Facing the Flag (An Intriguing Tale of Piracy, Action & Adventure). Jules Verne
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inventor. The latter’s health appeared to have suffered in no way from his eighteen months’ confinement; but his queer attitude, his incoherent gestures, his haggard eye, and his indifference to what was passing around him testified only too plainly to the degeneration of his mental faculties.
At length Thomas Roch dropped into a seat and with the end of a switch traced in the sand of the alley the outline of a fortification. Then kneeling down he made a number of little mounds that were evidently intended to represent bastions. He next plucked some leaves from a neighboring tree and stuck them in the mounds like so many tiny flags. All this was done with the utmost seriousness and without any attention whatever being paid to the onlookers.
It was the amusement of a child, but a child would have lacked this characteristic gravity.
“Is he then absolutely mad?” demanded the Count d’Artigas, who in spite of his habitual impassibility appeared to be somewhat disappointed.
“I warned you, Count, that nothing could be obtained from him.”
“Couldn’t he at least pay some attention to us?”
“It would perhaps be difficult to induce him to do so.”
Then turning to the attendant:
“Speak to him, Gaydon. Perhaps he will answer you.”
“Oh! he’ll answer me right enough, sir, never fear,” replied Gaydon.
He went up to the inventor and touching him on the shoulder, said gently: “Thomas Roch!”
The latter raised his head, and of the persons present he doubtless saw but his keeper, though Captain Spade had come up and all formed a circle about him.
“Thomas Roch,” continued Gaydon, speaking in English, “here are some visitors to see you. They are interested in your health—in your work.”
The last word alone seemed to rouse him from his indifference.
“My work?” he replied, also in English, which he spoke like a native.
Then taking a pebble between his index finger and bent thumb, as a boy plays at marbles, he projected it against one of the little sand-heaps. It scattered, and he jumped for joy.
“Blown to pieces! The bastion is blown to pieces! My explosive has destroyed everything at one blow!” he shouted, the light of triumph flashing in his eyes.
“You see,” said the director, addressing the Count d’Artigas. “The idea of his invention never leaves him.”
“And it will die with him,” affirmed the attendant.
“Couldn’t you, Gaydon, get him to talk about his fulgurator?” asked his chief.
“I will try, if you order me to do so, sir.”
“Well, I do order you, for I think it might interest the Count d’Artigas.”
“Certainly,” assented the Count, whose physiognomy betrayed no sign of the sentiments which were agitating him.
“I ought to warn you that I risk bringing on another fit,” observed Gaydon.
“You can drop the conversation when you consider it prudent. Tell Thomas Roch that a foreigner wishes to negotiate with him for the purchase of his fulgurator.”
“But are you not afraid he may give his secret away?” questioned the Count.
He spoke with such vivacity that Gaydon could not restrain a glance of distrust, which, however, did not appear to disturb the equanimity of that impenetrable nobleman.
“No fear of that,” said the warder. “No promise would induce him to divulge his secret. Until the millions he demands are counted into his hand he will remain as mute as a stone.”
“I don’t happen to be carrying those millions about me,” remarked the Count quietly.
Gaydon again touched Roch on the shoulder and repeated:
“Thomas Roch, here are some foreigners who are anxious to acquire your invention.”
The madman started.
“My invention?” he cried. “My deflagrator?”
And his growing animation plainly indicated the imminence of the fit that Gaydon had been apprehensive about, and which questions of this character invariably brought on.
“How much will you give me for it—how much?” continued Roch. “How much—how much?”
“Ten million dollars,” replied Gaydon.
“Ten millions! Ten millions! A fulgurator ten million times more powerful than anything hitherto invented! Ten millions for an autopropulsive projectile which, when it explodes, destroys everything in sight within a radius of over twelve thousand square yards! Ten millions for the only deflagrator that can provoke its explosion! Why, all the wealth of the world wouldn’t suffice to purchase the secret of my engine, and rather than sell it at such a price I would cut my tongue in half with my teeth. Ten millions, when it is worth a billion—a billion—a billion!”
It was clear that Roch had lost all notion of things, and had Gaydon offered him ten billions the madman would have replied in exactly the same manner.
The Count d’Artigas and Captain Spade had not taken their eyes off him. The Count was impassible as usual, though his brow had darkened, but the captain shook his head in a manner that implied plainly: “Decidedly there is nothing to hope from this poor devil!”
After his outburst Roch fled across the garden crying hoarsely:
“Billions! Billions!”
Gaydon turned to the director and remarked:
“I told you how it would be.”
Then he rushed after his patient, caught him by the arm, and led him, without any attempt at resistance, into the pavilion and closed the door.
The Count d’Artigas remained alone with the director, Captain Spade having strolled off again in the direction of the wall at the bottom of the park.
“You see I was not guilty of exaggeration, Count,” said the director. “It is obvious to every one that Thomas Roch is becoming daily worse. In my opinion his case is a hopeless one. If all the money he asks for were offered to him, nothing could be got from him.”
“Very likely,” replied the Count, “still, if his pecuniary demands are supremely absurd, he has none the less invented an engine the power of which is infinite, one might say.”
“That is the opinion expressed by competent persons, Count. But what he has discovered will ere long be lost with himself in one of these fits which are becoming more frequent and intense. Very soon even the motive of interest, the only sentiment that appears to have survived in his mind, will become extinct.”
“Mayhap the sentiment of hatred will remain, though,” muttered the Count, as Spade joined them at the garden gate.
Chapter III.
Kidnapped
Half an hour later the Count d’Artigas and Captain Spade were following the beech-lined road that separated the Healthful House estate from the right bank of the Neuse. Both had taken leave of the director, the latter declaring himself greatly honored by their visit, and the former thanking him warmly for his courteous reception. A hundred-dollar bill left as a tip for the staff of the establishment had certainly not belied the Count’s reputation for generosity. He was—there could be no doubt about it—a foreigner of the highest distinction, if distinction be measured by generosity.
Issuing by the gate at the main entrance to Healthful House, they had skirted the wall that surrounded the