“You anticipate success? Good!” the elder man replied in satisfaction. “Think of all it means to us. Only to-day I have received another very urgent request from our good friend, Mr. J——; a request for the full details of the construction of ‘The Hornet.’”
“We have most of them,” replied the man addressed as Leffner.
“But not the secret of the silencer. That seems to be well guarded, does it not?”
“It is very well guarded,” Leffner admitted. “But I view the future with considerable confidence because the girl flies the machine alone, and—well,” he laughed—“strange and unaccountable accidents happen to aeroplanes sometimes!”
A few days later, soon after noon, a narrow-faced man, with shifty eyes, carrying a small, well-worn leather bag, entered the old King’s Head Inn in Harbury village and, seating himself in the bar, mopped his brow with his handkerchief. The mile walk from the nearest station had been a hot one along a dusty, shadeless road, and when Jane Joyce, the landlady’s daughter, appeared, the shabby traveller ordered a pint of ale, which he drank almost at one draught.
Then, lighting his pipe, he began to chat with Jane, having, as a preliminary, ordered some luncheon. By this manœuvre he had loosened the young woman’s tongue, and she was soon gossiping about the village and those who lived there.
The wayfarer asked many questions; as excuse, he said:
“The reason I want to know is because I travel in jewellery, and I daresay there are a lot of people about here whom I might call upon. I come from Birmingham, and I’m usually in this district four times a year, though I’ve never been in Harbury before. My name is George Bean.”
“Well, there’s not many people here who buy jewellery,” replied the landlady’s daughter. “Farming is so bad just now, and the war has affected things a lot here. But why don’t you go up and see Mrs. Remington, at Harbury Court? They’ve got lots of money.”