“’Tis well,” he replied to Seymour; “thou and I, Fairhair, will teach this braggart a lesson. When he sees Muswani, perchance he will doubt no longer that there be strange beasts in the underworld.” With that, he and the baronet left the room.
Some time later they rode down the drive upon the back of the elk—Chenobi armed cap-à-pie—and swept out into the high road, leaving the dull-witted lodge-keeper gaping after them in blank amazement. Past astonished pedestrians they flashed, Seymour laughing heartily at the temporary panic their strange appearance caused; on at a headlong, exhilarating gallop, until they reached the gates of the place to which Garth had directed them.
And here they were checked. The gates were locked, and the attendant, alarmed by the unusual dress of the Ayuti, and also by his strange steed, refused to admit them.
“You don’t come in here,” he bawled, “Sir William Seymour or not. You look more like a couple of escaped lunatics than anything else, to my mind.”
Chenobi laughed scornfully as the baronet translated this insulting answer.
“There are other ways of getting in than by the gates,” he said, and backed his mount to the further side of the road. A sharp word of command and Muswani leapt forward like a meteor. Straight for the eight-foot wall, which joined the gates, Chenobi steered him. Like a bird he rose, cleared the obstruction magnificently, and dropped lightly down upon the other side. Affrighted, the attendant vanished into the lodge, and they swept up the avenue towards the house unmolested.
It was indeed a big meeting which was being held at Professor Max Dormer’s place. Earlier in the day, carriage after carriage had rolled up the drive, and discharged its load beside the great lawn, whereon a marquee had been erected. Not a few of those present held a foremost place in the ranks of science, and Dormer’s heart leapt at the thought of the stunning blow he would be able to deal at his erstwhile rival, Mervyn. He knew that the returned scientist’s article in the London daily had attracted almost universal notice, and he was determined to bring forward this matter at this meeting, and expose before this representative gathering the daring effrontery of the writer.
That any of the men of science would place any reliance upon Mervyn’s story he did not for a moment believe; but he determined to make the blow he was about to deal at the absent professor’s reputation as crushing as possible. So he arranged his notes with great care, running over in his mind as he moved amidst his guests the various points of his discourse.
The meeting was at its height. Savant after savant had mounted the platform, and had addressed the great gathering. And now came Dormer’s turn. With all the eloquence that was in him, he was inveighing against his rival, urging that the man who could pen such a tissue of falsehoods deserved to be ostracised, when there came the clatter of hoofs upon the gravel of the drive. All turned at the sound—the side canvas of the marquee had been rolled up on account of the heat—wondering who this late-comer might be. A simultaneous gasp of amazement went up as the giant elk came into view with his mail-clad driver. Straight across the lawn Muswani pounded, almost up to the great tent itself. There he pulled up, announcing his appearance with a bellow that deafened the ears of the assembly. As he did so, Seymour leapt to earth, followed by the Ayuti. Into the tent the baronet strode.
“Dormer!” he bawled, “come down here.”