As soon as they heard the story they realized that a brutal crime had been perpetrated by an avaricious, unscrupulous rascal, who ought to be punished for his sin.
“I’d better apprise the local authorities of the deed and the strange loss of the body,” said Frank, briskly. “In the meantime, Mr. Reynard, you had better try to find Martin Murdock.”
“Holy smoke! Here’s a daisy game!” the detective replied. “Your head’s level, Mr. Reade. I’m off. You’ll hear from me again!”
And away he went.
Frank followed him out.
He went to inform the police.
It was then nearly eleven o’clock.
Barney and Pomp had been in the workshop putting the finishing touches on a new flying machine Frank invented.
Everything was completed, but in their hurried exit they had left the electric arc lights lit in the shop.
When the inventor was gone the Irishman said to Pomp: