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“Why did the counterbracing stay break?”
“That is something of a mystery. I mean, one never encounters shoddy construction on a Farman machine.” He shrugged. “My chaps are looking into it. But it’s all in the game, isn’t it? Accidents do happen.”
“Sometimes,” said Bell, even more convinced that the Englishman’s accident was no accident. He stepped closer to the wreck, where Lionel Ruggs, the Farman’s chief mechanician, was removing par
ts to be salvaged. “Did you find the wire that broke?” he asked.
“Bloody little that didn’t break,” Ruggs retorted. “She hit so hard, she’s mostly splinters.”
“I mean, the wire that broke that caused the accident. The baronet said he heard one let loose.”
“I’ve laid them all over there.” He pointed at a row of wires. “So far, I find none broken. It’s Roebling wire. Same as was spun into the cables that hold up the Brooklyn Bridge. Virtually indestructible.”
Bell went to look for himself. A helper, a boy no more than fourteen, came and went with more wire. He was puzzling over one end of a strand when Bell asked, “What do you have there, sonny?”
“Nothing.”
Bell took a shiny silver dollar from his pocket. “But you’re staring like something struck you – here.”
The boy grabbed the coin. “Thank you, sir.”
“Why don’t you show this to your boss?”
The boy dragged the wire to the chief mechanician. “Look at this, Mr. Ruggs.”
“Lay it out with the rest, laddie.”
“But, sir. Look at this, sir.”
Lionel Ruggs put on reading spectacles and held it to the light. “Bloody hell. . Bloody, bloody hell!”
Just then, Dmitri Platov came running up. He shook his head at the remains of the Farman. Then he looked at Eddison-Sydney-Martin, who was lighting a fresh smoke. “Is surviving? Is lucky.”
Bell asked, “What do you make of this, Mr. Platov?”
Platov took the fitting in his fingers and studied it, puzzlement growing on his face. “Is strange. Is very strange.”
Bell asked, “Why is it strange?”
“Is aluminum.”
Chief Mechanician Ruggs exploded, “What the bloody hell was it doing on our machine?”
“What do you mean?” asked Isaac Bell.
Platov said, “Is something should not be. Is – how you say – link-ed weak.”
“This anchor at the end of the wire is made of cast aluminum,” Ruggs seethed. “It should be steel. There’s tons of tension on those wires, tons more when the machine moves sharply. The anchor bolt should be as least as strong as the wire. Otherwise, like Mr. Platov says, it’s a weak link.”
“Where did it come from?” asked Bell.
“I’ve seen it used. But not on our machines, thank you very much.”
Bell turned to the Russian. “Have you seen aluminum used this way?”
“Aluminum lightweight. Aluminum on struts, aluminum on crossing members, aluminum on framing. But counterbracing anchor? Only fools.” He handed it back to Lionel Ruggs, his ordinarily cheery face stern. “Is person doing should being shot.”
“I’ll pull the trigger myself if I find the bloody bastard,” said the mechanician.
