Part 10 (1/2)
”Did you send him north?”
”I did. He went upon a mission. As you know, I am generally well ahead with any plans I make.”
”Plans! What are they? Really, my dear Theodore, you are a perfect marvel of clever inventiveness!”
Ella's father shrugged his shoulders, and in his deep guttural German replied:
”I am only doing my duty as a good loyal son of our own Fatherland.”
”Well spoken,” declared the Count. ”There is a good and just reward awaiting you after the war, never fear! Our Emperor does not forget services rendered. Let us go upstairs--eh? I am anxious to learn what you suggest.”
The pair ascended the stairs to the carefully locked room in the roof, that long, well-equipped laboratory wherein Theodore Drost spent so many hours daily experimenting in the latest discovered high-explosives.
After Drost had switched on the light he carefully closed the door, and then, crossing to a long deal cupboard where hung several cotton overalls to protect his clothes against the splash of acids, he took out his military gas-masks--those hideous devices with rubber mouth-pieces and mica eye-holes, as used by our men at the front.
”It is always best to take precautions,” Drost said, as he handed his companion and taskmaster a helmet. ”You may find it a little stifling at first, but it is most necessary.”
Both put on the masks, after which Drost handed the Count a pair of rubber gloves. These Ortmann put on, watching Drost, who did the same.
”It is a good job, Count, that we are alone in the house, otherwise I could do no work. The gas is heavy, and any escaping from here will fall to the bas.e.m.e.nt. One fourteen-thousandth part in air, and the result must be fatal. There is no known antidote. Ah!” he laughed, ”these poor, too-confiding English little dream of our latter-day discoveries--scientific discoveries by which we hold all the honours in the game of war.”
”Very well,” grunted the Count. ”Let us hope that our science is better than that of our enemies. But I confess that to-day I have doubts.
These British have made most wonderful strides--the most amazing progress in their munitions and devices.”
While he spoke old Drost was, with expert hand, mixing certain compounds, grey and bright-green crystals, which he pounded in a mortar.
Then, carefully weighing with his apothecary's scales several grammes of a fine white powder, he added it and, while the Count, still wearing his ugly mask, watched, mixed a measured quant.i.ty of water and placed the whole into a big gla.s.s retort which was already in a holder warmed by the pale-blue flame of a spirit-lamp.
Suddenly Drost made a gesture to his companion, and while the liquid in the retort was bubbling, he attached to the narrow end of the retort an arrangement of bent gla.s.s tube, and proceeded to distil the liquid he had produced.
This product, which fell drop by drop into a long test-tube, was of a bright-blue colour. Drop by drop fell that fatal liquid--fatal because it gave off a poison-gas against which no human being could exist for more than five seconds.
”This,” exclaimed Drost, his voice m.u.f.fled by his mask, ”is the most fatal of any gas that chemical science has yet discovered. It does not merely asphyxiate and leave bad symptoms afterwards, but it kills outright in a few seconds. It is absolutely deadly.”
The room had by that time become filled by a curious orange-coloured vapour--bright-orange--which to Ortmann's eyes was an extraordinary phenomenon. Had he not worn the protective mask he would have been instantly overwhelmed by an odour closely resembling that of cloves--a terribly fatal perfume, which would sweep away men like moths pa.s.sing through the flame of a candle.
”Well, my dear Drost,” said the Count, ”I know you will never rest until you've devised a means of carrying out our plans for the downfall of Merton Mansfield, and certainly you seem to have adopted some measure-- deadly though it may be--which is quite in accord with your ingenuity.”
He also spoke in a low, stifled voice from within his ugly mask.
Drost nodded, and then into the marble mortar, in which he had mixed his devilish compounds, he poured something from a long blue gla.s.s-stoppered bottle, whereupon the place instantly became filled with volumes of grey smoke which, when it cleared, left the atmosphere perfectly clear--so clear, indeed, that both men removed their masks, sniffing, however, at the faint odour of cloves still remaining.
Afterwards the old chemist took from the cupboard a small cardboard box which, on opening, contained, carefully packed in cotton wool, a short, stout, but hollow needle. Attached to it at one end was a small steel box about two inches broad and the same high. The box was perforated at intervals.
”This is the little contrivance of which I spoke,” said Drost gleefully, as he gazed upon it in admiration. ”The explosive needle, when filled, and this little chamber, also properly charged, cannot fail to act.”
”I take it, my dear friend, that it will be automatic--eh?” remarked the Count, examining it with interest.
Old Drost smiled, nodded, and replaced his precious contrivance in its box, after which both men left the laboratory, Drost carefully locking the door before descending the stairs to follow his companion.
Both of them took a taxi to the fine house in Park Lane where Ortmann a.s.sumed the _role_ of society man. At ten o'clock a visitor was ushered in, and proved to be the young man whose real name was Schrieber.
Apparently he had just returned from a journey, and had come straight from the station in order to make some secret report to Ortmann.