The Germ Growers: An Australian story of adventure and mysteryPotter, Robert
Science
The Germ Growers: An Australian story of adventure and mystery
Potter, Robert
Science fiction, Australian
By this time the sun had risen a little way, the sky was clear, and
here and there, slowly moving along the face of the cliff below us,
were several shadows of the sort I have already more than once
described. These plainly indicated the presence of several of the cars
at no great distance from the ground, and at a lower level than the
cliff on which we stood. Whether there were any or how many at a
higher level no one could say just yet, and on the left everything
lay still in shadow. We walked in the same direction, quickening our
steps a little, the cliff all the while sloping downward slowly.
Presently the sun was at a higher level than the ground we walked on,
and the number of the shadows greatly increased, and there were very
many now on all sides of us. Just then it seemed as if a cloud were
passing over us quite near. We looked upward quickly, but there was no
cloud, only a great shadow cast, as it would seem, by nothing. In a
few seconds it was gone, and presently after we heard the swish—sh—sh
right over us of the wing-like paddles, and we could even detect the
small regular rattle of the machinery. It was evident that we were
being closely guarded, and perhaps we were overheard.
Silently but with one impulse we turned and walked slowly back to the
rooms that had been assigned to us.
We refreshed ourselves with food and we had an hour’s rest before it
was time to keep our appointment with our host. We agreed meanwhile to
observe everything very closely and to compare notes at night.
“But,” said I, “is it safe for us to separate?”
“Nothing, of course,” Jack answered, “is altogether safe, but for a
little while I think that we are not in any more danger apart than
together.”
“But you know, Jack, you said that you thought he had some special
design on me and that he didn’t want you. So he may have you quietly
put out of the way if you go alone.”
“He is bad enough for anything,” was the answer, “but he knows that to
put me out of the way would so disturb you as to baffle his designs
upon you. Your attention would be entirely diverted from the matters
in which you are now taking so deep an interest, and by means of which
he hopes to secure you. He would have to put you out of the way too,
and he doesn’t want to do that. So he is going, as I have said, to
throw me into the bargain.”
“What course do you suggest then, when we are next left to ourselves?”
“You try to get an interview with—what’s his name?—your old Welsh
friend?”
“James Redpath.”
“Just so, and I will try to pick up some information about the
navigation of the cars.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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