Robert Barr - Lord Stranleigh Abroad

“Then be so good,” requested Stranleigh, “as to drop into one of these offices and enquire. It is likely that someone will know the names of all other companies in the same line of manufacture.”

“I don’t doubt,” said the chauffeur, “that they know all about it, but it wouldn’t be business to direct a possible customer to a rival firm.”

Stranleigh smiled.

“I have not been in this country so long as you have,” he said, “but I think you will find an American business man ignores rivalry when he has an opportunity of doing an act of courtesy.”

The chauffeur drew up at a huge factory and went inside. Returning very promptly, he informed his fare that they knew of no Sterling Motor Company, but there was in Woodbridge Street a young engineer named J. E. Sterling, who, they believed, made motor-cars.

“J. E. Sterling! That’s the man I want. Where is Woodbridge Street?”

“Right away down town; next door, as you might say, to the river front.”

“Very good; we’ll go there. Just drive past Mr. Sterling’s place, for if I do not like the look of it I shall not go in.”

By and by they turned into Woodward Avenue, and raced down town at a speed which Stranleigh thought must surely exceed the legal limit, if there was one. Woodbridge Street proved to be crowded with great lumbering trucks, loaded with vegetables for the most part, and among these vehicles the chauffeur threaded his way cautiously. They passed a small, rather insignificant shop, above whose window was painted —

When the chauffeur came to a halt a little further on, Stranleigh said —

“The place doesn’t look very inviting, but as Mr. Sterling guarantees satisfaction, I think it but right to call upon him. I sha’n’t need you any more to-day.”

The door being open, Stranleigh walked in unannounced. A two-seated runabout, evidently brand new, stood by the window, where it could be viewed by passers-by. Further down the room rested a chassis, over which two men, one middle-aged and the other probably twenty-five, were bending, with tools in their hands. They were dressed in grease-stained blue overalls, and they looked up as Stranleigh entered.

“I wish to see Mr. J. E. Sterling,” he said.

“My name is Sterling,” replied the younger man, putting down his tools, and coming forward.

“I understood,” went on Stranleigh, “that there was a Sterling Motor Car Company.”

“There will be,” answered the young man confidently, “but that’s in the sweet by and by. It hasn’t materialised so far. What can I do for you?”

“Well, you can give me some information regarding J. E. Sterling. I want to learn if it tallies with what I have heard.”

The young man laughed.

“It depends on who has been talking about me. I daresay you have been told things that might require explanation.”

“I heard nothing but praise,” his lordship assured him. “It was said you were the true successor of Thomas Alva Edison.”

Sterling laughed even more heartily than before.

“I’m afraid they were getting at you. A man may be a creditable inventor, and a good, all-round engineer without being able to hold a candle to Edison. Are you looking for an automobile?”

“No; as I told you at first, I am looking for J. E. Sterling.”

“I was going to say that I am not yet prepared to supply cars. I do repairing and that sort of thing, merely to keep the wolf from the door, and leave me a little surplus to expend in my business. My real work, however, is experimenting, and when I am able to turn out a machine that satisfies me, my next business will be to form a company, for one can’t do anything in this trade without capital.”

“The competition must be intense.”

“It is, but there’s always room for a first-rate article, and the production of a first-rate article is my ambition.”

“Is that your work in the window?”

“Yes.”

“Does it come up to your expectations?”

The young man’s face grew serious; his brow wrinkled almost into a frown, and he remained silent for a few moments.

“Well, I can’t exactly say that it does,” he answered at last, “still, I think the faults I have found can be remedied with a little patience. On the other hand, I fear the improvement I have put in this car may not be as great as I thought when I was working at it.”

Lord Stranleigh looked at the young man with evident approval; his frankness and honesty commended themselves to him.

“Do you mind showing me your improvement and explaining its function?”

“Not at all. You will remember, however, that this exhibition is confidential, for I have not yet patented the mechanism.”

“I shall not mention to anyone what you show me. You asked me a moment ago if I wished to buy an automobile, and I said I did not. I have made a little money in my time, but mostly, it seems to me, by flukes. I do not pretend to be a business man, yet such is the conceit of humanity that I wish to invest some of my money to back my own judgment. If I lose the cash, it won’t cripple me to any appreciable extent. On the other hand, should the investment prove satisfactory, I shall have more faith in my judgment than has hitherto been the case. In any event, I promise to assist you in the formation of your company.”

“That’s all right!” cried the young engineer, with enthusiasm. “My own judgment of men is frequently at fault, but somehow I’d stake my bottom dollar on you. Come over to the window, and I’ll show you how the wheels go round.”

The two men approached the car in the window, and as they did so a third person on the pavement outside stopped suddenly, and regarded them with evident astonishment. Neither of those inside saw him, but if one or the other had looked through the glass, he would have recognised the sinister face of Wentworth Parkes who, having satisfied himself as to the visitor’s identity, turned away and retraced his steps.

Sterling lifted up a leather curtain which hung down in front from the passenger’s seat and disclosed a line of three upright pegs, rising two or three inches from the floor of the car. They were concealed when the curtain was lowered.

“If you give the matter any thought,” said Sterling, “you will discover that the passenger in an automobile is in rather a helpless position. His chauffeur may faint, or even die at his wheel from heart failure, as has been the case in several instances I know of, or he may be drunk, and therefore unreasonable or obstinate, driving the car with danger to all concerned, yet if his master attempt to displace him while the car is going at high speed, disaster is certain. Now, the centre peg here will stop the engine and put on the brakes. A pressure by the foot on the right-hand peg turns the car to the right; and on the left-hand to the left. In the ordinary car the passenger can do nothing to save himself, but here he may stop the car dead, or, if he prefers it, may disconnect the steering wheel, and guide the car at his will.”

“Why, I think that’s an excellent device!” cried Stranleigh.

“I thought so, too, but there are disadvantages. The crises in which it could be brought to play are rare. As a general rule, a chauffeur is much more to be trusted than the owner, and if the owner happens to be a nervous man, he might interfere, with deplorable results.”

“Yes,” said Stranleigh, “it’s like the pistol in Texas. You may not need it, but when you do you want it very badly. Has anyone else seen this contrivance?”

“No one except my assistant.”

“Could you lend me this car to-morrow?”

“Certainly.”