The Doomsday Men by J. B. Priestley

The Doomsday Men by J. B. Priestley

Author:J. B. Priestley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2016-11-19T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER SIX

OUTSIDE THE GATE

It was rather late when Malcolm came down to breakfast, for he had not had a very good night’s sleep and then had dozed on past his usual time. Barstow seemed to have been up for hours. The dining-room was deserted. He tried the lunch-room and there, with his long legs wrapped round a stool at the counter, was Hooker, cleaning up what looked to have been once a noble plate of ham and eggs.

“You see, Darbyshire,” he observed with a grin, “why Science makes progress while Art stands still. Art has just got up, but Science has been up and out these last two hours, making enquiries. And if we’re going exploring to-day, you’d better have a good breakfast. The ham’s good.”

“I’ll try it.” Malcolm gave his order, then apologised to Hooker for being down so late, and asked if he had discovered anything about the MacMichaels.

Hooker had. “I figured that if I went round early, before the fellows were busy, some of them would know something. Henry Mac­Michael’s a multi-millionaire, and he’s not the kind to live in a shack somewhere. He’ll live in a big way wherever he is. And even if he gets most of his stuff in from the Coast, he must use this place now and again. Besides, those instruments from London had to be sent here, I knew that. So I went round with a packet of Luckies. Tried the railroad here first, then one or two of the garages, and the drug store.”

“The MacMichaels are here, aren’t they?” asked Malcolm eagerly.

With an air of leisurely enjoyment the other spread a map out on the counter. He pointed a long stained forefinger. “Up here somewhere.”

Malcolm leaned over and stared not very hopefully at some grim shading on the map. Lava Mountains. Quail Mountains. Granite Mountains. Copper City. Leadpipe Spring. Eagle Crags. Not a very promising lot of names. And he said so.

“I know,” said Hooker. “But between the road here and this end of Death Valley there’s a little valley, might be a miniature canyon, and there they are. None of these fellows has seen the place. If they had workmen up there, I think they must have brought ’em in from the Coast. But one fellow had a brother who’d done a job for them up there. Some miner who’d struck it rich started building a big place—like Scotty’s Castle at the north end of Death Valley—you’ve heard of that, eh?—well, this miner seems to have died before it was finished, and then the MacMichaels bought it two or three years ago. It’s called the Castello, and it’s at Lost Lake. So what we’re looking for is the Lost Lake Castello, somewhere about there”—he pointed again—“and if that isn’t romantic enough for you, my romantic friend, I give you up.”

“It’s romantic enough,” said Malcolm, “but do you think it’s true? Why, there isn’t even the ghost of a road marked here, and they’d have to have some sort of road.



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