Chapter V

The midnight visitor was the last person in the world I had thought of seeing, a district messenger boy, bringing a telegram for Henry. One of Henry's peculiarities was never to accept a radiogram or telegram relayed to the castle by telephone from the telegraph office in the village; it had to be delivered in person, no matter at what hour.

One glance at the messenger, as Henry bade him come in out of the rain, in tones of warm welcome, and I, like Niki, gave a sharp though suppressed exclamation. Completely enveloped in a black rubber cloak, which reached to the top of his puttees, and wearing one of those ugly rubber hats, with its broad brim turned down and extending well over his face, so that only his mouth and chin were exposed to view, he looked almost uncanny.

Catching the bright gleam of the nickel handle-bars of a bicycle parked outside, when Niki opened the door, I figured that the messenger must have had a hard pull in the storm. He had had no difficulty in entering the premises, I knew, as all district messengers were admitted at the lodge-gate without questioning. Looking uncertain and awkward, he leaned against the wall, just inside the door, while Niki handed the message to Henry. He made no move to remove his hat; either he was too embarrassed, or he didn't know any better.

There was nothing unusual, of course, in a message being delivered at this hour of the night; the unusual thing was the manner in which Henry received this one. Over his cups he had grown loquacious, but I never would have believed him capable of the silly flow, and the amount of it, that proceeded from his lips on this occasion, a condition in which Olinski contributed his share of inanities.

"Now, my friend," he began, "I will give you one million dollars if you can tell me the contents of this telegram before I open it. What do you think is in it, now?"

"I could do very nicely with the one million dollars," Olinski replied, "but I regret to say, at the present moment, my eye-sight does not carry very far beyond the end of my nose."

"You've been drinking too much," said Henry, rather crossly.

"Ah! That realization, at this very moment, crossed my mind," Olinski admitted. "And my great fear is that you have been drinking too much, yourself."

"There is the possibility, my friend," Henry returned, gruffly.

"Then you wouldn't advise our having another drink?" Olinski suggested.

"I would scarcely sanction it," said Henry. "Another drink between us, and we'll both be cock-eyed drunk."

Olinski laughed loudly.

"What are you laughing at?" Henry demanded, in a surly voice.

"That American expression, cock-eyed, it is so--so funny, and--and so beautifully illustrative of the way you look--to me, now."

"Do you mean to insinuate that I have drunk so much already I look--cock-eyed?" Henry retorted.

"There is that possibility, my dear friend," Olinski rejoined, rocking with mirth. "There--there is more than the possibility. You really do look--cock-eyed."

"No matter if I'm cock-eyed, or squint-eyed," said Henry, "my business is to ascertain the contents of this telegram--seeing you are too drunk yourself to tell me beforehand."

"Its contents, we can only conjecture," said Olinski. "My only hope is that it does not contain bad news. I am really distressed, for I have an intuition that it does contain bad news. Perhaps--er--another drink would alleviate my distress."

"You've had quite enough," said Henry. "My only anxiety is that we shall not be able to sleep off our cups before the sun, and sister Jane, have risen." As he finished speaking, he ripped the telegram open.

"That would be a great calamity," muttered Olinski, whose remark coincided with a smothered exclamation of rage from Henry. "Who is it from? What's happened?" Olinski inquired.

"It's from that damn reporter, McGinity," Henry roared. "For the third time tonight, he asks for an interview, and a confirmation of our discovery."

"But I thought he was in the garage--getting dried out," Olinski said.

"Apparently he's at the village." Henry glanced more closely at the telegram. "Yes; he's at the village, and he wants an answer--quick. Says he must have my confirmation before two-thirty this morning, which is the 'deadline' on his paper. Did you ever hear of such unmitigated gall?"

"These American reporters are capable of acting very shrewdly on occasions," said Olinski, whose brain seemed to be clearing somewhat.

"And so am I," thundered Henry. He tore the telegram into a thousand bits and scattered them over his own and Olinski's head. "I shall ignore his message," he continued. "Any sort of garbled, advance publicity will entirely spoil the effect of the news of our discovery. We shall announce it the day before the demonstration, so that it will come like a thunder-clap, and echo from one end of the world to the other."

"Still, our position, as far as this reporter, McGinity, is concerned, is very difficult," Olinski remarked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Some one, unbeknown to us, has, what you Americans call, 'tipped' his paper off. He may publish the rumor without the facts, which would be ruinous."

"He wouldn't dare!" Henry cried, hotly. "Besides, he has no facts to go on. How could he have? It's too tremendous for the human mind to grasp, without the main facts leading up to our discovery. With all our precaution for secrecy, how in the world could this reporter find out that we have not only received, but decoded, these strange radio messages from Mars, and definitely exchanged messages by short waves with a race of people as human as ourselves? He's trying to trick me into giving him the facts, as he did with my discovery of the comet. I'll bet you a million, he doesn't know what it's all about--hasn't the remotest idea--"

Olinski interrupted by lifting a finger to his lips, and giving a prolonged, "Shh!"

"Why the devil shouldn't I talk as I like?" Henry retorted, defiantly. On second thought, however, he glanced round the hall. Niki was just moving towards the front door, near which the district messenger still stood, patiently waiting for the telegram to be signed for; shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to another, and staring curiously, from under the rim of his rubber hat, at the various objects of art in the hall. Two suits of armor, on either side of the fire-place, seemed to hold his attention.

Leaning over towards Olinski, Henry voiced his growing suspicions in a low tone. "You don't imagine that this messenger boy wanted to listen, do you? Or had any motive in listening?"

He had no sooner spoken when he sprang from his chair, as if some idea, an intuition, had flashed across his mind. He started towards the front door, where Niki and the messenger were standing.

Olinski halted him by saying, in a low voice: "Here! Here! What are you doing, my friend? It's damned silly to think this messenger would be interested in what we've been talking about."

"Leave it to me," Henry counseled in a hoarse whisper. "I've my own ideas. I shan't be rough with him, but I shall be firm." Then he turned to Niki, at the same time, jerking his thumb in the direction of the messenger.

"Niki, will you kindly remove this young man's hat," he commanded.

The valet quickly obeyed his master's order.

"My God!" Henry gasped, staggering as if under the force of a blow. Quickly recovering, he stepped up to the messenger. "I might have guessed it would be you," he said. "You are, without exception, the most asinine and brazen reporter that ever was at large. How dare you enter my house under false representation, in this disguise?"

McGinity made no reply; just stood his ground.

"I dare say you know it's actionable, your coming here like this," Henry went on. "I'll report you to the telegraph company the first thing in the morning," snapping his fingers under the reporter's nose.

"The telegram was faked. I'll admit that," said McGinity, in a low and even voice. "But I'm not wearing a district messenger's uniform." He threw back his great rubber-cloak. "Just my own clothes, dried out, thanks to you."

"I'll report you to your City Editor," Henry persisted, angrily.

"I'm acting on my own responsibility," McGinity informed him. "My seeming persistence in making personal contact with you is based on the soundest principle in the news-getting game--'get your man.'"

"You'll get no information out of me," stormed Henry.

"Please don't forget, Mr. Royce," said the reporter, "that I've overheard what you and Mr. Olinski have been talking about for the last ten minutes."

"You--you listened?" Henry exclaimed, aghast.

"You can hardly imagine that I did not want to listen," the reporter replied; "especially as your conversation gave me sufficient information of your discovery, on which to build a big story. I can see it now, with headlines extending clear across the front page of the Daily Recorder. It's a great story, Mr. Royce, and I'm in luck to get it exclusive, before our deadline. An amazing discovery, a scientific achievement that will echo down the ages. Please, allow me to congratulate you, sir, also Mr. Olinski."

As McGinity concluded, he bowed low, bending from the waist, first to Henry, and then to Olinski. He bowed elegantly, as though he were an important guest having cocktails with the two old gentlemen, and not as an intruder, likely to be kicked out of the house at any moment.

Watching from the gallery, I was astonished at the young man's display of good breeding; so different from what I had expected to find in a reporter. I could see that Henry's anger was getting beyond his control. The reporter's civility seemed to flick him on the raw.

"I've half a mind to break your damned neck," he shouted, shaking his fist menacingly under McGinity's nose.

"Any attempt to do so--to break my neck--might detain me here unnecessarily," the reporter rejoined, calmly. "You would facilitate matters exceedingly if you would allow me to use your house phone to call my office in the city. I'll have the call reversed, so it won't cost you a penny. You see--" glancing at his watch "--I want to phone this story in in time for our last edition, the deadline for which, as I've already told you, is two-thirty."

Henry did not speak; he only growled, like an infuriated beast, ready to spring on its adversary.

"Very well, then," the reporter continued, "if you will not let me use your phone, I shall return to the village, and phone from there. I have about two hours before the paper goes to press. So I'll say good-night." He bowed again, very politely, and turned towards the door. But he never got to the door. Niki blocked his way.

"At him, Niki!" Henry cried furiously.

Niki's mighty arm shot out, and the blow he gave the reporter on the jaw was cruel and merciless; it was a knockout. McGinity staggered back against the wall, then crumpled in a heap on the floor. He never stirred after that.

"Now, you!" exclaimed Henry, shaking his fist at the reporter's prostrate figure; "you're not going to interfere any longer with my affairs. No story tonight, my boy! Deadline or no deadline!"

Olinski strode over to Henry. "What are you going to do with him?" he asked, excitedly.

"Lock him up for the rest of the night," Henry replied.

"Very good," Olinski agreed. "Then, in the morning, we shall bring him to terms. Bribe him, if necessary."

"That's it," Henry concurred. "That's it, exactly. A good idea. And he'll fall for it. Oh, he'll fall all right. Meantime," he added with a sardonic grin, "I shall make him as comfortable as possible for the night."

"Where on earth are you going to put him?" asked Olinski.

"Where there are no possible means of escape," replied Henry.