The Man from the CloudsClouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer)
General
The Man from the Clouds
Clouston, J. Storer (Joseph Storer)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
I said nothing for a moment. A brilliant idea was beginning to dawn
upon my mind.
"Nothing to suggest?" he asked.
"I suppose," I said, thinking hard, "that if you had wanted to, you could
have let Dr. Rendall have that man?"
My cousin stared at me.
"I shouldn't take the responsibility myself, but I daresay if I were
lunatic enough to back him up, the powers that be might agree."
"Jack!" I exclaimed, "I'll be the alcoholic patient!"
For a moment I thought my cousin's eyes were going to start out of his
head. Then they subsided and a grin began to steal over his face instead.
"By Gad!" he murmured.
"I'm the very man for the job! I've actually spoken to at least one of
the gang in that island, apart from the old chap with spectacles. I know
the ropes, so far as they are knowable. In fact I've a kind of
prescriptive right to the job."
He nodded.
"I quite admit that you have; also that I'd sooner have you there than
anyone else. Looking back, I think you had a most sporting try last time,
and I must say it seems to me that only some devilish bit of bad luck
prevented you from bringing it off. Though what actually the bit of bad
luck was has often puzzled me. But then," he added, "you aren't the
fellow he wants."
"One drunk is as good as another so long as he pays the fee."
"But supposing, for the sake of argument, he had some reason for wanting
this other man. Would he take you in that case?"
"He must or he'd give himself away!"
"True for you, Roger. But how are we going to open negotiations without
arousing suspicion? One might as well face all the difficulties."
"Oh, we can easily fix that up," said I. "My guardians will write and say
they have heard of his excellent system, et cetera, and have hopes of
making arrangements with the naval authorities, and so on. There will be
no difficulty at all so far as that part goes."
"But, my dear chap, when you'd got there they'd spot you."
"With this beard--dyed black?" I cried, as inspiration trod on
inspiration's heels. "And a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and this
limp--which will hide even my walk, and a complete change of clothes;
who will spot me? Remember I was only there for a very few days six
months ago."
"Your voice?"
"I only spoke in my natural voice to the two Rendalls; never to the
doctor; in fact I've only met him once."
"But his cousins saw a good deal of you."
"I haven't been on the stage for nothing," I assured him. "I'll change my
voice very little, not enough to make it difficult to keep up--throw in a
lisp or something of that kind. You can trust me to do the thing
thoroughly, Jack."
My cousin looked at me carefully.
"Yes," he admitted, "I think you are changed enough already to puzzle
'em; and with your beard dyed black--by the way, don't forget to dye
your hair too, old chap!--and glasses, et cetera, by jingo I do believe
you'll pass!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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