CHAPTER II

HOME AGAIN

In a lovely part of Perthshire, deep in a valley among the mountains, lonely and hard of access, stood a curious building. Any one with a knowledge of aeronautics would have recognized it as a hangar for an airship. A narrow track led from it to a tiny cottage in which lived three men—Sir John Forsyth, Abel Masters and Hector Murdoch, the latter a trusty and faithful mechanic. Shortly after Alan’s supposed death, Sir John gave up everything to the last remaining object of his life—the completion and success of his giant airship. He had grown very secretive about it. He had it dismantled and taken to pieces, and in pieces it was sent to Scotland to await further experiments. A hangar had been built, the workmen had gone—and then the three men set to work to build up the “Argenta” once again. Sir John had disposed of his interest in the Marshfielden collieries, and his London offices had been taken over by the new owners, hence he had no tie to keep him in the great metropolis.

For over five years he had worked, and now success had come. The powerful spirit he had perfected as a motive power was unexcelled and on the morrow they were going for their first trial flight in the great machine.

Sir John rubbed his hand affectionately over the shimmering metal. It meant everything to him since his nephews had gone.

“It’s beautiful, Masters!” said he, and there was a note of triumph in his voice. “It’s perfect.”

“Yes, sir. Three hundred miles an hour we ought to do comfortably, that is the minimum, and from four hundred and fifty to five hundred at express speed.”

“You’ve worked with me very faithfully, Masters. It was good of you to pander to the whim of an old man, and bury yourself up here.”

“I was only too glad to come, Sir John,” answered Masters. “For forty-five years I worked in your office—your father’s it was then, sir. I was the first to congratulate him after Victoria, God bless her, had made him a baronet. For over twenty years I was your confidential servant—”

“Friend! Masters, friend!” gently corrected Sir John.

“Well, friend, if I may say so. I was always interested in electricity and mechanics, and when you started experimenting, it was me you asked to help you. I have never forgotten that, Sir John, and now I am proud to have been the one to see the work of years rewarded by such success.”

“Where is Hector this morning?”

“He has motored to Arroch Head for the letters.”

“Is it the day?”

“Yes, Sir John, it’s Friday.”

“Ah, of course, so it is.”

Since Sir John had been living at Dalmyrnie, no one had his address except the Poste Restante at Arroch Head—the nearest village fourteen miles away. No persuasion was strong enough to make him reveal his hiding place. He seemed to live in dread of his secret being snatched from him. No precaution was too great to take to prevent such a catastrophe.

“Lunch is ready, Sir John,” came a voice from behind him. It was Hector who had returned. The three men all had meals together in the little honeysuckle-covered cottage that had once been a gamekeeper’s. There was no ceremony—they were all workers together.

The leather Post Office bag was on the table, and Sir John unlocked it with the key that hung so prominently on the wall.

“What a budget,” said he testily. “Why do people bother me?” He began to sort the letters. “One from Freemantle and Goddard—their account, I suppose. That’s from Armstrong’s with their invoice for those aluminium screws. A wire for you,” tossing the little orange envelope across to Masters.

Masters picked it up gingerly. “Who ever can it be from? Oh,” as he read it. “I don’t understand it. I think it must be meant for you, sir.”

Sir John looked up. “Why?” he asked.

“It was handed in at noon yesterday at Plymouth. It was redirected on from the old London offices. It says, ‘Landed quite safely. Leaving Plymouth this morning. Arrive Paddington 5:20. Will come straight to you. Forsyth.’”

“Forsyth!” repeated Sir John. “Who on earth can it be? And if it’s for me, why did they address it to you?”

“I don’t understand it at all, sir,” said Masters. “Haven’t you a cousin—Dr. Forsyth who went to Canada some years ago?”

“Yes, yes! Malcolm Forsyth! Of course, of course. Well, I can’t see him. I won’t see him. I don’t want to see anyone. But why did he wire you, Masters? He didn’t even know your name.”

“I can’t understand it at all, Sir John,” then his face brightened, “unless the clerk who redirected it put my name on by mistake.”

“Ah, perhaps that was it. Oh well, never mind,” said Sir John testily. “You must write and say I can’t see him. Here’s a letter for you, too,” he went on.

“I expect it’s from the Stores,” said Masters. “I have been expecting their list of concentrated foods with the highest caloric value. We want them in our flights.”

He opened the letter casually. “My God!” he cried and it dropped from his nerveless fingers.

“For Heaven’s sake control yourself,” said Sir John sharply. Now his airship was complete, his nerves were all on edge waiting for the trial. “What is it? What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” said Masters penitently, “but I’ve had a shock. I’ve heard from some one I thought was dead years ago.”

Sir John showed little interest. “Well let us now get on with lunch,” was all he said.

“I don’t think I’ll have any if you don’t mind,” said Masters. “I must go into Arroch Head at once and send a telegram. I may have the car I suppose?”

“Why, of course, but do have your meal first.”

“No—no I can’t wait. I must go at once.”

Masters had had a shock. He had received Alan’s letter from Sydney, and the meaning of the telegram was clear. Alan and Desmond were safe and had arrived in England. He must wire them at once, and give them Sir John’s address. He scarcely knew how to break the news to him, and it worried him as he went into the little village.

“Have you wired your friend?” asked Sir John when he got back.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to see him—if so you had better take a short holiday after the trial.”

“Thank you all the same, Sir John, but I’ve wired them to come to Arroch Head.”

“The devil you have!” roared Sir John. “I suppose the next thing will be that you want them to come over here and see the Argenta.”

“I was going to suggest it to you,” answered Masters imperturbably.

“Have you taken leave of your senses? Show my work—the child of my brain to strangers? Never!”

“They are not quite strangers, Sir John. The fact is—” he hesitated, “I told you I had mourned them as dead—so have _you_, Sir John.”

“What?”

“I have given them your address and—”

“You’ve given them my address?” spluttered the old gentleman in rage.

“Yes, Sir John—don’t you understand now? I told you that _you too_ had mourned them as dead.”

Sir John looked sharply at Masters, and as he gazed deep into his eyes he read there the truth. “Alan—Desmond,” he said hoarsely. Masters nodded his head and Sir John sank back into his chair.

“Alan!” he whispered. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t joke, man, for God’s sake! Don’t fool me! It can’t be true. It’s six years since the accident. Why the mine has never been in use since—not that part.”

“Don’t you understand the telegram now, sir?” Masters held it out. “They have been away, but now they are back in England.”

“Was that the letter this morning?”

“Yes! Read it.”

Sir John was plainly overcome. “I’m sure it’s a joke,” he muttered over and over again. “It can’t be true. The thing’s impossible.”

All that day work was at a standstill. Hector alone saw to the bodily requirements of the men, and meals as usual were served at their proper times.

“They will be here for the trial,” whispered Sir John excitedly. “Oh my God!” and the old man burst into tears. His grief at the loss of his two nephews had been so great, his affection for them so sincere that he could scarcely realize that in some miraculous way they still lived.

“Will you meet the train?” asked Masters as they retired for the night.

“Yes! Yes! Of course! Take the large car. Are you sure everything is ready for them? You see there will be a lady, too. Desmond’s wife—my niece.”

“Everything is quite all right. We have made the place quite comfortable—we will occupy the two rooms there, and that will leave three bedrooms in the cottage free. Yours, Mr. Alan’s, and the largest, at the front, for Mr. Desmond and his wife.”

“Splendid, Masters, splendid.” It was a glorious, late September morning when the Scotch express steamed in. Alan was out of the train first.

“Uncle,” said he, “dear old uncle.”

“My boy—my boy! How are you? Oh, how you have changed! Desmond, my boy, welcome home!”

“This is Mavis, Uncle John.”

Sir John held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. She could see that suffering had left its mark on the old man’s face, so she impetuously flung her arm round his neck and kissed him. “Uncle John,” she whispered. “I’ve heard so much about you from Desmond and Alan. I’ve been just longing to come home—to you!”

It was a very merry party that drove home to Dalmyrnie.

“Eat your breakfasts,” commanded Uncle John. “You shall tell me your story afterwards. But have a good meal first.” After breakfast, they sat in the old-world garden, among the trees—Sir John and Masters, the two boys and Mavis, and their wonderful story was told.

Desmond began by telling how he was caught by the Light, omitting nothing, and Alan concluded the story. “Now here is the papyrus and here are the jewels and the censer. These, I think, will prove the truth of our strange story.”

“And you mean to say there is a race of people living in the centre of the Earth?”

“Yes, indeed, where we have been actually living for the past few years.”

“They are actually descended from Korah, Abiram and Dathan?”

“Yes, as I told you, they still speak a patois Hebrew—they possess a copy of part of the Pentateuch—they worship the God of the old Testament, Jehovah, the great ‘I am’.”

“And yet you say they are savage?”

“I don’t think my description can be good, if I left you with that impression,” said Alan thoughtfully. “They are not like the black, savage natives of the present day. I should say rather, that they still possess the savage instincts of our forefathers. The sacrifice of living creatures, even humanity, does not revolt them. They are impervious to great pain themselves, and can watch it in others without flinching. The living sacrifices they offered to the Fire must have suffered agonies before life was finally extinct in them; but to their mind the pain they were inflicting made the sacrifice still more acceptable to their Almighty. They inflicted terrible tortures on their Virgin Watchers of the Temple—they were cruel, cunning, vile—yet in other ways they were too cultured to be called savages. Savage yes, but not savages.”

“I see the difference you mean, my boy. But didn’t you say they worshipped the Fire?”

“Yes. It is itself a part of their religion. I don’t think I ever understood it properly myself. They looked on the Fire almost as God himself—not a different God, but just God. Yet at the same time they believed that the God of their Fathers exists in the Heaven above the Upper World. It sounds very complicated, I am afraid.”

“No, no, my boy. I understand quite well what you mean.”

“They believed they had to offer living sacrifices to the Fire to keep it burning. The strangest part of their belief is, that when the Fire does die out, then will come the consummation of the entire world—not only theirs but ours too.”

“Then they know of our world?”

“Oh yes. Dathan and Abiram left written histories about the world they had left—the world they had once inhabited.”

“Going back to the Fire,” said Sir John. “Is it large?”

“Enormous. We never saw it in its entirety. It seemed to stretch away into the distance for miles. It was walled in with a glass-like substance, and was absolutely unlike any fire we had ever seen before. It seemed to have no real substance—was all leaping, brilliant flames—yet the heart of it seemed solid and firm. During our stay we could see that the Fire was really growing less and less. Imperceptibly at first, but latterly by leaps and bounds.”

“I wonder what _will_ happen when the Fire does go out,” said Desmond thoughtfully. “It has existed on itself for these thousands of years. The only fuel that was ever given it latterly was human or animal life. Surely that could hardly feed a Fire.”

“I think some world-wide catastrophe will come when the Fire dies out, if ever it does,” said Alan.

“And Jez-Riah just fell to dust,” went on Sir John slowly.

“Yes.”

Mavis was very excited. “Why our fortunes are made,” she cried. “Of course you’ll write to the papers?”

“We didn’t know what to do,” said Alan. “Desmond and I talked it over and came to the conclusion we would tell Uncle John first and get his advice.”

“No one else knows at all?”

“No one but us five.”

Masters looked up and gave Alan a grateful look. “It was good of you to include me,” said he.

“Why, you are part and parcel of ourselves, Masters,” laughed Alan. “Nothing would be complete without you,” and he shook hands heartily with his uncle’s trusty friend.

“We must go back to London,” said Sir John at last. “I will wire Sir Christopher Somerville—he’s President of the Geographical Research Society you know—and Professor Chard of the Geological Society to meet us in town. I will put the whole matter before them and take their advice. But, my dear boys, I can scarcely yet realize I have you back with me again.”

“Have you done any more with your Argenta?” asked Desmond suddenly.

Sir John’s eyes shone. “Come with me,” said he and he took them to the hangar. “She is complete and I think perfect,” said he simply. Very beautiful indeed looked the Argenta. There was a perfect grassy incline leading from the hangar to a large, flat field.

“I shall run her down the slope,” he explained, “and the field in the hollow is splendid for both ascending and descending.”

“Have you tried her yet?”

“No. We were going to try her yesterday, Mr. Alan,” said Masters, “but Sir John postponed it until your arrival.”

“And we must postpone it again, I am afraid,” said Sir John, rather sadly.

“Is it necessary, Uncle John?” asked Mavis.

“I think so, my dear. Your story is too wonderful to keep back a moment longer than is necessary. We will go to London to-morrow, and after all formalities are done with, will come back, try the Argenta, and if she is as I think she is, we will go for a long holiday in her.”

“Shall I accompany you?” asked Masters.

“Just as you like,” answered Sir John. “Come with us by all means, or stay with Hector and watch over the Argenta.”

“I would rather stay here, sir, if you have no objection. I’ve no ties that take me back to town, and I would rather remain by the Argenta.”

Forty-eight hours later Sir John, Alan, and Desmond and his wife arrived in London. Sir John had let his town house, so they chose a quiet hotel at the back of Berkeley Square for their domicile.

Sir Christopher Somerville and Professor Chard kept the appointment made, and once again the boys recounted their adventures. “Wonderful! Marvellous! Miraculous!” the professors kept muttering to themselves, as the improbable story was unfolded to them, piece by piece.

“Now,” said Sir John, when it was at last told. “There are seven people only that have heard this story. What do you advise us to do?”

“I will see the Home Secretary,” said Sir Christopher at last. “This is a Government affair, of course. England’s to the fore again; lucky they found their way out on British territory. The question will be brought up in the House—an expedition must be formed, and the two young gentlemen would probably like to accompany us, and help us with their knowledge of the place.”

“Don’t go again,” cried Mavis, her face blanching. “Oh you wouldn’t take him from me?”

“Don’t be afraid,” said Alan kindly. “Nothing is done yet, and when it is they will be probably quite contented with me alone.”

“Would you go again?” eyes wide open in horror.

“Of course, Mavis, but I’ll see that Desmond doesn’t go,” and he laughed cheerily.

The professors called a general meeting of their associations upon the matter of “THE DISCOVERY OF A NEW AND HITHERTO UNSUSPECTED PEOPLE” and the two boys came in for a great deal of congratulation and applause. Everything was settled at last, however; matters were directed through the right channel and a statement was brought up in the House of Commons. The only point that was not made public was the exact place of the entrance to Kalvar. That was kept entirely secret—the Home Secretary having pledged his word that until the necessary arrangements had been made between the two Governments, that of the Mother Country, together with the Commonwealth of Australia, most stringent secrecy should be kept, so that no one could possibly know that Walla Balla was the favoured spot.

All the papers were full of the new discovery. Reporters, ordinary newspaper men, big newspaper correspondents, all found their way to the little hotel. Alan and Desmond Forsyth had become famous! Kings and princes,—commoners and dukes, all vied with one another to meet and entertain the two men who had had such remarkable experiences.

At last the expedition was complete and was due to sail in a fortnight’s time. Meanwhile, Alan, who was to accompany it, was to take a fortnight’s entire rest. Geologists, historians, geographers, all wanted representatives sent. Mechanics, electricians and a small armed force had to be provided. The Government had already made a large grant to the Mining Company at Walla Balla, and had the entire rights for excavating a mile each way from the Second Pit.

The whole expedition was a voluntary one, and once again Britain and her Colonies came to the fore as the greatest pioneers in the world.

The golden censer had been offered to the British Museum, and had been gratefully accepted. The papyrus had been placed in the hands of experts who pronounced the document to be genuine. Antiquarians from all parts of the world came to see the relics, and the newspapers had paragraphs in them every day, relating to the “Kalvar Expedition.”

“Phew!” said Alan one day as he leant back in a taxi. “That is the last public speech I shall make for months, I hope.” He and Desmond had been guests of honour at a luncheon given by the Society of Antiquarians. “Thank goodness we leave to-night for Scotland. To-morrow we shall see the Argenta. Nine months since we were there. What a lot we have crowded into our lives these last few months.”

“I think we’ve made up for our lost six years,” laughed Desmond.

Masters met them at Arroch Head and was frankly glad to welcome them back.

“Nine months since we were here,” said Sir John. “You’ve seen the news in the papers, of course?”

“Of course, Sir John. The _Cavalier_ sails in a fortnight, I believe.”

“Yes,” answered Alan, “and I am going to take fourteen days real rest, and then—well, off to Kalvar again, only this time of my own free will.”

The longed-for moment had come! Hector was in the mechanic’s seat, while Masters navigated the great ship down the grassy slope. Gracefully she slid out of the hangar, and down the incline and stopped on the level. Sir John was very excited. “You are sure you want to test her?” he asked. “Remember she has never been up before—you have only my word for it that she’s safe. Desmond, don’t you think you had better stay with Mavis, in case—”

But Mavis interposed. “Nonsense, Uncle John. This is _the_ day of my life. Now give me your hand,” and she gracefully swung herself up the ladder and on to the lower deck. Sir John followed suit, and they stood side by side, watching the cousins ascend the ladder.

At last! They were all aboard and the six persons entrusted themselves to the aluminium bird that shone brightly in the sunshine. They hauled the grappling irons in, Masters touched a lever, and they started. Slowly they ascended at first—but climbed higher and higher, faster and faster until the hangar was lost to sight and they saw only broad expanses of country below them.

“Oh!” said Mavis breathlessly. “We’re off. Where are we going?”

“I want to make a circuit of the British Isles, and then home to Dalmyrnie.”

“But shall we have time?”

“At express speed we ought to do it in about four hours.”

“Only four hours?” in amazement.

“Well, we shall only go from Dalmyrnie—we shan’t touch further north to-day.”

“Now,” went on Mavis impatiently. “I want you to take me all over this wonderful ship. I want to see everything. I want to know how it is possible to navigate and propel such a tremendous vessel by the work of only two men.”

“Then we’ll start right now,” laughed Sir John. “Come, boys, we’ll explore the Argenta, and then have some tea.”