Webster, also an unknown quantity. And of course there wasCharles Valentine Smith himself. I am not including Hanson and oldWilliam Dadley the picture-frame maker. Call it certainly eleven. LordGlenfield made the twelfth. We were getting on.
He took my narrative quite lightly. Indeed, parts of it seemed almost toamuse him. He asked if he might have a second liqueur, and then sat backin the padded alcove smiling at his glass.
"Well," he said at last, "it would make quite a neat prize competition,wouldn't it?" Tremendous force as he is, he can never quite shake offhis interest in prize competitions.
I asked him in what way.
"I mean the position of your painter-friend. As you've told the story itstrikes me that he's the key of the whole situation. And I should saythat he intended to remain so."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, you say he has his talkee-talkee with the flying-fellow, doesn'tgive you a single word of explanation, but simply carries him off intothe country. It looks as if he thought he'd already told you too muchand was pulling out again. _I_ don't think he intends to say anythingmore. You take a short holiday, go down there, and see if I'm right."
; (How far he was right you already know. As I have told you inanticipation, I did go down, waited for a couple of days, then tackledEsdaile about it, and found he had taken the very line Glenfieldindicated.)
"So it's really publicity you're all scared of?" he continued presently."Well, I told you I had a bit of a pull here and there. Publicity'srather my line of country, you know."
"Yes, but hardly against the law of the land," I objected. "You can't goabout suborning judges and telling the police their business--even you."
"Good gracious, man!" he cried energetically, staring incredulously atme. "Don't tell me I've been employing an editor who doesn't know anymore than _that_!"
"Than what?"
"Than clumsy work of _that_ sort! Suborn judges! Meddle with the police!I've been entrusting the _Circus_ to a man who talks like _that_!...Hurry up that waiter!"
"But isn't that what it comes to?"
"You haven't got to _let_ it come to that--not within a hundred miles ofit! You shock me! Tell me now what you do when you find yourself allballed up and unable to meet a Case?"
"That's precisely what I want to know."
"Then I'll tell you. You attack. You manufacture a totally differentCase and then proceed to demolish it. First of all you make hay ofcharges that were never made, and then you carry the fight over to theother fellow. If somebody says this flying-fellow's been gettinggun-work in, you simply sidestep, come back, and want to know what'swrong that he hasn't been recommended for a K.B.E. _Never_ defend, myboy. _Always_ go for your man. What is it that Boche philosopher wrote?'Every attack is a victory.' You've got a beauty of an opening.... Yousay this fellow Smith really is the goods--thinker, live wire--genuinenational-importance sort of fellow?" he demanded.