Jack’s bearing changed, as if a million volts had passed through him.
“In five minutes, uncle!” he exclaimed, slamming back the panel. “Stay here till I call, Jim,” he added to the gnome.
“Right! Here’s yer tile, boss,” the latter returned, extending a hat to his master. “Cut it out!” exclaimed Jack, pushing it aside, with no realization of what it was. He stepped on the lift in a recess of the wall and vanished upward like a clay pigeon from the trap. Emerging on the roof, he seated himself in the little air-boat stationed there, cast off the moorings, seized the wheel, set the needle, and had the craft skimming southwestward like a bullet. In four minutes he had traversed the twelve miles to his uncle’s house and found Sam Paladin awaiting him on the landing. While Jack was gasping out, “What has happened to her?” the elder man cast an amused glance at the boy’s costume—an old velvet jacket, out at the elbows and daubed with paint, knee breeches of the same period and condition, red slippers and hair on end. “Come below and I’ll tell you,” he said. “Too bad to take you away from your work!”
Jack, following his uncle to his rooms, uttered inarticulate sounds and trod upon the other’s heels. The seasoned adventurer pushed him into a chair, sat down opposite him, handed the cigars, took and lit one himself.
“Ordinarily,” he observed, “I’d be the last person to interrupt a man in his professional business; but this thing is a bit out of the common. Terence and I are old pals, and he has a notion fixed in that obstinate noddle of his that you are the man for this job. The way you picked up that girl at the show gave him a high conception of your general ability. I must confess I don’t see how you managed it! I guess your back muscles must be in good shape. If you can repeat the trick—not in just the same way, to be sure—you might consider your fortune made. Terence, as you probably know, has all sorts of money, and would think nothing of tipping you a million or so, if you made good.”
“Uncle—please! Is she hurt?” What—”
“What are you breaking that cigar in pieces for? Was it a bad one? Take another!”
“Uncle, I—”
“Oh, well, here’s the story. To-day is Wednesday. The show was on Monday. Terence says all went as usual on Tuesday, up to six o’clock, afternoon. At that hour the maharaja was to dine at his house tête-à-tête—no one else but Miriam—that’s her name I believe. I have a suspicion that the maharaja is rather hit by the young lady. And the prospect of becoming Rani of Lucknow might appeal to her—but that’s another matter!”
“Miriam marry that damned heathen!” shouted Jack, standing up and raising his clenched fists. He could not get out another word, but his red face, blazing eyes, and rumpled hair were eloquent and formidable.