"Just four minutes in the ice," he instructed, "not longer. What you tell me about the champagne country is, I must confess, a relief," he added, turning to Granet. "It may not affect us quite so much, but personally I believe that the whole world is happier and better when champagne is cheap. It is the bottled gaiety of the nation. A nation of ginger ale drinkers would be doomed before they reached the second generation. 1900 Pommery, this, Ronnie, and Idrink your health. If I May be allowed one moment's sentiment," he added, raising his glass, "let me say that I drink your health from the bottom of my hear, with all the admiration which a man of my age feels for you younger fellows who are fighting for us and our country."They drank the toast in silence. In a moment or two they were alone again.
"Go on, Ronnie," his uncle said. "I am interested.""I met Conyers the other day," Granet proceeded, "the man who commands the 'Scorpion.' I managed to get an invitation down to Portsmouth to have lunch with him on his ship. I went down with his sister and the young lady he is engaged to marry. On deck there was a structure of some sort covered up. Itried to make inquires about it but they headed me off pretty quick. There was even a sentry standing on guard before it--wouldn't let me even feel the shape of it. However, I hadn't given up hope when there came a wireless--no guests to be allowed on board. Conyers had to pack us all off back to the hotel, without stopping even for lunch. From the hotel I got a telescope and I saw a pinnace with half-a-dozen workmen, and a pilot who was evidently an engineer, land on board. They seemed to be completing the adjustments of some new piece of mechanism. Then they steamed away out of sight of the land.""A busy life, yours, Ronnie," Sir Alfred remarked, after a moments pause.
"What about it now? I've had two urgent messages from Berlin this morning.""It's pretty difficult," Granet acknowledged. "The Scorpion's out in the Channel or the North Sea. No getting at her. And I don't believe there's another destroyer yet fitted with this apparatus, whatever it may be.""They must be making them somewhere, though," Sir Alfred remarked.
His nephew nodded.
"To think," he muttered, "that we've two hundred men spread out at Tyneside, Woolwich and Portsmouth, and not one of them go on to this! A nation of spies, indeed! They're mugs, uncle.""Not altogether that," the banker replied. "We have some reports, although they don't go far enough. I can put you on to the track of the thing. The apparatus you saw is something in the nature of an inverted telescope, with various extraordinary lenses treated by a new process. You can see forty feet down under the surface of the water for a distance of a mile, and we believe that attached to the same apparatus is an instrument which brings any moving object within the range of what they call a deep-water gun.""Did that come from reports?" Granet asked eagerly.
"It did," Sir Alfred said. "Further than that, the main part of the instrument is being made under the supervision of Sir Meyville Worth, in a large workshop erected on his estate in a village near Brancaster in Norfolk.""I take it back," Granet remarked.
"The plans of the instrument should be worth a hundred thousand pounds," Sir Alfred continued calmly. "If that is impossible, the destruction of the little plant would be the next consideration.""Do I come in here?" Granet inquired.
"You do, Ronnie," his uncle replied. "The name of the village where Sir Meyville Worth lives is Market Burnham, which, as I think I told you, is within a few miles of Brancaster. Geoffrey, at my instigation, has arranged a harmless little golf party to go to Brancaster the day after to-morrow. You will accompany them. In the meantime, Miss Worth, Sir Meyville Worth's only daughter, is staying in London until Wednesday. She is lunching with your aunt at the Ritz to-morrow. I have made some other arrangements in connection with your visit to Norfolk, which will keep for the present. I see that some strangers have entered the room. Tell me exactly how you came by the wound in your foot?"Granet turned a little around. There was a queer change in his face as he looked back at his uncle.
"Do you know the man at that corner table?" he asked.
Sir Alfred glanced across the room.
"Very slightly. I spoke to him an hour ago. He thanked me for some ambulances. He is the chief inspector of hospitals, I think--Major Thomson, his name is.""Did you happen to say that I was dining with you?"Sir Alfred reflected for a moment.
"I believe that I did mention it," he admitted. "Why?"Granet struggled for a moment with an idea and rejected it. He drained his glass and leaned across the table.
"He's a dull enough person really," he remarked, a little under his breath, "but I seem to be always running up against him. Once or twice he's given me rather a start."Sir Alfred smiled. He called the wine steward and pointed to his nephew's glass.
"The best thing in the world," he observed drily, as he watched the wine being poured out, "for presentiments."
