At that moment, the telephone bell rang. It was the Works, eager to speak to him. Could he possibly come up to the Works at once; a most strange and interesting thing had happened? The line was not working very well; but after a time he learned what it was. Some picronoxyllethaline had given off its characteristic gas, noxytoxythanatophaline, although not exposed to any sudden rise of temperature.
This was the important thing, in fact a very important thing.
“Golly,” Frampton said at once, “it’s done that, has it? I’ll come up at once. That may mean £100,000 clear profit, straightaway.”
“At the least,” the chemist said, “if we can spot the cause.”
“How did it come about?” Frampton asked.
“We don’t know,” the chemist said. “But seven of the girls in No. C.P.N.L. room suddenly breathed a lot of N.T.T. and each of them had a characteristic reaction, that is, they went temporarily mad and bit eleven girls and a fireman. Of course, they’re beginning to cool down now, but we’d be glad if you’d come up.”
“I’ll come up at once,” he said.
“You seem to have important news,” Harold said.
“Yes,” Frampton said, “it may prove to be important. It may mean that we shall be able to get a very precious gas without a frightfully costly middle process. I’ll have to go up for it, I’ll have to rush.”
Harold had not seen Frampton in action before; he was, therefore, impressed to see him now. He was offered, and took, a lift as far as Stubbington. He judged later that Frampton was in the car, streaking to Shipton, to catch the express, within a minute of his laying down the telephone receiver. He was glad to leave the car in Stubbington, for Frampton went like the wind.
“Send me a wire if you make the express,” he called.
“I shall make it,” Frampton called; and did.
This was the kind of thing he most enjoyed; this made him function; this spurred up his imagination. Why had this P.N.L. given off its precious N.T.T.? He went through the possibilities and branchings of the case; all exciting. He did not care a twopenny rush for the seven young women, but the police and the Press would be probing, and it was important that neither should discover the cause of the discharge. They might be on the brink of a staggering secret which would revolutionise war. It might be possible to make the enemy population raving mad before the declaration of war, at a cost of sixpence a street; fifty pounds a city. Of course, the reaction was not lasting, as yet, but it might be made so. Imagine, anyhow, a little N.T.T. dropped on an enemy cabinet meeting, or into the members of a general staff, at some secret emergency meeting. A little scattered at a meet of the Tunsters might not be amiss.
He caught the express in good time. He was at the Works before they closed. In half an hour he had assumed control of the business, and had a fairy story out for the evening papers’ late editions. He turned like a sleuth to the point at issue, the cause of the giving-off of the gas in this shed of the P.N.L. The best of the chemists were with him, but it was his shrewd brain that narrowed the field of enquiry for them. When he had got them fired with his own enthusiasm, he visited the sick in the hospital. The seven were now nearly normal, and without any memory of what they had done under the influence of the gas. Those who had been bitten were not seriously hurt. He had a good way with his workers; nearly always they stood by him in a time of trouble; they did so now. His old father, who had been sorely pressed in his young days, had told him never to forget the text: “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.”
“If men or women give you their service, see that you give them far more than the market rate, and you’ll find your reward.” He always had found his reward.
The chase of the secret held him in London for all one week; then for a second week; then for a part of a third. He gave no thought to Mullples during this time. This chase was serious; and had to be followed to the end. In the end, it was he who found the well-hidden, simple solution and showed how P.N.L. could be made to yield its N.T.T. almost without money and without price.
It was one of the happiest moments of his life; certainly the one happy moment since Margaret’s death. It was a great moment, made all the happier by the gladness of his staff, who were present when the proof was made.
In that happiness, he thought:
“Why should not all my N.T.T. be made at St. Margaret’s? The place could be built out of two years’ of the savings made by this new process. We should have all that side of the Works brought into the country, farther from possible air attack; and I could develop my Garden City and my explosives plant together.”
This was much too tempting to resist; he decided that it should be done. He would have the building pushed on, and the people moved in there towards the end of the following Winter, say at the end of February, when every day brought a change for the better in the weather, so that the people could be lured to country life through all a Summer, before the Winter taught them its drawbacks. He meant to make the place a success. He asked his people to meet him in the Hall of the Works, and told them what he hoped to do, if they would support him. He asked them to think it over and let him know what they thought about it; there was no hurry, but he would be glad to hear their views; he wanted only volunteers.
Having had a hard three weeks, he went down to Mullples for the week-end. Meeting the angry ham in Stubbington, he was cut dead by her, which he had not quite expected. In return for this mercy, he resolved to put up big notices on his property where the dwellers at Coombe would pass them ten times a week. The notices should run:
But he was not quite satisfied with the wording; he felt that it could be made a little bitterer; would it not be neater to say:
Somehow, that was a little too prolix; brevity was called for:
He could not resolve upon the wording; he thought of it for a long time, but inspiration did not fall upon him. Anyhow, notices of that kind should go up as soon as he could be satisfied. Meanwhile, a letter came to him from the Rector of Stubbington, asking him to be so very kind as to attend a meeting in Stubbington about the War Memorial. The letter said that the Members of the Committee hoped that he would give them the great benefit of his advice in any question which might arise concerning art and artists.
“Well, if they want my advice,” he commented, “they shall have it. But I’m inclined to think that I shall only fall foul of some more of them.”
As a maker of guns and explosives, he had seen a good deal of the War.
“The great enemy in war is mud,” he used to say. “Mud on the battlefield, and the thicker mud in human minds.”
Though he lived by war and the preparation for war, he loathed it, as the opportunity for the scoundrel. He had lost friends in the War, from several lands, and wished those men to be commemorated by a better Europe, which would be a public confession, that in killing those young men, she had followed cannibal gods. However, Europe had not been bettered; far from it; she had gone farther towards cannibalism.
Still, the young men of Stubbington who had died deserved a memorial, the very best that could be had. He would see that the best should be recommended for them. Somehow he felt that he was foolish to go to the meeting; he would only make more enemies; these people knew nothing of art. He was fond of taking the views of country people on these topics; he went over to the Adventure Inn one day, to find what was thought there about a memorial. Hordiestraw was pointed in his remarks about it.