"Well-no." Tom's tone was dubious.

"Oh, if you'd rather not, of course!"

"No, I don't mind really. But Mr. Greatorex is rather particular about keeping the matter quiet--"

"I'll be mum as the dead, I a.s.sure you. I don't know anything about machinery; it isn't in our line at Eton; you needn't be afraid of my giving the secret away."

"It isn't that, exactly. I'm not afraid of your discovering the secret of the machine; but it's rather important that the fact of its existence shouldn't leak out just yet."

"Well, you'll have to make friends with my sister then. She has seen it too. It's lucky Mother is in town, or the secret would be out by this time."

They were walking now side by side to the shed.

"You're not Mr. Greatorex's son, then?"

"No; my name's Dorrell. I'm no relation of his."

"My name's Raymond Oliphant. I'm just home from Eton; long holidays, you know. That's a clinking machine of yours. Never seen anything like it before. Did Mr. Greatorex invent it? I understood he was a chemical manufacturer."

"No. I did."

"Really! I say-d'you mind?-how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Just my age! And I'm rotting about at Eton while you--I say, you ought to make a good thing of this."

"It's only experimental at present. We haven't tried a long flight."

"Will you get the Government to take it up? I'll put in a word with the pater, you know."

"That's altogether premature," said Tom with a smile.

"Why, it seemed to me to go all right. Will it take two?"

"Two of our weight, I think. Would you like to try?"

"Rather! And I say, just keep out of sight from our grounds, will you?

If Margaret were to catch sight of me she'd have a fit or something. By Jove! it won't be so slow here as I feared."

Oliphant spent a quarter of an hour in the air, and when he descended was overflowing with enthusiasm.

"It's simply ripping, Mr. Dorrell," he cried. "I may come again, mayn't I?"

"Certainly," said Tom, adding with a smile: "On one condition."

"Trust me, I won't say a word. And I'll shut Margaret's mouth too-if I can. Look here, it seems to me you'd be the best man for that job. I'll bring Margaret to-morrow-may I?-and when she knows you're the inventor, and you impress on her that your life's at stake or something, she'll be more likely to hold her tongue than if _I_ jaw. Good-bye."

Tom thought it necessary to inform Mr. Greatorex, in the drawing-room before dinner, of what had happened.

"Hm!" he grunted. "Eton boy, is he? Got any _sense_?"

"I didn't examine him," said Tom with a laugh. "I thought him quite a decent fellow. He was very good-tempered with Tim, who was a trifle taken aback when he learnt that he had ordered off the son of the Prime Minister."

"And a precious Prime Minister he _is_! Mark my words, Tom, the Country's going to the dogs. To the _dogs_! We're dropping _behind_, Tom, and Langside hasn't the grit to prevent it."

"Mr. Oliphant suggested that a word to his father might induce him to buy the aeroplane for the Country."

"G.o.d bless my soul, you mustn't _dream_ of it! Langside will be turned out at the next election; John Brooks will go in, and he's the man to steer this old country through. No, no! and if young Oliphant blabs a word of it to his father, I'll-I'll--Yes, my love"-as Mrs. Greatorex entered-"we were talking about our new neighbour, Lord Langside. It appears that his son and daughter have come down."

"Oh, John, do you think I should call?"

"On _no account_, my dear. I _hate_ Langside's politics, and we'll _have nothing to do with them_. Now, Tom, give Mrs. Greatorex your arm."

CHAPTER IV-A PRISONER IN ZEMMUR

A few mornings after the meeting with Raymond Oliphant, Tom, coming down to breakfast, found Mr. Greatorex in a state of high excitability, with the _Times_ outspread before him.

"What did I say, Tom!" he shouted. "Didn't I _tell_ you the Country was going to the dogs! What do you think of _this_, now?"

He read out a short paragraph-

"Information has just reached the Foreign Office that Sir Mark Ingleton, who recently left London on a diplomatic mission to Morocco, has been captured by tribesmen and carried off to the hills. Strong pressure is being brought to bear on the Sultan to take steps against the offenders; but if, as is feared, Sir Mark Ingleton's captor is the notorious rebel whose headquarters are at Zemmur, there is little hope of the Sultan in his present state of impotence being able to make his authority felt."

"That's what has happened to a servant of the British Crown under Langside's administration;" said Mr. Greatorex hotly. "Strong _pressure_, indeed! It wants a fleet, an expedition, a few quick-firers and Long Toms."

"But wouldn't that make a blaze?" said Tom quietly. "In the present state of affairs it might give rise to no end of complications in Europe, too."

"Don't tell _me_!" cried Mr. Greatorex, banging his fist on the paper.

"We're sinking into a state of jelly-fish; any one can poke us and smack us and we simply _go in_. This'll smash the Government: that's one good thing; and we'll see what John Brooks can do when _he's_ at the helm."

Later in the day Raymond Oliphant, who was now a privileged visitor to the shed, adverted to the subject.

"Thank your stars you are not Prime Minister, Dorrell," he said. "The pater came down for the week-end, and he's nearly off his chump, poor old chap! He knew about this kidnapping three days ago, before it got into the papers, and he went back to town this morning prepared for squalls in the House."

"Can't he do anything?"

"He says not. One of the Opposition rags was screaming about an expedition on Sat.u.r.day, but of course that can't be risked. And it might fail after all-just as the Gordon expedition did. That Moorish brigand might kill Ingleton if hard pressed."

"But what would he gain by that? He's playing for a ransom, I suppose."

"No, there's more in it than that. We've already offered an enormous ransom through the Sultan; but the rebel wants to get certain concessions out of the Sultan, and thinks he'll manage it by getting the Sultan into hot water with us. I say, what a pity your aeroplane isn't fit for the job. What a grand idea it would be to snap up the prisoner under the very noses of his captors! I suppose it _isn't_ up to it, eh?"

Tom shook his head.