And no wonder. Landers-if a huckster-was eloquent in his promotion. Even more, he and others who advocated the new industry were fundamentally right about its glowing future. Staunchly as the Home Office might oppose it, and ridiculous as the idea might seem, someday everyone would have a motorized vehicle. But that day was well into the next century. If Bradford were counting on this venture to supply enough quick cash to keep the family fortunes from foundering, he was riding for a fall.
"Exactly what advice," Charles asked cautiously, "are you seeking from me?"
Bradford leaned forward. "An opportunity has arisen to make another investment," he said with a show of eagerness. "There is to be a motorcar exhibition at Tunbridge Wells early next year, which will certainly attract public attention and increase pressure on the government to relax the ridiculous laws. And I have received news just this morning-this very morning, Charles-that Landers has signed an agreement to develop several French patents. The stock will be floated under the name of the Paramount Horseless Carriage Company, for?750,000. It is a solid opportunity. Rock solid. Practically guaranteed."
"Seven hundred fifty thousand pounds!" Charles whistled. "Landers thinks in round numbers."
"Indeed," Bradford said earnestly. "My acquaintances at the Financial News say that this is the inauguration of a very great industry, which will not only prove profitable in itself, but will augment the profits of innumerable other industries. It will make the entire nation rich, Charles! What Britain has lost in its fields will be regained on its roads!"
Charles looked at Bradford with some suspicion. His friend had obviously already committed himself to Landers's grand ventures and even grander rhetoric. What then could he-? He paused, suddenly realizing what was wanted.
"Marsden," he said, "I believe it is my purse you are soliciting, rather than my advice."
Bradford had the grace to color. "I believed," he replied
somewhat stiffly, "that you might be interested in a financial venture that promises an extraordinary return."
Charles put on a regretful face. ' 'Thank you, but no. I fear that my income is not sufficient for investment in speculative ventures." Especially, he added to himself, those that he believed were fatally flawed. While Bradford's friends at the Financial Times might be bullish about Landers's enterprises, the more conservative men he knew at the magazine Engineering were already virulent on the subject, seeing Landers as a shameless, vulgar self-promoter, playing to the credulity of the investing public. He feared that his friend, to coin a phrase, was about to be taken for a ride. He did not intend to go along.
Then another thought, much more chilling, occurred to him. He had heard that Landers and his cohorts were not above using disgraceful tricks to get what they wanted. Had Bradford fallen so deeply into the man's clutches that he was required to redeem himself by soliciting others? He glanced at his friend. The question, delicate and indecorous as it was, hung on the tip of his tongue, but one look told him it would be fruitless to ask. As they turned off the road into the lane leading to Bishop's Keep, Bradford's face darkened, and his smile had vanished. He was clearly not in the mood for further confidences.
40
"When you least expect it, you near the dreadrul click which is driving trie world mad… Wherever you he, on land and sea, you near tkat awrul click or the amateur photographer, Click!
Click! Click!"
My dear Kate," Eleanor said, blotting her lips delicately with a damask napkin, "it was a lovely luncheon."
Kate smiled. She was grateful that her guests could not see into the kitchen, where the upsets of the morning had created turmoil and confusion. It was a marvel that the luncheon dishes-asparagus soup, sole in lemon sauce, fricasseed chicken, and the love apples that Mrs. Pratt disdainfully called "tommytoes"-were indeed tasty, and that the serving had gone as smoothly as it had.
"Our compliments," Bradford said, "to your cook." He looked around at the blooming garden, appearing to have recovered somewhat from the dark humor from which he had suffered upon his arrival. "And such a splendid setting, too. I had not realized that the gardens of Bishop's Keep were so fine. Lovely roses, Miss Ardleigh."
"I only regret," Eleanor said with a slightly questioning look, "that your aunts are indisposed. Please let them know that we are sorry they could not be with us."
Kate inclined her head. "I shall," she said, refusing to give
in to Eleanor's inquisitiveness and tell her why they were indisposed. "I shall convey your message." She smiled around the table. "I understand that the British often play croquet after luncheon."
"To be sure!" Eleanor cried, clapping her hands. "And isn't it lucky that there are four of us? We are evenly matched-the women against the men."
"But that would hardly be fair," Bradford objected. "You two would be soundly trounced." He smiled at Kate. "Shall we, Miss Ardleigh, test the strength of the Anglo-American alliance?''
"Agreed," Kate said, "if Sir Charles will promise to put away his camera for the duration of the game. I have no intention of allowing him to take my picture while someone is savaging my croquet ball."
"Put away his camera?" Eleanor repeated blankly. "Why, he brought no camera with him."
"Yes, he did," Kate said. "It is in his pocket." Sir Charles's eyes met hers. She was foolishly glad that she was wearing her best white lawn and a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with silk flowers. "Show them, Sir Charles," she said lightly, "how you have been toying with us."
Sir Charles bowed his head. "You have caught me out, Miss Ardleigh." He reached into the pocket of his loose tweed Norfolk jacket and brought out a small shiny metal box, a little larger than a double deck of playing cards.
"That is a camera?" Eleanor asked disbelievingly. "But it is much too tiny!"
"It is something quite new," Charles replied, putting it on the table. "An American invention, actually."
Bradford leaned forward to examine the camera. "Ingenious, these Yankees."
"It is a Kombi camera," Charles said. "Patented two years ago. The first detective camera to take roll film instead of plates."
Kate looked at the camera curiously, thinking that Beryl Bardwell might use such a device to provide the telling clue in her mystery. "Detective camera?" she asked.
"That is the name often given to miniature cameras," Sir
Charles said. He held it up to demonstrate. "It has a very basic shutter, worked by this lever. This model is rather primitive-the lens is marginally acceptable and it has no view-finder, so that composition and focus are a matter of chance. But I expect the basic concept to influence the design of future cameras. The Americans seem to have taken the lead in this technology, as in many others," he added regretfully.
"But one would require a magnifying glass to look at the photographs," Bradford objected.
"The negatives are an inch-and-a-half-wide," Charles replied. "Twenty-five to a roll. They can be developed as positives and viewed through the camera lens, giving them a three to one enlargement. Or, thanks to the new gaslight paper, the negatives can be printed in a larger size."
"You have been taking surreptitious snapshots ever since you arrived?" Eleanor accused. She gave him a mock frown. "What a naughty man!"
Sir Charles made a small gesture of apology. "Only a few. Several of the three of you. One or two of a groom in the back courtyard, currying a horse. And the cook, doing business with an ill-clothed boy selling produce at the kitchen door."
"Gypsies," Eleanor said with a grimace. "One sees so many of them nowadays, lighting fires of sticks beside the road to boil a dirty tea can. And the children, so ragged. Sleeping under ricks and in ditches." Her tone hardened so that it was, Kate thought, remarkably similar to Aunt Jag-gers's. "It's disgraceful."