The Phantom Airman

The captain and his friends were loud in their protestations and imprecations after their first and futile attempts to rouse the prostrate man, for they believed him to be already dead. They glared at the pseudo caliph, who appeared to be entirely unmoved by the heart-rending spectacle. And if, at that moment, any weapon of offence had remained in their possession, it would certainly have been turned upon the offender, whom they now regarded as a murderer.

But every weapon had been carefully removed from the air-liner and her complement; even the unmounted machine-gun and the one box of ammunition placed aboard on her first voyage, were now in possession of the bandits.

The captain in particular was furious, and he turned upon the German fiercely, shook his fist at him and cried, "One day you will pay for this, sirrah! The arm of Britain is long enough to reach you!"

A mocking laugh was the only reply which the German gave. Then, looking once more at his jewelled watch, he signified that the time for the airship's departure had almost arrived.

"Three minutes more and I shall cut her adrift," he said.

"But the maharajah?" asked the captain. "What can we do with him; we cannot leave his body to the vultures."

"Bah! Take him away with you. He will live again in seven hours; it was only morphine!"

Bewildered, but yet relieved by these words, they quickly ascertained that the prostrate man was not actually dead, and they hurriedly placed him aboard the airship and administered emetics.

"Let us get him away at once," urged the Indian judge; "perhaps the higher altitudes will quickly dissipate the effects of the morphine."

"Are you ready there?" shouted the caliph, who had ridden with his escort up to the central gondola.

"Yes," came the response.

"Then remember, the next time that you invade my dominions without my permission you will not escape so easily. As you know to your cost, the King of the Hamadian desert is able to defend himself and his people, even from the insults of a great power."

The captain made a slight bow, half ironical, in response to this kingly assertion, and asked,

"Is there any communication which your majesty would like to have delivered to my Government?"

"Yes," replied the monarch, drawing from under his loose robe a sealed packet, which he appeared to have had in readiness for the occasion. It was addressed as follows:–

"To Colonel John Tempest, D.S.O., M.C..

Chief Commissioner of the British Aerial

Police, Scotland Yard, London,"

and across the top left-hand corner it was marked "Confidential," and also "To be delivered personally by the Captain of the Air-Liner, Empress of Britain."

The skipper, apparently bewildered for a moment by this strange request, for it seemed to him like a letter from a condemned man to his executioner, looked the packet over for a few seconds. Noting the great red seal on the back, he read the imprint embossed on the huge wafer. It read as follows, and was circular in form:–

"From Sultan von Selim, Air-King of the Hamadian desert," and the crest was a scorpion, with the solitary word in Latin, "Scorpio."

The caliph waited patiently until the captain had examined the exterior of the packet, and recovered from his amazement, and then said, "Before you depart, Captain, you must promise me that you will deliver that packet in person to Colonel Tempest, who is not unknown to me."

The captain did not answer for a few seconds, for he was wondering what new conspiracy was this. He was wondering also whether the conveyance of this packet was not after all the real reason for the forced descent of the airship.

"Do you promise, Captain?" asked his interrogator, looking at him fixedly.

"Yes, I promise."

"On your honour?"

"On my word of honour, I promise to deliver it."

"Then good-bye. I will 'wireless' the patrols to look out for you."

"Thank you," replied the skipper acidly.

And the next moment, seeing that only his own accomplices and reputed subjects were left on the ground, the Sultan gave the order, "Let go!"

So the huge cable was slipped, and the leviathan left her moorings at once. The north-west wind carried her clear of the trees, and, as she had left nearly two tons of her most precious cargo behind, she rose rapidly, then started falteringly on her long journey to Cairo as her two remaining Sunbeam-Maori engines burst into life.

The sun, which had shone with pitiless might upon the Arabian desert that day, was sinking like a huge red ball beneath the horizon when the great air-liner, drifting considerably from her course, but still making progress in her journey towards Cairo, disappeared from the watchers' view.

With strange impartiality, inexplicable in such a robber-bandit, the spoil had been divided amongst the Bedouins, who, to their bewilderment and surprise, were now rich, each one of them, beyond the dreams of avarice. Their gratitude to Allah, the Giver of all Good, and to the great white sheik was unbounded. Never before had their greedy eyes beheld such treasure; never before had they gained a prize so easily; and some of them even wondered whether, after all, Mohammed had not appeared to the Faithful once more in the person of the great white sheik.

Long before midnight, however, the last man, with heavily-laden beast of burden, had disappeared, swallowed up, as it were, by the very sands of the desert, so that, when the full round moon approached the meridian and changed the gold of the desert to silver, not a vestige of man or beast remained. And of the camp, only a few ashes marked the spot where once a fire had burned. The Scorpion, too, had taken its departure for an unknown destination, carrying its mysterious crew far, far away from these burning sands, for the indomitable commander knew only too well that the captain spoke truthfully when he said that the arm of Britain was very long, and could even reach to this wild desert land.

Before his departure, however, Heinrich von Spitzer had sent off his promised message in laconic terms to the Cairo patrols. It ran as follows:–

"Air-liner Empress with damaged engines crossing desert towards Cairo. Lat. 29-50 N., Long. 40-25 E. drifting W.S.W. Wireless deranged. SCORPIO."

"Piece of bad luck, sir!" remarked the commissioner's assistant at Cairo when he received the message.

"H'm! She carries the Indian mail, too," replied his chief.

"Yes, and a good deal more, sir."

"What else does she carry this trip besides passengers and mails?" asked the alert commissioner.

"That big loading of specie, sir, for the Bank of England. Nearly a ton of gold, I believe."

"Phew! And isn't the maharajah of somewhere or other coming on a state visit to the King also?"

"Yes, by Jove, so he is! We had a message this morning saying that he would travel by the Empress."

"Heaven help us if she comes down in the desert with that cargo. The Bedouins would soon make short work of it. The authorities rely too much upon the patrols for these long journeys," said the commissioner.

"We were asked to take particular care over her this trip. The Delhi patrols accompanied her part of the way, and she was all right up to mid-day, but she hasn't spoken to us since. I have sent out one or two messages and have had the patrols ready to go out and meet her, as soon as I heard again from her, giving her position, sir."

"And you've had no further reply till this message came in?" asked the chief.

"No, sir."

"By the way, is her wireless damaged as well as her engine? I didn't notice."

"Yes, sir. The message says: 'Wireless deranged,'" replied the assistant, re-reading from the aerogram.

"Then who the deuce sent the message?"