“God bless my soul!” said the Professor with the elderly manner that he could never disconnect from his bleached beard and parchment face. “God bless my soul! I seemed to fancy that something fell on the top of my hat!”
He put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of twisted paper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed with a true lover’s knot and, the words:—
“Your beauty has not left me indifferent.—From LITTLE SNOWDROP.”
There was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard—
“I’m not beaten yet. The blasted thing must come down somewhere. Let’s follow it!”
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SIX PHILOSOPHERS
Across green fields, and breaking through blooming hedges, toiled six draggled detectives, about five miles out of London. The optimist of the party had at first proposed that they should follow the balloon across South England in hansom-cabs. But he was ultimately convinced of the persistent refusal of the balloon to follow the roads, and the still more persistent refusal of the cabmen to follow the balloon. Consequently the tireless though exasperated travellers broke through black thickets and ploughed through ploughed fields till each was turned into a figure too outrageous to be mistaken for a tramp. Those green hills of Surrey saw the final collapse and tragedy of the admirable light grey suit in which Syme had set out from Saffron Park. His silk hat was broken over his nose by a swinging bough, his coat-tails were torn to the shoulder by arresting thorns, the clay of England was splashed up to his collar; but he still carried his yellow beard forward with a silent and furious determination, and his eyes were still fixed on that floating ball of gas, which in the full flush of sunset seemed coloured like a sunset cloud.
“After all,” he said, “it is very beautiful!”
“It is singularly and strangely beautiful!” said the Professor. “I wish the beastly gas-bag would burst!”
“No,” said Dr. Bull, “I hope it won’t. It might hurt the old boy.”