Mr. Carl Reitberg was without a doubt booking a seat for Bombay. Alec squeezed himself through the throng of Europeans in the booking office, and managed to reach a spot just behind the magnate. There he heard him enquiring for the next ship sailing from Bombay, and watched as he booked a cabin.
"You're right; it's mighty queer," he told Dick on returning. "What does it mean?"
"Everything, perhaps; perhaps nothing. He's foxy, and means to clear out, that's plain. But it don't say that he means us or the ship a mischief. Not that I'd trust him. Sergeant Evans is full of dark hints, and could tell us a yarn, I'm sure, if we encouraged him. I'm going to set a watch on Mr. Reitberg."
"Those beggarly brats," reflected the magnate, ten minutes later, when he emerged from the office and saw a gharri passing with our two young friends aboard. "Sight-seeing, I suppose. Well, they've not seen me buying my ticket. No one has. I've thrown dust in their eyes nicely. Now I can return to the ship, wait my chance, and then——"
It made him chuckle. He sat back in the gharri smiling and perspiring, mopping his forehead from time to time. And it was with a wonderfully elastic step that he strode from the gharri to the airship, roughly pushing aside the throng of natives and entered the gallery.
"It'll be a big affair," he told himself with a grim smile. "Of course, as I've said before, I'm sorry about the crew. But that's their lookout. A hundred or more of these natives blown to pieces will make not the smallest difference. Dinner-time to-night'll suit admirably. Then we're all aboard. The men'll be in their quarters, with perhaps one patrolling on the deck above, and two outside, to keep the curious natives at a distance. I'll be late for dinner; yes, that's the card to play. I send my compliments to Mr. Andrew, and beg to be excused as the heat has upset me. Excellent! A splendid excuse. Then, when all's quiet, I set the bombs in position, creep out of the ship, and while Delhi is lamenting the terrible catastrophe, and thousands are chattering, I simply board the train and take the road for England."
He sat down in his cabin to mop his forehead again, and then took off his coat and waistcoat. "Come in," he cried testily, to a knock at the door.
It was Sergeant Evans, respectful and polite as ever. "Dinner half an hour later this evening, sir," he said. "I'll put your things out now, so as not to disturb you later."
"Terribly hot," gasped Carl. "Hardly feel as if I could eat anything. Shouldn't wonder if I didn't turn up for dinner, Sergeant."
Like the well-trained, polite fellow he was the Sergeant expressed no surprise. He merely touched the button which controlled the electric fan and set it going.