“What for?”
“Why to see what I can make of that fellow talking to Mr G. near the blessed balloon. Does he look anything like Jack Hawksworth?”
“What, that muff who was expected in New South Wales! I shouldn’t fear him, Eben, but I can see Warner drawing this way; he is the one to avoid.”
“Then we’d better make a move.”
“Agreed, Eben; but half way down the steps we had quite as well wheel round behind the shaft, so as to give Mr W. the go by, in case he is looking about and has seen us up here already.”
“One more word before we separate, Mr F. Whom am I to have if you carry off the heiress?”
“You shall have that smart girl, Lucy, and a pub, close to Wedwell, with a handsome retiring allowance, and, if you get into Goodall’s workroom, mind you collar that manuscript of a ‘New Flying Machine,’ which is thought to be all rubbish—it may be useful to us—as well as other tit-bits.”
During the progress of this lofty chat, Mr Harry Goodall and Tom Trigger were still busy in letting up the net-work, so that the new balloon rapidly developed, and it was the opinion of everyone present that so symmetrical a balloon had not been seen at the palace for many years previously.
After some little time had elapsed, Miss Chain and her mother rather impulsively left the workroom. Soon after they had done so, a slight disturbance took place close to the North Tower, near to which Miss Chain and her mother were sauntering. Here a cry was raised that a thief was in custody. There were two or three policemen on duty near the balloon, Warner being one of them, and now Warner was seen to be bringing someone to the enclosure. He was a diminutive man, though stiffly built, and had been seen coming out of the engine-house, from which there was access by a disused back staircase to Mr Goodall’s room, where, of course, the prisoner had no business to be.