Burton of the Flying Corps, Page 2

  II

  Burton returned to the creek, boarded his flying-boat, and was soonskimming across country on the fifteen-mile flight to Chatham.

  He had been Micklewright's fag at school, and the two had remained closefriends ever since. Micklewright, after carrying all before him atCambridge, devoted himself to research, and particularly to the study ofexplosives. To avoid the risk of shattering a neighbourhood, he hadbuilt his laboratory on the Luddenham Marshes, putting up thepicturesque little cottage close at hand for his residence. There helived attended only by an old woman, who often assured him that no oneelse would be content to stay in so dreary a spot. He had wishedBurton, when he left school, to join him as assistant: but the youngerfellow had no love for "stinks," and threw in his lot with a firm ofaeroplane builders. Their factory being on the Isle of Sheppey, withina few miles of Micklewright's laboratory, the two friends saw each otherpretty frequently; and when Burton started a flying-boat of his own, heoften invited himself to spend a week-end with Micklewright, and tookhim for long flights for the good of his health, as he said: "anantidote to your poisonous stenches, old man."

  Burton was so much accustomed to voyage in the air that he had ceased topay much attention to the ordinary scenes on the earth beneath him. Buthe had completed nearly a third of his course when his eye wasmomentarily arrested by the sight of two motor-cycles, rapidly crossingthe railway bridge at Snipeshill. To one of them was attached a sidecar, apparently occupied. Motor-cycles were frequently to be seen alongthe Canterbury road, but Burton was struck with a passing wonder thatthese cyclists had quitted the highway, and were careering along a roadthat led to no place of either interest or importance. If they wereexploring they would soon realise that they had wasted their time, forthe by-road rejoined the main road a few miles further east.

  On arriving at Chatham, Burton did not descend near the cemetery, as hemight have done with his landing chassis, but passed over the town andalighted in the Medway opposite the "Sun" pier. Thence he made his wayto the address in the High Street given him by Micklewright. He wasannoyed when he found the place closed.

  "Just like old Pickles!" he thought. "He forgot it's Saturday." But,loth to have made his journey for nothing, he inquired for the privateresidence of the proprietor of the store, and luckily finding him athome, made known the object of his visit.

  "I'm sorry I shall have to ask you to wait, sir," said the man. "Theplace is locked up, as you saw; my men have gone home, and I've anengagement that will keep me for an hour or so; perhaps I could send itover--some time this evening?"

  "No, I'd better wait. Dr. Micklewright wants the stuff as soon aspossible. When will it be ready?"

  "If you'll be at the store at three o'clock I will have it readypacked."

  It was now nearly two.

  "No time to fly back to lunch and come again," thought Burton, as hedeparted. "I'll get something to eat at the 'Sun,' and ring old Picklesup and explain."

  He made his way to the hotel, a little annoyed at wasting so fine anafternoon. Entering the telephone box he gave Micklewright's number andwaited. Presently a girl's voice said--

  "There's no reply. Shall I ring you off?"

  "Oh! Try again, will you, please?"

  Micklewright often took off the receiver in the laboratory, to avoidinterruption during his experiments, and Burton supposed that such wasthe case now. He waited; a minute or two passed; then the girl's voiceagain--

  "I can't put you on. There's something wrong with the line."

  "Thank you very much," said Burton; he was always specially polite tothe anonymous girls of the telephone exchange, because "they alwayssound so worried, poor things," as he said. "Bad luck all the time," hethought, as he hung up the receiver.

  He passed to the coffee-room, ate a light lunch, smoked a cigarette,looked in at the billiard-room, and on the stroke of three reappeared atthe chemist's store. In a few minutes he was provided with a packagecarefully wrapped, and by twenty minutes after the hour was soaring backto his friend's laboratory.

  Alighting as before at the creek, he walked up the path. The door ofthe shed was locked. He rapped on it, but received no answer, andsupposed that Micklewright had returned to the house, though he noticedwith some surprise that his suit-case still stood where he had left it.He lifted it, went on to the cottage, and turned the handle of the frontdoor. This also was locked. Feeling slightly irritated, Burton knockedmore loudly. No one came to the door; there was not a sound fromwithin. He knocked again; still without result. Leaving his suit-case onthe doorstep, he went to the back, and tried the door on that side. Itwas locked.

  "This is too bad," he thought. "Pickles is an absent-minded old buffer,but I never knew him so absolutely forgetful as this. Evidently he andthe old woman are both out."

  He returned to the front of the house, and seeing that the catch of oneof the windows was not fastened, he threw up the lower sash, hoisted hissuit-case over the sill, and himself dropped into the room. The tablewas laid for lunch, but nothing had been used.

  "Rummy go!" said Burton to himself.

  Conscious of a smell of burning, he crossed the passage, and glanced inat Micklewright's den, then at the kitchen, where the air was full ofthe fumes of something scorching. A saucepan stood on the dying fire.Lifting the lid, he saw that it contained browned and blackenedpotatoes. He opened the oven door, and fell back before a cloud of smokeimpregnated with the odour of burnt flesh.

  "They must have been called away very suddenly," he thought. "Perhapsthere's a telegram that explains it."

  He was returning to his friend's room when he was suddenly arrested by aslight sound within the house.

  "Who's there?" he called, going to the door.

  From the upper floor came an indescribable sound. Now seriouslyalarmed, Burton sprang up the stairs and entered Micklewright's bedroom.It was empty and undisturbed. The spare room which he was himself tooccupy was equally unremarkable. Once more he heard the sound: it camefrom the housekeeper's room.

  "Are you there?" he called, listening at the closed door.

  He flung it open at a repetition of the inarticulate sound. There, onthe bed, lay the old housekeeper in a huddled heap, her hands and feetbound, and a towel tied over her head. This he removed in a moment.

  "Oh, Mr. Burton, sir"]

  "Oh, Mr. Burton, sir, I'm so glad you've come," gasped the old woman;"oh, those awful men!"

  "What has happened, Mrs. Jones?" cried Burton; "where's the doctor?"

  "Oh, I don't know, sir. I'm all of a shake, and the mutton'll be burntto a cinder."

  "Never mind the mutton! Pull yourself together and tell me whathappened."

  He had cut the cords, and lifted her from the bed.

  "Oh, it near killed me, it did. I was just come upstairs to put on aclean apron when I heard the door open, and some one went into thekitchen. I thought it was the doctor, and called out that I was coming.Next minute two men came rushing up, and before I knew where I was theysmothered my head in the towel, and flung me on to the bed like a bundleand tied my hands and feet. It shook me all to pieces, sir."

  Burton waited for no more, but leapt down the stairs, vaulted over thewindow sill, and rushed towards the laboratory, trembling with namelessfears. He tried to burst in the door, but it resisted all his strength.There were no windows in the walls; the place was lighted from above.Shinning up the drain-pipe, he scrambled along the gutter until he couldlook through the skylight in the sloping roof. And then he sawMicklewright, with his back towards him, sitting rigid in a chair.