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Updated: June 11, 2025
Whatsoever might be the consequences to myself, was it not my duty to destroy this machine, here and now, before it could resume its menacing flight of mastery across the world! Steps approached behind me. I turned. The inventor stood by my side, and pausing looked me in the face. I was unable to restrain myself; the words burst forth "The Great Eyrie! The Great Eyrie!" "Yes, Inspector Strock."
Two days before, the head of the federal police had called me to his room. He was awaiting me with some impatience. "John Strock," said he, "are you still the man who on so many occasions has proven to me both his devotion and his ability?" "Mr. Ward," I answered, with a bow, "I cannot promise success or even ability, but as to devotion, I assure you, it is yours."
"Doubtless you know," said he, "what has happened down in the Blueridge Mountains near Morganton." "Surely, Mr. Ward, the phenomena reported from there have been singular enough to arouse anyone's curiosity." "They are singular, even remarkable, Strock. No doubt about that.
A few mountaineers have climbed it; but they report that it has no outlook commanding the crater of the Great Eyrie." "That is so," said the guide, Harry Horn. "I have tried it myself." "Perhaps," suggested I, "the weather was unfavorable." "On the contrary, Mr. Strock, it was unusually clear. But the wall of the Great Eyrie on that side rose so high, it completely hid the interior."
If some volcano in the Alleghanies threatens North Carolina with a disaster similar to that of Martinique, buried beneath the outpourings of Mont Pelee, then these people must leave their homes." "I hope, sir, there is no such widespread danger." "I think not, Strock; it seems to me highly improbable that an active volcano exists in the Blueridge mountain chain.
"You come as if you had important news, Strock?" "Judge for yourself, Mr. Ward;" and I drew from my pocket the letter with the initials. Mr. Ward took it, glanced at its face, and asked, "What is this?" "A letter signed only with initials, as you can see." "And where was it posted?" "In Morganton, in North Carolina." "When did you receive it?" "A month ago, the thirteenth of June."
I asked Wells, as our rig drew up to the edge of the woods. "No, Mr. Strock," said he. "We had better leave the carriage deeper in the woods, where there will be no chance whatever of our being seen." "Can the carriage drive under these trees?" "It can," declared Wells. "I have already explored these woods thoroughly.
"Ah! Pastropbon, we got ba-bee' enough presently, en't it?" "Ole woman, nobody else ever strock dat lott'ree for such a prize like dat." The Entomologist An odd feature of New Orleans is the way homes of all ranks, in so many sections of it, are mingled. The easy, bright democracy of the thing is what one might fancy of ancient Greeks; only, here there is a general wooden frailty.
"For Toledo." "It has been seen?" "Yes. At Toledo you will get your final orders." "In an hour, my men and I will be on the way." "Good! And, Strock, I now give you a formal order." "What is it, Mr. Ward?" "To succeed! This time to succeed!" So the undiscoverable commander had reappeared upon the territory of the United States!
The same evening the newspapers published an account of my adventures, the truthfulness of which could not be doubted. Then, as Mr. Ward had prophesied, I was the man of the hour. One of the papers said, "Thanks to Inspector Strock the American police still lead the world.
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