Atlas Shrugged [453]
and it caught the sunrays, like some transmitter of energy that sent them in shining blessing to stretch horizontally through the air above the roofs, "What's that?" she gasped, pointing at the sign.
"Oh, that's Francisco's private joke."
"Francisco-who?" she whispered, knowing the answer.
"Francisco d'Anconia."
"Is he here, too?"
"He will be, any day now."
"What do you mean, his joke?"
"He gave that sign as an anniversary present to the owner of this place. And then we all adopted it as our particular emblem. We liked the idea."
"Aren't you the owner of this place?"
"I? No." He glanced down at the foot of the ledge and added, pointing, "There's the owner of this place, coming now."
A car had stopped at the end of a dirt road below, and two men were hurrying up the trail. She could not distinguish their faces; one of them was slender and tall, the other shorter, more muscular. She lost sight of them behind the twists of the trail, as he went on carrying her down to meet them.
She met them when they emerged suddenly from behind a rocky corner a few feet away. The sight of their faces hit her with the abruptness of a collision.
"Well, I'll be goddamned!" said the muscular man, whom she did not know, staring at her.
She was staring at the tall, distinguished figure of his companion: it was Hugh Akston.
It was Hugh Akston who spoke first, bowing to her with a courteous smile of welcome. "Miss Taggart, this is the first time anyone has ever proved me wrong, I didn't know-when I told you you'd never find him -that the next time I saw you, you would be in his arms."
"In whose arms?"
"Why, the inventor of the motor."
She gasped, closing her eyes; this was one connection she knew she should have made. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at Galt, He was smiling, family, derisively, as if he knew fully what this meant to her.
"It would have served you right if you'd broken your neck!" the muscular man snapped at her, with the anger of concern, almost of affection. "What a stunt to pull-for a person who'd have been admitted here so eagerly, if she'd chosen to come through the front door!"
"Miss Taggart, may I present Midas Mulligan?" said Galt.
"Oh," she said weakly, and laughed; she had no capacity for astonishment any longer. "Do you suppose I was killed in that crash-and this is some other kind of existence?"
"It is another kind of existence," said Galt. "But as for being killed, doesn't it seem more like the other way around?"
"Oh yes," she whispered, "yes . . ." She smiled at Mulligan. "Where is the front door?"
"Here," he said, pointing to his forehead.
"I've lost the key," she said simply, without resentment. "I've lost all keys, right now."
"You'll find them. But what in blazes were you doing in that plane?"
"Following."
"Him?" He pointed at Galt.
"Yes."
"You're lucky to be alive! Are you badly hurt?"
"I don't think so."
"You'll have a few questions to answer, after they patch you up." He turned brusquely, leading the way down to the car, then glanced at Galt. "Well, what do we do now? There's something we hadn't provided for: the first scab."
"The first . . . what?" she asked.
"Skip it," said Mulligan, and looked at Galt. "What do we do?"
"It will be my charge," said Galt. "I will be responsible. You take Quentin Daniels."
"Oh, he's no problem at all. He needs nothing but to get acquainted with the place. He seems to know all the rest,"
"Yes. He had practically gone the whole way by himself." He saw her watching him in bewilderment, and said, "There's one thing I must thank you for, Miss Taggart: you did pay me a compliment when you chose Quentin Daniels as my understudy. He was a plausible one."
"Where is he?" she asked. "Will you tell me what happened?"
"Why, Midas met us at the landing field, drove me to my house and took Daniels with him. I was going to join them for breakfast, but I saw your plane