Read Online Death Devil's Bridge by Robin Paige - Free Book Online Page B

high-wheeled gig. In the back, barely visible above the rear axle, was a boiler, topped by a short smokestack. The vehicle was a French steam car called a Serpollet. The driver was Mr. Arthur Dickson, a very tall, painfully thin man with a delicate air, from Sheffield. “I am here to prove that steam is the best propellant,” he said, with a disdainful glance at the other cars. “And I shall do it, I promise you, or die in the attempt.”
    Frank Ponsonby gave an unpleasant laugh. “Just see to it that nobody else gets killed when that flash boiler of yours explodes, Dickson, old chap.”
    A vein began to throb in Dickson’s temple but when he spoke, it was with only mild scorn. “The tubes are over three-eighths of an inch thick, engineered to withstand several times the operating pressure. They cannot possibly rupture. And as you well know, Ponsonby, where there is no accumulation of steam, there is no possibility of an explosion.”
    But Ponsonby was not to be put off. He bestowed an ingratiating smile on Kate. “You are wearying our hostess, Dickson. Ladies hardly care to hear technical details. It wearies their intellects.”
    â€œMy intellect,” Kate replied loftily, “is not at all wearied.” She smiled at Dickson. “You believe the steam car to be superior to the petrol-powered vehicle, then, Mr. Dickson?”
    Dickson spoke fervently. “Oh, absolutely superior, Lady Kathryn! The engine generates far more torque at low speeds, and hence there is no need for a transmission system. What’s more, speed control is accomplished by this single lever.” He pointed. “In a gas-explosion car, one must simultaneously regulate the throttle, fuel mixture, spark advance, and gearing—a task for a four-armed genius.” He glanced at a glowering Ponsonby. “That surface carburetor of yours, Ponsonby—has it caught fire yet?”
    Bradford took Kate’s arm and steered her to the fourth motor car. “May I present Mr. Arnold Bateman, and his Bateman Electric?”
    Mr. Bateman, a short, athletic-looking man with dark hair and a thin scar across his nose, made an elegant bow. The vehicle which he had designed and built was an electrified dog cart with yellow-spoked wheels. “The virtue of the electric car,” he explaimed briskly, opening a hatch to demonstrate the large battery, “is its simplicity and quiet operation.”
    â€œAh, but vot happens ven it runs out of electricity?” Herr Albrecht inquired, adjusting his monocle with a superior look.
    â€œThen Bateman must go looking for a lightning bolt,” Mr. Ponsonby said, and laughed raucously. Even the autocratic Mr. Dickson condescended to a glacial smile.
    â€œOf course, with the ponderous weight of that battery,” Ponsonby added, sotto voce, “our friend will probably stick in the mud long before his power is gone.”
    Bateman lifted his chin. “You may have your fun, gentlemen. But when a primary battery is developed, as you may shortly expect, we shall have only to mix the appropriate chemicals to gain a reliable, continuous, and inexpensive source of electricity. And then—” He raised his voice. “And then, sirs, this lightweight, quiet, odorless Bateman Electric will leave your noisy, odoriferous, cantankerous gasoline machines in the dust. Mark my words, gentlemen. Mark my words.” And he gave them a supercilious smile.
    The other three glared at him and then at one another, and Kate, amused, almost expected to see the four of them, like two pairs of Tweedledees and Tweedledums, come to blows. But Charles walked up at that moment and greeted the drivers, and the tension dissolved. Kate took her leave, pleading the necessity of consulting her cook about luncheon.
    â€œYou will join us for lunch, won’t you?” she asked the men, with more enthusiasm than she felt. They were so openly antagonistic to one another