The Perfect World: A romance of strange people and strange places

Nurse Mavis Wylton looked after her patients cheerfully; she was glad of something to do. Life had been very dull in the little township and although the advent of the two Englishmen had made her unaccountably homesick, it had done a great deal toward breaking the monotony.

In the first year of the Great War she had taken up nursing, had tended the suffering on the muddy battlefields of Flanders, had seen service under the scorching sun of Salonica, had continued her labours in Malta, Gibraltar and Egypt. She was in Cairo when the Armistice was signed, and applied for a post in Australia at the conclusion of the War.

An orphan, she had no ties in the dear old Mother Country; her only brother was sleeping in the company of thousands of others in the battle-scarred region of Ypres. She was interested in her two patients—they had come from the mine in an unaccountable manner: she heard the story of the strange woman who had accompanied them and only half believed it—it sounded so very improbable. How could it be true? What was it Mr. Travers had said? She remembered his exact words.

“Nurse, it was horrible,” he told her. “As we watched, it—the woman’s face—seemed to dry up and wrinkle until it looked like parchment. The outstretched arms grew thin and bony; the body trembled violently and crumpled up and fell to the ground,—and when I went closer all trace of the woman had vanished and there was only a little patch of brown dust on the ground and a little purple package that she had been wearing fastened to her back.” The nurse could hardly believe anything so horrible, so uncanny. Yes, poor Jez-Riah had had her wish. She had seen the sun, had drunk in God’s pure air. But the atmosphere was too rare, and she had died. Died? Nay, withered up, and returned to the dust from which she had sprung, and nothing remained of the strange, underworld creature, but a little powdery matter that was blown away to the four winds of the heaven she had just existed to see.

Both Alan and Desmond lay in a semi-comatose condition for many days. Their hardships had been so great, their experiences so terrible, that it was marvellous that they had returned sane to the upper world. As it was, both suffered from brain fever, and were now being nursed back to health and strength. The crisis over, both boys were on the high road to convalescence. Side by side in little narrow beds they lay, and gradually the knowledge of their adventures came back to them.

Mavis had just entered the room one day when Alan broke the silence. “Nurse, what day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“What month, Nurse?”

“It’s Tuesday the twenty-fourth of June.”

“Midsummer day?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Now you mustn’t ask a lot of questions, but I’ll tell you this—both you and your friend—”

“My cousin,” corrected Alan.

“Well, you and your cousin have been very ill. You were brought here four weeks ago and at first we despaired of your lives. You are both much better now, and we hope to have you up very soon. Now don’t talk any more—”

“Nurse,” he pleaded. “Just one more question.” He pondered a minute. “It was June at Marshfielden when—Why it must be 1915!” he finished quickly, Nurse Wylton frowned. Was this a new form of delirium?

“Now don’t ask questions—”

“Nurse, Nurse—I must know! We’ve been away a long time. If this is June, then it must be 1915.”

“We are a long way past 1915,” said the nurse quietly. “This is June, 1920. You must have mistaken the date.”

Alan looked at her in blank amazement. “1920,” he muttered. “Desmond”—hoarsely—“did you hear that?”

“Now don’t talk any more,” commanded the nurse—and she drew the green blinds across the window, and shut out the brilliant sunlight.

As soon as she had gone, Desmond spoke. “Six years in that Hell! I can’t realize it. Over six years cut right out of our lives!”

“I don’t know how we are to explain our presence in the mine,” said Alan thoughtfully. “I don’t think it will be altogether wise to tell our whole story. I’d rather Uncle John knew first. He would, perhaps, get old Sir Christopher Somerville to organize an expedition to Kalvar.”

“Yes,” said Desmond, “a properly equipped exploring party would find it comparatively easy to prove the truth of our story. Why we have made one of the biggest racial discoveries of the century. Historically and scientifically we shall have benefited the whole world by our experience.”

“Poor Jez-Riah,” said Alan suddenly. “What an end!”

The first day the boys were coherent, they had asked about their little purple companion, and it was Nurse Wylton who had broken the news of her “death.” The boys had taken it very quietly—and the nurse was unable to form any ideas on the relation she bore to them. But they really felt towards her as they would have done to a domestic animal. They scarcely realized she was human.

In fits and starts the cousins recounted their adventures to each other—even yet they could scarcely realize they had come through safely. Daily they both grew stronger, and the marks of privation and suffering which had so disfigured their features were nearly wiped away. They were afraid to cable old Sir John and tell him of their miraculous escape. “We must break the news gently to him—for he has mourned us both, and it may be too much of a shock for him to learn we are both alive and in Australia,” said Alan.

Desmond chuckled. “Australia! Fancy coming out at the other end of the world! It’s almost like a fairy story, isn’t it? Do you remember we wondered where we should eventually land?”

Nurse Mavis entered—her arms full of flowers. “Now,” said she briskly. “There’s too much talking going on. I am sure you will both overtax your strength. Besides I have a visitor for you this afternoon.”

“A visitor?” echoed both boys.

“Yes, Mr. Travers, the Mine Manager, is very anxious to see you, and he wants to return you your property.”

“What property?”

“Some packages you had when you—came—in Walla Balla.”

The boys looked at each other blankly. They had entirely forgotten the papyrus and censer and jewels they had brought from the Tomb of Korah. They had been worrying about their financial position, and now, if the jewels proved to be real, they could raise enough money and to spare for their expenses and their fares back to England.

“Mr. Travers will be here in about half an hour,” went on the nurse. “Do you feel well enough to be wheeled out in chairs to the garden?”

“Please,” said Desmond. “I’m sick of this room.” But they felt very weak as they walked across the corridor to where the bath chairs were awaiting them with many comfortable cushions and rugs.

One of the under nurses wheeled Alan out first, and as Mavis tucked the rugs round Desmond, he whispered “Wheel me once round the garden first, Nurse.”

The hazel eyes smiled down at the blue ones, and a touch of colour came into the nurse’s pretty cheeks. Of the two strangers, Desmond was her favourite. He reminded her of her brother—in many ways he was so helpless, and she mothered him and cared for him, until love had overtaken her unawares.

She wheeled him along the grassy paths, and he asked her to stop and pick him a rose, but when she offered it, he saw only the roses in her cheeks—smelt only the perfume of her hair.

“Mavis, Mavis,” he whispered, “will you come back to England with us—with me—when we go? It seems too soon to speak—I’m an old crock—old before my time—but you have brought me back to life and hope. I can’t tell you what we have been through, Alan and I. Some day you shall know the whole story. Meanwhile may I hope? I love you with my whole soul. Come back to England with me as my wife!”

The hazel eyes grew tender as Mavis bent over the chair and smoothed the thin hand that lay on the coverlet. “I do care,” she whispered tremulously. “I have grown to care a great deal—but are you sure? I know so little of you both. I realize you have been through some terrible experiences. I won’t question you, I will trust you, but isn’t it wiser to wait? Wait until you are stronger. Perhaps in England there was a girl once,” the pretty lips trembled, “a girl you once cared for. She may be waiting still—but you have been ill, and have forgotten.”

“No,” said Desmond firmly. “There has never been a woman in my life. I swear it—never.” Suddenly, as he spoke, there came before his eyes the picture of a purple woman leaping into the flames—Kaweeka. “My God!” he cried, “listen, Mavis! I’m not worthy of you. One day I will tell you everything. It is true there was a woman once—” Mavis stifled a cry. “Listen. She wasn’t a woman of this world, but like Jez-Riah, the woman who was with us when we came here. I did not love her—I think I loathed her, but she was like a siren. She exercised an unholy power over me. Mavis—she asked me to marry her.”

“Did you?” in a whisper.

A flush of shame came over the white face. “Yes, Mavis,” hoarsely. “For weeks I lived in her house—until my cousin found me. When he appeared she did her best to woo him also. She cast me aside, but he was strong where I had been weak. No overture she made was strong enough to tempt him. He it was who brought me to my senses and saved me from everlasting shame.”

“You loved her?”

“No! A thousand times no! Mavis—it’s difficult to explain. Our whole story is so improbable, so fantastic, that without certain undeniable proofs which we hold, it would be considered as the phantasy of a disordered brain. This woman was nothing to me really; when we were together I loathed and hated her—almost feared her, but I was clay in her hands. It was a difficult situation—at that time I did not understand her language or the ways of her people. Oh, how can I make you understand! She wanted me as a new kind of toy. She knew nothing of morality or life as we know it. Her power was almost mesmeric.”

“Is she living still?”

“No. She died—oh, years ago,” passing his hand wearily across his brow. “I am sorry, Mavis. I had forgotten. I had no right to speak to you, but all recollection of Kaweeka had faded from my mind until you spoke of another woman. Will you forget what I said? I beg of you, don’t despise me too much.”

“Dear—I hardly know what to say. I forgive you freely. I nursed you back to life, Desmond. I devoted my whole time to you. While Matron and Nurse Fanshaw attended to your cousin, I watched over you. You grew dear to me. I wanted to see your eyes look at me with recognition in them. I—I—wanted you to—to like me—a little. Then when you first became convalescent I loved to talk to you. Dear, I can forget the past. Life since 1914 has changed. Women have changed. We are no longer the narrow minded stay-at-homes we were before the War.”

“The War?” asked Desmond wonderingly.

“Yes, the Great War. The war with Germany.” He looked puzzled, but asked no questions, only lay back with his eyes closed, thinking. “We understand the temptations of sex,” she went on, “and can forgive. You asked me just now to marry you. I’ll marry you most gladly whenever you like, and I’ll do my best to make you forget your terrible experiences. Wait—” as Desmond would have spoken, “I’ll ask no questions. When the time is ripe you can tell me all. Meanwhile I’ll be content to love and trust.” There was no one in sight; a tall hedge on either side of the garden walk gave them shelter.

“Kiss me, Mavis,” said Desmond hoarsely. “Oh my darling, how I love you.” And so the old, old story was told once more.

“Nurse Wylton! Nurse Wylton!” Matron’s voice was calling and it was a rosy cheeked nurse who answered.

“Nurse, wherever have you been? Mr. Travers has been waiting over half an hour to see the patients.”

Half an hour! Mavis offered no excuse—indeed she had none, and she wheeled her charge to Alan’s side. As she turned away to fetch Mr. Travers, she heard Alan say petulantly, “Wherever have you been all this time, Dez?” but she didn’t catch Desmond’s reply. If she had it would have set her thinking, for he said in an awe-struck tone, “Lanny, old boy, do you know there has been a war—a war with Germany? And we’ve missed it, old chap, we’ve missed it.”

Mr. Travers was a genial soul and loved by all the miners. He came forward and greeted the boys cheerily.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you are both better. A nice fright you gave every one to be sure. We wondered at first how you had got into such a position.” He laughed heartily at the recollection.

“However, the explanation was quite simple after all, wasn’t it?”

The cousins looked at one another with questioning eyes. In their opinion the explanation could hardly be called simple! Mr. Travers, however, went on. “After you had been rescued, Mennell, our foreman, gave orders for the men to cease work at that point. He wanted investigations to be made, after consulting me. The following day, however, we found the cave had filled with water, and the pumps were kept very busy, I can tell you. Then part of the flooring caved in, and the walls gave way. Oh, it was a horrid mess! However, it was eventually cleared away, and we discovered the subterranean passage. Very ingenious indeed.” And he rubbed his hands together. The boys were frankly puzzled.

“When did you leave Karragua?” asked Mr. Travers suddenly.

“Karragua?” asked Alan.

“Yes, Karragua.”

Desmond opened his mouth as if about to speak, but Alan was the first to recover his wits.

“Before we tell you our story, won’t you tell us what you discovered?” he asked shrewdly.

“Certainly, my friend. I suppose it was some bet you had on?”

“Something of the sort,” agreed Alan, now wholly puzzled.

“I thought so. I knew I was right. I shall take a bottle of rum off Old Man Paterson now. I told him it was the result of some freakish wager—he would have it you had discovered it by accident.”

“Do go on,” urged Alan. The situation was becoming desperate. Neither of the boys had the slightest idea of what Mr. Travers was talking about.

“Well,” continued the cheery manager, “you may be sure it took some time to clear away the débris after the cave-in. When it was clear we saw a passage leading out of it, and followed it about a mile, when it became choked up; and as we had made no preparations we returned and decided to continue our investigations another day.”

“Well?” from both boys.

“It was a Thursday. John Cornlake, Bill Watson and one or two other good, all round pick hands came with Mennell and me. It was a long road—two and three quarter miles by our pedometer—pitch dark, as you know. Suddenly we saw a speck of blue in the distance. We moved the boulder aside—how cleverly it is hidden among the rocks and undergrowth! and we realized at once it was the exit of ‘Red Mark’s Tunnel’.”

Neither of the boys spoke—they saw the humour of the situation, but were afraid lest by a word they might give themselves away.

“It must be a hundred and twenty years since it was used. How did you come to discover it?”

“A fellow told us about it,” said Alan vaguely after the fraction of a pause, and Mr. Travers was content.

“Of course when the shaft of our mine was sunk, the workmen searched for the entrance to the tunnel, but it was never discovered, and I don’t suppose it ever would have been except by a lucky accident. I suppose you were unable to find your way back to Karragua—was that it? You were in a pretty bad condition when you were found. We have already informed the government of the discovery,” he went on, “and agents have been sent down to inspect it. We are not sure what the result will be. Every one in Walla Balla wants to have it opened up as a sort of showplace. It would certainly do the township an immense amount of good. Red Mark and his fellow convicts who escaped through it have certainly left a wonderful monument behind them.”

So! It flashed on Alan’s mind at once. In some miraculous way the entrance to the passage by which they had come from Korah’s tomb was again blocked up. Their secret was still their own, but a subterranean passage made by early eighteenth century convicts had been unearthed instead.

“Did Red Mark dig the passage himself?” asked Alan.

“The story goes that Red Mark and a fellow convict escaped and commenced a passage. Walla Balla was a large farm estate at that time, and was employing nearly sixty convicts. Escape was almost impossible, the place was so well guarded, and such brutal treatment was inflicted on those that attempted to escape that few tried. Red Mark and his companion were lucky, however, and they managed to elude the bloodhounds. Their friends helped them with food. Feverishly they worked at the tunnel. It was their plan to burrow to the sea. It took them several years to complete it, but they accomplished their stupendous task at last. The night it was finished fifty convicts vanished. They had ransacked the larders and had taken plenty of food with them. Those that were left talked vaguely about having heard of a subterranean passage, but it was never found—at least not until now. Those convicts were never seen again. But at Karragua Creek a small sailing craft disappeared, and on it doubtless went Red Mark and his friends. But of course you’ve heard the story before. How did you find the place—by accident? And then I suppose you wagered you’d find your way through to the other end.”

Alan smiled. Mr. Travers was extremely helpful. He talked so much himself that he gave no one else the chance of speaking, and he considerately answered all the questions that he put to the boys—himself.

“Yes,” said Desmond, who had taken his cue from his cousin. “We told a friend about it, who wagered us one thousand pounds we would find our way through. Unfortunately, our lanterns went out, we lost our way, we had no food and—”

“And I suppose you were a week or more in that cave—hungry and worn out?” finished Mr. Travers helpfully. “Now I’ve brought you your property back,” and he handed them the packages they had brought from the Tomb of Korah. “Oh, you might give me an official receipt for them,” and he handed the boys a paper for them to sign. “By the way,” he continued, as he put the receipt away, “that woman.” His genial face grew solemn. “What was it—? Was it some—some joke you had prepared, or was it—”

“I can’t explain yet,” said Alan shortly. “We are going home to England where we have a very strange story to tell. I cannot explain the phenomenon you saw, but I may have to call upon you to repeat the story of her death. I suppose I may use your name?”

“By all means. I shall be only too pleased to assist you young gentlemen in every way I can, but I shall be glad to hear about that woman—it was damned strange. By the way, I sealed your parcels with our office seal. I should like you to examine them to see they are intact.”

“We won’t bother now, Mr. Travers, thank you. We have absolute confidence in you. By the way,” he added, as if in afterthought, “could you put me in touch with any one who would buy one or two unset gems? I have some with me, and am anxious to convert them into cash for our immediate use.”

“That’s easily done,” said Mr. Travers. “Our general manager is connected with Messrs. Frimpton, Long and Beauchamp of Melbourne. They are, I think, the biggest dealers in gold and precious stones in Australia. I will get an introduction for you.”

“Thanks very much.”

“Don’t mention it. Now I think I have stayed quite long enough for a first visit. Good-bye, Mr. Forsyth. Good-bye, Mr. Desmond. Take care of yourselves, and don’t get over tired,” and the kindly man left them.

“We got out of that pretty easily, thanks to you,” said Desmond as they saw him disappear down a bend in the garden. “I couldn’t think what he was driving at.”

“It’s extremely lucky the way to Korah’s tomb has been hidden again. That heavy fall of rock and earth did us a good turn.” Alan remained silent a few minutes, and looked at his cousin quizzically. Then quietly—

“Haven’t you anything to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh my dear chap—don’t think I am merely inquisitive, but we’ve been like brothers all our lives. I’ve watched our pretty nurse; I’ve watched you too. Have you spoken?”

“Yes. My God, Alan! I’m not worthy. Think—Kaweeka—”

“That is past. It’s no good worrying over what is done. You were not responsible down there, alone, in that Hell. Have you told Mavis about it?”

“I’ve tried to make her understand about Kaweeka—but I’ve told her nothing about our adventures and our discoveries.”

“I’m glad of that. I should like Uncle John to be at the first telling of our experiences. I’m glad about Mavis for your sake. I like her very much—in fact I might say I’ve grown to be almost fond of her. All happiness, old boy.”

“I should like to be married before we start for England.”

“Will she agree?”

“I think so.”

“Well I’ll be best man. Ah, Mavis”—as she appeared—“there is to be no formality now, you know. You are going to marry one of the best, and you’ve got to like me too.”

Mavis bent down and kissed his cheek. “There! Alan, see how cousinly I can be,” said she laughingly. “Now it’s time you both went to bed—you’ve been up quite long enough for one day.”

That night before the lights were extinguished she told them the story of the Great War. “Where have you been?” she asked in bewilderment. “Why every one in the world knows of it. It’s been horrible—terrible; white fighting against white; white employing black to help them. Every nation in the world suffered in one way or another.”

“I know it sounds improbable, dear, but neither Alan nor I knew the long talked of war with Germany had really come to pass until you spoke of it to-day. Don’t ask any questions—just trust me.”

“It’s all very mysterious and strange,” said she ruefully. “But I will possess my soul in patience.”

As soon as he was able, Alan sent one magnificent diamond and half a dozen emeralds to Messrs. Frimpton, Long and Beauchamp and received in return banknotes to the value of five thousand pounds. The boys had also chosen some diamonds for Mavis, and had had them set into an engagement ring for the woman Desmond loved.

Already they were well enough to leave the hospital, but as Walla Balla was only a very small mining township, there was no accommodation for visitors, so the cousins remained at the hospital as paying guests.

One day, late in July, a very pretty wedding took place. The bride was dressed in her nurse’s uniform and the bridegroom and best man were arrayed in unconventional white duck. The ceremony was performed by the local clergyman, and there was a big spread afterwards at the hospital, to which everybody in the township had been invited.

Alan felt rather sad as he stood waiting on the platform for the train to come in that would carry off the happy pair to their honeymoon. No woman had ever entered his life. His great ideal was a dream still; and he wondered if the time had passed for her ever to materialize.

“You’ll arrange for everything, won’t you?” said Desmond.

“Rather. Now don’t worry. The boat leaves Sydney at noon on the seventh of next month—eleven days from now. It’s the Clan Ronald. I’ll book your berths and await you there.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Their farewells were said, and Alan was left alone. He stayed a few days longer at Walla Balla among the friends he had made, and then travelled by easy stages to Sydney. The country was very beautiful but he longed to get home. He longed to see the smoky chimneys of London, the bustling streets, to hear again the noisy traffic, and at last to enjoy the truly rural beauty of the English lanes and woods. He longed to see his uncle. Was he still alive? he wondered. He was afraid to cable; he was afraid to write. Suddenly an idea came into his head and he wondered why he had not thought of it before. He would write to his uncle’s confidential clerk and friend—Masters. He could trust him to break the news gently.

“You’ll be surprised to hear from one whom you no doubt have long mourned as dead. Don’t be afraid—it is no ghost who is writing you, but a living man. I cannot explain everything in this letter, but I am catching the next boat home, and I will telegraph on reaching Plymouth the exact time we expect to arrive in London. Yes—it’s ‘we,’ Masters, for I have found my cousin Desmond. It all sounds wildly impossible I know, and I am writing you that you may break the news to my uncle that we still live. Tell him we are longing to see him. Tell him Desmond has found a wife and is bringing her home. I can say no more—my hand is trembling with excitement as I write. We have seen strange things, been to many strange places since we left Marshfielden, but impress upon Sir John, that had we been able to communicate with him we should have done so.

“With our renewed wishes to Sir John and yourself,

“There! I think that will meet the case,” and Alan fastened up the letter and posted it.

The seventh at last! All the luggage was on board; Desmond and his wife drove up radiantly happy to the quay and waved excitedly as they saw Alan leaning over the bulwarks. The bell clanged, the sailors gave vent to their sonorous cry, “All ashore! All ashore!” The siren sounded. Gradually the great vessel glided away; the smoke belched out in volumes from her funnels; the landing stage grew smaller and smaller until it was out of sight altogether. The vessel had started on her journey to England.

That night after dinner, when Mavis had gone to her state-room, the two cousins had a heart to heart talk in the moonlight.

“It seems impossible we are really going home at last,” said Desmond. “I feel like a child again. I have so much to learn. When we disappeared aeroplanes were only beginning to be used—now they are almost perfect, and are vehicles of every day use. The whole world seems to have progressed a century in these last few years.”

“There certainly is a great deal for us to learn,” agreed Alan, “but we must leave it to Uncle John. He will put us right about everything.”

“I wonder how he has progressed with his airship,” said Desmond after a pause. “We used to laugh at the dear old chap; he has the laugh on us now.”

“He always said that the future of commerce was in the air.”

“Have you the papyrus safe?” asked Desmond suddenly.

Alan laughed. “Rather! Or at least the Purser has. I bought a strong deed box in Sydney and packed everything in it; here’s the key. When next we open it, please God, it will be in the presence of Uncle John.”

Alan looked sadly at the scene in front of him. A brilliant moon had risen and was sending its beams across the phosphorescent waters. The air was sweet and balmy—the Southern Cross was discernible and the whole scene was like a wonderful painting. The chud-chud of the engines and the swish of the water was the only sound to be heard. Somehow, Alan felt very much alone that night. Desmond, his childish playmate, his boyhood’s chum, and later his companion in adventure, seemed lost to him. He had married a wife. That was the trouble in a nut-shell. Things would never be the same again. He was fond of Mavis—she was a dear girl, and would be a splendid wife for his cousin—

“Good night, old chap,” said he huskily. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I’ve been keeping you too long from Mavis.”

“Good night, Alan. I think I will turn in now. I shall tumble to sleep as soon as my head touches the pillow,” he added boyishly.

“Good night.”

But it was early morning before Alan went to sleep. He wondered what the future had in store for him. Would it prove as adventurous as the past? Or would he remain a lonely old bachelor, a wanderer on the face of the earth? No fixed home of his own—a favourite uncle, perhaps, to Desmond’s sons. Yes, he was getting morbid. He was still young, barely thirty and had his life before him. Somewhere, perhaps, a mate was waiting for him. Somewhere, some time he would find his ideal,—and then—

The clock struck five; he yawned, turned over and fell asleep.

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.”