“As you say. And among his effects was a woollen scarf, a peculiarly unfashionable accessory in the heat of July. He wore it because he knew that the high air is frigid, and he was thus prepared to encounter the temperature thereof; the inference to be drawn is unmistakable. To cap it all, Paskett’s library was a veritable thesaurus of scientific treatises on subjects atmospherical. And that was when I knew.”
“But why this secrecy? I should think he would prefer to share such an accomplishment with the world.”
“In a word, vanity,” Treviscoe replied. “Failure should ruin any chance of a reprise; given his general unpopularity, he must have deemed it prudent to eliminate any chance of miscarriage first.”
“Prudence is unlikely to result in death. The question remains as to how Mr. Paskett’s aerostat was caused to explode.”
“To determine that, we must needs find it first, but I have a notion as to how it was done.”
“Courtesy of our friend the lieutenant-fireworker, I daresay.”
“Indeed, I do not misdoubt that he was the author of the disaster. I have heretofore mentioned his claims to have been intimate with his cousin. Paskett must have had some assistance in so complex a project as making his aerostat, and who better than his cousin for such a purpose? Tell me, Hero, did you shake his hand at Lloyd’s?”
“He did not offer it. I am nought but a black heathen, after all.”
“When I took his hand, I noticed it was rough and calloused, not the smooth and soft hand one anticipates of an aristocrat. I thought at the time that he must be a keen farmer, a common enough proclivity among our English squires, as it is with the King himself. But you cannot travel in the country with a man without you discover his sentiments regarding a bucolic existence, and Lieutenant Nightingale showed nothing but contempt for husbandry, neither any other pastoral pursuit, save the hunt. How then did his hands come to be so hardened? Surely, it were other labour than farming which caused it. It is my supposition that Nightingale assisted his cousin in the facture of the aerostat, and in particular, the net which surrounded the balloon, the tying of which would induce such calluses — and afford him an opportunity for mischief.”
“That is reasonable. But I do not see what you are implying, with regard to mischief.”
“Hero, how is your knowledge of artillery?”
“I know that it requires a prodigious quantity of gunpowder. Do you believe Lieutenant Nightingale planted a bomb aboard the aerostat? I do not see how he could have done so without Paskett’s knowing of it.”
“I agree. It must have been something much more clever, hence my question to you about artillery. You see, certain kinds of shot make the use of fuses, for which a length of slow match may be used. Do you know how slow match be made?”
“You know that I do not.”
“A length of hempen line is imbued with saltpetre.”
“Hempen line...”
“Aerostatic balloons are contained within a hempen net.”
“Then Nightingale be the very Devil; it was he, and not his cousin, who was in league with Satan! I now perceive your thoughts,” Hero said. “Nightingale wove a long length of slow match into the net. At the launch of the aerostat, he ignited it in such a way as Paskett would not notice it, or else notice it too late to stop it. The aerostat rose up into the air, and when the burn reached the balloon, it first melted the wax used to seal the silken envelope, and in the sequel, burning through the silk itself, ignited the inflammable air within. What explosion must have ensued! Paskett would have been blown out of the basket to plummet to his death.”
“But the ruined aerostat would not have followed him directly down — it must have been conducted to its final resting place by the wind.”
“Wherefore we search for signs of it now.”
“And find it we must, or prove nothing.”
An hour had not passed before Hero espied a patch of charred grass. They dismounted and carefully perused the ground.
“Here is where the basket must have struck the earth,” Treviscoe said, kneeling. “The ground was dented by its corner, and here are shattered pieces of wicker.”
“But nothing else,” Hero said. “We were fools to think that a man of such cunning should ever have failed to conceal such evidence of his crime.”
“We must hie to Amesbury forthwith and confront him,” Treviscoe declared, pocketing the narrow twigs of broken willow. “On my oath, he shall not escape justice.”
But Nightingale was not to be found. The only sign of him was a letter, obviously written in haste.
Amesbury, Wilts.
To Sir A. Treviscoe, Bart.:
I have but this moment discover’d your PERFIDY, having confirm’d the Rumour that your black Agent attends you, to what evil Purpose I can scarce dare imagine. I know not what false Conclusions you may have arrived at, but I take this Opportunity to declare my unequivocal Innocence with regard to the Death of MR. FRANCIS PASKETT. I know only too well the Depths of Depravity to which you willingly descend, having seen you, with mine own Eyes, and in full Deliberation, bear False Witness to a Bishop of the CHURCH OF ENGLAND, in the Pursuit of your own despicable ENDS.
If in your Duplicity, you should claim as Evidence agin me that I denyed having Knowledge of the particular Nature of Mr. PASKETT’S scientifical Endeavours: I do NOT deny it. Contra, Mr. PASKETT proceeded with my full
Support. The Military Utility of Command of the Air cannot be misdoubted, for He who rules the Air, must also command the EARTH. As a loyal Briton in the Service of His Majesty the KING, I could not but lend my full Approbation to such a Project as would advance the Glory of English Arms.
I trow you find yourself Insulted, as if such Person, whose very Existence is an Insult to Mankind, may so consider him Self Insulted; and I should only be too happy to provide Satisfaction to you on the Field of Honour, had not Honour a prior CLAIM, for as there is a LADY involv’d, my Duty is clear: to deliver her from your vile Influence whilst I may.
I shall not say that I have the HONOUR to remain your Faithful Servant, as HONOUR must forever be foreign to such a Constitution as yours. Therefore, with All my Heart, I desire Confusion to you and all your Arts, &c.,
“At least he confesses the motive for his crime,” Hero observed. “He meant to steal his cousin’s accomplishments to accrue to the benefit of his own military ambition.”
“He means to remove Lady Fitzdenys from London,” Treviscoe said. “That cannot be tolerated — we must ride instanter, Hero, day and night, to reach London before him.”
The weather, which for weeks had been fair, now proved contrary, the summer heat begetting roiling clouds, pelting warm rain down like liquid nails amidst wanton fits of lightning and thunder. But it did nothing to deter Treviscoe and Hero. They made London in good time, but just in time: the Baroness was preparing to decamp the City for the Continent as they arrived at her home, and mere minutes later would have been gone. Her coach awaited her on the drive of her lodging.
“Hero, do not let them leave,” Treviscoe said, as he slipped from the saddle and painfully bounded up the stairs to the front door. He pounded on the panel, and the door was opened by a startled maid. He pushed past her.
He stood in the foyer of the house, holding his hat at his side, water dripping from the sodden felt of its corners onto the floor.
“I must see her ladyship forthwith. The hour is desperate.”
“Mr. Treviscoe, I had not expected to see you here.” The voice was cold.