The Zeppelin Destroyer: Being Some Chapters of Secret History

“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.”

Chapter Twenty One

Roseye’s Secret

Old Theed, the stalwart ex-police officer, was greatly excited.

“Just before half-past eight, my son having gone in the car over to Horsham to see his young lady, and afterwards to pick up Mr Ashton, I was sitting in the kitchen with Mulliner,” he said. “Suddenly I thought I heard footsteps out in the yard. I listened for a few moments and then I heard, quite distinctly, a curious sawing noise. I went silently out by the front door and was just creeping round the corner of the house, when the figure of a man – who was evidently on the watch – suddenly sprang from the shadow. I was seized by the collar, and the next I knew was that a handkerchief was stuffed into my mouth and a rope tied round my arms and legs. I tried to cry out, but I could not. I was trussed like a fowl. My assailants were two men, and pretty tough ones they were, too!”

“Mulliner was in the house – eh?” asked Roseye.

“Yes, miss. They flung me down into the garden yonder, up against those rose-bushes, and then went into the house after her,” Theed went on. “I heard her scream, but could not move to assist her. She shouted for help, but I couldn’t answer. But she was plucky and she saved the situation.”

“How?” I asked, amazed.

“Why, she shouted out to me: ‘It’s all right, Theed! I’ve telephoned down to Nutley. The police will soon be here!’”

“That was certainly a master-stroke, considering that we have no telephone here,” I exclaimed.

“No. But it scared the thieves – or whoever they were – for they didn’t wait, but made off in a car which they had waiting down the lane. I heard them hurry away down to the lane, and soon afterwards the car started.”

“Who released you?” I asked.

“They had tied Mulliner to a chair in the kitchen but, after half an hour, she managed to get free, and came out to find and release me. Then, on going into the yard with a lamp, we found a curious thing. They had evidently been examining your aeroplane, sir.”

“They’ve been in there!” I gasped. “Strangers!”

“Yes, sir. But, as far as I can see, they’ve done nothing.”

I at once took one of the side-lamps from the car and, with Roseye, went into the barn. Mulliner, who had now recovered from her fright, followed us.

As far as I could discern by a cursory glance, nothing had been tampered with. It was fortunate, however, that we had removed the box containing the secret electrical apparatus, and that it was concealed in the house, as was our constant habit.

The story told by the pair was certainly alarming.

Once again I recognised here the evil finger-prints of the Invisible Hand.

“You saw the men who attacked you?” Roseye said to Mulliner when we were again in the house. “Describe them to us.”

“Well, miss. There’s the difficulty. There were two men, I know, as well as a woman – a tallish woman, dressed in a fur-coat and a small motor-hat. She had a thin, dark-looking face and funny eyes, and she spoke to the men in some foreign language – Italian, I think.”

“Ah!” gasped Roseye, turning to me terrified. “The woman! I feared it – I knew it! The woman with the Leopard’s Eyes!”

“And the men?” I asked. “Did you not see them?”

“I only caught a glimpse of one of them,” and the description she gave of him almost tallied with that of the man whom we had seen in the woman’s company at the roadside. The pair had evidently been on the watch ever since afternoon. They no doubt had seen us leave, and also watched Teddy and Theed’s son go away.

“But the second man?” I demanded eagerly. “Can’t you give us any description of him?”

The maid hesitated, and fidgeted slightly. I saw that she was undecided and a little unwilling. Her hair was still awry from her attack, and she had forgotten, in her excitement, to replace her well-starched Dutch-cap.

“Well, sir,” she answered at last, “I have a suspicion – but only a very faint one – remember I couldn’t really see his face, for he sprang upon me from behind. But he spoke to his companion, and I thought I recognised his voice – only a faint suspicion,” the woman added. “Indeed, I don’t really like mentioning it, because I’m sure you’ll laugh at me. You’ll think it too absurd.”

“No. This is no laughing matter, Mulliner,” I said. “We are in deadly earnest. It is only right of you to tell us any suspicion that you entertain.”

“Well – to tell you the truth, sir, I thought I recognised the voice of a gentleman who often visits Cadogan Gardens – Mr Eastwell.”

“Eastwell!” I echoed. “Do you really think it was actually Mr Eastwell?”

I glanced at Roseye and saw that, at mention of the man’s name, her face had instantly gone pale as death, and her hands were trembling.

“Are you quite sure of that, Mulliner?” she asked breathlessly.

“No. Not quite. I only know that he wore a big pair of motor-goggles with flaps on the cheeks, and those effectively altered his appearance, but as he assisted in tying me up in the chair, my eyes caught sight of his watch-chain. It was familiar to me – one of alternate twisted links of gold and platinum of quite uncommon pattern. This I recognised as Mr Eastwell’s, for I had seen it many times before, and it went far to confirm my suspicion that the voice was undoubtedly his. I admit, miss, that I was staggered at the discovery.”