At the back of the lawn, toward the house, two low sheds had been erected. One housed the electrical generating plant, to judge by the cluster of wires coming out of the top and leading to the array of electrical lights strung on the surrounding trees and poles. The other held some sort of machinery. A pair of long hoses emanating from the second shed curled across the lawn to the center, where, held to the earth by several thick cables, floated the giant aerostat. The device consisted of three great gas bags separated by a large metal ring, in which was suspended a fabric-covered gondola. The whole was painted black, and it rose perhaps ten stories in the air. The top disappeared into the dark sky above the electrical lights, and was visible only as an inky presence, blotting out the stars.
Even as they watched, the hoses from the shed were being disconnected from the couplings to the gas bags. Suddenly two flares, like great skyrockets, shot up into the night, leaving a stream of white light behind them as they climbed.
"Look at that!" Lestrade exclaimed. "It must be some sort of signal."
"Quickly!" Holmes cried. "There's no time to lose!" Leaping up, he led his little force scurrying and sliding down the hill to the lawn below. As they reached the edge of the lawn two of the tethering cables fell away and the balloon flew skyward, trailing a third cable below it like an umbilical cord.
"There he goes!" Holmes yelled, running forward like a demented man to reach the gondola before it was too high. "We must stop him!" He leaped for the bottom of the gondola and managed to grab it with his fingers, but there was nothing to cling to and he fell away.
"Stop! Stop!" the constabulary yelled, racing across the lawn. One of them drew his pistol and fired at the ascending balloon.
"Come back down here!" another one yelled, stopping to take aim at the rapidly rising gondola, "Come back in the name of the law!"
Once the shooting had started it was contagious, and within seconds a fusillade of small-arms fire was directed at the great black object, which was rapidly disappearing into the great star-filled bowl of the night sky. Two of the policemen reached the one cable which, rising from layers of coils on the ground, was still attached to the ascending gondola. One of them leaped for it and was fifteen feet in the air before, realizing the folly of what he was doing, he let go and fell to the ground.
Moriarty's men dived for cover under whatever was available as this strange armed band appeared in their midst and began shooting at their precious aerostat. The locals, who were mostly sitting together on the side of the lawn nearest the road, began shrieking and howling. Most of them ran off into the night, but a few sat stolidly watching, perhaps suspecting that this was all part of the entertainment.
Gradually the shooting and yelling died away, until, within two minutes, the small group of Scotland Yard men were clustered silently in the middle of the lawn together, staring at the sky.
-
"What is the meaning of all this?" a firm, didactic voice suddenly asked from close behind them. "Inspector Lestrade, have you taken leave of your senses?"
Lestrade jerked around like a man on a string and gaped at the tall, dark-clad figure. "Professor Moriarty!" he gasped.
"I refuse to believe that you didn't expect to find me here," Moriarty said. "Now, what exactly is the meaning of this charade?"
"I — we — thought you were in that balloon."
"I see," Moriarty said. "Anytime you see an aerostat ascending into the sky, you naturally assume that I am aboard. And this, of course, explains why you were shooting at it."
"Ah, well, not precisely—"
Sherlock Holmes came striding toward them across the lawn. "Moriarty!" he yelled.
"Holmes!" Moriarty said, turning and shaking his fist at him. "Now I understand. This moronic escapade was your doing."
"I have a warrant, Moriarty," Holmes shouted, brandishing the document over his head, "to search this property, house and grounds."
"And fire upon any aerostat that you happen to find ascending when you arrive?" Moriarty demanded. "Really, Holmes—"
"There was a murder in London last night." Holmes said, "and I have reason to believe that you were involved."
"There are about three murders in London every week, if the statistical abstracts are to be believed," Moriarty said. "And you believe that I am involved in each and every one of them. Is that any reason to go about shooting revolvers at perfectly innocent teen-age boys?"
"What boys?"
"There are two teen-age boys in the aerostat to work the equipment," Moriarty told him. "And if either of them is hurt, you will answer for it!"
"We thought you were on the balloon, Professor," Lestrade said in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. "Mr. Holmes said you were escaping."
"Escaping? From what? The aerostat is tethered, as you can see for yourselves if you'd bother to look." Moriarty indicated the one cable which was still uncoiling from the ground and following the balloon into the heavens.
A Chinese gentleman in dark robes and a close-fitting cap came scurrying across the lawn from the house. "They are unhurt," he called to Moriarty. "My son wishes to be informed as to what is going on down here, but neither of them was injured by the cannonade. What is going on down here?"
"Gentlemen," Moriarty said, "May I introduce my friend and colleague, Prince Tseng Li-Chang, fourteenth in line for the throne of Imperial China. His son, Low, at whom you were shooting in the aerostat, is fifteenth in line. They are here in exile, under the personal protection of her majesty, Queen Victoria. Prince Tseng, let me pres-ent Inspector Giles Lestrade of Scotland Yard, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"You were shooting at my son?" Tseng demanded, glaring alternately at Lestrade and then at Holmes. "Why were you doing this? Are you agents of the Empress Dowager?"
Lestrade sighed. "I am afraid we have made a mistake," he said. "Please accept my apologies, and the apologies of the Yard."
"Mistake!" Moriarty snorted. "You'll be back in uniform tomorrow, Lestrade, if Prince Tseng complains to her majesty. You'll be lucky not to lose your pension."
"In my country," Prince Tseng interjected, "they would suffer the death of a thousand knives for shooting at a royal heir."
"Let me try to explain, Professor," Lestrade said.
"I can't imagine any possible explanation for what just went on here," Moriarty said, "but it will be fascinating to hear you try. Unfortunately I have no time now. We have a lot of work ahead of us, Prince Tseng and I and the two lads, and we cannot take the time right now. We are commencing a night of astronomical observations by a specially constructed aerostat-carried telescope."
"So you say," Holmes said, "but then what are you doing down here?"
Moriarty turned to glare at him. "The lads are up there to expose photographic plates. They send them down on small parachutes attached to the tethering cable, which also contains a telegraphic wire. We stay down here to develop the plates. Now please leave us alone for the remainder of the night. You have a warrant — go and search the house. Try to refrain from shooting up the furniture."
"Assassins!" Prince Tseng exclaimed.
"I think we'd better go," Lestrade said. "We don't have to search the house. We'll just go back to the city now. Can we talk about this sometime, Professor? I mean, without bringing her majesty into the discussion?"