The Secret of Walnut Ridge
WE HAD no difficulty purchasing the desired tract on Walnut Ridge. We enclosed it with a high, woven wire fence topped by five strands of barbed wire. Our workmen were selected carefully, housed to keep their mouths shut. As secretly as possible the material of diverse sorts was collected on the ridge and the actual work of construction began. The few reporters and other curious humans that found their way out through the wilderness to the plant were sent on the wrong trail by the report that we were about to test out special iron mining machinery and make borings for other minerals.
While our electricians under the able direction of a little red-headed Scotchman named McCann were familiar with all the workings of the intricate machinery, motors, transformers and so on, no one understood the complete working principle save the professor himself, although McCann, being canny and deep, I credited with understanding more than he let on. Certain it is that the professor was in love with him and trusted him implicitly. The professor was everywhere, tireless, secretive, and often provoking. Sometimes he worked far into the night when all others had sought their beds.
As for myself I wandered about from one section to another in a maze of doubt and wonder. The whole thing was too deep for me, and I thought so much on the subject that it began to rob me of my sleep. Besides, the Professor's taciturnity finally began to irritate me. Although I was furnishing all the money he did not offer to divulge the inner secrets of his scheme. My wonder was intensified as the sky islands, two in number and located one near each end of the enclosure, began to take form. These islands were fashioned out of structural steel, were square in form and about one hundred yards from rim to rim. Although their superstructure was built of light-weight materials, each must have weighed many thousands of tons burdened as they were with machinery of many kinds--oscillators, condensers, motors and diverse other machines whose names and offices were known only to the Professor.
Besides the machines on the islands, others were sheltered by small buildings on the ground. At three corners of each island were short mastheads with powerful lights and at the fourth rose a taller masthead bearing a revolving airplane beacon. I knew that the Professor proposed to raise this great mass into the air by wireless control, to suspend it there and raise and lower it at will. Having had the theory dinned into my ears for many days I naturally absorbed some of the faith of its inventor, but as the work progressed I began to have misgivings and to fear that, after all, his mind was unbalanced.
Of course the public was not admitted to the grounds. I began to suspect that many doubted the iron machinery story, for several reporters and photographers finally came to visit us and were turned away with a sharp rebuke.
One of our first tasks consisted of clearing a landing field, after which Greta always brought the Professor and me over in her plane--a remarkable machine in its way. Although she did not understand these air islands any more than I, she criticized the Professor for evolving them and was sceptical of their success.
We heard and saw little of Van Beck, but Greta saw him often--as I afterward learned. Then one day she swooped down suddenly out of the sky, climbed from the cabin of the plane and was followed by Van Beck.
Professor Stiener glared, but Van Beck grinned amiably through his black, bushy beard.
"Sir, you must know that you are not wanted here," fumed the Professor. He turned savagely to Greta. "What is the meaning of this, Greta?"
"Why Professor Van Beck is an old friend," she said innocently. "I just landed here without thinking. I beg your pardon, Gustave. We will be going."
Greta made for the plane. Just then McCann ran up with a blue print and asked the Professor a question.
"Certainly, certainly," chimed in Van Beck. "We do not wish to trespass."
The professor had been poring over a large blue print spread open in the sun when he rose to rebuke his Dutch friend. Now he walked away with McCann and I followed. We were absent but a few minutes, and when we turned back instead of seeing Van Beck getting into the plane I observed him turning away from the blue print and I thought I saw him hastily thrust a black object into the capacious pocket of his long black duster. There were no workmen near at the time and as I had no witnesses and could not be sure I resolved to say nothing about it. Smiling graciously Van Beck ambled to the plane, took his seat by Greta's side and they were off with a wave of the hand.
The Professor was furious over the unexpected visit.
"What is Greta thinking about?" he stormed. "Has she no respect for her brother and his work? Please God he didn't learn anything--but maybe he did, "he added fearfully. "He has a devilish way of learning things. What do you think?"
I assured him I did not think it likely any of our secrets had leaked out in so short a space of time. And I was in no amiable mood. Van Beck seemed to be exercising an hypnotic influence over Greta and I resented it bitterly. However, shortly afterward I had reason to be thankful for the episode and the resultant lecture which the Professor gave Greta. She was seen less often in Van Beck's company and devoted herself closer to me and the work of her eccentric brother. Nor did we see any more of Van Beck nosing around. He was seen but little about town and seemed to keep pretty close to the class room. Near mid- summer we heard he had obtained a vacation and had gone abroad for a time.
The Professor breathed a sigh of relief. "We are rid of him for a time," he said gratefully. "Before he returns the danger will be past."
A Disappearance
WEEK after week rolled away, the mellow days of September were at hand and the islands were nearing completion. Then one morning as the Professor and I stepped from the plane we were met by McCann with the startling intelligence that the office had been entered during the night, but a cursory examination had revealed nothing disturbed.
The Professor stared blankly a moment, then rushed away to the office. We followed breathlessly.
The outer door had been forced, its lock being broken, but beyond this no damage had been done so far as we could discover. Anxiously we ran over the papers--not a print was missing.
"Nothing gone," said the Professor. "Yet the place has been entered. What for?"
"Perhaps the thief was frightened away before he could grab anything," Isuggested.
"I don't see how he got in," said McCann. "I have made sure that every guard was at his post throughout the night."
"I hold you personally responsible, McCann," said the Professor severely. "See that it doesn't happen again." And with that he turned and walked away leaving McCann with a crestfallen air.
I felt sorry for the Scotchman. He seemed devoted to the Professor, and I believed the rebuke to be undeserved.
The ridge which the Professor had selected for his daring experiment was the center of an unbroken wilderness far remote from any human habitation. It was fifty miles from the university, and was a land of no roads and but few dim trails. The ridge dropped away to the north and to the south in a series of valleys heavily clothed in virgin timber. It was admirably situated for a secret enterprise. The vicinity was never visited save by hunters, and this was not the hunting season. Even the route of the mail planes was far to the north.
One night not long after the forced entrance to the office McCann disappeared. The chief electrician had called at his office as usual the next morning. He was not there. Nor could he be found anywhere on the grounds. As it was against the rules for any one to leave the premises under any circumstances, without a permit from the Professor, we stared in blank dismay. A careful search of the surrounding woods brought no clue. We followed up a rumor that he had been seen in his car driving out of the city at daybreak, but we could not verify it.
The Professor, wild with suspense, anxiety and remorse for having criticised his faithful aid, rummaged among his papers and discovered that the blue prints covering secret parts of one of his giant condensers were missing.
The scene that followed I will not attempt to describe. The Professor lost his head. He raved like a madman, condemning everybody, threatening everybody. He said he would give up the work, commit suicide and be through with it all. But at length he grew calm, asked my pardon for the outburst and ordered the work to go on.
"I simply can't believe that McCann is a traitor, Bob," said the Professor. "I'd stake my life on his faithfulness. He may be ill. He may be wandering about with an unbalanced mind. You know this work always did affect him profoundly. He has a great brain, and I really believe that he understands this work as well as I do. It is a pity if he has become unbalanced. But sane or not I fear his absence means trouble for us."
The revelations of the next few days seemed to justify the Professor's alarm. The press of the city carried big black headlines announcing that Professor Stiener, the great German scientist, was at work on a theory calculated to upset one of nature's laws. The exact nature of the scheme was not known, but it was said to portend a mighty revolution in air travel.
The Professor read the news and smiled grimly. He was pleased by the compliment, yet fearful of the public's premature praise.
It was about the middle of October when one morning the Professor and I, walking along the street near the university campus, suddenly came face to face with Van Beck.
"My dear old pal," said the Dutchman, taking the Professor's hand which had not been offered and squeezing it cordially. "I have just returned from a visit to my old home across the sea. Yes," he went on eagerly without waiting for the question, "I had a fine time--a very fine time." The Professor smiled sourly. "And now may I ask how you are coming on with your--that is--er--this new scheme of yours?"
The Professor frowned. "I remember your uninvited visit, Van Beck," he said icily.
"Beg pardon, Professor Stiener. Greta took me to that wilderness retreat. It was a mere accident on my part, I assure you. But now that I know something tremendous is being evolved by your great brain I naturally am anxious over it and I wish you well."
"Thanks, Van Beck."
"Often you and I have worked together and together have reaped the reward."
"You mean you have reaped it," rasped the Professor.
"You wrong me," remonstrated Van Beck.
"I don't want your help, Van Beck. My good friend here, Bob Bookman, is furnishing the funds and--"
"To be sure, to be sure," cut in Van Beck pleasantly. "I am glad for your sake and for Mr. Bookman's sake. It is a rare privilege to aid in any work of yours."
"We are busy," said the Professor ignoring the compliment. "You must excuse us."
"Certainly, Professor Stiener. But if at any time you feel the need of assistance you know you can count on me."
"Damn that infernal Dutchman," said the Professor as we walked on. "He has a great mind, a wonderful mind, but he is a rogue. And yet," he added reflectively, "he has served me in the past though he also has beaten me. I despise him and still like him. But I wish he'd let me alone now," he finished irritably.
This was a vain hope, for during the next few days Van Beck crossed the Professor's path frequently, became more insistent, more diplomatic in his search for information, taking the Professor's rebuffs with a smile and maintaining an air of the utmost friendliness. And at length he wormed the main secret from the Professor--the momentous admission that the latter was striving to overcome the laws of gravitation.