Mystery at Olympia. John Rhode

oil-jacket, of the engine, which is thus kept at a suitable temperature.

      ‘Now I will explain the control, which is simplicity itself. The two pedals are interconnected in such a way that when one is pressed down, the other comes out. A gentle spring is fitted, so that if both feet are removed from the pedals, the right-hand one is fully depressed and, therefore, the left-hand one fully out. This, then, is the normal position of the pedals, as you see them on this chassis. In this position the brakes are fully on. But they can be released by pushing the hand-brake lever forward, should it be necessary to move the car when the driver is not in his seat.

      ‘The driver places one foot on each pedal, and slowly presses down the left-hand one. The first effect is to admit gas under pressure to the pump, which is caused to revolve, and so start the engine. Further pressure on the pedal releases the brakes. Still further pressure begins to open the connection between the cylinders of sulphur dioxide and the turbine, and the car begins to move. Subsequent pressure continues this opening, until, when the pedal is fully depressed, the car is developing its maximum power.

      ‘By this time the right-hand pedal has come out to its full extent. Pressure upon it will reverse the process. The gas will gradually be cut off from the turbine. Then the engine will be stopped and finally the brakes applied. In driving, the speed of the car is regulated by alternate pressure of the feet, using the left to accelerate, and the right to slow up.’

      Oldland blinked, as his imagination grasped the idea. Ingenious, very. The Comet people, with their reputation at stake, wouldn’t have taken up a thing like this if they hadn’t been pretty sure of it. But, somehow, he didn’t see that elderly chauffeur of his driving by alternate pressure of the feet. He would be lost without his clutch and his gears and all the other gadgets he was accustomed to.

      Having thus satisfied his curiosity, and decided that the Lovell Transmission, in spite of its ingenuity, was not for him, Oldland would have liked to extricate himself from the throng which surrounded him. But that was manifestly impossible, until one of the periodical eruptions occurred. And, at the moment, nobody else seemed disposed to move. The demonstrator had turned to a table, upon which were exhibited a number of metal objects of unusual shape.

      ‘Here we have some of the parts of which the transmission is composed,’ he continued. Oldland noticed now for the first time that similar pieces of metal were arranged at intervals all around the stand. The demonstrator picked up a piece of polished steel, the size and shape of a large mushroom. ‘The speed of the engine is controlled by the amount of gas which is allowed to pass to the turbine. This, which is known as the pressure valve …’

      He was interrupted by a commotion, somewhere behind Oldland’s back. There was a sort of grunt, followed by a sudden cry, ‘Look out!’ Then a confused sound of voices. ‘He’s fainted … Nearly knocked me over … Steady there … Hold up his head …’

      Oldland’s professional instincts exerted themselves in a flash. ‘I am a doctor!’ he said loudly, struggling to turn round. A way was somehow made for him to the edge of the stand. There, lying on his back with his mouth wide open and a dozen anxious faces bending over him, was an elderly man, plainly dressed. He had grey hair, a distinctly florid complexion, and was rather more than inclined to stoutness.

      ‘Stand back,’ said Oldland. ‘That is, if you can manage it.’ And, by some miracle, the human mass obeyed him. Compressed to its utmost limit though it had appeared, it contrived to extend that compression a stage farther, until Oldland found room to drop on one knee beside the motionless form.

      The salesman, thus interrupted in the full flood of his demonstration, merely shrugged his shoulders. A man had fainted! There was no novelty about that. He was the third, or was it the fourth, since the show had opened. It wasn’t everybody who could stand a crowd like that assembled round Stand 1001. The salesman picked up the telephone which stood beside him, and rang up the first-aid post stationed in the building. ‘Man fainted on Stand 1001,’ he said languidly. ‘Better send along the stretcher.’

      Meanwhile Oldland had deftly loosened the unconscious man’s collar. He put his hand over his heart and his face hardened. He straightened himself and faced the salesman. ‘We must get him out of this, quick,’ he said.

      ‘All right, doctor,’ replied the salesman. ‘I’ve sent for the stretcher. It’ll be along in a minute.’

      Oldland dropped down once more by his patient, and began to massage the region of the heart. He was thus engaged when the stretcher-bearers arrived, having driven their way through the compact mass of humanity. The old man was lifted on to the stretcher, and borne away to the first-aid post, Oldland walking beside him.

      As the stretcher was placed upon a table, Oldland resumed his ministrations. The first-aid post was well equipped. He called for a hypodermic syringe, and prepared a powerful injection, which he administered. Then he resumed his massage. While he was thus engaged a police sergeant drifted into the room, asked a few questions of the stretcher-bearers in a low voice, then stood watching the doctor.

      After a few minutes, Oldland shook his head fiercely. As his hands dropped to his side, he looked up and met the sergeant’s questioning glance. ‘The man’s dead,’ he said curtly. ‘His heart had stopped beating before I got to him. No chance of starting it again now, I’m afraid.’

      The sergeant took out his notebook and pencil. ‘What was the cause of death, sir?’ he asked.

      ‘Can’t tell you that,’ Oldland replied. ‘The mode of dying was syncope, if that means anything to you. The coroner will order a post-mortem, I suppose.’

      The sergeant endeavoured to write the word syncope, and failed after one or two attempts. ‘I must ask you for your name and address, sir,’ he said.

      Oldland gave the required information. ‘I should have thought that this poor chap’s name and address were rather more important,’ he added slowly.

      ‘I’m coming to that, sir,’ the sergeant replied. He approached the corpse, and very gingerly inserted his hand into the breast pocket of the coat. From this he extracted a bulging wallet, in which were a roll of notes and a few visiting cards. These were all similar, and were engraved ‘Mr Nahum Pershore, Firlands, Weybridge.’ The sergeant made a note of this, then pocketed the wallet. He glanced at the body irresolutely, then turned once more to Oldland. ‘Is there anything more to be done, sir?’ he asked.

      ‘Not so far as I’m concerned,’ Oldland replied. ‘I can’t bring back the dead to life. The rest’s your job, I fancy.’

      The sergeant still seemed dissatisfied. ‘You couldn’t give me a hint of what he died of, sir?’ he asked.

      ‘No, I can’t. There are no visible signs of violence, if that’s what you’re getting at. The man just died. You’ll probably find that he was suffering from fatty degeneration of the heart, or something. The best thing you can do is to get him along to the mortuary, and turn him over to the police surgeon.’

      Oldland waited until the ambulance arrived, and then left the building. Both the crowd and the internal intricacies of motor cars had temporarily lost interest for him. He went outside and regained his waiting car. Seeing his chauffeur’s inquiring but very respectful glance, he shook his head. ‘Not today,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back another time, perhaps.’

      He drove homewards, frowning over the sudden death of Mr Nahum Pershore. Professionally the incident was without significance for him. No doubt the post-mortem would reveal some morbid condition which would account for it. But it was an infernal nuisance, just the same. He would have to attend the inquest, and that would mean a loss of valuable time. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped!

      His thoughts turned from Mr Pershore to the behaviour of the car. She certainly did run wonderfully smoothly. It would be a shame to get rid of her. If she were repainted and touched up here and there, she could be made to last another year at least. Yes, that was what he would do.

      So the incident of Mr Pershore’s death was not without its economic consequences. It reduced by one the ranks of the Potential Buyers.