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  “Well now, ain’t that somethin’,” Gus said. “Sure pays to be eddicated. I’d never have known what it was, might have missed it entirely. Not that it would have mattered a whole lot,” he added.

  As they neared the city Peter got out his large-scale map of London and Gus soared high up above the smoke cloud until the city was spread out below them exactly like the map. In this way it was easy to locate the Embassy; they could even see dimly the American flag spread out on the roof. Gus circled down and a moment later they landed before the astonished gaze of two of the Embassy’s young men. One of them was dusting the continually falling soot from the flag, while the other had obviously been scanning the sky through a pair of field glasses.

  “Er – ah – Master Pepperell, I presume?” the young man with the field glasses asked as Peter somewhat stiffly descended from Gus’s back. “The Ambassador is having tea. I shall fetch him directly.” Almost at once the Ambassador burst out onto the roof, teacup still in hand.

  “Well, well, well, so you made it?” he exclaimed.

  " ’Course we made it,” Gus muttered to Peter. “Wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t. Say Pete,” he went on, “I’m not much on this Embassy stuff. I want to see the town. Suppose you get Useless over there to help you take this car off me and I’ll step along. Be back in the morning.”

  Peter unstrapped the car and one of the young men wonderingly carried it below.

  “All right, Gus,” Peter laughed. “Have a good time and don’t overindulge any.”

  “Fat chance,” Gus said. “They don’t put out feed like the Queen Mary’s over here. Well, so long, and don’t take any wooden shillings.”

  He hopped to the parapet and took off toward the river. Peter went below with the Ambassador.

  CHAPTER 9

  Fog, Fish and France

  The Ambassador and his wife were old friends of the Pepperells; Peter had met them many times in Washington, so he felt very much at home. They were both fascinated by the car and its conveniences. While Peter was proudly displaying these the Ambassador had a transatlantic telephone call put through to the Pepperell home. Within a few minutes Mr. and Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara were all trying to talk at once.

  Since Peter’s trip and its objective could not be mentioned there was not much to talk about. But everyone said, “Well, how are you?” several times, the Ambassador’s wife exchanged a few recipes with Mrs. Pepperell and even Sam the butler was allowed to say, “Well, how are you?” to Peter. Everyone felt quite happy and relieved and everyone commented on the wonders of modern science.

  After dinner the Ambassador took Peter into his study for a conference and instructions. He looked behind all the curtains, locked all the doors and sitting close to Peter said in a low voice, “The only information which I may give you is the name of this scientist whom you are to . . . visit. The name – ” the Ambassador whispered it, “is Doctor Professor Polopodsky.”

  Peter repeated it several times until he was sure he would remember it. “That isn’t much to go on,” he said finally. “Is that all you can tell me?”

  “About all,” the Ambassador replied. “From here you will proceed to our Embassy in Copenhagen where you will receive further instructions.” He opened a wall safe and brought out a small and blurry snapshot. “We have here,” he went on, “a photograph of the person in question but I’m afraid it won’t do you much good.”

  About all that Peter could see of the man in the snapshot was a black beard and a pair of thick eyeglasses.

  “Since about nine tenths of the men in that country (which of course I cannot name) wear black beards and thick eyeglasses,” the Ambassador said, “this is not very useful.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Peter agreed. So the Ambassador put the photograph back in the safe and proposed a game of checkers. They played three games, of which Peter won two, and then went to bed.

  Next morning the Ambassador waked Peter who wondered why, for the room was as dark as when he went to bed.

  “Fog,” his host explained, “a real old London pea-souper. Afraid your friend Gus won’t show up this morning.” Peter went to the window and was sure he would not. The fog was not white or gray, but a thick black curtain. A street light a few feet away was just a dim glow. Even the street noises were muffled.

  One London sight that Peter especially wanted to see was the changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. So after breakfast the Ambassador suggested that they might try it. He hoped the fog might lift a bit. Peter rode on his shoulder while one of the young men went along as a guide. He had a flashlight and by touching the fronts of the buildings with one hand and the Ambassador’s elbow with the other, finally managed to lead them to Buckingham Palace. He could recognize it by the ironwork of the gates.

  However, the ironwork of the gates was about all they did see, for the fog was thicker than ever. They heard commands, the stamping of horses’ hoofs and the rattle of accouterments, but that was all.

  “Well. Peter,” the Ambassador laughed, “you didn’t see the changing of the Guard, but at least you heard it, that’s something.”

  Next day the fog was worse, if possible. One of the young men kept watch on the roof, but there was no sign of Gus. Sight-seeing was out of the question, so Peter spent most of the time reading and playing checkers with the Ambassador. Peter politely allowed him to win a game now and then. The Ambassador’s wife saw that the food compartment of the car was replenished and that Peter’s laundry and mending were all done. Mr. Pepperell called on the transatlantic phone and everyone again said, “Well, how are you?”

  On the third morning, however, Peter waked to see sunshine at the windows. It was thin and sickly, but it was sunlight. Immediately after breakfast the young man announced that Gus had returned. Peter rushed up to greet him, but Gus’s greeting was far from cheery and his appearance was dreadful. He was excessively thin and bedraggled, his feathers were black with soot.

  “Of all the dumps I ever see,” he burst out, “this is the last word. Thought Baltimore could be dirty, but at least when we have a fog it’s fog, not two thirds soot. As for that Thames River, if there was ever anything to eat in it it must of ben took by the Romans or the Pilgrims or somebody. All’s I’ve had to eat in three days was a hunk of crust. One of these here Limey gulls said it was a scone. Think he meant stone, but they talk so queer you can’t tell.”

  Peter offered to send down to the kitchen for some food, but Gus refused. “No sir,” he said, “I’ve had enough of this place, Pete. Let’s get out of here while the sun’s still shinin’, such as it is. Don’t know where we’re goin’ but any place is bound to be an improvement, as they say. Come on, let’s get going.”

  Peter had the car brought up and strapped on, bade his hosts a hasty farewell and climbed aboard. Gus didn’t say good-by to anyone, he just hopped up on the parapet and dove off.

  The sunlight, although hazy, was bright enough to see things and Gus finally consented to delay long enough to do a few of the sights. They flew around to the Tower and watched the Beefeaters making their rounds. “Look like they ought to be in one of them Elks’ parades in Baltimore,” Gus commented sourly. They sat a while on the Nelson Column in Trafalgar Square and circled St. Paul’s. They paused on a pinnacle at Westminster while Big Ben struck ten.

  “Well, I guess we’ve saw London,” Gus said. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Copenhagen,” Peter answered. Gus brightened up at once. “Now there’s a real place,” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “Ben hearin’ about it fer years. Good clean water and fish by the million.” He kicked off and soared at top speed toward the coast.

  Soon they burst out over the North Sea. The sky cleared and the sun was brilliant. Below them small fishing boats kicked and foamed in the rough waters. They soared on and on. It was past lunch time when they passed over numerous small islands and reached the coast of Denmark, but still Gus did not slacken his pace. They passed over neat green fields filled with fat ca
ttle and again came to water. At last Gus settled on a sandy beach beside a quiet little bay. Peter hastily unstrapped the car and Gus immediately dove into the clear water. All the time that Peter was eating his lunch Gus dived and splashed and scrubbed, only pausing now and then to snap up a fish. By the time Peter had finished and repacked the car Gus shone with cleanliness and his figure had resumed its old roundness. His disposition had improved too.

  All afternoon they passed over sparkling waters and neatly farmed islands. “Looks a lot like Maryland or Delaware,” Gus commented contentedly. It was late in the day when they finally sighted Copenhagen. Arrangements for their reception were the same as in London so they were soon able to locate the Embassy.

  Gus could hardly wait for the car to be unstrapped. “Now this is a town I really like the looks of,” he said happily. “Clean and neat and people eating all over the place. All them squares full of people eating and restaurants right on the edge of the water. I’ll do fine here. See you in the morning, Pete.” He flew eagerly off toward the harbor.

  The Ambassador and his wife were most pleasant and charming. They had a beautiful dinner that evening with a great many dishes which were unfamiliar to Peter, but all of which he enjoyed. After dinner they retired to the study and the Ambassador went through the usual routine of locking the doors and drawing the curtains. Then he drew close to Peter and whispered in his ear, “The country to which you are going is Zargonia.”

  “You don’t say so,” Peter said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  The Ambassador pointed it out on a map. “My, it’s awfully small, isn’t it?” Peter commented.

  “Small, but terribly important at the moment,” the Ambassador smiled. “You will proceed next to our Embassy in Paris, where you will receive further instruction.”

  “All right,” Peter said, “we’ll start in the morning. Do you play checkers?”

  He did, but even worse than the Ambassador in London. Pete tried hard to lose at least one game for the sake of politeness, but it was quite impossible and he was forced to win them all.

  Next morning Gus arrived bright and early, filled with good spirits and good food. They started promptly after breakfast, although their hosts begged them to stay longer.

  “Now this here is what I call a real place,” Gus burst out as they soared over the market place. “Best fish I ever tasted and these here Daners certainly know how to eat. Have any of them smoggersbrods, or whatever they call them, at the Embassy?”

  “Yes indeed,” Peter answered, “aren’t they wonderful?”

  "I’ll say,” Gus enthused. “Them restaurants along the shore there serve the best there is. Picked me up plenty of them.”

  They sailed about the city, admiring the beautiful buildings, the clean squares and parks, the busy harbor. Finally Gus settled on the spire of the City Hall and asked, “Well Pete, found out anything yet, and where do we go next?”

  “All I’ve found out yet,” Peter answered, “is that the Professor’s name is Polopodsky and that his country is Zargonia. He has a black beard and wears thick glasses.”

  “That’s a big help,” Gus snorted. “Now all’s we’ve got to do, I suppose, is to find this here Zargonia and go around yelling ’Call for Mr. Polopodsky,’ until he shows up.”

  “We’re to go to Paris now,” Peter said. “Maybe we’ll learn something more helpful there.”

  “We better,” said Gus as he took off. “Otherwise I’m goin’ to come back and settle down here in Copenhagen.”

  All morning they flew over glistening waters and green islands, over the flat farms of Schleswig-Holstein and on over Holland. They went out of their way to have a look at Amsterdam and Rotterdam, crossed the Rhine and went on over Belgium. Peter told Gus all that he could remember of the geography and history of the places they saw, which was greatly appreciated. It was sunset when they crossed the French border, so they spent the night on a small pond on a beautiful old estate.

  They were off promptly in the morning and soon arrived over Paris, where they easily located the Embassy. As soon as Gus was relieved of the car he went off to see the town, while Peter was taken below by the two young men who had met them.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” one of them said, “but the Ambassador has not arrived yet. He and his wife were visiting in the suburbs last night and today there is a railroad strike. I planned to send the car for them, but the Chauffeurs Union is having a strike. I would have driven out myself but there is a Police strike, so the traffic is all snarled up. I’d never get through.”

  “That’s too bad,” Peter said, “perhaps I’d better speak to him on the telephone.”

  “That would be fine,” the young man sighed, “except that the telephone operators are out on strike as well as the telegraphers.”

  So they played checkers the rest of the day. The young man played better than either of the Ambassadors, but Peter won most of the games. About dinner time the Ambassador and his wife arrived in a jeep which they had borrowed. They were both tired and exasperated and the Ambassador’s wife had to get dinner, because the Cooks and Housemaids Union was on strike.

  After dinner the Ambassador took Peter into his study for instructions. Since there were no servants in the house he didn’t have to lock the doors or draw the curtains. He brought out a map of Zargonia and showed Peter the lake and the island where the castle stood. He also produced some photographs of the castle. “As far as we can tell,” he said, “the Professor’s laboratory and living quarters are in this north tower. Lights are often seen there late at night. That’s about all we can do for you.”

  “That’s about all we need,” Peter said, “– except for one thing. I’d like to find out if there are any sea gulls on this lake and around the castle. It’s quite important.”

  “By George it is, isn’t it?” the Ambassador cried. “No one thought of that.” He pressed a button and when one of the young men arrived said, “Go out and round up Sokoloff at once.”

  Then he asked Peter if he played checkers. They played checkers all evening and Peter won nine games to the Ambassador’s one. It was past eleven before the young man returned, bringing with him a most unattractive person. He had a bristly black beard, thick glasses, and looked not unlike the photograph of Professor Polopod-sky.

  “Sokoloff,” the Ambassador said, “we want to know just one thing. This lake we have talked of before; are there any sea gulls there?”

  “Monsieur,” Sokoloff answered, “of these what you call sigguls there are surely a great many. Many times I have been there and always is sigguls; sigguls on the water, sigguls in the air, on the roof even of the castle sit always sigguls.”

  He looked at his watch and grinned. “You are indeed fortunate, Monsieur Ambassadeur, to be in time. In just forty-five minutes from now our Spies Union is calling a strike. After twelve o’clock there would have been no information.”

  The Ambassador tossed Sokoloff a package of cigarettes and a pair of nylon stockings and the young man took him away.

  “That’s fine,” Peter exclaimed. “If there are a lot of sea gulls there no one will ever notice Gus. I guess we’d better go to bed now.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Professor

  Gus returned early next morning in a moderately good humor. “This here Seine River,” he laughed, “is a worse joke than the Thames, when it comes to fish. The dopey thing about it is that both banks are lined up with men fishin’ and one of these here French gulls tells me there ain’t ben a fish seen in the river for a hundred years.”

  “I guess they just like to fish,” Peter said, as the Ambassador helped him strap on the car.

  “Reckon so,” Gus grunted, “but there certainly ain’t much profit in it. I made out pretty good though. Lots of cafes and picnickers in these here parks and they leave a lot of stuff around. Swell cooks too, had some French pastry near as good as the Queen Mary’s."

  Peter bade the Ambassador and his wife good-by, Gus said “Grawk,”
and they set off to see the sights of Paris. Gus perched a while on the topmost tip of the Eiffel Tower, where they had a splendid view of all the city and the surrounding country.

  “Real pretty town,” Gus commented. “Laid out good, sort of like Washington. Lots of parks and trees and stuff. Pity there’s so many French people though.”

  They flew up and down the great avenues while Peter explained the various buildings and monuments to Gus. They swooped through the Arc de Triomphe, they sat a while on the Vendome Column. They saw the Opera, the Louvre and Napoleon’s Tomb. They flew out to Versailles to admire the beautiful grounds and the gorgeous fountains. Finally they flew back and Gus came to rest beside one of the gargoyles, high up among the towers of Notre Dame.

  “Well, Pete,” he said. “I guess we’ve saw Paris. Where next?”

  Peter got out a map and they located the country of Zargonia and the lake which was their goal.

  “Quite a step,” Gus commented. “Might’s well get goin’.”

  All morning they flew over the neat farms of France, laid out in long strips of green, yellow and brown. About noon they crossed the Rhine and were over the Black Forest of Germany.

  “Don’t see why they call it black,” Gus grunted, “looks plain green to me. Jest one of them dumb furrin ideas I guess.”

  Far off to the south they could see the towering peaks of the Swiss Alps gleaming white in the clear sunshine. Early in the afternoon they swooped down to the beautiful blue waters of Lake Constance, where Gus indulged in a hearty meal of fish. They did not linger long, for he wanted to make the castle before nightfall.

  It was almost nightfall when they crossed the border of Zargonia. The country was so small that it took only a short time to locate the lake. It was exactly as the maps and photographs had shown; a fair-sized lake with a small round island in its center. Occupying most of the island was an old, ivy-covered castle.