CHAPTER VII
THE STOLEN AEROPLANE MODEL
It was probably on account of the acumen he had shown in solving the mystery of Arthur Bridwell's death that the government employed Quarles in the important inquiry concerning a stolen model. For political reasons nothing got into the papers at the time, but now there is no further need of secrecy.
You would have been astonished, I fancy, had you chanced upon us in the empty room at Chelsea on a certain Friday afternoon. No trio of sane persons could have looked more futile. On a paper pad the professor was making odd diagrams which might have represented a cubist's idea of an aeroplane collision; Zena was looking at her hands as if she had discovered something new and unfamiliar about them; and I was turning the leaves of my pocket book, hoping to get an inspiration.
"The man-servant," said Zena, breaking the silence, which had lasted a long time.
"You have said that a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours," Quarles returned rather shortly, adding after a moment's pause, as if he were giving us valuable information, "and to-day is Friday."
"It is simply impossible that the servant should know so little," she persisted. "His ignorance is too colossal to be genuine. He doesn't know whether he was attacked by one person or by half-a-dozen; he is not sure that it wasn't a woman who seized him; he has no idea what his master kept in the safe or in the cupboard. Well, all I can say is, I do not believe him."
I was inclined to agree with her, but in silence I went on looking through the notes I had made concerning the extraordinary case which must be solved quickly if the solution were to be of any benefit to the country. Quarles was also silent, continuing his work as an amateur cubist.
He had expressed no definite opinion since the case had come into his hands, nor had he laughed at any speculation of mine, a sure sign that he was barren of ideas. I had never known him so reticent.
It was his case entirely, not mine, and the fact that the government had considered he was the only man likely to get to the bottom of the mystery was a recognition of his powers, which pleased him no doubt. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since he had been put in possession of the facts, and although they had been spent in tireless energy by both of us—for he had immediately sent for me—we seemed as far from the truth as ever.
On the previous Tuesday Lady Chilcot had given a dance in her house in Mayfair. Her entertainments always had a political flavor, and on this particular evening her rooms seemed to have been full of conflicting influences.
There was considerable political tension at the time, consequent upon one of those periodical disturbances in the Balkans, and people remarked upon the coolness between the Minister for War and certain ambassadors who were all present at Lady Chilcot's.
Imagination may have had something to do with this conclusion, but two apparently trivial incidents assumed importance as regards the case in hand. The Silesian ambassador was seen in very earnest conversation with a young man attached to the Silesian Embassy; and the Minister of War had buttonholed young Lanning.
Of course, we did not know what the Silesians had talked about, but to Lanning the minister had remarked that, in view of the political situation, the experiments which had been witnessed that day might prove to be of supreme importance. Lanning expressed gratification that the experiments had been found convincing, and ventured to hope the government would not delay getting to work.
With the minister's assurance that the government was keen, Richard Lanning went to find Barbara Chilcot, Lady Chilcot's daughter, but not to talk about the Minister of War or about any experiments. He was in love with her, and had every reason to believe that she liked him.
She was, however, very cool to him that evening, and sarcastically inquired why he was not in attendance upon Mademoiselle Duplaix as usual. She only laughed at his denials, and when he suggested that she should ask his friend, Perry Nixon, whether there was any ground for her suspicions, said that when she danced with Mr. Nixon later in the evening she hoped to find something more interesting to talk about than Mademoiselle Duplaix.
Lanning comforted himself with the reflection that if Barbara were indifferent to him she would have said nothing about Yvonne Duplaix, and as he had another dance with her at the end of the program hoped to make his peace then.
When this dance came, however, he could not find her, and afterwards discovered that she had sat it out with the young Silesian. He was angry and felt a little revengeful, but he did not mention Barbara to Perry Nixon when they left the house together and walked to Piccadilly.
He left Nixon at the corner of Bond Street and went to his flat in
Jermyn Street.
He found his man, Winbush, lying on the dining-room floor, gagged and half unconscious. The safe in his bedroom had been broken open, important papers had been stolen from it, and a wooden case, which he had locked in a cupboard there, had been taken away.
Fully alive to the gravity of the loss, and oblivious of the fact that neglect would be attributed to him, he immediately telephoned to the Minister of War.
Then he 'phoned to Nixon's rooms in Bond Street, and Nixon came round at once. Up to that time Lanning had said nothing about the experiments to his friend; now he told him the whole story.
Richard Lanning belonged to the Army Flying Corps, and was not only a good airman, but was an authority upon flying machines. For some time past there had been secret trials of various types of stabilizers, and one invention, somewhat altered at Lanning's suggestion, had proved so successful that safety in flight seemed assured in the near future.
Detailed plans had been prepared, a working model constructed, and only that afternoon these had been secretly exhibited by Lanning in London to a few members of the government and some War Office officials.
Only four men at the works knew anything about the secret, and even their knowledge was not complete, so it seemed impossible that information could leak out, yet the plans and the working model had been stolen.
Of course Lanning was blamed for having them at his flat; he ought to have taken them back to the works. The fact that this would have meant missing Lady Chilcot's dance was an added mark against him, and suggested a neglect of duty.
Under the circumstances publicity was not desirable, and Christopher Quarles was asked to solve the mystery. Instructions were telegraphed to the various ports with a view to preventing the model and the plans being taken out of the country, and, as I have said, the professor and I entered upon a strenuous time.
All our preliminary information naturally came from Lanning, who appeared quite indifferent to his own position so long as the stolen property was recovered.
The man Winbush could throw little light upon the affair. He was in his own room when he had heard a noise in the passage and supposed his master had returned earlier than he expected. To make sure, he had gone to the dining-room, but before he could switch on the light he had been seized from behind, a pungent smell was in his nostrils, and he was only just beginning to recover consciousness when his master found him.
He had not seen his assailants, he could not say how many there were, and he was inclined to think one of them was a woman, he told Quarles, because when he first entered the dining-room there was a faint perfume which suggested a woman's presence.
"It was like a woman when she is dressed for a party," he said in explanation.
He had seen his master bring in the wooden case that afternoon, but he did not know what it contained.
As Zena said, it sounded a lame story, but Lanning believed it. Winbush had been connected with the family all his life, was devoted to him, and it was not likely he would know what the case contained. Lanning could only suppose that some man at the works had turned traitor, while Mr. Nixon gave it as his opinion that either France or Germany had pulled the strings of the robbery.
Acting under Quarles's instructions, I had an interview with Miss Chilcot. She corroborated Lanning's story in every detail so far as she was concerned, and incidentally I understood there was no more than a lover's quarrel between them. She had sat out with the young Silesian on purpose to annoy Richard. Certainly they had talked of aeroplaning; it was natural, since two days before she had seen some flying at Ranelagh, but Lanning's name had not been mentioned. Miss Chilcot knew nothing about the experiments which had taken place, nor was she aware that her lover was responsible for some of the improvements which had been made in stabilizers. Rather inconsequently she was annoyed that he had not confided in her. Miss Chilcot carried with her a faint odor of Parma violets. Quarles had told me to note particularly whether she used any kind of perfume.
I was convinced of two things; first, that she was telling the truth without concealing anything, and, secondly, that Mr. Lanning was likely to marry a very charming but rather exacting young woman. When I said so to Quarles he annoyed me by remarking that some women were capable of making lies sound much more convincing than the truth.
I did not attempt to get an interview with Mademoiselle Duplaix, but I made inquiries concerning her, and had a man watching her movements.
Apparently she was the daughter of a good French family, and was making a prolonged stay with the Payne-Kennedys, who moved in very good society. You may see their name constantly in the Morning Post. It was whispered that they were not above accepting a handsome fee for introducing a protégée into society, a form of log-rolling which is far more prevalent than people imagine. Whether the girl's entrance into London society had been paid for or not I am unable to say, but she had quickly established herself as a success. It was generally agreed that she was both witty and charming, the kind of girl men easily run after, but not the sort they usually marry.
She had evidently managed to cause dissension in various directions, so the suggestion that there was something of the adventuress about her might be nothing more than a spiteful comment. It justified us in keeping a watch upon her, but I had no definite opinion in the matter, not having seen the lady, and, as Quarles said, a fascinating foreigner is easily called an adventuress.
I also made careful inquiries concerning the young Silesian, and had him pointed out to me. He had recently come from his own capital, and was remaining in London only for a short time. He was a relative of the ambassador, and was not here in any official capacity, it was stated. This might be true so far as it went, but at the same time he might be connected with the secret service.
The professor said very little about his investigations, and I concluded he had met with no success. He had spent some hours with Lanning at the works, I knew, but if he had tapped any other sources of information he did not mention them.
He was still engaged in his cubist's drawings when the telephone bell rang.
"I'll go," he said as Zena jumped up; "I am expecting a message."
He went into the hall, and when he returned told us that Lanning and
Nixon were on their way to Chelsea.
"I told them to 'phone me if anything happened," he said.
"And you expected to hear from them?" I asked.
"My name is Micawber when I am in a hole, and I wait for something to turn up. Waiting is occasionally the best way of getting to the end of the journey. We will hear what they have to say, Wigan, and then we shall possibly have to get a move on."
Evidently he had a theory, but he would say nothing about it. He amused himself by explaining that mechanical action, such as drawing meaningless lines and curves, as he had been doing, had the effect of giving the brain freedom to think, and declared that it was during times of this sort of freedom that inspiration most usually came.
He was still engrossed with the subject when Lanning and Nixon arrived.
Quarles introduced them to Zena, saying that she always helped him in his investigations.
"Oh, no, not as a clairvoyant," he said with a smile as both men looked astonished. "She just uses common sense, a very valuable thing in detective work, I can assure you."
"Are you any nearer a solution?" Lanning asked.
"I thought you had come to give me some information," Quarles returned.
"I have, but—"
"Sit down, then, and to business. I am still wanting facts, which are more useful than all my theories."
"Mademoiselle Duplaix telephoned to me this morning," said Lanning. "A man called on her to-day, a mysterious foreigner. He gave no name, but she thinks he was a Silesian, although he spoke perfect French. He talked to her in French, his English being of a fragmentary kind. He asked her to give him the plans of the new aeroplane. You can imagine her surprise. When she said she had got no plans he expressed great astonishment and plunged into the whole story of how I had been robbed. Until that moment Mademoiselle knew nothing of what had happened in my flat, but this foreigner had evidently got hold of the whole story."
"Who had told him to call upon her?" Quarles asked.
"In the course of an excited narrative he mentioned two or three names entirely unknown to her, but the man seemed to think that I should have sent her the plans."
"Very curious," Quarles remarked.
"He then became apologetic," Lanning went on, "but all the same left the impression that he did not believe her; in fact, she describes his attitude as rather threatening. It wasn't until after he had gone that she thought she ought to have him followed, and then it was too late. He was out of the street. Probably he had a motor waiting for him. Then she telephoned to me, but I was out, and have only just received her message. What do you make of it?"
"It gives a new turn to the affair," said Quarles reflectively. "It leaves an unpleasant doubt whether Mademoiselle Duplaix is as innocent as she ought to be, doesn't it?"
"I don't think so."
"Would she have telephoned to Lanning if she were guilty?" said Nixon.
"My experience is that where women are concerned it is very difficult to tell what line of action will be followed. Women are distinctly more subtle than men."
Then after a pause the professor went on: "It is difficult to understand how this foreigner could have made such a mistake. You have told us, Mr. Lanning, that there is nothing between you and this lady, but Miss Chilcot had her suspicions, remember, which suggests that, without intending to do so, you have paid her attentions which other people have misunderstood. Now, do you think you have given Mademoiselle Duplaix a wrong impression, made her believe, in short, that you cared for her, and so caused her to be jealous and perhaps inclined to be revengeful?"
"I am sure I have not."
"Think well, it is a very important point. For instance, has she ever given you any keepsake, a glove, a handkerchief, something—some trifle she was wearing at a dance when—when you flirted with her? Girls do that kind of thing, so my niece there has told me."
Zena smiled and made no denial.
"Nothing of the kind has happened between Mademoiselle and myself," said Lanning.
"And yet there seems to be a distinct attempt on some one's part to implicate you."
"That is true, and I am quite at a loss to understand it."
"I have wondered whether it is not a clever device to put us off the trail," said Nixon. "Your investigations may have led you nearer the truth than you imagined, Mr. Quarles, and this may be an attempt to set you off on a wrong scent. It seems such an obvious clue, doesn't it? They would guess that Lanning would communicate with you."
"That hardly explains why they went to Mademoiselle Duplaix, does it?"
"But the fact that she is French may," Nixon answered. "Perhaps I am prejudiced, but I believe Silesia has pulled the strings of this affair, and that would be a very good reason for trying to implicate France. It has occurred to Lanning whether the plot might not be frustrated at the other end of it, so to speak. Lanning thinks it would be a good idea if we went to Silesia."
"What do you think of the idea?" Lanning asked. "I should have our Embassy there behind me, and I should probably manage to get in touch with the men who are active in Silesia's secret service. I mentioned it to my chief this morning, and he thought there was a great deal in it, but advised a consultation with you first."
"I think it is a good idea," said Quarles, "and it suggests another one. I am still a little doubtful about Mademoiselle Duplaix, and I have a strong impression that she could at least tell us more if she would, but that she is afraid of hurting you."
"It is most unlikely."
"Well, let me put it to the test, Mr. Lanning. Just write—let me see, how will it be best to word it? 'I am going to Silesia—' By the way, when will you go?"
"I thought to-night."
"It is as well not to waste time," said Quarles. "Then write, 'I am going to Silesia to-night. I want you to be perfectly open with the bearer of this note and do whatever he advises. If you would be a true friend to me, tell him everything.' Put your ordinary signature to it. With that in my possession I will get to work at once, and if I discover anything of importance, and it should be necessary to stop your journey, I will meet your train to-night."
"It seems like an impertinence," Lanning said as he wrote the note.
"When there is so much at stake I shouldn't let that worry you," said Nixon.
No sooner had they gone than Quarles became alert.
"Now we move, Wigan. First of all, we have an appointment in Kensington, at the Blue Lion, near the church, quite a respectable hostelry."
"Not to meet Mademoiselle Duplaix, surely?"
"No, she can wait. Respectable as it is, I do not suppose Mademoiselle frequents the Blue Lion, but we may find there the man who called upon her this morning."
We took a taxi to Kensington. Every moment seemed to be bursting with importance for Quarles now.
The first person I caught sight of at the Blue Lion was Winbush, evidently waiting for some one. He recognized us, and Quarles went to him.
"You are waiting for Mr. Lanning."
The man hesitated.
"I know," Quarles went on, "because I have just left your master. He is in trouble."
"In trouble!"
"Oh, we shall get him out of it all right. There is some mistake. I have a message for you. Come inside."
We found a corner to ourselves, and the professor, having ordered drinks, showed Winbush the note which Lanning had written to Mademoiselle Duplaix. It was not addressed to her, and was so worded that it might be meant for any one. Winbush read it and looked at Quarles.
"While your master is in Silesia I have certain work to do here, and to do it I must have your complete story," said the professor. "You appreciate the fact that Mr. Laiming looks upon you as a friend and wishes you to tell me all you know."
"I do, sir, only I don't see how my story is going to help him."
"It is going to help us to put our hand on the man who is really guilty."
"It has all been very mysterious," said Winbush, "and I have not been able to understand my master at all. What I have said about hearing a noise in the passage and being seized before I could switch on the light in the dining-room is all true, but the stuff which was put into my face and made me unconscious wasn't there before I had time to call out."
"You called out, then?"
"No, I didn't, because the man spoke to me."
"Oh, it was a man—not a woman?"
"It was Mr. Lanning himself," said Winbush.
This was so unexpected that I nearly exclaimed at it, but Quarles just watched the speaker as if he would make certain that he was telling nothing but the truth.
"He spoke quickly and excitedly," Winbush went on. "Said it was necessary that the flat should appear to have been robbed. I should presently be discovered bound. I was to say that I had been attacked in the dark and that I did not know by whom nor by how many. I was not to speak about the matter to him again under any circumstances, and even if he questioned me alone or before others I was to stick to my story of utter ignorance. I had just said that I understood and heard him say that he would probably question me to prove my faithfulness, when he put the stuff over my mouth and nose, and I knew no more until he found me there later on."
"Has he questioned you since?"
"Not since he first found me lying on the floor. He did then, and I obeyed his instructions just as I did when you talked to me afterwards."
"Did he suggest you should say a woman was present?"
"No, sir."
"That was a little extra trimming of your own, eh?"
"No, it was a bit of truth that crept in. I thought a woman was there."
"By the perfume?"
"Yes, sir."
Quarles brought from the depth of a pocket a tissue-paper parcel, from which he took a handkerchief.
"Was that the perfume?"
Winbush smelt it.
"It may have been. It was the perfume that hangs about a woman in evening dress."
"That's Parma violets, Wigan," said the professor, waving the handkerchief towards me. It was one of his own, so had evidently been specially prepared for this test. "I wonder what percentage of women use the scent? It is not much of a clue for us, I am afraid."
He put the handkerchief away, and then from another pocket produced a second handkerchief, also wrapped in tissue paper.
This time it was a fragile affair of lawn and lace.
"Smell that, Mr. Winbush."
"That's it!" the man exclaimed; no hesitation this time.
"You can swear to it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Rather a pleasant scent but peculiar, Wigan. I do not know what it is."
Nor did I, but the handkerchief interested me. Worked in the corner were the letters "Y.D."
"I can get to work now, Mr. Winbush," said Quarles. "Your master tells you to do whatever I advise. Of course, I understand that in keeping these facts to yourself you were acting in your master's interests, but were it generally known that you had suppressed the truth you might get into trouble. Have you any relatives in town?"
"I have a married nephew out Hampstead way."
"Most fortunate. You go straight off and see him, get him to put you up for the night, but whatever you do keep away from Jermyn Street until to-morrow morning. You will spoil my efforts on your master's behalf if you turn up at the flat before then."
Winbush promised to obey these instructions, and Quarles and I left the
Blue Lion.
"After hearing that Lanning was coming to see me this afternoon, I telephoned a telegram to Winbush," explained the professor when we were outside. "He thought it came from his master telling him to meet him at the Blue Lion. Lanning will have to do his own packing for once. Winbush's story is rather a surprising one, eh, Wigan?"
"And most unexpected," I said.
"Well, no, not quite unexpected," he answered in that superior manner which is so exasperating at times. "I got that note from Lanning for the purpose of getting the man to tell me the truth."
"At any rate, you were mistaken in supposing that Mademoiselle's mysterious foreigner would be at the Blue Lion," I returned.
"Not at all. He was there."
"Winbush!" I exclaimed.
"No, Christopher Quarles. I called on Mademoiselle Duplaix this morning. I thought she would communicate directly or indirectly with Lanning; that is why I was expecting a message from him. I was also fortunate enough to appropriate her handkerchief. To-night I become the distinguished foreigner again; you had better be an elderly gentleman with a stoop. We are traveling to Harwich. Don't forget a revolver; it may be useful. We must get to Liverpool Street early; we shall want plenty of time at the station."
He left me without waiting to be questioned. I was annoyed, and was pretty certain that he had overlooked one important fact. Surely Lanning must have realized how dangerous it was to give such a note to Quarles? Knowing the story Winbush could tell, he would not have been deceived by the statement that the letter was intended for Mademoiselle Duplaix. He was far too clever for that. He and Winbush were no doubt working together, and the man's story was no doubt part of an arranged scheme. It seemed to me that the immediate recognition of the second scent was suspicious. The man was probably prepared for the test.
I thought it likely that Quarles had met his match this time, and I did not expect to see Richard Lanning at the station.
However, he was there with Mr. Nixon.
"Are they both in it?" I asked Quarles as we watched them.
"No, I don't think so," was his doubtful answer.
We were still watching them as they spoke to the guard, when I started and called the professor's attention to a tall, military-looking man who was hurrying along the platform.
"That is the young man at the Silesian Embassy," I said. "He is evidently going back. Are we to see Mademoiselle Duplaix come along next?"
"We are only concerned with Lanning for the present," Quarles answered, "and we have got to travel in the same carriage with him and Nixon. I expect they have tipped the guard to get a carriage to themselves. You must use your authority with him, Wigan, and show him that we are Scotland Yard men. Suggest that he put us into the carriage at the last moment with many apologies because there is no room elsewhere. In these disguises they will not recognize us."
The two Englishmen and the Silesian did not approach each other, and apparently were quite ignorant of the fact that they were traveling by the same train. I made the necessary arrangements with the guard, and just as the train was starting we were bundled into the carriage, Quarles blowing and puffing in a most natural manner.
"Sorry," he panted, speaking in broken English; "it is a train quite full, and I say to the man I must go. He put us in here. I am grieved to disturb you."
Nixon said it didn't matter, but Lanning looked annoyed.
Quarles talked to me chiefly about a wife he was returning to at Bohn. He became almost maudlin in his sentiment, and at intervals he raised his voice sufficiently to allow our traveling companions to overhear the conversation.
Presently Quarles leaned towards me in a confidential manner, and said in a whisper which was intentionally loud enough for the others to hear:
"From Bohn I go to Silesia to see the new flying machine."
"What flying machine?" I asked.
"Ah, it was a secret what Silesia have got hold of. It was wonderful. I myself tell you so, and I know. I—"
"What do you know about it?"
Lanning was leaning from his corner looking at Quarles.
"Steady," said the professor. "If your hand does not from your pocket come in one blink of an eye you are a dead man. This is a big matter."
Quarles had covered him with a revolver, and following his lead I covered Nixon.
For a moment it was a tableau, not a sound nor a movement in the carriage.
"As you say, it is a big matter," said Lanning, taking his hand from his pocket.
He was for diplomacy rather than force, or perhaps he was a coward at heart. Nixon showed more courage and was quicker in his movements. His revolver was halfway out before I had slid along the seat and had my weapon at his head.
"It is of no use," said Quarles. "It is not by accident we are here. We know, no matter how, but we know for certain that the plans of a wonderful aeroplane which cannot come to harm, and a model of it, are traveling by this train to-night. We came here to take them. We are sorry to disturb you, but it is necessary."
Lanning laughed.
"Would it astonish you to hear we are after the very same things?"
"It would, because I tell you they are in this carriage."
"Where?" asked Lanning, still laughing.
"There, in that big portmanteau." And Quarles pointed to one on the rack above Nixon's head.
I was only just in time to bring my weapon down on Nixon's wrist as he whipped out his revolver.
"Hold him, Wigan; he is dangerous," said Quarles, speaking in his natural voice. "We will have a look in that portmanteau, Mr. Lanning."
The plans and the model in its wooden case were there. Lanning was too dumbfounded to ask questions, and Nixon offered no explanation just then. I had wrested the revolver from him, and he sat there in silence.
"It was very cleverly thought out, Mr. Nixon," said Quarles. "You see, Mr. Lanning, your friend, having stolen these things, intended to allow time to elapse before attempting to get them out of the country, but his hand was forced when Mademoiselle Duplaix telephoned to you. The foreigner who called upon her for the plans puzzled him. There was something in the plot he did not understand. Two things were clear to him, however; first, that he must act without delay, and secondly, that mademoiselle's visitor would implicate her and cause us to make minute inquiries in her direction—that a false trail was laid, in fact. So, aware that he would find difficulty at the ports, he carefully suggested to your mind that a journey to Silesia would be a useful move. Your mission would be known at the ports, and you and your friend would pass through without special examination."
"That is so," said Lanning.
"And you would have been cleverly fooled," said Quarles, "As for Mademoiselle Duplaix, I confess I should have watched her keenly had I not been the mysterious foreigner."
"But my note to her?" said Lanning.
"Was exceedingly useful, but I used it to get the truth out of Winbush," and Quarles told the man-servant's story in detail. "Winbush, you see, was in a dazed condition, and was deceived. In the dark Nixon pretended to be you. I suppose it was a sudden inspiration when he found himself disturbed, and his instructions to Winbush stopped your servant from questioning you. Had he done so a suspicion concerning your friend might have been aroused in your mind. Winbush, however, went a little beyond his instructions, and said he thought a woman was present, because of a perfume he noticed when he first entered the room. That particular perfume is used by Mademoiselle Duplaix, and I should hazard a guess that Mr. Nixon had stolen her handkerchief that evening, not a criminal offense, but a matter of flirtation."
"But he was at Lady Chilcot's, and left there with me," said Lanning.
"If he has kept his program. I expect you will find some consecutive places in it blank. Until this afternoon, Mr. Lanning, I confess that I was uncertain whether you had been your own burglar or not, for it was evident to me that your man knew something. I was convinced you were innocent when you wrote that note for me, I rather wonder Mr. Nixon did not realize the danger, but I suppose he felt confident that Mademoiselle's visitor had entirely put me on the wrong trail. I do not think Mademoiselle Duplaix is in any way a party to the theft, but I think it is up to Mr. Nixon to make this quite clear."
It is only doing Perry Nixon justice to say that he did clear up this point, but not by word of mouth.
At Harwich he ingeniously gave us the slip, but in a letter to Lanning, received from Paris a week later, he said that he alone was responsible for the theft, and that neither Mademoiselle Duplaix nor any one else had any hand in it, nor any knowledge of it.
From some remarks Lanning had let fall he concluded that some important development had occurred in the stabilizing of flying machines—a matter his employers were interested in—and he had watched his friend's movements. He guessed that secret experiments had been tried that day when he saw Lanning take the wooden case to his flat, and during the evening he had slipped away from Lady Chilcot's dance, returning when he had deposited the model and the plans in a safe place.
He did not say where this safe place was, and since he had persistently suggested that either France or Germany had pulled the strings of the robbery, he was probably working for neither of these countries.
Shortly afterwards Richard Lanning's engagement to Miss Chilcot was announced, and I imagine he is still working to perfect a stabilizer, for, although the model appears to have done all that was required of it, the actual machine proved defective, I understand.