“No, Mr. Ward,” I responded, “but you will agree with me that never was inquisitive man put to greater straits to satisfy his curiosity.”
“I agree, Strock; and the mysteries of the Great Eyrie, the transformations of the “Terror,” you have discovered them! But unfortunately, the still greater secrets of this Master of the World have perished with him.”
The same evening the newspapers published an account of my adventures, the truthfulness of which could not be doubted. Then, as Mr. Ward had prophesied, I was the man of the hour.
One of the papers said, “Thanks to Inspector Strock the American police still lead the world. While others have accomplished their work, with more or less success, by land and by sea, the American police hurl themselves in pursuit of criminals through the depths of lakes and oceans and even through the sky.”
Yet, in following, as I have told, in pursuit of the “Terror,” had I done anything more than by the close of the present century will have become the regular duty of my successors?
It is easy to imagine what a welcome my old housekeeper gave me when I entered my house in Long Street. When my apparition—does not the word seem just—stood before her, I feared for a moment she would drop dead, poor woman! Then, after hearing my story, with eyes streaming with tears, she thanked Providence for having saved me from so many perils.
“Now, sir,” said she, “now—was I wrong?”
“Wrong? About what?”
“In saying that the Great Eyrie was the home of the devil?”
“Nonsense; this Robur was not the devil!”