Death Devil's Bridge Read Online Free PDF Page B

him to a height of fifteen thousand feet and carried him over the mountains, and set down near Turin.” His face was eager. “A great adventure. But myself, I should like to fly heavier-than-air aircraft.”
    â€œLike that German chap, Lilienthal, who was just killed in some sort of glider?” Bradford asked.
    â€œOr like the American, Langley,” Charles said, “who is testing mechanically propelled flying machines.”
    â€œ I should prefer balloons,” the vicar said. “Just think of achieving Glaisher and Coxwell’s altitude record.” He was transfixed. “Twenty-nine thousand feet! What an achievement! To soar like the Archangel, to see the world as God sees it ...” He began to hum the refrain of “Nearer My God to Thee,” then broke off. “But I don’t suppose I shall ever have that opportunity,” he said in a more practical tone.
    Rolls grinned. “You certainly shall, if you wish, sir.”
    The vicar’s eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness,” he breathed incredulously, and lapsed into contemplation of his good fortune.
    â€œSo the gondola is large enough to carry a passenger,” Charles remarked.
    â€œIndeed, and the balloon itself is large enough to support several, depending on the degree of inflation,” Rolls replied. He gave Charles a speculative look. “Marsden tells me that you’re a photographer.”
    Charles smiled. “I suppose you would like me to ascend in your balloon—with my camera?”
    â€œExactly so!” Rolls said. “Yours will be the very first photographs of motorcars taken from the air. And you will photograph the winner as well. Can you imagine the newspaper reportage?” His hands sketched a banner headline. “MOTOR CARS RACE BALLOON ACROSS ESSEX! The idea was Harry Dunstable’s. He is quite excited about it.”
    â€œHarry Dunstable!” Charles exclaimed.
    â€œThat’s right,” Rolls said. “And it’s a stroke of genius, in my opinion. People will come from miles around. Why, we may even be favored by a visit from one of the Royals!”
    â€œAnd what do you think, Bradford?” Charles asked.
    But Bradford, nervously, changed the subject. An hour later, as the company was about to make its departure, Charles discovered why. His friend pulled him aside and said, in a low voice, “I say, old chap. I am afraid I must ask another favor. This exhibition, you see—” He smoothed his mustache nervously.
    Charles waited, hoping that Bradford was not about to ask him for another loan. The last was being partially repaid in the services of Bradford’s manservant, who was married to Kate’s housekeeper and had a natural talent for tinkering with machinery. It was not a bad method of repayment, as it turned out, but Bradford’s airy attitude toward his obligations disturbed Charles, and made him wish that his friend had a stronger sense of fiscal responsibility.
    â€œIt’s Father!” Bradford burst out at last. “I received a telegram from him today, from France. Roger Thornton—blast the bloody beggar!—wrote him that I planned to make Marsden Manor the site of a motorcar exhibition, and he is in a raving paddywhack. He instructs me to cancel...” Bradford frowned petulantly, like a schoolboy reprimanded for being out of bounds. “He has forbidden me to hold the exhibition at Marsden,” he said, in a low voice. “I haven’t yet told Rolls, hoping that I might be able to make another accommodation and thus spare him and the other organizers any anxiety.”
    â€œSo you are looking for a new site.”
    â€œI fear so,” Bradford said. “It’s not that I am afraid of the pater, but—” He looked uneasy, as well he might, Charles thought, for Lord Christopher had more than once threatened to reduce Bradford’s allowance. “I don’t suppose ... that