FORTY In which
THE LONG JOURNEY COMES TO AN END—BUT NOT THE STORY
When Johnny saw what they were up to, he pushed himself painfully to his feet and lent a hand. He had designed the rain hood to be easily removable. Within ten minutes, they had completely detached it from the car. Though the wind threatened to tear it from their hands, they managed to turn it 180 degrees and fasten it to the windscreen supports with clamps and heavy wire.
The moment they unfolded the hood, the wind caught it, rocking the car forward. “It looks as though it may work,” said Harry, “if we can find something to hold it open—a sort of mast, as it were.”
Charles scooped up a heavy stick that one of the Luddites had dropped. “Will this do?”
“I think so.” Harry grinned. “Ironic, isn’t it, us making use of one of their weapons to help propel the car?” While Johnny and Charles struggled to hold the hood open, Harry wired the stick to the metal bars of the frame. They had to stand on the running boards in order to finish the job, because the Flash had already begun to move.
Unfortunately, it was heading straight for the sidewalk. “Harry!” shouted Johnny. Without even pausing in his task, Harry calmly thrust out one foot and used it to turn the steering wheel.
At last the stick was wired securely in place. “Got it!” he shouted. “Jump down, lads!” He hopped into the street, too, and walked alongside the car, guiding the steering wheel through the open driver’s door. When a particularly strong gust of wind filled the improvised sail, he actually had to break into a trot to keep up. Elated, he burst into song. “Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main, and many a sto-ormy wind shall blowwww . . . ere Jack comes home again!”
Charles jogged up to join him. “If the wind gets any stronger,” he said anxiously, “it’s going to tear the whole thing apart.” At that moment, the breeze died down a bit, and the car slowed. “Oh, no!” said Charles.
Harry laughed. “There’s just no pleasing some chaps. Do you want a strong wind or not?”
“I just want to get there.”
The clock in the tower of St. James’s Palace sounded the first of ten strokes. “Is that the right time?” asked Harry.
Charles checked his watch. “Mine says two minutes after.”
“So we have at least thirteen minutes, then.”
“You say that as if it’s plenty of time.”
Harry grinned. “In a rugby match, it’s an eternity.” His smile faded. He glanced toward Johnny, who was plodding along some distance behind them, then said softly to Charles, “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
“Really?” said Charles, in mock amazement.
Harry ignored the sarcasm. “It occurs to me that there was something odd about the way those Luddites attacked the Flash.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, they didn’t behave as you’d expect machinery-hating fanatics to behave, did they? They obviously had no desire to destroy the car. They wanted only to disable her, and they knew exactly how to do it. I don’t believe they actually were Luddites, Charles. I think they were ordinary thugs who were hired to stop us.”
“Hired? By whom?”
“Well, whoever it was, he obviously instructed his men not to harm you. They had no qualms about beating up Johnny and me, but I noticed they treated you with kid gloves.”
Charles stared at him. “You think—you think it was my father!”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it!”
“Well, think about it. What other explanation is there?”
“I don’t know!” said Charles. “But I can assure you, my father would never stoop to such tactics!” He had made this same protest before, in nearly the same words, but this time it seemed, even to him, to lack conviction.
Behind them, Johnny called, “Look there!”
Harry faced front. The rain had let up a little and, for the first time, he could see more than a dozen yards ahead. The street before the Reform Club was packed with people, all of them facing east, the direction from which they expected the Flash to appear—if they expected it to appear at all.
“I’ll clear a path for us,” said Charles, and ran ahead, shouting, “Move out of the way, please! Let us through!”
A few spectators turned in his direction, then a few more, until finally everyone had spotted them. A clamor arose from the crowd, composed of cheers, cries of astonishment, and shouts of encouragement. Over the din, Charles’s voice could barely be heard, crying, “Get out of the way! Clear the street!”
As the windblown motorcar sailed into the narrow passage between the banks of bodies, Harry hopped into the seat and pulled gently on the hand brake. The Flash rolled to a stop directly before the Reform Club steps. “Time!” he shouted. Though he was addressing Charles, he was answered by a whole host of voices. There was considerable dispute over the precise number of minutes past ten, but there was unanimous accord that they had beaten the ten-fifteen deadline.
Harry and Charles made their way through a throng of well-wishers offering congratulations and handshakes and slaps on the back. Near the top of the stairs, Harry turned and scanned the street in the direction they had come, searching for Johnny. He felt a pang of panic, fearing that perhaps his friend had been hurt worse that he realized, and had collapsed somewhere. Then he noticed a large figure, shoulders hunched against the rain, hurrying away, unable to endure the prospect of facing so many people.
Harry sighed and shook his head. A newspaper reporter forced his way through the crowd of admirers, shouting, “Mr. Fogg! Mr. Fogg! Can you tell me what one factor was most important in accomplishing this amazing feat?”
Harry almost told the truth. He very nearly said, “The mechanical genius of Johnny Shaugnessey.” But he knew that he would be doing his friend a disservice, that Johnny would want to remain as far from the limelight as possible. After a moment’s thought, Harry said, “There were many factors, of course. But I would have to say that the most important of all was sheer, stupid luck.”
Charles tapped his shoulder. “Harry, look. Down there, next to the car.”
Though the Flash was surrounded by people, Harry’s eye was drawn to the one familiar figure among them—a tall young woman in a long coat, bareheaded despite the rain. “Elizabeth,” he said, under his breath.
She was gazing up at their makeshift sail, with a faint smile on her face. She shook her head, whether at the crude, slapdash nature of the thing or at the cleverness of it, Harry couldn’t tell. Her gaze fell on the ruined boiler, then; she reached out a hand—as someone will reach out in sympathy to a friend who is hurt or distressed—and patted the metal body of the Flash.
A well-dressed man stepped forward and, with a small knife, began cutting away a chunk of the leather hood. Elizabeth whirled around, her face flushed with anger, and said something to the souvenir seeker that Harry could not hear. Whatever it was, it sent the man scurrying away, his head down.
“I’m going to go speak to her,” said Charles.
Harry took his arm. “I wouldn’t. You’ll only embarrass her, old chum. Besides, you’re needed inside the Club. You’re the expedition’s official observer, remember?” Harry beckoned to one of the policemen who stood nearby. “Do you suppose you could go down there and keep an eye on our motorcar until we return? If you don’t, I’m afraid there’ll be nothing left.”
The peeler touched the brim of his helmet. “Be ’appy to, sir. And congratulations.”
Just outside the front doors of the Club, Aouda Fogg stood waiting patiently to greet her prodigal son. Though public displays of affection were not considered ladylike, she couldn’t help wrapping her arms about him. Then, standing on tiptoe, she raised her veil and gave him a kiss on each cheek. “I am very happy to see you, Hari. But, oh, you look so thin, and so tired.”
“I am. But we won, Mother. We won.” He glanced around. “Is Father here?”
“He is inside, probably collecting money from the other members.”
“You mean he made a wager of his own?”
Aouda nodded. “Several of them.”
“And he bet that we would win?”
“Of course. You did not suppose he would bet against you?” She gave him a slight nudge. “Do not keep him waiting, Hari. He has been very worried about you.”
“He told you that?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps not in so many words. But I can tell.”
Harry took her arm. “Come with me, Mother.”
“No, no,” she protested, pulling away. “Women are not permitted in the Club, you know that. I shall go home and have the cook prepare a lovely luncheon for you.”
Charles had already entered the Club and, finding the vestibule empty, climbed the stairs to the library. A good half of the members were gathered there, drinks in hand. When he came through the door, they raised their glasses and gave him three hearty choruses of “Hip, hip, hurrah!”
Charles strode over to his father, who shook his hand briskly and handed him a glass of champagne. “Glad to have you back safe and sound,” said Julius Hardiman. But he did not look very glad. “Where’s young Fogg?”
“He’ll be here.” Charles took a swig of the champagne and gazed around the room, feeling dazed and disoriented. After three months spent in the backseat of a motorcar and in livery stables, in tents and shabby hotels, the opulent surroundings of the Club seemed unreal. He had supposed that it would be a great relief to return to his old life, but somehow it all seemed rather ordinary and disappointing. He drained the glass and put on a smile. “Well, we did it, Father! We actually drove a motorcar around the world!”
“So you did. I only wish you had taken a bit longer doing it.” He leaned closer and said confidentially, “Couldn’t you have managed to slow him down some?”
Charles stared at his father. “I understood that I was to be an observer, not a saboteur!”
Julius Hardiman laughed, but it sounded forced and hollow. “Of course, of course. I was merely joking.”
“Were you?” Charles set the glass aside. “Father, I must know,” he said quietly, grimly. “Did you hire those men to disable the car?”
His father looked genuinely baffled. “What men?”
“A group posing as Luddites. They attacked us just before we reached the Club.”
“I give you my word, Charles, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Have you any idea who might be responsible?”
Before Hardiman could reply, another chorus of “Hip, hip, hurrah” filled the room. Charles turned to see Harry stride in, grinning triumphantly.