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The Flying Girl
CHAPTER IX
THE OTHER FELLOW
Stephen and Orissa both sprang to their feet, startled by the interruption. A tall man, having a stoop to his shoulders, had parted the entrance curtains and stood looking at them. He wore blue goggles, an automobile cap and duster, and heavy shoes; but Orissa recognized him at once.
“Mr. Cumberford!” she exclaimed.
“Dear me!” said the man; “it’s the young lady from Burthon’s office – and my friend.” He laughed, lightly, as if amused by the recollection; then added: “I’ve run out of gasoline and my car is stranded a quarter of a mile off. Think you could furnish me enough of the elusive fluid to run me into town?”
Steve walked silently to his gasoline tank. He was excessively annoyed to have a stranger spy upon his workshop and resolved to get rid of the man in short order. Orissa also was silent, fearing Mr. Cumberford might linger if she entered into conversation with him. The spot was so retired that until now no one but themselves had ever entered the hangar, and the secret had been well kept.
“Here’s a two-gallon can,” said Stephen, surlily. “Will that do you?”
Mr. Cumberford nodded, set the can upon the ground and walked over to the bench, where he calmly seated himself beside the girl.
“What are you up to, here?” he asked.
“Our own especial business,” retorted Steve. “You will pardon me, sir, if I ask you to take your gasoline and go. This is private property.”
“I see,” said Cumberford. “I’m intruding. Never mind that. Let’s talk a bit; I’m in no hurry.”
“We are very much occupied, sir,” urged Orissa, earnestly.
“No doubt,” said the man. “I overheard a remark as I entered. You were wondering whether to accept Burthon’s offer and give him a half interest. Eh? That interests me; I’m Burthon’s brother-in-law.”
He glanced around him, then calmly took a cigarette from his pocket and offered one to Steve.
“I can’t allow smoking here, sir; there’s too much gasoline about,” said the boy, almost rudely.
“True. I forgot.” He put the case in his pocket. “You’re building some sort of a – er – er – flying machine, I see. That interests me. I’m a crank on aviation. Is this the thing Burthon wants a half interest in?”
Steve scowled. When Cumberford turned to Orissa she slightly nodded, embarrassed how to escape this impertinent questioning.
“I thought so. Then you’ve really got something?”
Steve laughed. His annoyance was passing. The man had already seen whatever there was to see, for his eyes had been busy from the moment he entered. And Steve remembered that this was the person who had outwitted Mr. Burthon in the mine deal.
“I have something that will fly, if that is what you mean,” he replied.
“Yes; that is what I mean. Tried the thing yet?”
“Oh, yes,” said Orissa eagerly. “It flew splendidly yesterday morning, but – but Steve had an accident with his aëroplane, and a bull demolished what was left of it.”
“Ah; that interests me; it really does,” said Cumberford. He looked at Stephen more attentively. “Your brother, Miss Kane?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you need money?”
“To rebuild the machine, and perfect it; yes, sir.”
“And Burthon will furnish the money, for a half interest?”
“Yes, sir,” repeated the girl, uneasy at his tone.
“Too much,” asserted Mr. Cumberford, positively. “Burthon’s a rascal, too. You know that, Miss Kane. Tried to rob me; and you tried to prevent him. I haven’t forgotten that; it was a kindness. I’ve had to fight a cold, hard, selfish world, and fight it alone. I’ve won; but it has made me as cold, as hard and selfish as the others. You’re different, Miss Kane; the world hasn’t spoiled you yet. I can’t recollect when anyone ever took the trouble to do me a kindness before. So I, your direct opposite, admire you for your originality. I’m a scoundrel and you’re a – an honest girl.”
There wasn’t a particle of emotion in his voice, but somehow both Orissa and Stephen knew he was in earnest. It was difficult to say anything fitting in reply, and after a brief pause the man continued:
“I can see that your airship is at present something of a wreck. How much money do you need?”
“I ought to have at least a thousand dollars,” answered Steve, reflectively glancing around the shop. Cumberford’s eyes followed his.
“Will two thousand do it?”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’ll lend you three,” said the man. “I don’t want a half interest. I won’t rob you.”
Both boy and girl stared at him in amazement.
“What security do you require?” asked Stephen, suspiciously.
“Eh? None at all. The thing interests me. If you make a lot of money, I’ll let you pay me back some day. That’s fair. If you fail, you’ll have worries enough without having to repay me. But I attach two conditions to my offer. One is that you have nothing to do with Burthon. The other is that I have permission to come here and watch your work; to advise with you at times; to help you map out your future career and to attend all the flying exhibitions in which you take part. Agree to that, and I’ll back you through thick and thin, because I’m interested in aviation and – because your sister was good to me.”
“I’ll do it, sir!” cried Steve, excitedly.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr. Cumberford,” added Orissa, in joyful tones.
“It’s a bargain,” said Cumberford, smiling at them both. He took out a fountain pen and wrote a check on a Los Angeles bank for three thousand dollars in favor of Stephen Kane. But he handed it to Orissa.
“Now then,” said he, “tell me something about it.”
CHAPTER X
A FRESH START
When Orissa appeared at the office Monday morning she went quietly about her work, feeling very happy indeed. The astonishing generosity of Mr. Cumberford had relieved all her worries and brought sunshine into her heart.
Mr. Burthon came at his usual time and on taking his place at the desk looked inquiringly at Orissa, but said nothing. Neither did she mention the subject of the aircraft. Her employer, watching her stealthily from behind his desk, could not fail to note the joy in her face and was undoubtedly puzzled to account for it – unless, indeed, she and her brother had decided to accept his proposition. He had an idea that they would accept; that they must accept; it was the only way they could carry on their experiment. But he waited for her to refer to the subject.
Orissa managed to escape that night while a customer was engaging Mr. Burthon’s attention. She disliked, for some unexplained reason, to tell him they had decided not to take him for a partner. Arriving home she found Steve busily at work rebuilding his airship, and it pleased her to hear his cheery whistle as she approached the hangar. The young fellow was in capital spirits.
“You see, Ris,” said he, “with all this money to use I shall be able to make an entirely new automatic balance. I’ve come to the conclusion the first one doesn’t work smoothly enough to be entirely satisfactory. I shall also provide a store of extra ribs and such parts as are liable to get damaged, so that the repair work will be a matter of hours instead of days. How lucky it was Mr. Cumberford ran out of gasoline yesterday.”
“He’s a queer man,” replied Orissa, thoughtfully. “I can’t make up my mind yet whether I like him or not.”
“I like his money, anyhow,” laughed Steve; “and we didn’t have to give him a half interest to get it, either. I imagine the man was really touched by your endeavor to save him from what you thought was a bad bargain, and certainly his magnanimous act could have been prompted by nothing but kindness.”
“It saved our half interest, at least,” she said, evasively. “Has he been here to-day, Steve?”
“Haven’t seen even his shadow,” was the reply. “I don’t imagine he’ll bother us much, although he has reserved the right to look around all he wants to. He must be a busy man, with all his wealth.”
The next morning, however, after Orissa had gone to her work, Mr. Cumberford’s car spun up the lane and he came into the hangar, nodded to Steve and sat down quietly on the bench.
For a time he silently watched the young man shave a Cyprus rib into shape; then got up and carefully examined the motor, which was in good order. Steve knew, when first Mr. Cumberford began asking questions, that he understood machinery, and the man was quick to perceive the value of young Kane’s improvements.
“It interests me,” he drawled, after starting the engines and watching them work. “As a boy I longed to be a mechanic. Got sidetracked, though, and became a speculator. Needs almost as much ingenuity to succeed in that as in mechanics. Pays better, but ruins one’s self-respect. Stick to mechanics, Kane.”
“I will,” promised Steve, laughing.
“This new profession,” continued Cumberford, “will throw you in with a lot of ‘queer’ people – same sort that used to follow the races and now bet on automobile contests. Keep your sister away from them.”
“I’ll try to,” returned Steve, more soberly. “But Orissa is crazy over aviation, and she’ll have to go everywhere that I do.”
“That’s all right; I like the idea. But don’t introduce her to every fellow you are forced to associate with. Girls are queer, and your sister is – beautiful. I’ve a daughter myself.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Steve, not knowing just how to take this remark.
“My daughter is not – beautiful. No. And she’s a demon. I’ll bring her here to see you and your sister, some day.”
“Thank you,” said Steve, turning red. Certainly this new acquaintance was odd and unaccountable in some ways. Steve wondered why he should bring a “demon” to the hangar, and why he described his own daughter in such uncomplimentary language.
Mr. Cumberford smoked a cigarette thoughtfully.
“Your sister,” he said, “interests me. She’s a good girl. Must have a good mother.”
“The best in the world,” asserted Steve, proudly.
“My daughter,” resumed Cumberford, “takes after her mother. Girls usually do. Her mother was – well, she was Burthon’s sister. Catch the idea? It was all my fault, and Sybil – that’s my daughter – blames me for her parentage. With apparent justice. Not a joke, Kane. Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing, sir.”
“Speaking of Burthon reminds me of something. I don’t like the idea of your sister working there – in his office.”
“He has always treated her very nicely, I believe,” said Steve, “and Orissa feels she must earn some money.”
“Not necessary. You’ve a fortune in your airship. Take the girl away from Burthon. Keep her at home.”
Steve did not reply to this, but he decided it was not a bad suggestion.
“How old is she?” inquired Cumberford, presently.
“Just seventeen.”
“Too young to work in an office. Finished her education?”
“All we are able to give her, sir.”
“H-m-m. Take my advice. Burthon’s unreliable. I know him. Gorilla inside, man outside. I – I married a Burthon.”
These brief sentences were spoken between puffs of his cigarette. Sometimes there would be a very definite pause between them, while the man smoked and reflected upon his subject. Steve continued his work and answered when required to do so.
Cumberford stayed at the hangar until nearly noon, watching the boy work, bearing a hand now and then when a plane rib was awkward to handle alone, always interested in everything pertaining to the aëroplane. He made Steve explain the changes he proposed to apply to the lateral balance and offered one or two rather clever suggestions, showing his grasp of the subject. But he did not refer to Orissa again and finally slipped away without saying good-bye.
Steve thought him queerer than during their first interview, but liked him better.
CHAPTER XI
ORISSA RESIGNS
Meantime Orissa was having a hard time at the office endeavoring to avoid a personal conversation with Mr. Burthon. When he came in at nine o’clock he smiled upon her and asked:
“Anything to tell me, Miss Kane?”
She shook her head, flushing a little, and he went to his desk without another word. He seemed abstracted and moody during the forenoon – a return of his old puzzling manner – and Orissa regretted she had not been brave enough to tell him of their decision to reject his offer when he gave her the opportunity.
Nothing more passed between them until after luncheon, but when she reëntered the office Mr. Burthon, who had not gone out, suddenly roused himself and said:
“Come here, please, Miss Kane.”
She obeyed, meekly seating herself in the chair beside his desk.
The man looked at her a long time; not impudently, with direct gaze, but rather speculatively and with an expression that seemed to penetrate far beyond her and to consider many things beside her fair face. Finally he asked:
“What conclusion have you reached in regard to your financial matters, of which we spoke Saturday?”
“I’ve talked with my brother, sir, and he dislikes to give up a half interest in his invention.”
“Did you tell him I would furnish all the money that might be required?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he refused?”
“This aëroplane is very dear to my brother, Mr. Burthon. He cannot bear to transfer a part ownership to another, who would have the right to dictate its future.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the broker, impatiently; “the boy’s a fool. There’s scarcely an inventor in the world who hasn’t had to sacrifice an interest in his creation in order to raise money.”
“Stephen won’t do it,” declared Orissa, positively, for she resented the speech.
Mr. Burthon fell silent, drumming on the desk with his fingers, as he always did when in deep thought. Orissa started to rise, thinking the interview closed.
“Wait a moment, please,” he said. “How old are you, Miss Kane? – your name is Orissa, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. I am seventeen.”
“So young! Why, you ought to be in school, instead of at work.”
She made no reply. He watched her awhile, as she sat before him with bent head, and then continued, in the kindly tone he so often used when addressing her:
“Miss Kane – Orissa – I will give your brother all the money he needs, and he may retain the entire interest in his airship. The payment may come from you alone.”
She started and became alert at once, raising her head to look at him inquiringly.
“In other words,” he added, “I’m not especially interested in your brother or his invention; but I am greatly interested in you.”
“Mr. Burthon, I – ”
“Listen to me, Orissa, and let me explain. I’m a lonely man, for I have never married – or cared to. You are the only member of the fair sex who has ever attracted me except my sister, whom I regarded with warm affection. When she married that scoundrel Cumberford we became separated forever, and in a few years she died. Since then I have thought of nothing but business. I am now thirty-eight years of age, and in my prime. I have amassed a fortune – something more than a quarter of a million, as you know – and have no one to leave it to when I pass away. I should like to leave it to you, Orissa.”
“To me, sir!” she exclaimed, amazed.
“Yes. Your presence here in the office has transformed the place from a barren den to a cozy, homelike apartment. I like to see your sweet face near me, gravely bending over your work. Your personality has charmed me; your lack of affectation, your sincerity and honesty, have won my admiration. I cannot say to you, as a younger man would, that I love you, for I will not take an unfair advantage of one who is as yet a child. But you will become a woman soon, and I want to make you a splendid woman – and a happy one. This is my proposition: place yourself in my hands unreservedly, and let me direct your future. I will send you to a famous finishing school in the East and supply you with a liberal allowance. In two years you will return to me, old enough to become my wife.”
“Oh, Mr. Burthon!”
“Meantime I’ll finance your brother’s airship proposition until it either fails or finally succeeds.”
Orissa was greatly distressed. She felt at the moment like giving way to a flood of tears, for she realized that this absurd, astonishing proposal would deprive her of her position. He saw her agitation and felt intuitively she would not consider his offer. So he said, with grim insistence:
“You may answer me with one word, my child; yes or no.”
“Oh, Mr. Burthon, it is impossible! I have a home, a mother and brother, and – I – I could not think of such a thing.”
“Not to save those relatives from disaster – from misery – from ruin, perhaps?”
The implied threat hardened her heart, which had begun to pity the man.
“Not even to save them from death!” she replied firmly.
“Am I so distasteful to you, then? Is my money of so little account?”
With cold dignity Orissa rose from her chair. He saw the look on her face and became a little alarmed.
“Please forget all I have said,” he added, hastily. “I – I am not myself to-day. You may get the mail ready, Miss Kane, and I will sign the letters before I go.”
She went to the wardrobe and took down her things. He sat silently watching her as she put them on, a slight frown upon his face. The girl hesitated a moment, then walked straight to his desk and said:
“Of course I cannot stay here a moment after what you have said. But I think you – you meant to be good to me – in your way. Good-bye, Mr. Burthon.”
“Good-bye, Miss Kane.”
His voice was cold and hard. She did not look at him again, but walked out of the office and quietly left the building, so she did not see that the frown had deepened to a scowl, nor hear him mutter:
“Both lost – the girl and the aëroplane! But I’ll have them yet, for the Kanes are too simple to oppose me successfully.”
At three o’clock Orissa surprised Steve by coming into the hangar in her working dress.
“Why, what’s the matter, Ris?” he demanded.
“I’ve left Mr. Burthon,” she said quietly.
“What’s up?”
Orissa thought it unwise to tell her brother all that had transpired.
“He was angry because we refused to give him a half interest in the aircraft,” she explained. “So I simply quit and came home.”
Steve sat down and stared at her a moment. He had been thinking of Mr. Cumberford’s warning ever since that strange individual had gone away, and Orissa’s “resignation” afforded him distinct relief.
“I’m glad of it, Ris,” he said, earnestly. “There’s no necessity for you to work now, for we have plenty of money to see us through. Besides, I need you here to assist me.”
“Really, Steve?”
“It’s a fact. I don’t like to employ outside assistance at this stage of the game; it might be fatal. But you are nearly as well posted on aëroplanes as I am, Orissa, and you’re clever enough to be of real help to me. I don’t need brute strength, you know.”
“Why, I’m terribly strong!” she said with a gay laugh, baring her round arm and bending her elbow to show how the muscle bunched up. “I can lift as much as you can, Steve, if it is necessary.”
“It won’t be necessary,” replied her brother, delighted to find how easily she adopted his suggestion. “Just grab the end of that bow and hold it steady while I shave a point to it. That’s it. Don’t you see how awkward it is for me to handle these things alone?”
She nodded.
“You’re right, Steve. I’ll stay at home and help you finish the aircraft,” said she.
CHAPTER XII
THE SPYING OF TOT TYLER
Mr. Burthon was like many other men accustomed to modern business methods: he believed there was always an indirect way to accomplish whatever he desired. Also, like many others who have little or no use for such a contrivance, he owned a motor car. His chauffeur was a little, wizen featured man named Totham Tyler, familiarly called “Tot” by his chums, a chauffeur who knew automobiles backward and forward and might have progressed beyond his present station had he not been recognized as so “tricky” that no one had any confidence in him.
About two weeks after Orissa had left the office Mr. Burthon said to his man one morning:
“Tyler, would you like to do a little detective work?”
“Anything to oblige, sir,” answered Totham, pricking up his ears.
“Have you ever met a fellow around town named Kane?”
“Steve Kane, sir? Oh, yes. He used to be foreman of Cunningham’s repair shop. Quit there some time ago, I believe. Clever fellow, sir, this Kane.”
“Yes; he has invented a new sort of aëroplane.”
Tyler whistled, reflectively. All motor car people have a penchant for flying. As Mr. Cumberford would have said: it “interests them.”
“Kane is keeping the matter a secret,” continued Mr. Burthon, “and I’m curious to know what he’s up to. Find out, Tyler, and let me know.”
“Very good, sir. Where is he working?”
“At home. He lives out Beverly way. Take a Beverly car and get off at Sandringham avenue. Walk north up the lane to the first bungalow.”
“Ever been there, sir?”
“No; but Kane’s sister has described the place to me. When you get there, try to hire out as an assistant, but in any case keep your eyes open and observe everything in sight. I’ll pay you extra for this work, according to the value of the information you obtain.”
“I understand, sir,” answered Tyler, wrinkling his leathery face into a shrewd smile; “I know how to work a game of that sort, believe me.”
In pursuance of this mission the little chauffeur came to the Kane residence that very afternoon. As he approached the bungalow he heard the sound of pounding upon metal coming from the canvas covered hangar; otherwise the country lay peacefully sunning itself. An automobile stood in the lane. On the front porch a woman sat knitting, but raised her head at the sound of footsteps. Tyler touched his cap, but there was no response. Looking at her closely he saw the woman was blind, so he passed her stealthily and tiptoed up the narrow path toward the hangar. The top canvas had been drawn back on wires to admit the air, but the entrance was closed by curtains. Tyler listened to the hammering a moment, and summoning his native audacity to his aid boldly parted the curtains and entered.
“Hello, Kane!” he called; then paused and took in the scene before him at a glance.
Stephen was at the bench pounding into shape an aluminum propeller-blade; a tall man with a drooping mustache stood near, watching him. A young girl was busily sewing strips of canvas. On its rack lay a huge flying machine – its planes spread, the motors in place, the running gear complete – seemingly almost ready for action.
But Tyler was not the only one with eyes. Kane paused with uplifted hammer and regarded the intruder with a frown of annoyance; Orissa stared in startled surprise; the tall man’s spectacles glittered maliciously.
“Burthon’s chauffeur!” he muttered; “I remember him.” Swiftly his long arm shot out, seized Tyler’s shoulder and whirled him around. The square toe of a heavy shoe caught the little man unprepared and sent him flying through the entrance, where he sprawled full length upon the ground.
In an instant he was up, snarling with rage. The curtains were closed and before them stood his assailant calmly lighting a cigarette.
“Mr. Cumberford, sir,” gasped Tyler, “you shall smart for this! It’s actionable, sir. It’s – it’s – assault ’n’ battery; that’s what it is!”
“Want any more?” asked the man coolly.
“Not to-day, thank you. This’ll cost you plenty.”
“Then go back to Burthon and tell him we know his game. You’re trespassing, sir. I could wring your neck – perhaps I will – and the law would uphold me. If you want to escape alive, make tracks.”
Totham Tyler took the hint. He walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, considering his anatomy had so recently been jarred; but he did not take the car home. Oh, no. There was much more to discover inside that hangar. He would wait until night, and then take his time to explore the place fully.
With this end in view the chauffeur secreted himself in the outskirts of the orange grove, creeping underneath a tree with thick branches that nearly touched the ground. He could pick ripe fruit from where he lay, and was well content to rest himself until night came.
An hour later Mr. Cumberford whirled by in his motor car, headed for the city. Tyler shook his fist at his enemy and swore effectively to relieve his feelings. Then he sank into a doze.
The approaching chug of an engine aroused him. He found it was nearly dark, so he must have slept for some hours. Here was Cumberford, back with his car and speeding up the lane so swiftly that Tot could only see a cage-like affair occupying the rear section of the automobile.
The chauffeur wondered what this could be, puzzling his brain for a solution of the problem. Even while considering the matter Cumberford passed him again, smoking his eternal cigarette and running the car more deliberately, now, toward the city.
“All right,” mumbled the chauffeur; “he’s out of the way for the night, anyhow. But he left the cage somewhere. What the blazes could he have had in it?”
He ate a few more oranges for his supper, smoked his pipe, snoozed again and awoke to find it was nearly midnight.
“Good!” said he; “now’s my time. I don’t mind a bit of a wait if I get the goods in the end; and here’s where I get ’em. It takes a pretty good man to outwit Tot Tyler. They’ll agree to that, by’m’by.”
He crept down the lane and kept on the south side of the hedge until he came opposite the hangar, thus avoiding the house and grounds. The canvas top of the shed showed white in the moonlight, not twenty feet from where he stood, and the chauffeur was pressing aside the thick hedge to find an opening when a deep bay, followed by a growl, smote his ears. He paused, his head thrust half through the foliage, his blood chilled with terror as there bounded from the hangar a huge bloodhound, its eyes glaring red in the dim light, its teeth bared menacingly.
Tot thought he was “done for,” as he afterward told Mr. Burthon, when with a jerk the great beast stopped – a yard from the hedge – and the clank of a chain showed it could come no farther.
Tyler caught his breath, broke from the hedge and sprinted down the lane at his best gait, followed by a succession of angry bays from the hound.
“Confound Cumberford!” he muttered. “The brute was in that cage, and he went to town to get it, so’s to keep me out of the hangar. That’s two I owe this guy, an’ I’ll get even with him in time, sure’s fate.”
There was no car at this hour, so the discomfited chauffeur had to trudge seven miles to the city, where he arrived at early dawn.
The man was not in an amiable frame of mind when he brought Mr. Burthon’s automobile to the club, where his master lived, at nine o’clock. As he drove the broker to the office he related his news.
“Cumberford!” cried Mr. Burthon. “Are you sure it was Cumberford?”
“Yes, sir; I remember him well. Took him to your office and the bank, you know, the time you had some deal with him; and he tried to tell me how to run the car. Me! I spotted him right away for a fresh guy from the East, an’ now he’s kicked me out of Kane’s hangar an’ set a dog on me. Oh, yes; I know Cumberford.”
“So do I,” said Burthon, grimly.
Tyler caught the tone.
“I’ll do him yet, sir. Leave it to me. I couldn’t get much of a pointer on Kane’s aëroplane; hadn’t time, you know; but it looked like a rosebud an’ I guess he’s got something good. I’m going to find out. I’ll take out a dose for the dog that’ll put him to sleep in a wink, and then I’ll go all over the thing careful.”
“Never mind the airship,” said Mr. Burthon. “I’ve found out what I wanted to know.”
“What! you have, sir?” exclaimed the chauffeur, amazed.
“Yes,” was the quiet reply. “That is, if you’re positive the man at the Kanes was Cumberford.”
“Sure? Why, I’d stake my life on it, sir.”
“Then I’ll follow the clue in my own way,” said Mr. Burthon, alighting from the car.
The discovery made by Tyler necessitated a change in the proposed campaign. The broker entered his office, sat down at his desk and fell into one of his fits of deep abstraction. The new “secretary,” noting this, chewed her gum reflectively a moment and then began to read a novel, keeping the volume concealed behind her desk.
“If Cumberford was in the hangar,” Mr. Burthon mused, “he has undertaken to back Kane’s aëroplane, and I’m too late to get hold of the machine in the way I planned. I suppose the fool offered better terms than I did, to blind those simple children, and so the Kanes turned me down. Never mind. Cumberford has beaten me on two deals, but the third trick shall be mine. I must get hold of the designs of Kane’s aëroplane in some way; perhaps I may find them at the patent office. Then I’ll regulate things so the boy’s invention will prove a failure. The result ought to satisfy me: it would cause Cumberford serious loss, ruin young Kane, and – bring Orissa to me for assistance. But Tyler can’t manage the job; I must have a man more clever than he is, and direct the intrigue in person.”
The secretary read and chewed most of the day. When she quit “work” at five o’clock, Mr. Burthon was still thinking.
