Ambrose Lavendale, Diplomat

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

'We shall see now,' he promised them, smiling, 'another land of dance. There is only one thing I should like to point out. The little instrument I hold in my hand now is adjusted to any distance up to two hundred yards. By turning the handle a dozen more times, the distance could be increased to a mile, and more in proportion. The length of my silk-covered wire is immaterial. It could stretch, if desired, from here to Broadway. Now watch.'

They all sat with their eyes fastened upon the corner of the pathway. A slight uneasiness which Lavendale in particular had felt, was almost banished by a thrilling sense of expectancy. Suddenly a portly figure appeared, a policeman whom they had passed soon after entering the park. He approached with his hands behind him, walking in ruminating fashion. Suddenly, as his foot touched the thread, he came to a halt. There was something unnatural in his momentarily statuesque attitude. Then, before their eyes he seemed to stiffen, fell like a log on his right side, with his head in the roadway. His helmet rolled a few feet away. The man remained motionless. Lavendale sprang to his feet but Mr. Moreton pushed him back.

'That is of no consequence,' he said softly. 'Wait for a moment.'

Lavendale even then would have obeyed his instinct and jumped from the car, but his limbs seemed powerless. A man and a girl, arm in arm, appeared round the corner. Suzanne stood up. A strange, hysterical impulse seized her and she tried to shout. Her voice sounded like the feeblest whimper. The two lovers, as their feet touched the thread, seemed suddenly to break off in their conversation. It was as though the words themselves were arrested upon their lips, as though all feeling and movement had become paralyzed. Then they, too, stiffened and fell in the same direction. A park-keeper, who had seen the collapse of the policeman, came running across the road, shouting all the time, and an automobile which had been crawling along, increased its speed and raced to the spot. Mr. Moreton touched a button in the instrument which he was holding. The thunder died away and the blue flashes ceased. Suzanne leaned back in the car; her cheeks were as pale as death. Lavendale bent over her.

'It's all right, Suzanne,' he assured her. 'Sit here while I go down. There is nothing wrong with those people really. It's just another of Mr. Moreton's little jokes.'

Nevertheless, when Lavendale's feet touched the ground he gave a little cry, for the earth seemed quaking around him. Mr. Moreton, who was walking by his side, patted him on the shoulder.

'Steady, my boy! Steady!' he said. 'You see, the whole of the earth between here and that little thread of white silk is heavily charged. You feel, don't you, as though the ground were rising up and were going to hit you in the chin. I've grown used to it. There goes poor Jimmy. Dear me, he hasn't the nerve of a chicken!'

Young Moreton fell over in a dead faint. Lavendale set his teeth and staggered on. A little crowd was already gathering around the three prostrate bodies as they drew near.

'You see,' Mr. Moreton explained reassuringly, 'I have broken the connection now. Nothing more will happen.'

'What of those three—the policeman, the man and the girl?' Lavendale faltered.