“Or Simon Warner,” thought the aeronaut, and then turning to the squire, he said,—
“Will you allow me just to see the handwriting?”
“You wouldn’t know it,” replied the squire; “it is a telegram, remember. Still, Falcon’s absence, if persisted in, will give rise to fears which will be greatly increased if he does not show up by to-morrow; his not coming to-day, when he faithfully appointed to be here to dinner, attaches great weight to what you have all three said.”
“I am afraid,” replied the aeronaut, as he looked at the captain, “that we have done wrong in not going farther a-field, as we are creating unpleasant apprehensions.”
“Your opportune arrival here, on the contrary, may prove of the utmost service to me and to my daughter; and now, after that frank admission, we must really be moving towards the balloon; but before we leave, I will just ask Bennet to step in.”
“Have you heard anything, Bennet, about that silly attempt at flight near Haywards Heath?”
“Not much in it, squire, I believe.”
“Who were the parties?”
“Two Dutchmen, I was told. The man who tried to fly was a little man called Professor Scudder, and his employer, I heard, was a fine, big, full-bearded gentleman, but his beard and wig were false.”
“How could they know that, Bennet?”