The Councillors of Falconhoe by Fred M. White

The Councillors had made no idle boast when they declared that Falconhoe was one of the most beautiful and romantic spots in Europe. It lay on a ledge, half-way down a wooded slope, and below it was the sea, creeping into a tiny cove over gigantic masses of rock, where it was possible, at the right time of year, to get excellent bathing when the tide was at the flood. Just above the beach nestled a pair of white cottages where Colonel Philip Enderby, the mechanical genius of the trio, kept his wonderful helicopter aeroplane, and had his engines and store batteries, by means of which the powerful wireless station at the back of the house itself was equipped. The manor was approached by a narrow road, some thousand feet above the sea, and fringed on both sides with larches and pines. As the path trended downwards, it narrowed between great woods, consisting of most of the forest trees, forming an arch overhead, the little dales and hollows of which were fringed with all sorts of dainty ferns. A little mountain stream wended its way down the precipitous slopes, and emptied finally in lace-like waterfall on to the beach. Just above the house was a long whitewashed cottage, standing in an old world garden, and this served the dual purpose of a post-office and a summer boarding house for such visitors as were fortunate enough to obtain accommodation there. The manor house lay perched upon a plateau of rock, much as if some giant hand had scooped it out with a purpose, and there the long grey building lay, looking out over a sea of foliage, and blue and grey and lichen, the whole forming a prospect in its summer greenery that would be hard to imagine. Immediately in front of the house was a broad drive, and under that a well-kept sunken tennis court, where the Councillors kept themselves fit with hard exercise in the intervals between tea and dinner. There were not many bedrooms, perhaps a dozen altogether, with an up-to-date bathroom, and four living-rooms, dining-room, drawing-room, library, and the fourth, the noblest of the lot, given over entirely to Enderby and his mechanical appliances. It was here that he sat most of the day, with a receiver about his ears, listening to everything that went on all over Europe, and translating as much as was important to his colleagues.

They were waiting on events now, they were passing their own messages back to Rome and Vienna and Berlin, even as far as Constantinople, over a whole network of intercommunications which were covered by their agents everywhere. It was about 5 o'clock on that sunny afternoon that Enderby closed the door of his workshop behind him and went out on to the terrace where Jelicorse and Farncombe were seated waiting for their tea. A stiff old butler, obviously a soldier who had suffered in the wars, came out with an occasional table and began to lay the meal.