Initials Only

  XXXV. SILENCE--AND A KNOCK

  Oswald did not succeed in finding a man to please Orlando. He suggestedone person after another to the exacting inventor, but none weresatisfactory to him and each in turn was turned down. It is not everyone we want to have share a world-wide triumph or an ignominious defeat.And the days were passing.

  He had said in a moment of elation, "I will do it alone;" but he kneweven then that he could not. Two hands were necessary to start the car;afterwards, he might manage it alone. Descent was even possible, but togive the contrivance its first lift required a second mechanician. Wherewas he to find one to please him? And what was he to do if he did not?Conquer his prejudices against such men as he had seen, or delay theattempt, as Oswald had suggested, till he could get one of his oldcronies on from New York. He could do neither. The obstinacy of hisnature was such as to offer an invincible barrier against eithersuggestion. One alternative remained. He had heard of women aviators.If Doris could be induced to accompany him into the air, instead ofclinging sodden-like to the weight of Oswald's woe, then would the worldbehold a triumph which would dwarf the ecstasy of the bird's flight androb the eagle of his kingly pride. But Doris barely endured him as yet,and the thought was not one to be considered for a moment. Yet whatother course remained? He was brooding deeply on the subject, in hishangar one evening--(it was Thursday and Saturday was but two days off)when there came a light knock at the door.

  This had never occurred before. He had given strict orders, backed byhis brother's authority, that he was never to be intruded upon when inthis place; and though he had sometimes encountered the prying eyes ofthe curious flashing from behind the trees encircling the hangar, hisdoor had never been approached before, or his privacy encroached upon.He started then, when this low but penetrating sound struck across theturmoil of his thoughts, and cast one look in the direction fromwhich it came; but he did not rise, or even change his position on hisworkman's stool.

  Then it came again, still low but with an insistence which drewhis brows together and made his hand fall from the wire he had beenunconsciously holding through the mental debate which was absorbing him.Still he made no response, and the knocking continued. Should he ignoreit entirely, start up his motor and render himself oblivious to allother sounds? At every other point in his career he would have donethis, but an unknown, and as yet unnamed, something had entered hisheart during this fatal month, which made old ways impossible andoblivion a thing he dared not court too recklessly. Should this be asummons from Doris! Should (inconceivable idea, yet it seized upon himrelentlessly and would not yield for the asking) should it be Dorisherself!

  Taking advantage of a momentary cessation of the ceaseless tap tap,he listened. Silence was never profounder than in this forest on thatwindless night. Earth and air seemed, to his strained ear, emptied ofall sound. The clatter of his own steady, unhastened heart-beat was allthat broke upon the stillness. He might be alone in the Universe for alltoken of life beyond these walls, or so he was saying to himself, whensharp, quick, sinister, the knocking recommenced, demanding admission,insisting upon attention, drawing him against his own will to his feet,and finally, though he made more than one stand against it, to the verydoor.

  "Who's there?" he asked, imperiously and with some show of anger.

  No answer, but another quiet knock.

  "Speak! or go from my door. No one has the right to intrude here. Whatis your name and business?"

  Continued knocking--nothing more.

  With an outburst of wrath, which made the hangar ring, Orlando liftedhis fist to answer this appeal in his own fierce fashion from his ownside of the door, but the impulse paused at fulfilment, and he let hisarm fall again in a rush of self-hatred which it would have pained hisworst enemy, even little Doris, to witness. As it reached his side, theknock came again.

  It was too much. With an oath, Orlando reached for his key. But beforefitting it into the lock, he cast a look behind him. The car was inplain sight, filling the central space from floor to roof. A singleglance from a stranger's eye, and its principal secret would be a secretno longer. He must not run such a risk. Before he answered this call,he must drop the curtain he had rigged up against such emergenciesas these. He had but to pull a cord and a veil would fall before histreasure, concealing it as effectually as an Eastern bride is concealedbehind her yashmak.

  Stepping to the wall, he drew that cord, then with an impatient sigh,returned to the door.

  Another quiet but insistent knock greeted him. In no fury now, but witha vague sense of portent which gave an aspect of farewell to the onequick glance he cast about the well-known spot, he fitted the key in thelock, and stood ready to turn it.

  "I ask again your name and your business," he shouted out in loudcommand. "Tell them or--" He meant to say, "or I do not turn this key."But something withheld the threat. He knew that it would perish in theutterance; that he could not carry it out. He would have to open thedoor now, response or no response. "Speak!" was the word with which hefinished his demand.

  A final knock.

  Pulling a pistol from his pocket, with his left hand, he turned the keywith his right.

  The door remained unopened.

  Stepping slowly back, he stared at its unpainted boards for a moment,then he spoke up quietly, almost courteously:

  "Enter."

  But the command passed unheeded; the latch was not raised, and only theslightest tap was heard.

  With a bound he reached forward and pulled the door open. Then agreat silence fell upon him and a rigidity as of the grave seized andstiffened his powerful frame.

  The man confronting him from the darkness was Sweetwater.