The Zeppelin Destroyer/Chapter XX

Next day dawned wild and wet, with a sixty-mile-an-hour wind.

During the morning Teddy and I, assisted by Theed, made some little adjustments to the machine which, though reposing in the barn, was ready at any instant for another flight.

All three of us were, naturally, full of glee that our invention was a proved success. It only remained for us to rise and attack the next Zeppelin that came over.

This idea, however, was all very well, of course, but enemy airships had a sly knack of coming over the sea at unexpected moments, dropping bombs, and returning before our aeroplanes could rise sufficiently high to drop incendiary bombs upon them. The exploits of poor young Warneford, and of the French gunners behind the lines at Brabant-le-Roi, had been hailed with delight by the Allies, and naturally so, yet no enemy aircraft had been brought down on British soil. That was a feat which I intended, even at the risk of my own life, to achieve.

The power to destroy a Zeppelin had been ​placed within my hand, and I intended to use it, though at present I had not matured any actual plan.

After our frugal luncheon that day, a meal of boiled bacon and beans, the weather cleared up, so Roseye expressed a wish to go down to Eastbourne to buy something she required. So I took her in the car. A nip was in the air, so she wore a veil, and on starting away I told Teddy that, in all probability, we should have dinner in Eastbourne before returning.

'Right ho! old man,' he replied. 'Perhaps I shall run up to town. We want those two new nuts and the sparking-plugs you know, so I can get them. If I go, I shan't be down till the last train, so send Theed over to Nutley to meet me, won't you?'

'Right,' I said, and a moment later, with Roseye beside me, I started off down the long narrow wooded lane which led round by a place called Oldlands, and down into Maresfield.

The winter landscape was dull and dispiriting.

We had passed through the little town, and out again upon the Lewes road when, having gone about four miles, we suddenly saw a big dark green limousine standing at the roadside. The chauffeur, whose coat was off, had evidently got tyre-trouble, and, the road at that bend being very narrow, I was compelled to slow down in order to pass.

Beside the car, watching the chauffeur as he worked, was a middle-aged man in a thick drab motor-coat and cap of shepherd's plaid, while beside him stood a tall, erect woman in furs. The man was idly smoking ​a cigar end and laughing with the woman, and as we passed the latter turned to gaze at us. In the passing glance I obtained of her I saw that hers was a hard, thin face, with high cheek-bones, an unusually pointed chin, and a curious expression in her eyes.

Somehow—why I cannot tell—I thought she regarded us a little inquisitively.

Next instant Roseye, in breathless fear, clutched at my arm, gasping:

'Quick, Claude! For Heaven's sake let's get away!'

'Why?' I asked, much surprised at the sudden terror she had evinced.

'That woman!' cried my love, in a voice of alarm. 'Did she see me—do you think she saw me?' she asked, her trembling hand still upon my arm.

'How could she, through that veil?' I asked. 'It was impossible.'

'Is my veil really thick enough to conceal my face entirely?' she asked eagerly.

'Not absolutely to conceal it, but to render identification extremely difficult at such a distance,' I replied. 'But—tell me, why are you trembling like this, Roseye?'

'Oh, drive on,' she cried. 'Drive quickly. Do! She saw you—she will know you from those photographs in the newspapers. I saw by her look that she recognized you. Don't glance round. Keep on, keep on! Go as fast as ever you can. Save me from her—oh! do save me, Claude!' she implored.

I saw, with much apprehension, that her unaccountable mental agitation was returning.

​'But who is the woman?' I demanded eagerly. 'She's a perfect stranger to me.'

'Ah! but not to me, Claude! That woman!' she gasped, as her gloved hands lying upon her knees clutched convulsively. 'That woman is—she's the Woman with the Leopard's Eyes!'

'That woman!' I ejaculated, amazed. 'Was that really the woman?'

'Yes. But—why is she about here? She means mischief, Claude. She means to do us both harm!'

'And the man?' I asked, bending to her without glancing into her face, for I was driving at increased pace in obedience to her command. 'Who is he?'

'I couldn't see his face—only hers—the fiend!'

'Shall we turn back and watch their movements?' I suggested.

'No, no! A thousand times no!' she shrieked, apparently terrified at such a suggestion. 'Don't go near her. Save me from her—won't you, Claude? If you love me, don't let her approach me. Will you?'

'Trust in me, darling,' I said reassuringly, yet greatly puzzled at the unexpected encounter, and in fear also that sudden sight of the hated woman might bring on another nerve attack.

She drew aside her veil and lifted her close-fitting little motor-hat from her brow, as though its weight oppressed her. Then I noticed how pale and terrified was her face. She had blanched to the very lips.

'Don't trouble about the matter any more,' I ​urged, yet I knew well that sight of the mysterious woman had recalled to her memory some evil and terrible recollection that she had been striving to put from her for ever.

'But I do trouble about it, Claude,' she said in a harsh, apprehensive voice. 'I fear for you more than I fear for myself. She is your enemy, as well as mine. Against her we are, both of us, powerless.'

I pricked up my ears at her words.

'What do you mean, Roseye?' I asked. c How can she be my enemy? I've never before set eyes upon the woman!'

'Ah! you don't know, dear—so you can't understand,' was my love's impatient reply.

'No. I want you to tell me,' I said. 'If danger really besets both of us, is it not your duty to explain the facts to me, and leave me to take steps to protect ourselves?'

'Yes. I would tell you, dear—only—only——'

'Only what?'

'Only—well—only I can't!' she answered evasively. Then, a second later, she added: 'I told you, Claude, long ago that I couldn't tell you anything.'

'You hold some secret; and yet you conceal it from me!' I remarked in a tone of reproach.

'Because—because I am compelled. I—I am in fear—in deadly fear, Claude!'

'In fear of what?' I asked, for I saw by her demeanour that such was the nerve-strain that she was on the point of tears.

For a second she hesitated. Then she said:

​'In fear of that woman—the one with the Leopard's Eyes.'

I saw it was quite useless to argue further with her while driving, for we were then travelling at a great pace, and had already passed the four-ways at the Cross-in-Hand.

She lapsed into a long silence, seated immovably at my side, her gaze was fixed blankly upon the muddy road that constantly opened out before us.

On the previous night we had been flying over that very road.

I remarked upon it, in order to change the conversation, but she only nodded. Truly her figure was a pathetic one, for she had turned back her veil, so that the air might cool her troubled brain.

As a result that passing glimpse of the mysterious woman whom she held in such fearsome terror, her whole attitude had again become changed. She looked wild and haggard, and in her great blue eyes, so clear and trustful, there was a queer, uncanny look that caused me both wonderment and apprehension.

On we went, through Hailsham and Polegate, until we ran over the steep hill at Willingdon, and at last descended through Eastbourne Old Town, until we reached the busy Terminus Road of the fashionable go-ahead watering-place, the road which led to the fine sea-front so beloved by the summer visitor.

Roseye having done her shopping in the Terminus Road, we ran along past the Wish Tower to the Grand Hotel, where we took tea at one of the little wicker tables in the glass-fronted lounge, and afterwards smoked cigarettes.

​Though it was winter, the hotel was filled by a smart crowd.

I met Tringham, who had learnt flying with me and who was now a naval Flight-Commander. He was with his young wife and we four had a long gossip, but of course I said nothing of our secret flight on the previous night.

Naturally, our talk was of Zeppelins, and in the course of our chat Tringham, who was in naval uniform, discussed with me what was necessary to damage a Zeppelin sufficiently to bring her down.

'The question,' he declared emphatically, 'has several answers. If the machine is hit fair and square by an explosive-incendiary projectile, which ignites the gas as it escapes from the damaged gas bags after mixing with the air, it is certain it will crash to earth a blazing wreck, as the one did behind the French lines the other day. But rifle bullets will do little harm, as they only make small holes, which often can be repaired by the crew whilst aloft.'

'I quite agree that rifles against a Zeppelin are just about as efficacious as firing with pea-shooters,' I remarked.

'The public have not yet realized that a Zeppelin is a very difficult thing to attack successfully,' declared the Fight-Commander, who as one of the best-known of our naval pilots, had done much heroic work, and was now stationed somewhere on the East Coast. 'Shells which don't hit fair to the mark may badly damage one of the eighteen ballonets, but this is not sufficient to bring her down. However, it ​may partially cripple the machine by upsetting its stability, and it is then highly dangerous to run the powerful engines at speed. To hit either of the gondolas would, of course, do serious harm, but at six thousand feet they are at night an almost invisible mark, and it is only by a lucky chance they would be damaged.'

'And what, in your opinion, is the best means of destroying Zeppelins?' Roseye asked, with a sly glance at me.

'My dear Miss Lethmere,' he replied, 'guns and guns alone are at present of any use against these air monsters. We must see to it that the weapons we use are sighted to carry to 12,000 feet, and fire a shell that will not only rip up casing and ballonet, but will at the same time ignite the escaping gas.'

'The newest super-Zeppelins have a sentry posted on top,' remarked Mrs. Tringham, a smart little lady, well-known to Roseye, for she had often flown with her husband. 'He is separated from the crew far below, but he is in telephonic communication with the commander, so that he can warn him of any aeroplane ascending above for bomb-dropping. I quite agree with Alfred,' she went on, 'well-equipped guns and good naval gunners are the best defences against this new peril of the night.'

'Moreover,' Tringham remarked, I give no credence whatever to the reports that the Germans are circulating, namely, that they are completing two new Zeppelins a week.'

'I agree,' I said. 'That story has gone the round of the Press, but is only a piece of clever propaganda ​sent out to neutral countries with the object of being seized upon by their sensational newspapers. No! Airships are big, unwieldy, as well as very vulnerable things. That the enemy has a number of them is quite certain, but the policy of frightfulness on paper is part of the Teuton plan. I admit that we are behindhand with our air-defences; but I do not support the Press in its shrieking clamours. We shall defeat the Huns one day—never fear. England has never yet been beaten.'

And again I glanced at my well-beloved, whom I saw had already read what was passing in my mind. Our secret was our own.

But I was glad to have the views of such an air expert as my friend Tringham, because he reflected what was just then uppermost in the official mind.

Evidently the 'nest of hornets' fallacy had been dismissed.

When the Flight-Commander and his wife left us—for he was on forty-eight hours leave, and they were motoring back to town—Roseye and I went for a stroll back into the town. There was nothing to do before dinner, so we went into a cinema and sat watching the latest picture-drama—a certain photo-play that was highly popular at that moment and which, with transpontine vividness, showed a fuzzy-haired heroine, bound and gagged by the cigarette-smoking villain, flung down into a slimy sewer, and afterwards rescued by the muscular and, of course, clean-shaven hero. I wonder why, to-day, no hero ever wears a beard? Twenty years ago they were all blonde-bearded. But Mr. Frank Richardson ​having declared that whiskers and love are as oil and water, the public have adopted that view.

After the 'pictures' we returned to the hotel, where we dined and, shortly after nine, left in the car for Holly Farm.

The night was again bright, clear and starlit, and the run home was very pleasant, even though the prohibition of headlights necessitated the greatest caution and a reduction of speed.

Roseye said little during the journey back. I saw she was unduly thoughtful. No doubt she was reflecting upon that incident on the road. While Tringham and his wife had sat with us and we were gossiping, she had been quite her old self again, but I had noticed that as soon as they had left she had lapsed into that strange attitude of nervous, even terrified apprehension.

She seemed to be possessed of some presage of coming evil. And yet she refused—blankly refused—to tell me the truth, and so place me upon my guard against any plot or pitfall which the enemy might prepare for us.

We ran on. Noting her silence, I pushed forward with all haste until at length we swung round from the lane into the farmyard, the gates of which old Theed had left open for us.

The old fellow ran up to us from out of one of the sheds wherein he had been seated awaiting us.

'Mr. Munro!' he cried eagerly. 'May I see you at once, sir. I want to tell you something. There's some mystery here, sir.'

​'Mystery?' I echoed together with Roseye.

Then, noting his scared face beneath the light of my side-lamps, I asked:

'Mystery? What mystery? Tell me.'