The Zeppelin Destroyer: Being Some Chapters of Secret History

Teddy and Roseye both stood aghast at this latest revelation.

Then, when I had disconnected the wire, I placed it with the little black incendiary disc upon the ground and connected up the wires to an accumulator from the car.

In a moment the black substance shot into a fierce red flame which burned and spluttered with intense heat for fully five minutes.

From the barn, a few minutes later, Theed emerged carrying a piece of the wire, evidently discarded by the intruder who had so swiftly and so cunningly prepared another death-trap for me.

A further hour we spent in making a second examination of the machine, and then having appointed to meet that evening at the old King’s Head, in G – , at seven o’clock, I climbed into the pilot’s seat and, with Teddy at my side, we shot forward and soon left the ground heading for the railway line which I knew would run from right to left across our track at Tonbridge.

I was really glad to place Holly Farm behind me. It certainly was not a “healthy” spot, as far as we were concerned. The low-down cunning of our enemies had once more been revealed. Yet how I longed for Roseye to tell me the actual truth! Why did she so persistently refuse? What could she have to hide from me – the man who loved her so very dearly.

We trusted each other. She had trusted her life to me in the air on many occasions – even on the previous night. Yet she remained silent.

The day was bright and crisp, with a slight north-westerly wind and a few scudding clouds. Very soon, when we had risen to about four thousand feet – for I had determined to fly high again – I saw a big seaplane coming up from the coast. It passed us about four miles distant and then I gave over the dual controls to Teddy, so that he might get used to them ready for the crucial test when it must mean either destruction to a Zeppelin, or to ourselves.

Teddy was a first-rate patriot. There was nothing of the milk-and-water type about him, and yet, at the same time, he was nothing of a lady’s man. He was always courteous, humorous, and charming with the fair sex, but he preferred to read and smoke his rather foul briar pipe, than to go out of an evening into the glitter and clatter of London life. But we were friends – firm friends, and he was just as prepared and keen to take the risk as I was.

We found Tonbridge quite easily. Below us what looked like a toy-train was puffing along towards Dover, leaving a white streak of steam behind. For a few minutes I made a short circuit over the town in order to find the line that ran across to Sevenoaks, and at last, distinguishing it, I made my way over that rather scattered place and then struck another railway line at a place marked upon the map as Fawkham, after which I soon picked out the shining river with Gravesend on one bank and Tilbury on the other. I glanced at the altimeter. We were 10,500 feet up. Below us all was misty in the valley of the river. Then over the brown land of Essex I sped forward until I again found another railway line at Brentwood and, following it, soon saw my landmark – one which I need not refer to here, for I have no desire to instruct enemy airmen.

Nothing extraordinary had met my eye. I was used to the patchwork landscape.

Then began a search for a convenient field in which to land.

I came down from ten thousand to a thousand feet in long sweeping circles, examining each grass meadow as I went.

The lower I came, the more easily could I distinguish the pastures and ploughed land and woods.

A train was passing and I noted the direction of the smoke – most important in making a landing. Teddy at my side, as practised as I was myself in flying, had never moved. Through his big goggles he was gazing down, trying to decide upon a landing-place, just as I was.

I banked for a moment. Then put her nose down and then, finding no spot attractive, climbed again.

I did not want to land too near the town, for I had no desire to attract undue attention.

I was trying to find a certain main road, for, truth to tell, I had been up very early that morning consulting my maps.

On that main road were two or three farms in which I hoped I could shelter my machine, just as I had done at Holly Farm.

I suppose we spent perhaps nearly half an hour in the air before, after critical examination, I decided to descend into a large park before a good-sized old Georgian house belonging, no doubt, to some county family.

Parks, provided they have few trees, are always desired by the aviator as landing-places.

Indeed, as I circled round I could plainly see that several figures, attracted by the heavy, roar of my engine, were standing outside watching us.

Two minutes later I brought the machine round to the wind.

Down went her nose – down, down. The air screamed about our ears. The earth rushed up to meet us, as it always seems to do. Truth to tell, by my own fault, I had had a nasty nose-dive, but I righted her and, touching the grass, managed to pull up dead.

Teddy, who had been watching it all, never turned a hair.

Only when I shut off the roar of the engine, he remarked:

“By Jove! Devilish good landing! That nose-dive was rather a nasty one, Claude – wasn’t it?”

And, unstrapping himself, he hopped out and sought his cigarette-case from his hip-pocket, as was his habit.

We were close against the big, rather ugly country house, therefore, leaving the machine, we went up and soon found its owner – a retired colonel of the usual JP type – hard on poachers when on the County Bench, I expect.

Still, he welcomed us warmly and was, we found, quite a good sort.

I asked him to take us aside, and he conducted us to the library, a fine old-fashioned room lined with brown-backed books.

There I told him the truth – of what we were after.

“Well,” said the white-haired old man, looking me up and down, “you seem a pretty keen young fellow, and your friend also. If you are over here on such a mission then I hope you will, both of you, consider yourselves my guests. I’ve a big barn beyond the stables where I can garage your machine quite well.”

Then I told him of the trio who were on their way to the King’s Head, in G – .

“I shall only be too delighted to be their host,” he replied at once. “I know Sir Herbert and Lady Lethmere well, but I don’t believe I’ve ever met their daughter.”

Then he introduced his wife, a rather youngly-dressed woman, whose eyes were “made-up” and the artificiality of whose cheeks were just a trifle too transparent. But artificiality seems fashionable to-day.

We duly put the machine away into the barn and later, when we sat at tea in the drawing-room, the conversation naturally turned upon Zeppelins.

Colonel Cator, for such we had found our host’s name to be, held rather sceptical views regarding the power of aeroplanes to combat airships, and he waxed distinctly humorous as we sat together.

“There have been so many fables told us about aircraft,” declared the erect old man, “that one does not really know what to believe.”

“There have been a good many improvements recently in aircraft of all sorts, so that most of the pre-war types have been already scrapped,” I said.

“Yes, yes, I know,” exclaimed our host. “But what I object is to the fairy-tales that we’ve been told in the past – how we’ve been reassured.”

“But does the past really affect the present very much?” I queried.

“I contend that it does. We should have been told the truth,” he declared emphatically and, rising, he took from beneath a table a large scrap-book.

Then, returning to his chair, he said: “I have here a cutting from The Times of March 20, 1913. I came across it only the other day. Listen – and I’ll read it to you, because it is most illuminating to you airmen.”

And then he read to us as follows: —

“Colonel Seeley, Secretary of State for War, said yesterday: We have decided that the Army should have small dirigibles which could be packed up in boxes, put in motor-lorries or in ships, and sent wherever they are required. These we have got. These dirigibles, I say without hesitation – and all who understand the matter will agree – are superior to any other kind of portable airship. They have various mechanical advantages, which I do not wish to dwell upon, because those concerned believe the secret is our own, enabling them to rise more rapidly in the air, and enabling them, above all, to avoid having to part with hydrogen when they rise, and therefore there is no need for reinforcing the hydrogen when they fall. They have these advantages, which we believe are superior to those of any other nation.”

Then, pausing, the colonel raised his eyes to mine, and, with a merry laugh, asked:

“Now. What do you think of that for a Ministerial statement eh?”

“Perhaps, instead of putting them in boxes, we might have had them put into paper bags, and distributed with pounds of tea?” suggested Teddy. “Why not?”

“But I don’t see how it affects the present situation at all,” I argued. “We are surely much wiser now than we were three years ago.”