Godfrey grabbed the telephone, and I heard him call headquarters, and give terse orders to send a detail at once to the Magnus house, to watch all ferries and trains, and to search all the thieves’ haunts in the city for Kate Travis—“Lady” Kate. Headquarters seemed to know perfectly whom he meant.
“You won’t get her,” said Jemmy calmly, as Godfrey hung up the receiver. “She got away as soon as we turned the corner. She’s got a good half hour’s start.”
“Come along,” said Godfrey roughly, and snapped the handcuffs on again. I could see that he was deeply chagrined. “Good night, Lester. I’ve made a botch of this thing. I’ve got to catch that woman.”
But he hasn’t caught her yet, and I suppose, when Jemmy finishes his term, he will find his share of that fifty thousand dollars waiting for him.
I hope so, anyway.
THE EPISODE OF THE BLACK CASQUETTE
BY JOSEPH ERNEST
Yes, I have encountered him at last, the veritable birdman! Almost I had commenced to believe that such an individual did not in effect exist—with the exception, bien entendu, of myself. For, as I told them when they offered me a vin d’honneur on the occasion of my decoration with the Cross of the Legion, the recognition was long overdue. Indeed, I assured them, the only circumstance that prevented me from flying at the age of three was the fact that messieurs the inventors had not then produced an aeroplane.
But now I have encountered, as I say, another such instinctive aviator to whom flight appears to be as natural as walking. And thou seest by my bandages, my poor friend, what it is that has in consequence arrived to me!
Unhappy meeting! It is with pain and difficulty still that I lift an arm. I can no more, since my accident, illustrate my remarks with appropriate gesture. Forgive, therefore, mon ami, a story inadequately picturesque, vivid, mouvant. And yet—we have brought each other fortune, this young Monsieur Power and I. Fix a little the pillows up, and you shall hear.
A man-eagle, I assure you! A veritable condor of the Andes hatched in human shape, who has, nevertheless, discovered his gift only to renounce it at once and forever.
Our first meeting was curiously disturbing. He appeared suddenly at a door of my ateliers on the flying ground at Mineola, very tall, very soigne, smiling in the way he had that showed all his strong, square teeth as he recognized me in conversation, with my faithful mechanician, Georges. This latter, grown portly and nervous since marrying a Montmartre shopkeeper, I have since promoted to be my chief designer.
“Pardon the intrusion,” said the stranger. “I perceive you are about to murder the stout gentleman. I will wait your convenience.”
“Quite on the contrary, monsieur,” I explained, bowing. “We discuss merely the theory of the explosion turbine. If monsieur will give himself the trouble to enter—”