Title: The Zeppelin Destroyer - Being some Chapters of Secret History
Author: Le Queux, William, 1864-1927
Language: English
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The Zeppelin Destroyer
Being some Chapters of Secret History
By William Le Queux
Published by Hodder and Stoughton. London, New York, Toronto.
This edition dated 1916.

The Zeppelin Destroyer, by William Le Queux.

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THE ZEPPELIN DESTROYER, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

CHAPTER ONE.

OVER A "GASPER."

"To-morrow?  To-morrow, my dear Claude!  Why, there may not be a
to-morrow for you--or for me, when it comes to that--eh?"

"Yes.  You're quite right, old son," was my cheerful reply.  "I'm quite
aware that these experiments are confoundedly dangerous--and, besides,
there are nasty wind-pockets about just now.  I got into a deadly one
yesterday afternoon, just across the line at Mill Hill."

"I saw you," replied my friend Teddy Ashton, a fellow-aviator and chum
at Hendon.  "It gave me a nasty moment.  You had engine-trouble at the
same time."

"Yes," I replied.  "I was up over eight thousand feet when, without a
second's warning, I found myself in a pocket spinning over.  Phew!  If
ever I nearly came to grief, it was at that moment!"

"I was on the lawn, having tea with Betty, and we were watching you.  I
quite expected to see you come plumb down," Teddy said.  "You righted
your old bus splendidly."

"She'll have to have a new dope, I think," was my reply, endeavouring to
turn the conversation into another channel, for I did not care to
discuss my narrow escape from death over the mishap which was certainly
my own fault.

I was standing with Teddy in one of the long work-sheds of the Barwick
Aeroplane Factory at Hendon on that bright morning early in October,
1915.  The wind was light, the barometer high, and both of us had been
up, as we had been testing our monoplanes.

As he stood leaning against a half-finished machine idly smoking a
"gasper"--a cigarette in the airman jargon--he presented a fine picture
of the clean-limbed young Englishman in his wind-proof aviation suit,
with leather cap and ear-pieces, while his goggles had been pushed upon
his brow.

Both of us, "as quirks," had learned to fly at the same school at
Brooklands before the outbreak of war, and both of us were enthusiastic
airmen.

In introducing myself to the reader of this chronicle of fact I suppose
I ought--at the risk of using the first person singular a little too
much--to explain that I, Claude Munro, aged twenty-five, am son of Sir
Reginald Munro, a man well-known as a physician, a prominent prescriber
of pills and powders in Wimpole Street.

On coming down from Cambridge I had read for the bar a short time, but
finding that my inclination was more in the direction of electricity and
mechanics, my indulgent father allowed me to take a course of study at a
Wireless School, where I was not long in learning most of the recent
discoveries in the field of radio-telegraphy.

One Saturday afternoon, about two years before, my father had taken me
in his car to Hendon to see the passenger-flights at two guineas a head,
and the excellent Verrier had taken me up with him.  Immediately I
became "bitten" with aviation, and instantly decided to adopt it as a
profession.

At first the governor--as all governors do--set his face firmly against
such a risky business, but at last I persuaded him to plank down the
fees, and thereupon I began a course of tuition in flying, with the
result that I now owned my own big monoplane upon which I was conducting
certain important experiments, in association with Teddy Ashton.

"See that in the paper this morning about the new German Fokker
monoplane?"  I asked him as we both smoked and rested, our machines
standing side by side outside.

"Of course, my dear old Claude," was his reply.

"It would be one of the jokes of the war if it wasn't such a grim jest.
Remember what they said recently in Parliament--that we held the
supremacy of the air, and that it is maintained."

"All humbug," I declared bluntly.  "Sad though it is to admit it."

"Of course it is!" cried Teddy very emphatically.

"The fact is that the public haven't yet realised that the joke is
against our Government `experts' who now see all their science set at
nought by a rule-of-the-thumb Dutchman who, by the simple process of
putting a big engine into a copy of an obsolete French monoplane, has
given his own country's chief enemy the freedom of the air."

I agreed with him; and his words, I confess, set me thinking.  The
papers had been full of the Fokker aeroplane, of its great superiority
over anything we possessed, and of it as a real peril to our pilots in
Flanders.

"The real fact is," declared Teddy, in the intervals of a deal of
hammering, "that there's nothing extraordinary about the Fokker except
that it is built sensibly for a definite job and does it, while our own
`experts' have tangled themselves and the British aircraft industry in a
web of pseudo-science and political scheming which has resulted in our
lack of the proper machines and engines to fight the Zeppelins."

"Yes," I answered with a sigh.  "You're quite right, Teddy.  But
something _must_ be done.  We must find some means by which to fight the
enemy's dirigibles.  We have a few good aeroplanes, I admit, but, as you
say, those are not the product of the Government factories, but have
been produced by private firms.  Why?  Because airmen have been so badly
let down by their experts."

At that moment a shadow was cast before the door of the shed, and a
bright musical feminine voice cried:

"Hulloa, Claude!  I followed you hard, right from Hertford."

It was Roseye--"Rosie" of the aerodrome!  Roseye Lethmere, daughter of
Sir Herbert Lethmere, was my own well-beloved, whom I had taught to fly,
and who was at that moment perhaps the most notable airwoman in England.

"Really," I exclaimed, as I advanced to meet her.

"Why, I hadn't any idea you were here.  Nobody told me."

"Miss Lethmere is always elusive," Teddy laughed, bowing to her.  "Have
you been up on your own bus, or on Eastwell's?"

"On Mr Eastwell's.  My engine did not run well, so Barnes, his
mechanic, lent me his machine," was her reply.  Then, turning to me, she
said: "I went up only five minutes after you.  I wonder you didn't look
back when you banked over the railway line at Wheathampstead.  I was
just behind you then, though I could not overtake you, as my engine
seemed a little sluggish."

"That doesn't occur very often in Eastwell's bus," remarked Teddy.  "I
flew it last Thursday, and found the 150 Gnome ran perfectly."

"Well, Claude, you outdistanced me altogether," declared my
well-beloved.  "From Hertford, with the wind behind you, you absolutely
shot back.  I thought that Mr Eastwell's machine would outmatch yours,
but, though I put every ounce into the engine, I was hopelessly out of
it.  It hadn't been tuned up well."

"That's curious, Roseye," I replied.  "I had no idea that my bus was any
match for his!  I thought that his Mertonville machine was much faster
than mine--or than yours as a matter of fact."

"To-day mine is out of the running," she laughed.  To you, my reader, I
suppose I ought to describe my own beloved Roseye.  Well, I am not good
at describing women.  As the only son of a blunt, white-haired physician
who having made expert study of all the thousand-and-one ailments of the
eternal feminine, including that affection called "nerves"--mostly the
result of the drug habit, I had heard, from my youth upwards, many
disparaging remarks upon the follies and the unbalance of the mind of
the gentler sex.

This, however, did not prevent me from loving Roseye Lethmere, daughter
of Sir Herbert, who had come into my life quite unexpectedly a year ago.

As she stood there chatting with us, attired in her airwoman's clothes,
her appearance was certainly workwomanlike.  She was dressed in a
wool-lined leather coat, and overall trousers, with a knitted Balaclava
helmet, and over that again a leather skull-cap, the whole tied down
tightly beneath the chin.  A huge khaki woollen muffler was around her
throat, while a pair of unsightly goggles hanging around her neck
completed the picture.  She had followed my advice, I noted, and tied
her muffler very securely around her chin.

How very different she looked at that moment to when I took her--as I so
frequently did--to a play, and afterwards to supper at the Carlton, the
Savoy, or Ciro's.  She was a girl who, on the outbreak of war, had
decided to play her part in the national crisis, and she certainly had
done so.

Three times had she flown across the Channel with me, and three times
had we returned in safety to Hendon.

Indeed, only a week before, she had flown by herself on a British-built
Duperdussin with 100 horse-power Anzani engines from Brooklands across
to France, descending a mile outside Abbeville.  She had had lunch at
the old Tete de Boeuf hotel in that town, and returned, landing safely
at Hendon--a feat that no woman had ever before accomplished.

Roseye Lethmere certainly possessed a character that was all her own.

In her ordinary costume, as a London girl, she was inexpressibly dainty
and extremely well dressed.  Her curiously soft blue eyes, almost
child-like in their purity of expression, were admired everywhere.
Whenever, however, her picture appeared in the papers it was always in
her flying costume.

Most women, when they take up any outdoor exercise, be it hunting,
golfing, strenuous tennis, or sport of any kind, usually acquire a
certain indescribable hardness of feature, a sign by which, when they
sit in the stalls of a theatre, the mere man at once knows them.

But the beauty of Miss Rosie--as she was known at Hendon--in spite of
her many exciting and perilous exploits in the air, was still soft and
sweet, as it should be with any fresh healthy girl of twenty-two.

The workmen started hammering again, fitting a new propeller to a
machine in course of hurried completion for the front, so we all three
went outside, where our own machines stood close together.

Theed, my mechanic--who had been the governor's chauffeur before I took
up flying--was busily testing my engine, and I could hear it missing a
little.

"Hulloa!"  I cried, looking up at a big monoplane at that moment passing
over us.  "Why, Eastwell's up in Thorold's new bus!"

"Yes," answered Roseye.  "I passed quite close to him behind St
Albans."

The October morning was bright and sunny, with a blue, cloudless sky,
just the morning for trial flights and stunts, and, in consequence, two
pupils were out on the aerodrome with their instructors, preparing for
their lesson.

Roseye noticed this, and smiled across at me.  She remembered, probably,
how carefully I used to strap her into the seat, and how, more than
once, she had gasped when we made a nose-dive, or volplaned for an
undesired landing.  Yet, even in those days, she had betrayed no fear in
the air for, apparently, she reposed entire faith in my judgment and my
capabilities at the joy-stick.

We stood watching Eastwell as he banked first on one side, then on the
other, until at last he made a graceful tour of the aerodrome and,
swooping down suddenly, landed quite close to us.

"Morning!" he cried cheerily, as he slowly unstrapped himself and
climbed out of his seat.  "Morning, Miss Lethmere," he added, saluting.
"Well, how does my bus go?  You had a little engine-trouble, hadn't
you?"

"Yes.  I couldn't overtake Mr Munro," she replied, laughing.  "Were you
watching me?"

"Yes.  I've just come back from Cambridge.  I left here this morning as
soon as it was light--" Eastwell, in his aviator's leather jacket, fur
helmet and goggles, presented a tall, gaunt, rather uncouth figure.
Yet, in his ordinary clothes, he was something of a dandy, with light
brown hair, a carefully-trained moustache, and a pair of shrewd grey
eyes.

Roseye had been acquainted with him for over two years, and it was she
who had first introduced us.

They had met at Wiesbaden, where her father, Sir Herbert, had been
taking his annual "cure."  Eastwell had been at the Kaiserhof Hotel
where they had also been staying and, being a young Englishman of means
and leisure, an acquaintanceship had sprung up between them.

Lionel Eastwell was a great lover of music, and for that reason had been
at Wiesbaden, where, in the Kursaal, the programme in the pre-war days
was always excellent.

On their return to London Eastwell called at Cadogan Gardens, and Sir
Herbert had then ascertained that the pleasant young man--who for two
years had taken such a great interest in aviation--was possessed of a
very comfortable income, was a member of the aero club, and lived in a
very snug set of chambers half-way up Albemarle Street.

At the Royal Automobile Club he was also a well-known figure in the
select circle of rather go-ahead airmen who made that institution their
nightly rendezvous.

As a result of hearing Lionel Eastwell speak of the pleasures and
exhilaration of the air, and after watching his flights at Hendon,
Roseye had at last determined to seek the new sensation of aerial
navigation, and in taking her lessons she and I had met.

Airmen and airwomen form a very select coterie practically unknown to
the world outside the aerodrome.  They fly; they risk their lives; they
make their daily experiments with their new engines, new wings, new
airscrews, new strainers, new magnetos, and all sorts of newly-invented
etceteras, all the time risking their lives in a bad nose-dive, or with
a buckled wing.

Our quartette, all of us enthusiasts, and all holding our own views
regarding the British supremacy of aerial navigation in the war, stood
chatting for ten minutes, or more, until turning to Roseye, I said:

"Well, I'm going over to see what Theed is up to."  Then, together, we
left Eastwell to go back to his own machine.

Yet, in that second, a strange thing occurred.  Perhaps I may have been
unduly suspicious--if so, I regret it and offer apology--but I felt
certain somehow that I saw in Roseye's face a look of displeasure that I
should have taken her from the man whose sudden appearance had caused
her countenance to brighten.

And, at the same time, as I glanced surreptitiously at Lionel Eastwell,
while in the act of offering him a "gasper" from my case, I most
certainly saw a strange and distinctly sinister expression--one that
caused me through the next hour to reflect very deeply, and ponder over
its cause.

CHAPTER TWO.

THE MURDER-MACHINES.

An hour later I made another flight in order to try my new gyroscopic
stabiliser, which--for the benefit of those unversed in aerial
navigation--I may say is an invention which incorporates a horizontal
reference plane of accuracy and integrity to which all angles can be
referred.

I flew across to the Thames, and followed the winding silvery streak
with dotted blotches of houses up to Windsor and back, finding that the
invention rendered my machine a platform which was not only steady, but
was also held in constant relation to the horizontal.

That morning was ideal for flying and, on my return, I was not surprised
to find that both Teddy Ashton and Roseye were up again.  Indeed, as I
brought my machine to earth I saw Roseye flying at a great height coming
in from the south.

Two or three of the school-buses were up, circling the aerodrome,
including an unwieldy one that always reminded us of poor Cody's
"cathedral."

As soon as I landed, Eastwell came across again, eager to inquire how
the new gyroscope arrangement had worked, for, like myself, he was a
great enthusiast over all new notions, however wild they might be.
Indeed, I believe he had tried every newfangled idea produced during the
past couple of years.

I having pronounced it good, he begged me to let him try it, and a few
moments later he was in the pilot's seat.  Then after Theed had spun the
propeller, our friend rose quickly, and went out to meet my well-beloved
on her return.

Roseye, seeing my bus, thought I was flying it, but as she circled
gracefully down she realised at last that it was Eastwell, and both
machines, after making several fine circuits of the aerodrome, came to
earth almost at the same moment.

I had been watching Roseye.  For a woman, she was certainly a most
intrepid flyer.  Crossing to her, I glanced at her self-registering
altimeter and saw that she had been up over eight thousand feet.

"I've been across to Dorking," she laughed gaily, as she sprang out of
her seat, raised her goggles and pulled off her heavy leather gloves.
"I followed the railway from Dorking along to Guildford and met two men
up from Farnborough.  At Guildford I kept over the South Western line to
Surbiton, and then steered back by compass."

She also inquired how my stabiliser had worked, and I told her that
Lionel had been trying it.

Later, Eastwell was full of most glowing praise of the new invention,
after which I put my machine back into the hangar and, taking Roseye
with me in my two-seater, deposited her at home in Cadogan Gardens in
time for lunch.

Then, as was my habit, I went on to the Royal Automobile Club in Pall
Mall, and, after my meal, sat in the window of the big smoking-room
chatting with three of the boys--airmen all of them.

George Selwyn, a well-known expert on aircraft and editor of an aircraft
journal, had been discussing an article in that morning's paper on the
future of the airship.

"I contend," he said firmly, "that big airships are quite as necessary
to us as they are to Germany.  We should have ships of the Zeppelin and
Schutte-Lanz class.  The value of big airships as weapons of defence
cannot be under-estimated.  If we had big airships it is certain that
Zeppelin raids--more of which are expected, it seems--would not be
unopposed, and, further, we should be able to retaliate.  We've got the
men, but we haven't got the airships--worse luck!  The Invisible Hand of
Germany has deceived us finely!"

"That's so," I chimed in.  "The Germans can always soothe their own
people by saying that, however dear food is and all that, yet they can't
be strafed from above--as we unfortunately are."

"I quite agree," declared Charlie Digby, a well-known pilot, and holder
of a height-record.  A tall, clean-shaven, clean-limbed fellow he was
lying back in the deep leather armchair with his coffee at his side.
"But is it not equally true that, if we had aeroplanes of the right
construction and enough of them, we could give the night-raiders in
Zeppelins a very uncomfortable time?"

"Quite so.  I'm all in favour of suitable aeroplanes," Selwyn admitted.
"We must upset this Zeppelin menace by some means or other.  Here we
are--the greatest and most powerful nation the world has ever seen,
worried three times a month by the threat of these German gas-bags!  It
is quite possible to obtain such aeroplanes as would enable us to fight
the Zepps.  As somebody wrote in the paper the other day regarding the
future range of the naval big guns, it is useless to send up
half-trained quirks on soggy seaplanes accompanied by still less trained
spotting officers equipped with short-range wireless which cannot
receive.  The gun-spotter in a Fleet action should be a fully trained
and experienced gunnery-Jack, seated in a comfortable observation-car
where charts and navigating instruments can be used with accuracy.
Therefore, if we can't get the proper aeroplanes, we must have airships
for the purpose, as they are at present the only apparent vehicle for
scientific gunnery in a Fleet action."

With this we all agreed.

"Another point," I said, "was advanced by a clever writer in the
_Aeroplane_ the other day.  It was pointed out that in the matter of
fighting Zeppelins, however good aeroplane patrols may be, they must
depend on their eyes to find enemy airships.  One may silence engines,
but one cannot silence air, and, though one may shut off and glide
slowly, yet there will always be enough whistling of wind round wires
and struts to wash out any noise of airship engines, gears, and
propellers, unless they are very close indeed.  An airship, on the other
hand, can shut off and float.  There may be some creaking of the
girders, and stays, but there will be no continuous whistling.
Therefore an airship makes a perfect listening-post for enemy aircraft
of all kinds."

"I'm quite sure of that," declared Charlie Digby from the depths of his
chair.  "If we are to win the war we must fight the Zeppelin.  We want a
real good man at the head of affairs and we should allow him a free
hand, and put a stop to the endless committees and conferences and
confabulations which have been the curse of this country in every
department since war began--and before.  Let that man have the advice of
all the specialists he may require, and let him encourage people with
ideas to offer their advice, instead of turning them down, as is the
custom of most people in commanding positions."

Those same sentiments I had read in one of the papers that very day.

I said nothing more.  It was time for me to be off, so I rose and left,
having an appointment with Teddy Ashton.

As I passed through the big hall of the club I reflected how true were
Digby's words.  If we were to win the war we must fight the Zeppelins
effectively.

_But how_?

That same question had occupied the minds of both Teddy and myself for
many months, long indeed before the first Zeppelin had crossed the North
Sea.  Both of us had realised the deadly peril of those huge
murder-machines against which we would be utterly powerless.

During the first year of war the public had laughed at the idea of
Zeppelins coming over to drop bombs on undefended towns, or making an
air raid upon London.  The popular reply to anyone who ventured to
express fear of such a thing as had been openly threatened in the German
Press was: "Bah! they haven't come yet!"

But at last they had come, and they had dropped bombs upon inoffensive
citizens.  There were some writers already crying, "Never mind the
Zeppelins!"  In the sluggish apathy which refused to worry as to the
state of our air-defences they discovered a sort of heroism!  "Surely,"
they exclaimed, "civilians, including women and children, ought to be
really glad and proud to share the risks of their sons or brothers in
the trenches."

A poor argument surely!  The unarmed people of London and the provinces,
when summoned to confront the hail of fire and death, had showed an
imperturbable coolness worthy to compare with the valour of the soldiers
in the field.  On that point, testimony was unanimous.  The people had
been splendid.  But they expected something more than passive heroism.
It was so very easy to shut one's eyes to the ghastly record of
suffering a hundred miles off, easy, as somebody had said, to doze under
the hillside with Simple, Sloth and Presumption.

Long ago I had agreed with Teddy that some means must be found to fight
effectively the German airships now that anti-aircraft guns had proved
unreliable for inflicting much damage, except in a haphazard way.  In
conjunction, therefore, we had been actively conducting certain secret
experiments in order to devise some plan which might successfully combat
the terror of the night.

Zeppelins had flown over the coast towns and hurled bombs upon its
defenceless inhabitants.  Each raid had been more and more audacious in
its range, and in its general scheme.  London and the cities of the
Midlands had been, more than once in sight of the enemy's airships.  Yet
a certain section of the Press were still pooh-poohing the real
significance of the attempt to demoralise us at home.

Out in St James's Square--on the cab-rank which the Club had taken for
its own--I jumped into my car and drove away down to Gunnersbury, beyond
Chiswick, where, in a market-garden, I rented a long shed of corrugated
iron, a place wherein, with Teddy, I conducted the experiments which we
were making into the scientific and only way by which Zeppelins could be
destroyed.

While the world had been wondering, we had worked, and in our work
Roseye constantly assisted us.  It was hard and secret work, entailing
long and patient study, many experiments, and sometimes flights
necessitating much personal risk.

Failures?  Oh! yes, we had many!  Our failures were, indeed, of daily
occurrence.  More than once, when we thought ourselves within an ace of
success, we found that we were faced with the usual failure.

Many, alas! were the disappointments.  Yet we all three had one goal in
view, keeping it ever before us--the fighting of the Zeppelin.

Little did we dream of the strange, dramatic events which were to result
from our secret scientific investigations, undertaken in all our
enthusiasm.

Could we but have foreseen what the future held for us--or the power put
forth against us by the Invisible Hand!

CHAPTER THREE.

THE BROWN DEAL BOX.

Six days had gone by.

The weather having continued bright and fine, with a high and steady
barometer, all of us at Hendon, quirks and pilots alike, had been up on
many occasions.

In secret, I had placed upon my machine--a Breguet monoplane with a 200
horse-power Salmson--another new invention which, with Teddy's aid, I
had devised, and was testing.  We were keeping the affair a profound
secret.  Nobody knew of the contrivance evolved out of my knowledge of
wireless, save we two, Roseye and my mechanic Harry Theed.

Carefully concealed from the eye it was carried in a large locked box,
while, as further precaution, after testing it each time, I put it on my
car and took it away to my chambers with me, for we were not at all
anxious for any of the mixed crowd at the aerodrome to pry into what we
were doing, or to ascertain the true direction of our constant
experiments.

One afternoon down at Gunnersbury Teddy, in mechanic's brown overalls,
was busily engaged repairing a portion of the apparatus which I had
broken that morning owing to an unfortunately bad landing.

To the uninitiated the long shed with its two lathes, its tangle of
electric wires across the floor, the great induction coils--some of them
capable of giving a fourteen-inch spark--the small dynamo with its
petrol engine, and other electrical appliances, would no doubt have been
puzzling.

Upon the benches stood some strange-looking wireless condensers,
radiometers, detectors and other objects which we had constructed.  Also
dressed in overalls, as was my chum and fellow-experimenter, I was
engaged in assisting him to adjust a small vacuum tube within that
heavy, mysterious-looking wooden box which I daily carried aloft with me
in the fuselage of my aeroplane.

We smoked "gaspers" and chatted merrily, as we worked on, until at last
we had completed the job.

"Now let's put a test on it again--eh, Claude?" my friend suggested.

"Right ho!"  I acquiesced.

It was already dusk, for the repair had taken us nearly four hours, and
during the past half-hour we had worked beneath the electric light.

The shed was on one side of the large market-garden, at a considerable
distance from any house.  Indeed, as one stood at the door there spread
northward several flat market-gardens and orchards, almost as far as the
eye could reach.

Presently, when we had adjusted the many heavily-insulated wires, I
started the dynamo, and on turning on the current a bright blue blinding
flash shot, with a sharp fierce crackling, across the place.

"Gad! that's bad!" gasped Teddy, pale in alarm.  "Something's wrong!"

"Yes, and confoundedly dangerous to ourselves and to the petrol--eh?"  I
cried, shutting off the dynamo instantly.

"Phew!  It was a real narrow shave!" remarked Teddy.  "One of the
narrowest we've ever had!"

"Yes, my dear fellow, but it tells us something," I said.  "We've made
an accidental discovery--that spark shows that we can increase our power
a thousandfold, when we like."

"It has, no doubt, given the wireless operators at the Admiralty, at
Marconi House, and elsewhere a very nasty jar," laughed Teddy.  "They'll
wonder what's up, won't they?"

"Well, we can't help their troubles."  I laughed.

"I expect we've jammed them badly," Teddy said.  "Look the aerial is
connected up!"

"By Jove! so it is?"  I said.

I saw what I had not noticed before, that the network of phosphor-bronze
aerial wires strung beneath the roof of the shed had remained connected
up with the coils from an experiment we had conducted on the previous
afternoon.

"I'll pump Treeton about it to-morrow.  He'll be certain to have heard
if there has been any unusual signals at Marconi House," I said.
"They'll no doubt believe that spark to be signals from some new
Zeppelin!"

"No doubt.  But we may thank our stars that we're safe.  Both of us
could very easily have been either struck down, or blown up by the
petrol-tank.  We'll have to exercise far more caution in the future,"
declared Teddy.

Caution!  Why, Teddy had risked his life in the air a hundred times in
the past four months, flying by day and also by night, and experimenting
with that apparatus of ours by which we hoped to defy the Zeppelin.

Those were no days for personal caution.  The long dark shadow of the
Zeppelin had been over London.  Women and babes in arms had been blown
to pieces in East Anglia, on the north-east coast, and every one knew,
from the threats of the Huns, that worse was intended to follow.

Our searchlights and aerial guns had been proved of little use.  London,
the greatest capital of the civilised history, the hub of the whole
world, seemed to lie at the mercy of the bespectacled night-pirate who
came and went as he pleased.

As is usual, the public were "saying things"--but were not acting.  Both
Teddy and I had foreseen this long ago, for both of us had realised to
the full the deadly nature of the Zeppelin menace.  It was all very well
for a Cabinet Minister to assure us on March 17, 1915, that "Any hostile
aircraft, airships, or aeroplanes which reached our coast during the
coming year would be promptly attacked in superior force by a swarm of
very formidable hornets."

Events had shown that the British authorities at that time did not allow
sufficiently for the great height at which Zeppelins could travel, or
for the fact that, while the airship could operate successfully at
night-time, darkness was the least suitable time for aeroplanes in the
stage of development which they had reached, on account of the
difficulties of starting and of landing in the dark, as well as of
seeing or hearing the airship from a machine flying aloft.

The German Government and the German people had thrown their fullest
energies into the development of aircraft for war.  Unfortunately we had
not, and it is not too much to say that, during the first few months of
the war, the responsible authorities in this country did not take the
aerial menace seriously.

We, as practical airmen, had taken it up seriously--very seriously, and,
as result, had devoted all our time and all our limited private means--
for my governor was not too generous in the matter of an allowance--
towards combating the rapidly increasing peril of air attack.

The first German attempt had been on Christmas Day in the previous year.
As I happened to witness it, it had fired me with determination.

Shall I ever forget the excitement of that day.  I had gone down the
Thames to spend Christmas with my old friend, Jack Watson, of the Naval
Flying Corps, when, under cover of a light fog, a German airman suddenly
appeared.

We first saw him over the Estuary, slightly to the south of us, flying
at a height that we estimated at about 9,000 feet.  There was great
excitement.  Anti-aircraft guns at once opened on him, but they failed
to hit him.  Lost to our view in a mist, he was not seen again until
well up the river, and from the reports afterwards published it seems
that fire was once more opened on him from our guns.  Rising higher to
escape our shells, he made a complete half-circle.  By now, several
British aeroplanes were in pursuit, and the German, seeing that it was
hopeless to attempt to go farther, turned back.  Thousands of people had
a good view of this--the first real air-battle on the British coast.
Shells were bursting in the air apparently all round the German.  Time
after time it seemed that he had been hit, yet time after time he
escaped.  Men could not fail to admire the skill with which he handled
his machine.  At one point a sudden dip of the aeroplane seemed to show
that a shot had got home.  Still, however, according to what I heard
afterwards, he kept on, circling, dodging, twisting, climbing and diving
with almost incredible swiftness to escape his pursuers.  He made
straight for the sea--and escaped.  Weeks afterwards a rumour was
received that some fishermen had found a body away out in the sea which
was believed to be that of the German airman, but no satisfactory
confirmation was ever published.

It was that incident which first set me thinking of how to combat
hostile aircraft.  At once I thought of aeroplane versus aeroplane, but
when three weeks later, two Zeppelins came over to the east coast to
reconnoitre, and dropped nine bombs, blowing to pieces two old people,
then my attention was turned towards the Zeppelin, and in Teddy Ashton I
found a ready and enthusiastic assistant.

This raid, and those which followed on points on the north-east coast,
small as their immediate results were, yet demonstrated one thing.  The
German Press proclaimed that German genius had at last ended the legend
that England was invulnerable owing to her insularity.  An English
writer had pointed out that it was certainly proved that the seas no
longer protected England from attack.  She was no longer an island.
Should she hope to keep her shores inviolate, and to allow her people to
live in the safety that they had enjoyed for so many centuries, she must
be prepared to meet invaders from the sky, as well as on the water.
Both Teddy and myself saw that the coming of the German airship was the
beginning of a new chapter in the history of this country.

The real German defence was summed up in a semi-official message
published, which read: "The German nation has been forced by England to
fight for her existence, and cannot be forced to forego legitimate
self-defence, and will not do so, relying upon her good right."

Her good right!  Had Germany a right to drop bombs blindly on open
villages, and kill our women and babes at night?

That had fired us both, and the result had been that long shed, and the
great mass of electrical apparatus it contained.

Sometimes, when I begged more money from my father for the purposes of
those experiments, he had grumbled, yet always when I pointed out what
Teddy and I were actually doing, he was ready again to sign a further
cheque.

Teddy was, of course, richer than myself.  His father had been a
cotton-weaver who had lived in Burnley, and had died leaving his whole
fortune to his only son.  Therefore my friend was possessed of
considerable means, and had it not been so, I fear that we should never
have been able to establish such an extensive plant, or go to the big
expenses which we had so often to incur.

The secrets of that shed of ours had to be well guarded.  Our
night-watchman was a retired police-sergeant, John the father of my
faithful mechanic, Harry Theed, and in him we reposed the utmost
confidence.

"If anyone ever wants to get into this 'ere place, sir," old Theed often
said to me, "then they'll have to put my lights out first--I can assure
you."

"Well," Teddy exclaimed presently, as he slowly lit a fresh cigarette.
"Let's adjust things a bit better, and we'll then try how she goes--away
out on the pole.  It's getting quite dark enough to see--especially with
your glasses."

"Right you are," I said, and then, after another ten minutes of
manipulation with the wires, during which I "cut out" the aerial and
several big glass-and-tin-foil condensers, all was ready for the
experiment.

Teddy had drawn a heavy wooden bench in front of the door, and upon it I
placed the big box of brown-stained deal which contained our mysterious
apparatus from which we both expected such great things.  Indeed, that
curious machine, had just escaped bringing upon us instant death.

Yet that mishap to which we had been accidentally so near had revealed
several things to me, causing me to reflect upon certain crucial and
technical points which, hitherto, I had not considered.

In that square, heavy box, connected up by its high-tension wires to
three of the big induction coils upon the table was, we believed, stored
a power by which the Zeppelins could be successfully destroyed and
brought to earth.

It was nearly dark when I opened the door of the shed situated opposite
to where I had placed the box, and looked out to ascertain if anyone was
about, as we wished for no prying eyes to witness our experiment.

I walked out, and around the building, but nobody was near.  Then, when
I returned to the door, I stood for a moment gazing away across the wide
area of market-gardens to where, perhaps half a mile distant, stood a
high flag-pole which had been erected for me a couple of years before,
and which had, before the war, borne my wireless aerial.

The little white hut near by I had built, and until the outbreak of war,
when Post Office engineers had come and seized my private station, I had
spent many hours there each evening reading and transmitting messages.

The pole, in three sections, which in the falling darkness could only
just be discerned, was about eighty feet in height and stayed by eight
steel guys, each of which was in three sections connected together by
green-glazed porcelain insulators, so that any leakage of electrical
current could not go to earth.  Affixed to the pole and protruding some
two feet above it was a copper lightning-conductor with four points, an
accessory which I had had put up recently for experimental purposes.

"Nobody's about," I said to Teddy when I returned.  "Will you run the
dynamo, if all is in order?"

Then, after a final examination of the various electrical connexions, he
started the engine and the dynamo began to hum again.

I drew over a switch at the side of the box, when a loud crackling was
heard within--a quenched-spark of enormous power.  Afterwards, I quickly
seized my binoculars and going out through the open door, taking great
care not to pass before the lens,--where in the place of glass was a
disc of steel--something like that of a big camera, forming the end of
the box, I focussed my glasses eagerly upon the flagstaff.

"Hurrah!  Teddy!"  I cried in glee.  "It works--Gad! come and look!  At
last!  _We have it at last_!"

Next moment, my friend was eagerly at my side, while at the same instant
we heard a light footstep and Roseye, in her big motor-coat, stood
unexpectedly before us.

"It works!  Roseye!  It works, darling!  Mind!  Don't pass in front of
the box.  Do be careful!"  I cried in warning, while at the same time
Teddy Ashton, with the binoculars at his eyes, gasped:

"By Jove, Claude!  It's wonderful.  Yes!  You're right!  _We have
success at last_!"

CHAPTER FOUR.

CONCERNS THE SECRET.

In our eagerness, Roseye and I set out to walk towards the pole, leaving
Teddy in charge of the apparatus.

To approach the spot, we had to leave the market-garden and take a road
lined by meagre cottages, then at last, skirting two orchards and yet
another market-garden, we came out upon a second road, which we crossed,
and at last found ourselves at the disused wireless-hut.

There a strange spectacle greeted our eyes for, the darkness having by
that time become complete, we saw, around the lightning-conductor on the
pole and over the steel stays, blue electric sparks scintillating.

"Look, darling!"  I cried.  "See what we have at last produced by the
unseen directive current!"

"Yes," replied my well-beloved.  "Look at the sparks!  How pretty they
are!  Why--they seem to be jumping across the insulators from one
stretch of wire-rope to the other!"

"That effect is exactly what Teddy and I have for so long laboured to
produce," was my answer, as I stood there fascinated by the sparks and
the slight crackling which reached our ears where we stood.

The fact was that though our apparatus was half a mile away, yet upon
those steel strands, as well as upon the copper lightning-conductor, the
electric waves which we were discharging--a new development of the
discovery of Heinrich Hertz--was such as to spark over all the
intervening gaps, even though the space where the insulators were
inserted was quite three inches.

It was a phenomenon such as had never before been witnessed by any
experimenter in electricity.  The theories I had formed and so often
discussed with Teddy were now proved to be quite sound, for they had
resulted in the construction of that apparatus which must, I knew, be
most deadly to any Zeppelin.

The sparks, as we watched them, suddenly ceased.

For a moment I stood surprised, yet next instant realised that Teddy
had, no doubt, some very good reason for stopping the engine.  Somebody
might have come upon the scene, and we were always extremely cautious
that nobody should know in what we were engaged.  The neighbours knew us
as airmen, and believed we were engaged in making some kind of new
propellers.

What I had seen in those few minutes, the flashing crackling sparks
running over the surface of those porcelain insulators and, indeed, over
part of the wooden pole--for it happened to have been raining until an
hour before, and all the surfaces were damp--was, to me, sufficient to
cause me to hold my breath in excitement.

"We have made a great and most important discovery to-day, Roseye," I
said as calmly as I could, as together we walked back to the shed.
"This discovery is undreamed of by Germany.  It will give us power over
any Zeppelin which dares to come to our shores, providing that we can
approach sufficiently near."

"Ah! if you can," replied the girl at my side.  "No doubt we shall
increase the range," I replied.  "We have, this evening, established the
one most important fact that our apparatus is really capable of
directing the rays, and that between metal and metal we can now, as
Hertz endeavoured to, set up an electric spark from a distance."

"You certainly have done that--but I don't yet see the trend of your
argument, Claude.  I know I'm only a woman and unversed in
technicalities, so please forgive me, won't you?"

"Well," I said as we walked, my arm linked in hers.  "First, as you
know, a Zeppelin is constructed mostly of aluminium, its stays and
practically all its rigid parts are of that metal except some of light
steel.  It consists of a number of ballonets filled with highly
inflammable gas, and around those ballonets are ribs of aluminium and
steel.  There must be joints in these ribs, and over those joints we
have now proved that we can create sparks from a considerable distance.
From the ballonets there is a constant leakage of gas, therefore if we
charge the aluminium and steel so that they spark wherever there is the
slightest gap we shall ignite that escaping gas and cause the whole
airship to explode with terrific force.  Do I explain it clearly?"

"Quite, Claude," was her slow, thoughtful reply.  "I see now in what
direction all these wonderful and patient experiments have been made.
To-night you have certainly produced sparks."

"And ere long I hope we shall increase our range, and be able to do
without half the current and all its consequent paraphernalia," was my
confident reply.  "I'm certain," I said, "as certain as we are walking
here together, that we have at last established a sound means of
protecting Great Britain against Zeppelin raids."

"I hope you have, dear," Roseye replied.  "Oh! what a great thing it
will be for the country.  You and Teddy will deserve monuments--if you
really can succeed."

"We _shall_ succeed, darling--with your assistance.  I'm confident of
that!"

"I--how can I help?"

"In many ways.  You've already assisted us enormously," I said.  "Teddy
was only saying so to-day," and I gripped her arm more tightly, as we
turned the corner and approached the shed where Ashton was, we knew,
awaiting us.

"Splendid, my dear fellow!"  I cried as we re-entered.  "Sparking
beautifully, all over--like fireworks!"

"Pretty dangerous fireworks!" my friend remarked.  "I cut off the
current just now."

"Yes," I said.  "Why?"

"Well, do you know, old chap, I thought I heard somebody about!" he
replied.  "Even with the dynamo running I fancied I overheard voices.
Therefore I cut off at once, and went outside to see.  Strangers seemed
to be somewhere at the back."

"Did you find anyone?"  Roseye asked.

"Nobody--yet I'm quite certain I heard voices," he insisted.

"Some of the men from the market-garden perhaps," I remarked.

"I don't think so," was Teddy's reply.

"Why not?"  I demanded in surprise.

"Well--because what I heard--and I tell you, Claude, I heard it quite
distinctly--was a sudden exclamation of surprise."

"Surprise!"

"Yes.  As though somebody had made an unexpected discovery," Teddy said.
"I had just been watching the effect on the pole through your glasses,
and had returned inside when I heard an exclamation, followed by some
quick words of surprise that I could not catch.  It was a man's voice."

"Surely there could not be anybody else watching the sparking upon the
pole!"  I exclaimed in quick apprehension.

"That's just what I believe has happened," Ashton replied seriously.
"We've been watched--as I suspected we were."

"You've said so all along, I know."

"And now I'm quite convinced of it.  And whoever has watched us making
our experiments now knows that to-night our efforts have been crowned
with success."

"Well," I remarked after a pause.  "If what you say is true, Teddy, we
shall have to be very wary in future.  I know there are a great many
unscrupulous persons who would be ready to go to any length in order to
learn this secret discovery of ours which, when fully developed, will, I
feel convinced, mean the buckling-up of the Zeppelin menace."

"That's quite true, Claude," Roseye declared.  "At Hendon and elsewhere
there are, I know, a number of men intensely jealous of your success,
and of the one or two ideas which you have patented, and which are now
adopted in the construction of our military aeroplanes."

"It's really astonishing how many enemies one makes quite
unintentionally!" declared Teddy, leaning against the bench.  "Claude
has more than I have, I believe--and I never disguise from myself that
I've got a really fine crop."

"Only the other day, when Lionel dined with us, he was speaking to dad
about spies," Roseye said.  "He told us that he felt sure that we had
men in our air-service who sent every new development and idea to
Germany.  Do you think that's really a fact?"

"A fact!"  I echoed.  "Why, dearest, of course it is!  We've seen the
result of it many times.  As soon as we had that integral propeller the
Germans knew, and copied us; the secret of Jack Pardon's new dope was
known in a few days, and the enemy are using it on every one of their
machines to-day.  Nothing is secret from those brutes."

"But who does all this?" asked Roseye.

"Why, what I call the Invisible Hand," was my reply.  "The Invisible
Hand was established in our midst in about 1906, when the Kaiser sat
down and craftily prepared for war.  He saw himself faced by the problem
of the great British power and patriotism, and knew that the Briton
would fight every inch for his liberty.  Therefore the All-Highest Hun--
the man who will be held up to universal damnation for all time--
proceeded to adopt towards us the principle of dry-rot in wood.  He
started a system of sending slowly, but very surely, his
insect-sycophants to burrow into the beam of good British oak which had
hitherto supported our nation.  That beam, to-day, is riddled by these
Teutonic worms--insects which, like the book-worm, are never seen, yet,
directed by the Invisible Hand, are only known by their works."

"Then you think there really are spies at Hendon?"

"Of that I'm quite certain," was my reply.  "We all know that there are
spies at every aerodrome--while in the higher ranks those who control
our air-services, though patriotic enough, seem to suffer by reason of
the still higher control which divides responsibility."

"Have any spies been lurking about here to-night?" asked Roseye very
anxiously.

"That is my firm conviction," was Teddy's reply to her.  "I believe that
there have been two strangers here.  One was, perhaps, gazing through
his glasses at the pole and, seeing in the darkness the sparking over
the insulators set in the steel guys, ejaculated the natural expression
of surprise that I overheard.  But they got away noiselessly, and all my
search failed to discover them."

"Well--we must be very wary, my dear Teddy," I repeated.  "They must not
get at this secret of ours, otherwise from the gondola of a Zeppelin
they will be able to use the invisible force against any of our
aeroplanes in a stronger and greater degree than we could ever hope to
do it.  Then we ourselves would be destroyed by the secret power we have
invented."

"They shall never know the secret from me," was my friend's fierce
reply.  "Only we three know it--while Theed has, of course, learnt
something.  That could, not be helped."

"We must not forget the words I read out to you the other day from the
_Berliner Tageblatt_," I replied.  "That paper said: `The fires and
devastation caused by our Zeppelin squadron in England represented a
victory greater and more important than could be achieved in a single
battle.'  That," I added, "is the triumphant boast of Major Moraht,
Germany's most prominent military critic."

"Yes, and it went further," exclaimed Teddy, turning to Roseye.  "The
paper declared that if the Germans were as brutal as they were accused
of being, their naval airship squadron could long ago, in memory of the
Baralong, have set London afire at all four of her corners."

"That's just what we intend to prevent," I declared very emphatically.
"That is what, notwithstanding the efforts of prowling strangers who are
seeking to know in what direction our experiments are being conducted,
we intend to achieve.  To-night, Roseye, we have made one great and
astounding discovery--a discovery which has placed within our hands a
power which Germany, with all her science and investigation, little
dreams.  We now know the true secret which will eventually prove the
undoing of the Kaiser and his barbarous hordes."

"Yes, dear," was my well-beloved's reply.  "At all hazards, no spy of
Germany must be allowed to wrest this secret from us."

"But they are clever--devilishly cunning and entirely unscrupulous.  The
Invisible Hand, well provided with money, lurks everywhere, ready to
grasp what it can in the interest of our octopus enemies," I declared
warningly.  "Therefore let us be ever on the alert--ever watchful and
mindful, in order to avert the relentless talons with which this unknown
and Invisible Hand is furnished."

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE RAID ON LONDON.

It was the night of the fourteenth of October, in the year 1915.

Sir Herbert and Lady Lethmere, with Roseye--who looked charming in
pink--were dining _en famille_ in Cadogan Gardens.  The only two guests
were Lionel Eastwell and myself.

"Terrible--is it not?"  Lady Lethmere remarked to me, as I sat on her
right.  "We were at the Lyric Theatre when the Zeppelins came last
night.  We heard the guns firing.  It was most alarming.  They must have
caused damage in London somewhere.  Isn't it too awful?"

"And at other places, I fear," remarked Sir Herbert, a fine outspoken,
grey-haired, rather portly man, who had crowned his career as a
Sheffield steel manufacturer by receiving a knighthood.  He spoke with
the pleasant burr of the north country.

"Well, the noise of the guns was terrific," his wife went on.
"Fortunately there was no panic whatever in the theatre.  The people
were splendid.  The manager at once came on the stage and urged us all
to keep our seats--and most people did so.  But it was most alarming--
wasn't it, Herbert?"

"Yes, dear, it really was," replied her husband, who, turning to me,
asked: "What were you doing at that time, Munro?"

"Well, Sir Herbert, to tell the truth I happened to be out at Hendon
with my friend Ashton, preparing for a flight this morning.  I got hold
of a military biplane which had just been finished and had only had its
last tests that afternoon, but as I had no bombs, and not even a rifle,
I was unable to go up."

"And if you had gone?"  Eastwell chimed in.  "I fear, Claude, that you
would never have reached them in time.  They flew far too high, and
were, I understand, moving off before our men could get up.  Our Flying
Corps fellows were splendid, but the airships were at too great an
altitude.  They rose very high as they approached London--according to
all reports."

"And the reports are pretty meagre," I remarked.  "I only know that I
was anxious and eager to go up, but as I had not the necessary defensive
missiles it was utterly useless to make the attempt."

"Nevertheless, I believe our anti-aircraft guns drove them off very
quickly, didn't they?"  Lionel asked.

"Not before they'd done quite enough damage and killed innocent old
persons and non-combatants.  Then they went away, and bombed other
defenceless towns as they passed--the brutes!" said Lady Lethmere.

"And writers in to-day's papers declare that all this is really of no
military significance," remarked Sir Herbert, glancing fiercely across
the table, a stout, red-faced man, full of fiery fight.

"Military significance is an extremely wide term," I ventured to remark.
"London heard the bombs last night.  To-day we are no longer outside
the war-zone.  We used, in the good old Victorian days, to sing
confidently of our `tight little island.'  But it is no longer tight.
It seems to me that it is very leaky--and its leakage is towards those
across the North Sea who have for so long declared themselves our
friends.  Friends!  I remember, and not so very long ago, standing on
the Embankment and watching the All-Highest Kaiser coming from the
Mansion House with a huge London crowd cheering him as their friend."

"Friend!" snorted Sir Herbert.  "He has been far too clever for us.  He
has tricked us in every department of the State.  Good King Edward knew;
and Lord Roberts knew, but alas! our people were lulled to sleep by the
Kaiser's pretty speeches to his brave Brandenburgers and all the rest,
and his pious protests that his only weapon was the olive branch of
peace."

"Yet Krupp's and Ehrhardt's worked on night and day," I said.  "Food,
metals, money and war-materials were being collected each month and
stored in order to prepare for the big blow for which the Emperor had
been so long scheming and plotting."

"Yes, truly the menace of the Zeppelin is most sinister," said Roseye
across the table.  "How can we possibly fight it?  We seem to be
powerless!  Our lawyers are busy making laws and fining people for not
creeping about in the darkness at night, and asking us to save so as to
pay ex-ministers their big pensions, but what can we do?"

"Rather ask whom can we trust?"  I suggested.

"But, surely, Claude, there must arise very soon some real live man who
will show us the way to win the war?" asked Roseye.

I drew a long breath.  She knew our secret--the secret of that long dark
shed out at Gunnersbury which was watched over at night by the sturdy
old Theed, father of my mechanic, he being armed with a short length of
solid rubber tyre from the wheel of an old disused brougham--about the
best weapon of personal defence that could ever be adopted.  A blow from
that bit of flexible rubber would lay out a man senseless, far better
than any iron bar.

"Well," said Sir Herbert, re-entering our discussion.  "The Zeppelin
peril must be grappled with--but who can enter the lists?  You airmen
don't seem to be able to combat it at all!  Are aeroplanes too slow--or
what?"

"No, Sir Herbert," I replied.  "That's not the point.  There are many
weaknesses in the aeroplane, which do not exist in the big airship--the
cruiser of the air.  We are only the butterflies--or perhaps hornets, as
the Cabinet Minister once termed us--but I fear we have not yet shown
much sting."

"We may, Claude!" interrupted Roseye with a gay laugh.

"Let's hope we can," I said.  "But all these new by-laws are, surely,
useless.  Let's hit the Hun in his home.  That's my point of view.  We
can do it--if only we are allowed."

"I'm quite sure of that, Claude," Roseye declared.  "There are lots of
flying-men who, if given bombs to-morrow, would go up and cross to the
enemy aircraft centres in Belgium or Schleswig and drop them--even at
risk of being shot down."

"Well, Sir Herbert," I ventured, laughing, "the situation is not without
its humour.  I don't know whether it has ever occurred to you that, in
order not to unduly alarm the public, we may yet have certain
regulations posted upon our hoardings that may prohibit Zeppelin
commanders from cruising over England without licences; that they must
have red rear-lights; they must put silencers upon their engines, and
must not throw orange peel, paper bags, bottle or other refuse within
the meaning of the Act into the streets in such a manner as to cause any
danger to foot-passengers or create litter such as would come beneath
the powers relegated to inspectors of nuisances of Boroughs.  Such
regulations might, perhaps, make it a penal offence if Zeppelins did not
keep to the left in traffic; if bombs were dropped in places other than
those properly and purposely illuminated for the purpose, or if they did
not travel at a rate faster than the British aircraft."

"Really, Claude, that's an awfully humorous idea," remarked Sir Herbert
as all at table laughed.

"In addition, it might be suggested that the heads of all dogs, ducks,
cats, parrots, and the horns of gramophones might be encased in
cotton-wool to conceal their whereabouts, that no smoking be permitted,
and no artificial light between one hour before sunset and one hour
after sunrise."

"Exactly," I laughed.  "And an inter-departmental committee of the
red-tabbed might be charged with the due execution of the regulations--
all offenders to be shot at sunrise following the day whereon any breach
of the Defence of the Zeppelin Act were committed."

"Really you're too bad!" declared Eastwell, laughing heartily as he held
his glass poised in his hand.

"Well," I protested.  "Here we've had Zeppelins killing people.  Surely
something must be done!  Either regulate the Zeppelin traffic, or else
fight them."

"I'm all for the latter," declared Roseye.

"So am I," was my remark.

"And I also," declared Eastwell.  "_But how_?--that's the question!"

Roseye exchanged glances with me, and I wondered whether he noticed
them.

Somehow I had just a faint suspicion that he did, for I detected a
curious expression upon his lips--a look such as I had never seen there
before.

He made no remark, but busied himself with the excellently-cooked snipe
before him.

Fortunately Lionel Eastwell was not aware of our secret--the secret of
that brown deal box which we were so rapidly perfecting.

Only on the previous day Roseye had been up in the air with me across
Hampstead, Highgate, and out as far as Hatfield and home to the
aerodrome, making a further test of the potent but unseen power which we
had been able to create, and which must, if further developed, be our
strong arm by which to strike a very deadly blow against enemy airships.

"Personally," declared Sir Herbert, in his bluff, matter-of-fact way, "I
think the whole idea of air-defence from below is utterly futile.  A gun
can never hit with accuracy a moving object so high in the air and in
the dark.  What target is there?"

"Exactly," exclaimed Eastwell.  "That has always been my argument.  I've
been interested in aviation for years, and I know the enormous
difficulties which face the efforts of those who man our anti-aircraft
guns.  Searchlights and guns I contend are inadequate."

"They've hardly been tried, have they?" queried Lady Lethmere.  "And,
moreover, I seem to recollect reading that both have done some excellent
work on the French front."

"But London is not the French front," Eastwell protested.  "The
conditions are so very different."

"Then what do you suggest as a really reliable air-defence?"  Sir
Herbert inquired.

"Fight them with fast aeroplanes and bombs," Eastwell said.

"But you've just told Munro that had he gone up last night from Hendon
his flight would have been quite useless, as he would never have been
able to mount sufficiently high in the time."

"Quite so.  But we ought to have efficient air-patrols at night," was
his reply.

"Combined with properly illuminated landing-places," Roseye added.
"Otherwise more than half the airmen and observers must kill themselves
through landing in the dark without any knowledge of the direction of
the wind."

"That could all be arranged--as it no doubt will be in due course," I
said.  "The Government are not such fools as some people seem inclined
to believe.  I'm not one of those who blame the whole Government for a
few mistakes of its subordinate departments, and the incompetency of men
pitchforked, in the hurry of an unexpected war, into places for which
they are entirely unfitted.  We all know of glaring cases of that sort.
No.  Let's take heart, and look on the best side of things.  Britain is
not vanquished yet, and the heart of the true Briton beats quicker and
is fiercer than ever in its patriotism over the base enemy outrage of
the kind that was committed upon innocent Londoners last night."

"Only yesterday I was reading a popular book called _Can Germany Win_?
written by an anonymous American," remarked Sir Herbert.  "The writer
gaily informs the public that even well-directed rifle-fire can bring
the vaunted Zeppelins down, and to secure any accuracy of aim
themselves, the airships must descend to an altitude which brings them
well within the range of modern guns."

"I know!"  I laughed.  "The rubbish written about Zeppelins is simply
ludicrous.  I've read that book, which has no doubt been read by
thousands of patriotic Britons.  I remember quite well that, in it, we
are gravely informed that as far as Zeppelins were concerned the British
public may sleep comfortably in their beds.  The great thing is, we are
urged, to discount as far as possible, by reason supported by
scepticism, the terrorising tales of the Zeppelin's worth and doughty
prowess which are so brilliantly `press-agented' in Germany.  The writer
has further told us that talk never broke any bones, and the Germans are
doing a good deal of talk at the present moment to hide the defects in
their monster pets which have been detected as useless by the test of
War.  The Zeppelins, the writer told us, are comparatively negligible
quantities.  Last night's raid is the commentary."

"Yes," said Roseye, "something must really be done to prevent such
raids."

"But how?" queried Lionel Eastwell across the table in that slow refined
voice of his.  "It's all very well to talk like that--but you must
_act_."

Roseye and I again exchanged glances.  She knew well what was passing in
my mind.

And I remained silent.

CHAPTER SIX.

THEED'S STRANGE STORY.

The following morning while I was writing letters in my room Theed
entered, saying that his father had called and wished to see me.

A moment later the sturdy old ex-police-sergeant came in, his felt hat
in his hand, and when I had sat him beside the fire I saw an unusual
expression upon his grey, furrowed countenance.

"I've come up, sir," he said, "because something curious 'appened at the
shed lars' night."

"Happened--what's happened?"  I asked, staring at him.

"Well--something I can't quite make out, sir.  But I thought I ought to
report at once."

"Tell me, by all means, Theed," I said, instantly interested.

"Well, sir.  There were strangers about lars' night."

"Strangers!  Who?"  I asked, recollecting Teddy's allegations on the
night of our successful test.

"Well--it was like this, Mr Munro," the old fellow began.  "I went on
at nine o'clock as usual, and met Harry there.  We talked together about
half an hour, and then he left.  I 'ad a pipe in front o' the stove and
sat readin' the war news--as I always do.  I expect I must 'ave dozed
for a bit, but I woke up at eleven, 'ad another pipe and read a bit more
of my paper.  I heard Chiswick church-clock strike twelve, and then,
after makin' up the stove again, I 'ad another doze, as I generally do.
Of a sudden I was woke up by hearin' low whisperin'.  My lamp was out--
it 'ad gone out because I 'adn't much oil.  But I was on the alert in a
moment, for I saw the light of an electric torch a movin' about at the
other end of the shed, and two figures were a gropin' about and
whisperin'.  I'll swear one was a woman!"

"A woman!"  I gasped.  "What did you do?"

"I took up my bit o' rubber tyre, bent down, and crept noiselessly
along.  It seemed as if they were examining those three electric coils,
and were perhaps a tryin' to find the box what--"

"Happily, I took the precaution to bring it away yesterday afternoon,
and have it here, in the next room," I interrupted.

"Good.  Excellent, sir!  My idea is that they were after that there box.
I'm dead certain of it," old Theed said.  "Well, I bent well below the
benches and nearly got up to 'em in order to flash my lamp, an' so take
'em by surprise, when, of a sudden, somebody clipped me hard over the
'ead, and I knew nothing more till I awoke at daylight, and found this!"
he added, pointing to a spot on the back of his head upon which was a
big lump and a large piece of black sticking-plaster.

"Then there must have been a third person present--eh?"

"There must!  He'd evidently been a watchin' me, and struck me down,
just as I was a comin' up to the pair with the torch."

"You say you saw a woman.  Did you also see the man's face?"

"No, I didn't.  And I only knew that there was a woman there by the
black fur she wore around her throat.  I was right at the opposite end
of the shed, remember, and I only saw 'er just for a second--a biggish
woman's white face and the black fur."

"You didn't see the person who knocked you down?"

"No, I didn't--the cursed blackguard," was old Theed's quick reply.
"Had I seen him, I'd 'ave given 'im a taste of my bit o' rubber--I tell
yer.  He wouldn't 'ave been sensible yet--you bet!"

"But how did they get in?"  I asked, amazed at his story.

"Get in?  Why, they seem to 'ave 'ad a latch-key.  At any rate they
opened the door with a duplicate key that they'd got from somewhere.
There's no sign of 'em having broken in."

For a few moments I stood in silence, then Theed's son having called a
taxi, I got in and took our faithful night-watchman down to Gunnersbury.

There, on the spot, he explained to me exactly what had occurred in the
night, giving a dramatic demonstration of how he had crept up to the
intruders, and pointing out the spot where he had fallen, and where,
indeed, there were some palpable blood-spots from the wound in his head.

"While I lay 'ere, sir," he added, "the three of 'em, of course, just
pried into everything they wanted to see, and then went out, closin' the
door after them.  It was just after eight this morning when I came to,
and I tell you I felt quite dazed, and horrible bad!"

"What time do you think all this happened?"  I inquired.

"In the middle of the night--between two and three o'clock--I should
say."

Careful investigation which I made of the whole apparatus disclosed that
nothing whatever had been interfered with--except one thing.  Two wires
connecting the big induction coils had evidently been disconnected, for
they had been wrongly connected up, thus showing that the strangers,
whoever they had been, might have made certain experiments with our
plant.

Happily, however, that big brown deal box had not been there, and I
smiled within myself at the bitter disappointment which must have been
theirs.  In any case, our great secret was still safe.

"Well," I said.  "You certainly had a most exciting adventure, Theed.
We'll have to set a trap for these gentry in future.  Just think out
something, will you, and Mr Ashton and I will help you.  If they come
again we might put in a little electric `juice' which will effectively
stop them from meddling with our things in future.  They might get a
very nasty jar," I added, laughing.

"But 'ow do you think they got hold of that duplicate key, sir?" asked
the grey-haired old pensioner.

I hesitated.  The whole affair was a most complete mystery, and only
went to bear out Teddy's declaration that, on the night of our test,
somebody must have been about and expressed sudden surprise at its
astounding result.

From the telephone call-box inside Hammersmith Broadway station I rang
up Teddy at Hendon, and asked him to meet me there after lunch.

This he did, and as together we walked away from the hangars, so as not
to be overheard, I related to him the strange story, as told by old
Theed.

He stood astounded.

"Somebody knows, my dear Claude!  Who _can_ it be?"

"Who knows?  Only ourselves, Roseye and the Theeds.  Nobody else," was
my quick reply.

Then, suddenly, he said: "I suppose Roseye couldn't have dropped any
hint to her father?  If so, the latter might have spoken to Eastwell--or
somebody else!"

"Roseye made to me a solemn promise of secrecy, and I trust her, Teddy,"
I said very quietly.

"So do I, my dear fellow.  So do I," he assured me.

"Well--I can't fathom the mystery at all.  Evidently they were on some
desperate errand--or they wouldn't have knocked poor old Theed
senseless--eh?  And the woman!  Who could she have been?"

"Who knows?"  I asked.  "Nevertheless, we must make it our business to
find out, my dear chap," I added in earnestness.  "We've got secret
enemies somewhere--probably around us here.  Indeed, that has been my
firm conviction for some time."

"And mine also.  So let us keep open eyes everywhere.  Where's Roseye?
Is she coming over this afternoon?"

"I expect her every minute.  She'll be astounded and excited."

"You won't tell her--shall you?  It will only alarm her, Claude--and I
never advocate alarming a woman."

I paused.  Instantly I realised the weight of such an argument, for
Roseye was, after all, a dainty and highly-strung little person, who
might worry herself over the mystery far too much.

"Yes, Teddy," I said somewhat reluctantly.  "I quite agree.  At present
we'd best leave matters as they are, and keep our own counsel."

Hardly were those words out of my mouth when we saw my well-beloved,
with face flushed in glad welcome, coming across to us.  She had
evidently arrived in her car, and already put on her air-kit, for, it
being a fine afternoon, she intended to make a flight.

The Zeppelin raid upon London had set the whole aircraft world agog.
Every one at Hendon and Brooklands was full of it, most men criticising
the air-services, of course, and declaring vaguely that "something must
really be done."

It was so very easy to make such a declaration.  Old men in their
easy-chairs in the London club-windows were saying that very same thing,
but nobody could, with truth, point out any real effective remedy
against what certain Hide-the-Truth newspapers described as "the German
gas-bags."

A lot of people were about the aerodrome that afternoon, and Teddy went
off to test his engine, while Roseye, drawing on her thick gloves,
mounted into her machine which her mechanic had brought out for her.

"I shall run over to Aylesbury and back," she told me.  "I know the
railway line.  Shall you go up?"

"Probably," I replied, as I stood beside her Duperdussin watching her
man adjusting one of the stays which he seemed to think was not quite
tight enough.  Then, a few moments later, she shot from me with a fierce
blast of the exhaust, and in a few seconds had left the ground, rapidly
rising in the air.

I watched her for some minutes as she skimmed over the tree-tops and
rose higher and higher, then satisfying myself that her engine was
running well.  I turned and crossed to the shed wherein stood my own
bus, with the ever-patient Theed awaiting me.

The Breguet was brought out, and with a few idlers standing about me, as
they always do at Hendon, I climbed into the pilot's seat and began to
test my big engine.  It roared and spluttered at first, but gradually,
with Theed's aid--and he was a splendid mechanic by the way--I got it to
run with perfect evenness and precision.

Why, I don't know, but my bus usually attracted some onlookers.  About
the aerodrome we always have a number of idle persons with a sprinkling
of the eternal feminine silk-stockinged hangers-on to the pilots and
pupils who, not being able to fly, do the next best thing, become
friends of flying-men.  In that little knot of people gathered about my
machine--probably on account of the Zeppelin sensation--I noted, in
particular, one podgy fat-faced little man.

As I strapped myself into the pilot's seat, after examining my
altimeter, compass, etc, and adjusting my self-registering thermometer,
I chanced to glance at the people around, and had noticed the man in
question.  His strange-looking bead-like eyes fascinated me.  Upon his
round white face was a look of intense interest, yet those eyes, rather
narrowly set, struck me as queer-looking and uncanny--eyes such as I had
never seen before.

Suddenly I wondered if their gaze upon me was some evil omen.

Next second I laughed within myself at such an absurd thought.  It was
the first time in all my life that such an idea had ever crossed my
mind, therefore I at once dismissed it.  Such thought was most foolish
and utterly ridiculous.

Yet, again, I glanced at him, unable to withdraw my gaze entirely.
Those dark, beady eyes of his, set slightly askew, were certainly most
uncanny.  Their gaze seemed cold and relentless, and yet at the same
time exulting.

Sight of them sent through me a strange creepy feeling, but, with
resolution, I turned away, busying myself in my preparations for
starting.

Perhaps it was knowledge that strangers had been prying into our
experimental plant out at Gunnersbury that had somewhat upset me, yet,
after all, though they had cruelly assaulted poor old Theed, no very
great success had been theirs.

Who were they?  That was the vital question.

Just as I was on the point of starting I saw Lionel Eastwell coming from
the hangar, walking behind his own machine, which was being pushed out
by his man Barnes and two others.

I waved to him from my seat, and he waved a merry greeting back to me.

Then, all being ready, I motioned to Theed to let her go, and with a
deafening rush I shot forward, leaving behind a pungent blue trail from
the big exhaust.

I rose quickly and had begun the ascent, the engine running beautifully,
when of a sudden, before I was aware of it, something went wrong.

A sharp crack, a harsh tearing sound, and one of my wings collapsed.
Across the back I was struck a most violent blow just as she took a
nose-dive, and then, next instant, all knowledge of what had happened
became blotted out by a dark night of unconsciousness.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

REVEALS A PLOT.

The next that I recollect is, with my brain awhirl, I tried to open my
eyes, but so painful were they, that I was compelled to close them again
in fearful agony.

Somebody whispered close to me, but my mind was too muddled to
understand what was said.

My eyes burned in their sockets; my brain seemed unbalanced and aflame.
I tried to think, but alas! could not.  When I tried to recollect, all
remembrance of the past seemed as though it were wrapped up in
cotton-wool.

How long I remained in that comatose state I have no idea.

Some unknown hand forced between my teeth a few drops of liquid, which
with difficulty I swallowed.  This revived me, I know, for slowly--very
slowly--the frightful pain across my brow decreased, and my burning eyes
became easier until, at last, blinking, I managed to open them just a
little.

All was dead white before me--the white wall of a hospital-ward I
eventually discovered it to be--and as I gazed slowly around, still
dazed and wondering, I saw a man in black, a doctor, with two nurses
standing anxiously beside my bed.

"Hulloa, Mr Munro," he exclaimed softly.  "You're better now, aren't
you?"

"Yes," I whispered.  "But--but where am I?"

"Never mind where you are.  Just go to sleep again for a bit," the
doctor urged.  "You're all right--and you'll very soon be up again,
which is the one thing that matters," I heard him say.

"But, tell me--" I articulated with great difficulty.

"I shan't tell you anything, just yet," said the man in black firmly.
"Just go to sleep again, and don't worry.  Here.  Take this," and he
placed a little medicine-glass to my parched lips.

The effect of the drug was sleep--a long sleep it must have been--for
when I again awoke it was night, and I saw a stout, middle-aged
night-nurse seated at my side, reading beneath a green-shaded lamp.

As soon as she noticed me moving she gave me another draught, and then,
thoroughly revived, I inquired of her what had actually happened.

I saw her motion to some one behind her, and next moment found Roseye
bending over me, pale-faced and anxious.

"Oh!  I'm so glad, dear," she whispered eagerly into my ear.  "Once we
thought you would never recover, and--and I've been watching and waiting
all the time.  They wouldn't let me see you until to-night.  Teddy has
been here constantly, and he only left at midnight."

"But--darling--but what has happened?"  I managed to ask, looking up
into those dear eyes of hers utterly amazed.

"May I tell him, nurse?" she inquired, turning to the buxom woman beside
her.

The nurse nodded assent, whereupon she said:

"Well--you've had a nasty spill!  One of your wings suddenly buckled--
and you fell.  It's a perfect miracle that you were not killed.  I saw
the accident just as I was going up in a spiral, and came down again as
fast as ever I could.  When I reached you, I found you pinned beneath
the engine, and everybody believed you to be stone-dead.  But, happily,
they got you out--and brought you here."

"What is this place?"  I asked, gazing around in wonderment.  "Where am
I?"

"The Hendon Cottage Hospital," was her reply.

"How long have I been here?"

"Four days.  The papers have had a lot about your accident."

"The papers make a lot of ado about nothing," I replied, smiling.  "To
them, every airman who happens to have a nose-dive is a hero.  But how
did it happen?"

"Nobody knows.  You seemed to be ascending all right, when suddenly I
saw your right-hand plane collapse, and you came down plumb," she said.
"As you may imagine, darling, I rushed back, fearing the worst, and
through these four awful days I have dreaded that you might never speak
to me again."

"What does Theed say?"

"What can he say?  He has declared that before you started everything
was perfectly in order."

"Has Teddy examined the bus?"

"I think so, but he's entirely mystified--just as we all are," said my
well-beloved.  "Dad and mother are dreadfully worried about you."

"Thanks," I replied.  "I'll be all right soon--but I'm stiff--jolly
stiff, I can tell you!"

"That doesn't matter," said the nurse cheerily.  "No bones are broken,
and Doctor Walford has said that you'll be up again very soon."

"Well--thanks for that," I replied with a smile.  "My chief desire at
the present moment is to know why my machine failed.  Yet I suppose I
ought to be thankful to Providence that I wasn't killed--eh?"

"Yes, Claude, you ought.  Your smash was a very bad one indeed."

"Has the guv'nor been here?"

"Every day.  But of course you've been under Doctor Walford, and he's
not allowed anyone to see you."

"I suppose the guv'nor has been saying to everybody, `I told you so,'" I
remarked.  "He had always said I'd kill myself, sooner or later.  My
reply was that I'd either fly, or kill myself in the attempt.  Have
there been any more Zeppelin raids while I've been lying here?"

"No raids, but gossip has it that Zeppelins have been as far as the
coast and were afterwards driven off by our anti-aircraft guns."

"Good.  When will Teddy be here?"  I asked, raising myself with
considerable difficulty.

"In the morning," was my love's response, as she took my hand in hers,
stroking it softly, after which I raised her slim fingers to my lips.

Seeing this, the nurse discreetly left us, strolling to the other end of
the ward, in which there were about twenty beds, while Roseye, bending
down to me, whispered in my ear:

"You can't tell how I feel, dear Claude, now that God, in His great
goodness, has given you back to me," and she cried quietly, while again
and again I pressed her soft little hand to my hot, fevered lips.

Teddy Ashton, bright and cheery at news of my recovery, stood by my bed
at about nine o'clock next morning.  The doctor had seen me and cheered
me by saying that I would soon be out.  My first questions of Teddy were
technical ones as to how the accident happened.

"I really can't tell, old chap," was his reply.  "I've had the bus put
into the hangar and locked up for you to see it just as it is."

"Is it utterly wrecked?"  I inquired anxiously, for I feared the
guv'nor's wrath and his future disinclination to sign any more cheques.

"No.  Not so much as we expected.  One plane is smashed--the one that
buckled.  But, somehow, you seemed to first make a nose-dive, then
recover, and glide down to a bad landing."

"But how could it possibly have happened?"  I demanded.  "All was right
when I went up, I'm certain.  Theed would never have let me go without
being perfectly satisfied.  That I know."

"No, he wouldn't," Teddy agreed.  "But the affair has caused a terrible
sensation at Hendon, I can tell you."

In an instant the recollection of that podgy man, with those black eyes
set askew, crossed my mind.

Yes.  After all, sight of him had been an omen of evil.  Hitherto I had
scorned any such idea, but now I certainly had positive proof that one
might have a precursor of misfortune.  I deeply regretted the accident
to my Breguet for, not knowing the true extent of the damage, I began to
despair of bringing our secret experiments to a satisfactory issue.

"Look here, Claude," Teddy said at last, bending over me and speaking in
a low tone.  "Has it struck you as rather peculiar that the appearance
of those strangers at Gunnersbury should have been followed so quickly
by this accident of yours?"

"By Jove! no!"  I gasped, as the true import of his words became
instantly impressed upon me.

"We have enemies, Teddy--you and I--without a doubt.  We've made a
discovery which is destined to upset the enemy's plans--therefore they
want to wipe us, and all our knowledge, out of existence.  That's what
you mean--isn't it?"

My chum nodded in the affirmative.

"That's exactly what I do mean," he said in a hard, meaning tone.

"Then my accident was due to treachery!"  I cried angrily.  "We must
discover how it was all arranged."

"Yes.  Somebody, no doubt, tampered with your machine," Teddy declared
very gravely.  "Because I believe this, I've left it just as it was, and
locked it up safely with a man to look after it.  We'll examine it
together later on, when you're fit to run over."

Well, to cut a long story short, we did examine it about a week later.
With Harry Theed, Teddy and Roseye, we made a very complete survey of
every strainer, wing-flap hinge, nut-bolt, taper-pin, eye-bolt, in fact
every part of the machine, save the engine--which was quite in order and
practically undamaged.

For a whole day we worked away, failing to discover anything, but late
in the afternoon I noticed one of the bolts missing, and called the
attention of both my companions.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Teddy.  "Why, that's the weak spot where the plane
must have buckled!"  Then, bending closer to the hole in which the
missing steel bolt should have been, he cried: "Look!  What do you make
of this--eh, Claude?"

I bent eagerly to where he indicated, and there saw something which
caused me to hold my breath.

In the hole where the steel bolt should have been was a plug of broken
wood!

Wood!  The truth became, in that instant, quite plain.  The tested steel
bolt, which was most important to secure the rigidity of the aeroplane,
had been withdrawn, and in its socket a plug of wood had been placed by
some dastardly and unknown enemy!

The Invisible Hand, of which I had spoken so many times, had very
narrowly sent me to my death!

Who could have tampered with my machine?

All four of us stood gazing at each other, aghast at the discovery of
that wicked plot against my life.  My escape had been miraculous.  I had
risen easily from the ground, the wooden bolt holding the plane in
position, but as soon as I had attempted to turn, strain had, of course,
been placed upon the machine, and instantly the wood had snapped, so
that I had come down to earth like a log.

"If there is a desperate plot against me, Roseye," I said, looking
straight at her, "then there is, surely, a similar one against you, and
also against Teddy.  Our enemies are desperate, and they know a good
deal--that's certain.  Perhaps they have somehow learnt that we four
possess the secret of how the Zeppelin menace can be combated.  No
secret however is safe from the owner of the Invisible Hand.  Hence, if
an attempt is made to send me to my death--attempts will also be made
against you both."

"Well--that seems quite feasible--at any rate," remarked Teddy.  "I
don't think Roseye should go up again--just for the present."

"Certainly not," I said.  "There's some deep-laid and desperate scheme
against us.  Of that, I'm now convinced.  Our enemies do not mean to
allow us to conduct any further experiments--if they can help it."

"But they don't know the truth, Claude," chimed in Roseye.

"No.  They are working most strenuously to get at it.  That's quite
clear."

"But who can they be?" asked my well-beloved.

"Ah!  That's a mystery--at least it is at the present.  It is a very
serious problem which we must seek to solve."

"But we shall do so, sooner or later, never fear," Teddy exclaimed
confidently.  "We hold the secret, and our enemies, whoever they may be,
shall never learn it."

A silence fell between us for several moments.

At last I said:

"I wonder who that woman was that old Theed declares he saw on that
night out at Gunnersbury?"

"Ah! if we knew that, my dear chap, we might make some progress in our
inquiries.  But we don't," Teddy said.  "Her identity is just as much of
a mystery as that of the owner of the Invisible Hand--that hand that
took out the steel bolt and replaced it with one of wood."

"But I mean to discover the author of this infernal attempt upon me!"  I
exclaimed fiercely.  "Whoever did it intended that I should be killed."

"Never mind.  You've cheated them finely, Claude," Teddy laughed.  "Get
quite well, old man, and we'll set to work to fathom this mystery, and
give whoever is responsible his just deserts."

"That we will," I said resolutely.  "It's the dirty work of somebody who
is jealous of us."

"Yes.  And I think that Miss Lethmere ought to exercise the very
greatest care," he remarked.  "As they failed in their attempt upon you,
they may very probably make one upon her."

"By Jove!  I never thought of that!"  I gasped, staring at my friend.
"And they might form a plot against you also--remember that, Teddy."

"Quite likely," said my chum airily.  "I'll keep wide awake, never fear.
What about getting old Theed to suggest some good private detective?"

"No," was my prompt reply.  "We'll be our own detectives.  We'll watch
and wait."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

SOME SUSPICIONS.

We waited, and we watched.  And what we were able to discover was
certainly astounding.

During my convalescence many of my flying friends called at my rooms in
Shaftesbury Avenue to congratulate me upon my narrow escape.

I had been shaken very considerably, but actually I was not much the
worse for it.  I felt quite fit and eager, but the doctor would not hear
of me going out, except for a run in a closed car.

The real cause of my accident was kept a profound secret from every one.

The governor thought it was due to clumsiness or recklessness, and I
was, of course, compelled to allow him to think so.  Sir Herbert and
Lady Lethmere, who called one afternoon, appeared to hold the same
opinion, for the red-faced old steel manufacturer said:

"You must really be more careful, in future, my dear boy--far more
careful.  Accidents so quickly happen in aeroplanes."

"Yes, accidents do," I admitted.  It was on the tip of my tongue to
explain to him how some devilish plotter had attempted to take my life.

I was constantly haunted by the remembrance of a face--the face of that
man in the crowd with the eyes askew.  As I sat alone at my fireside,
often reading the papers through, even to the advertisements, and out of
patience with everything and everybody, those narrow beady eyes would
rise before me.  I would recognise that face with the curious exultant
expression anywhere.

After long debate within myself I had come to the conclusion, however,
that the man with the eyes askew was not actually the person who had
substituted in my machine a wooden bolt for a steel one.

I recollect the expression upon that hard, furrowed countenance even
now--a wildly exultant expression as though he were gloating over the
death-trap so cunningly prepared for me.  Yet, when I reflected during
my convalescence, I knew that no lunatic's hand was responsible for such
crafty contrivance, and further, the person who had withdrawn the steel
bolt would certainly not come forth so boldly to peer into my face as
that podgy little stranger had done.

No.  The man with the eyes askew might, perhaps, have gained secret
knowledge of the dastardly plot, and come there to watch me rise to my
death.  But I was confident that his was not the Invisible Hand that had
been raised against me.

From everybody--even from Lionel Eastwell and the insurance people--we
concealed the truth.  Lionel, who lived in Albemarle Street, not far
away often came in to cheer me up, sitting with me, consuming
cigarettes, expressing wonder at the reason of my accident, and
gossiping technicalities, as airmen will always gossip.  Indeed, at the
Royal Automobile Club the air "boys" are the biggest gossips in that
institution--which, not so long ago, Prince Henry of Prussia so
completely "nobbled."

Reminiscences of the "Prince Henry Motor Tour" through England have not
been exactly popular since August 1914--and any member mentioning His
Imperial Highness's name had become at once taboo.  The remembrance of
that tour through the heat and dust of the Moselle valley, and
afterwards from south to north of England, is still with me.  My pilot
in Germany was a certain Uhlan captain, who afterwards distinguished
himself as responsible for the atrocities committed upon the poor
inoffensive Belgians in Dinant, on the Meuse.  The lives of seven
hundred of those poor victims, men, women and children butchered in cold
blood in the Grand Place outside the church with the bulgy spire cries
out for vengeance upon that fair-haired spick-and-span Prussian who sat
beside me for many days chatting so amiably in English, and assuring me
that Germany would ever be Great Britain's firmest friend and ally.

Ah!  How cleverly were we all bamboozled!  Whenever I entered the
portals of the club I remembered, as many of my fellow-members did, how
completely we were gulled and blinded by that horde of German secret
agents who came to us as friends and fellow-motorists, and partook of
our hospitality while actively plotting for our undoing.

Lionel Eastwell sat discussing this with me one dark rainy afternoon.

"There's no doubt that the Germans held out the hand of friendship and
laughed up their sleeves," he said, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke
upwards from his lips.  "Now that one remembers, one grows furious at it
all.  I confess that I liked Germany and the Germans.  My people went to
Germany each summer, for the mater was a bit of a musician, and we
usually drifted to Dresden.  I suppose I inherited from her my love of
music, and that's why I was sent to Dresden for a couple of years'
tuition."

"And did you never suspect?"  I asked.  "Remember what Lord Roberts and
many others told us.  Recollect how we were warned by men who had
travelled, and who knew."

"Of course I read all those speeches and writings, but I confess,
Claude, that I laughed at them.  I never dreamed that war would come--
not for another twenty years or more.  I was lulled into a sense of
false security, just as our Government and people were lulled."

"True, Germany told us fables--pretty land, sea and air fables--and we
were childish enough to believe them.  If peace had been the Kaiser's
object, why did Krupp's and Ehrhardt's work night and day and Count
Zeppelin carry on his frantic work of building giant airships?"  I
queried.  "The greatest block head in a village school, with the true
facts before him, could have done nothing else than suspect.  But we are
such a smug and unsuspicious people.  We never like to hear an
unpleasant truth."

"True, we're aroused now.  This Zeppelin raid on London has inflamed the
public mind.  The people are clamouring loudly for something to be done.
What can be done?" he asked.  "How can we possibly fight those enemy
airships--eh?"  And he looked me straight in the face with those calm
blue-grey eyes of his.

I paused.

I would have greatly liked to tell him of our secret discovery, for,
after all, he was our most intimate friend.  Yet I had given a promise
to Roseye and to Teddy and, therefore, could not break it.

That Lionel Eastwell was a real stolid John Bull patriot had been proved
times without number.  We all liked him, for he was ever courteous to
Roseye, and always wholehearted and easy-going with both Teddy and
myself.

"You ask a question which I can't answer, Lionel," I replied at last.

"I thought, perhaps, you had some scheme," he laughed airily.  "You're
always so very inventive."

Those words, when I remembered them in the light of after events,
sounded somewhat curious.

"Inventive!"  I laughed.  "How can I put forward any scheme by which to
fight an airship, except that of fast aeroplanes capable of mounting
above the airship and dropping bombs?  And, surely, that's one which our
Aircraft Factory have considered long ago."

Lionel shook his head in reply.

"No.  There must be some other mode than that--if we could only discover
it.  That poor women and children are being blown to pieces while in
their beds is too terrible to contemplate," he declared.  "To-day Great
Britain seems inadequately defended.  But somebody will, of course,
devise something.  We can't remain defenceless much longer.  Whenever an
arm of war has been invented, ever since the dark ages, somebody has
always invented something to combat it.  It will be so in the case of
the Zeppelin--never fear," he added confidently.

"Let's hope so," I replied, yet, truth to tell, it seemed to me very
much as though he were trying to pump me regarding the secrets of that
brown deal box which was reposing in a locked cupboard in the adjoining
room.  Perhaps, of course, mine was an entirely ungrounded suspicion.
But there it was.  I hesitated--and wondered.

At that moment Theed--who acted as my mechanic, valet, and
man-of-all-work--rapped at the door and, entering, announced:

"Miss Lethmere, sir."

Next instant Roseye, merry and radiant in a new fur motor-coat and
close-fitting black hat, burst into the room.

She drew back on seeing Lionel, and then, recovering herself in an
instant, exclaimed:

"Oh, Claude, I--thought you were alone!  How are you to-day?  I've
brought you some flowers."

"Thanks, dear," I replied.  "I'm feeling much better to-day.  Teddy was
in this morning, and he told me that you'd made a flight soon after
breakfast.  How far did you go?  I thought you intended to rest for a
bit?"

"I went to Chelmsford," she replied.  "I had a little engine-trouble
before I got back, and had to come down in somebody's park.  I think it
was somewhere near Watford.  But I was able to put it right and get
home, if a trifle lamely."

"So Bertie Maynard told me," remarked Lionel.  "I saw him in the club
just before lunch, and he said that you'd had engine-trouble."

"Oh, it wasn't very much really.  Only, after Claude's smash, I'm rather
careful," she said.

"One should always take every precaution," declared Lionel seriously, as
he rose and gave her his chair opposite me.  "A lot of the boys are far
too daring nowadays.  They've followed Pegoud, and take needless risks
long before they are qualified to do so.  It's easy enough to make the
sensational loop if you are a practised hand.  But when half-trained
pupils try and attempt it--well, they're bound to make a mess of it."

Roseye glanced at me for a moment, and I knew that she was annoyed at
Lionel's presence.  He was a good enough fellow in his place as a friend
of her family, and a gossip who entertained her father so constantly,
but she had no desire that he should be present at what she had intended
should be a cosy _tete-a-tete_ over our tea and muffins.

"Well.  Have you seen the papers to-day?"  I asked, in order to change
the subject.  "They are still full of the want of an efficient
air-defence."

"That will come all right, my dear Claude, I'm sure," replied Lionel
who, leaning back against the corner of my writing-table, had lit a
fresh cigarette.

"I sincerely hope so," returned Roseye.  "What we sadly need is a Man
who will be really responsible for air-defence--and air-defence alone--
one who can make the most of the weapons that are now in our hands, and
who has the wit, courage and initiative to use our own splendid airmen
as they themselves desire to be employed--namely, to fight the enemy."

"Quite so," I agreed.  "We also want arrangements for warning the towns
and cities that air-raids are probable, so that people may take cover
against both bombs and splinters of shell from anti-aircraft guns."

"All that will come in due course," Lionel assured us.

"No doubt," I hastened to say.  "Please understand that I'm not
criticising any department of our defences.  On the contrary, I only
argue from the point of the man who may be desirous of protecting his
home.  Perhaps, as you say, some efficient means will at last be found
by which to deal successfully with the enemy aircraft.  If so, the whole
country will eagerly welcome it."

"What we don't like is attacks without any timely warning," said Roseye.

Lionel smiled--with a touch of sarcasm I thought.

"There won't be any more raids for a bit, I feel positive, Miss
Lethmere," was his assurance.  "Our friends across the North Sea are not
yet fully prepared with their machinery.  The raid on the thirteenth was
but a mere rehearsal of what they hope to do.  And, as you argue, we
should certainly be prepared."

"You speak almost as though you know," I remarked, not without some
surprise at his words.

"I only speak after surveying the matter calmly and logically," was his
slow reply.  "The German newspapers have--ever since the early days of
the war--threatened to bombard London from the air.  This last raid has
shown that they are capable of doing so."

"They're capable of anything!"  I cried.  "Remember Scarborough!"

"And Belgium," chimed in Roseye.

"Well," said Lionel to me.  "You make all sorts of experiments on your
new propellers and things down at Gunnersbury.  Why don't you try and
devise some plan by which we can destroy Zeppelins?  You're always so
intensely ingenious, Claude."

"So you've just said.  But far better men than myself have tried--and
failed," was my diplomatic response.

"But surely some means can be devised!" he cried.  "Our flying-boys are
splendid, as you know--and--"

"Except when they come to grief, as I did the other day," I interrupted
with a hard laugh.

"Well, you surely can't complain," was his answer.

"You've had the very devil's luck ever since you took your certificate."

"Admitted.  But that doesn't help me to fight Zeppelins," I replied.

"It only wants somebody to do something, to find out some new invention
or other, and the boys will tumble over each other in their eagerness to
go up after enemy airships.  Of that, I'm positive," declared Eastwell.
"You've got a lot of plant down at Gunnersbury, haven't you?  If so, you
ought to turn your serious attention to this matter which is at the
present moment of the very highest importance to the country."

Roseye glanced at me, and I saw that my visitor's words and bearing
puzzled her.

"What do you make of Lionel's questions?"  I asked her ten minutes
later, when Eastwell had risen and left, having taken the gentle hint
that I wished to be alone with Roseye over the tea and muffins.

"I don't know what to make of them, dear," replied the girl, seating
herself again in the big chair.

"Well, I've been watching him for some days," I said slowly.  "And, do
you know that, strictly between ourselves, I believe that he has some
suspicion of the direction of our experiments, and is pumping us to see
what he can glean!"

"How can he possibly know?  He is, of course, well aware that you've
been devising new propellers, but he can know nothing of our real work.
Neither Teddy nor Theed would ever let drop a single word, and, as you
know, I've never breathed a sentence at home."

"He spoke as though he knew that the enemy intended more raids--but not
just at present."

Roseye suddenly stirred herself and stared at me in amazement with those
big expressive eyes of hers.

"What? do you think--do you really suspect that Lionel Eastwell is our
enemy, Claude?" she asked, suddenly pale and breathless.

"Well--perhaps not exactly that," I replied hesitatingly.  "Only his
queer questions, naturally make one think.  We know we have enemies,
clever, unscrupulous ones who have not hesitated to attempt to take my
life.  Therefore we must both be wary--extremely wary--for we never know
where the next pitfall may be concealed."

"I quite agree with all that, dear," answered Roseye, looking at me
earnestly.  "But I really can't think that Lionel is anything else than
one of our best friends.  At least he's been a really good chum to me,
ever since we first met.  No," she added decisively, "I'm convinced that
no suspicion can attach to him.  Such an idea, Claude, is to me, too
utterly absurd."

"Yes.  Well, I suppose you're right, dearest," I replied with a sigh.
"Women always see so very much farther than men in matters of this
sort."

And I rose and, crossing to her chair, kissed her fondly upon the lips.

"I'm sorry--very sorry indeed, dearest, that I've cast any reflection
upon your friend," I said in deep apology.  "Do please forgive me, and
we'll never mention the subject again."

CHAPTER NINE.

CONTAINS MORE CURIOUS FACTS.

One afternoon a week later, when out at Hendon, I heard accidentally
from a man I knew--one of the instructors at the Grahame-White Aviation
School--that Eastwell was very queer, and in bed.

The weather proved bad for flying, therefore I sent Theed off and
returned to town.  Teddy had gone down to the naval air-station at
Yarmouth to see the test of a new seaplane, so I went along to look up
Lionel at his rooms in Albemarle Street.

His man, a thin-faced, dark-haired fellow named Edwards, who admitted
me, said that his master had had a bad attack of something, the true
import of which the doctor had failed to diagnose.

I found him lying in bed in his narrow but artistic bachelor bedroom,
looking very wan and pale.

"Hulloa, Claude!" he cried with sudden joy, as I entered.  "Awfully good
of you to come in, old chap!  I've been horribly queer these last three
days, but I'll be fit again in a day or two, the doctor says.  Well--
what's the news?  How are the boys out at Hendon?"

"All right.  I was there this morning.  Harrington had rather a bad
smash yesterday afternoon, I hear.  Came down outside Ruislip, and made
an unholy mess."

"Not hurt, I hope?"

"Tore his face and hands a bit--that's all.  But his biplane is in
scraps, they say."

He pointed to the box of cigarettes, and I took one.  Then, when I had
seated myself at his bedside, I saw that he had newspapers scattered
everywhere, including the Paris _Matin_, the _Journal_, and the Rome
_Tribuna_.  That was the first time I had known that our friend was a
linguist.

"Well," he asked.  "What about the Zeppelin raids?  Any more news?"

He had returned to the subject by which he seemed obsessed.  Yet, after
all, this was not surprising, for many people talked air-raids
incessantly.  One section of the public, as usual, blamed the
authorities, while the other supported them.

"Well," I said cheerily, "there's a new invention they are all talking
of at Hendon to-day.  Somebody has claimed to be able to construct a
biplane which will rise from the ground without running, and can attain
any speed from ten to two hundred miles an hour."

"Phew!  That's interesting," exclaimed Lionel, raising himself upon his
elbow, and taking a sip of a glass of barley-water at his side.  "And
who is this wonderful man who has such a wonderful scheme?"

"Oh, I forget his name," I said.  "But the theory, as far as I can
gather, is rather a good one.  He can rise so quickly."

"How?"

"Well," I replied.  "From what I can hear, there is a kind of rotary
wing--not a propeller and not a thing which can be classed as a
helicoptic."

Lionel Eastwell grew intensely interested in the new invention which
everybody at the aerodrome was discussing.

"Yes," he said.  "I follow.  Go on, Claude.  Tell me all you've heard
about it.  The whole thing sounds most weird and wonderful."

"Well," I said, "from what I can find out, the machine is not designed
to screw itself through the air in the direction of its axis, or, by
pushing the air downwards, to impart upward motion to the structure, as
a screw propeller in water imparts a forward motion to the vessel by
pushing the water backwards.  The biplane is designed to obtain by a
rotary motion the same upward thrust in opposition to the downward pull
of gravity as the flapping wings, and the passive outspread wings of
birds, and to obtain it by the blades being projected through the air in
such a manner as to extract and utilise the practically constant energy
of the expansive force of the air."

"By Jove!" my friend exclaimed, stirring himself in his bed.  "That
theory is very sound indeed--the soundest I've ever heard.  Who's
invented it?"

"As I've told you, I've forgotten," I replied.  "But what does it
matter?  There are hosts of new inventions every month, and the poor
misguided public who put their money into them generally lose it.  But I
quite agree that the general idea of this is splendid.  The
war-inventions authorities ought at once to take it up hot and strong.
The inventor is, no doubt, an ingenious man of thought and knowledge--
whoever he may be.  But alas! nobody ever meets with very much
encouragement in aeronautics."

"No," he said, pillowing his head comfortably.  "It is all so
mysterious.  We take on a wild-cat idea one day and manufacture machines
that are declared to work miracles.  Then, next week, we abandon the
type altogether, and woo some other smooth-tongued inventor."

"That's just it," I laughed.  "If the authorities could only adopt some
really reliable type to fight Zeppelins.  But alas! it seems that they
can't," I added.

For a few seconds he remained silent.  I saw that he was reflecting
deeply.

"Well," he said.  "We've established listening-posts all round London
for its protection."

"A real benefit they are!"  I laughed.  "We have officers and men
listening all night, it is true.  Of course as a picturesque fiction in
order to allay public curiosity they publish photographs of men
listening to things like gramophone-trumpets."

"Exactly.  The theory of that new invention is extremely sound.  That's
my opinion."

"And mine also," I said.  "I hear that the inventor has told the
authorities that if they will assist him to complete his machine--which
I expect is a costly affair--he will be able to carry out daily raids on
Cuxhaven, Essen, Dusseldorf, and even as far as Berlin; carrying several
tons of explosives."

"How many?" asked my friend.

"Oh! four or five it is said."

"Phew!" remarked Lionel, again stirring in his bed.  "That sounds really
healthy--doesn't it?"

"Yes--the realisation of the dream of every flying-man to-day," I said.

Then our conversation drifted into another channel, and, half an hour
later, I left him.

During the past few days Teddy and I had been very busy with our own
invention, and had made a number of further experiments down at
Gunnersbury.

We could easily direct the electric current upon those insulated steel
guys around our distant wireless-pole, but our difficulty was how to
increase our power without increasing the bulk of the apparatus which we
should be compelled to take up in the monoplane for purposes of
attacking a Zeppelin.

There was a limit to the weight which my Breguet with its 200
horse-power engines would carry, and though, of course, we believed it
would be unnecessary to use bombs, yet some should be carried for
purposes of defence, as well as a Lewis gun.

Therefore we were faced by a very difficult problem, that of weight.

The next day was Sunday, and Teddy having returned from Yarmouth, we
spent the whole afternoon and evening down at the workshop, making
further experiments.  I had not seen Roseye since Friday evening, which
I had spent at Lady Lethmere's, Sir Herbert being absent in Liverpool.
Therefore, as we had carried out an alteration of the apparatus and
intended to try sparking upon the pole again after dark, I rang Roseye
up on the telephone shortly after five o'clock.

Mulliner, Lady Lethmere's maid, replied, and a few minutes later Lady
Lethmere herself spoke to me.

"Oh, I've rung you up at your rooms half a dozen times to-day, Mr
Munro--but could get no answer!" she said.

"Being Sunday, my man is out," I exclaimed.  "I'm down here at
Gunnersbury."

"Can you take a taxi at once, and come over and see me?" she urged.  "I
want to speak to you immediately."

"What about?"  I asked anxiously.

"I can't say anything over the telephone," she answered in a distressed
voice.  "Do come at once, Mr Munro.  I am in such trouble."

I promised.  And after briefly relating the curious conversation to
Teddy, I found a taxi, and at once drove to Cadogan Gardens.

"Mr Munro!" exclaimed Lady Lethmere, looking at me with a pale, anxious
expression as I entered the morning-room.  "Something has happened!"

"Happened--what?"  I gasped.

"Roseye!  She went out yesterday morning to go over to Hendon to meet
you--she told me--_and she's not come back_!"

"Not back!"  I cried, staring at her.  "Where can she be?"

"Ah!  That's exactly what I want to know," replied the mother of my
well-beloved.  "I thought perhaps she might have flown somewhere and had
a breakdown, and was therefore unable to return, or to let me know last
night.  That happened, you recollect, when she came to grief while
flying over the Norfolk Broads."

"But she never arrived at Hendon yesterday," I exclaimed.  "I was there
all the morning."

"So I understand from Mr Carrington of the Grahame-White School, to
whom I telephoned this morning.  It was after learning this curious fact
that I began to try and get into communication with you."

"Well--where can she possibly be?"  I asked in blank dismay.

"The only thing I can think of is that she altered her mind at the last
moment, and went to see some friends.  She may have given a servant a
telegram to send to me, and the servant forgot to dispatch it.  Such
things have happened, you know."

I shook my head dubiously.  Knowing Roseye as I did, I knew that she
always sent important messages herself.

"One thing is certain, that she has not met with an accident while
flying, for her machine is still locked up in the hangar."

"Yes.  It is a consolation to know that she has not gone up and
disappeared."

"No," I said.  "She seems to have intended to meet me.  But we had no
appointment to meet.  My intention yesterday morning was to go over to
Gunnersbury, and I only changed my mind five minutes before I left my
rooms.  I spent part of the afternoon with Eastwell, who is queer in
bed."

"I heard that he was not well.  Roseye told me so yesterday morning
before she went out."

"I wonder how she knew?"  I exclaimed.

"I believe he spoke to her on the telephone on Friday night."

"You overheard some of their conversation, I suppose?"

"None.  She was shut up in the telephone-box, and when she came out I
asked her who had rung up.  She replied, `Oh! only Lionel!'  Next
morning, while we were at breakfast, she remarked that Mr Eastwell was
ill and in bed.  He must have told her so on the previous night."

I remained silent.  This disappearance of Roseye, following so closely
upon the dastardly attempt upon my life, caused me to pause.  It was
more than curious.  It was distinctly suspicious.

Was the Invisible Hand--the claw-grip of which had laid such a heavy
grasp upon Great Britain ever since August 1914--again at work?  Was the
clutch of that hand, which had so cunningly protected the enemy alien
and fed the Germans, again upon myself and the woman I loved?

"Lady Lethmere, this is all too amazing.  I had no idea that Roseye was
missing," I said.  "Sir Herbert has not returned, I suppose?"

"No.  I expect him to-morrow.  I have not yet sent him word.  But I must
say I am now getting most anxious."

"Of course," I said.  "We have to remember that to-day is Sunday, and
that few telegraph offices are open."

"Yet there is always the telephone," Lady Lethmere said.

I argued that, in many country places, the telephone service was not
available on Sundays and, though I felt intensely anxious, I endeavoured
to regard the matter with cheerful optimism.  I saw, however, that Lady
Lethmere, a good, kindly and most charming woman, who had ever been
genuinely friendly towards me, was greatly perturbed regarding her
daughter's whereabouts.

And surely not without cause.  Roseye had left that house at eleven
o'clock on the previous morning--dressed as usual in a navy-blue
gaberdine coat and skirt, with her skunk boa and muff, intending to
change later on into her Burberry flying-suit which she kept at Hendon.
From the moment when she had closed the front door behind her, she had
vanished into space.

Such was the enigma with which I--her lover--was at that moment faced.

I ask you, my reader, to place yourself for a moment in my position, and
to put to yourself the problem.

How would you have acted?

Would you have suspected, as I suspected, the sinister and deadly touch
of the Invisible Hand?

CHAPTER TEN.

THE TUNNEL MYSTERY.

I went back to my rooms in Shaftesbury Avenue and, in consequence of my
telephone message, Teddy came and threw himself in the chair opposite me
half an hour later, to discuss the curious disappearance of my
well-beloved.

Teddy suggested that we should report the occurrence to the police, and
give them Roseye's photograph, but I was averse to this course.  I
pointed out that, in all probability, she was with friends somewhere,
and that Monday morning would bring me a letter from her.

Well--Monday morning came.  Eagerly I went through my correspondence,
but there was no word from her, either to her mother or to myself.  It
was only then that I began to be really anxious, and at noon I went down
to Scotland Yard and there, in the cold waiting-room, stated exactly
what had occurred.

The inspector, when he looked at the photograph I produced, exclaimed:

"Ah, sir.  I've often seen Miss Lethmere's picture in the papers.  Why,
she's the famous flying-lady--isn't she?"

I replied in the affirmative, and explained how she had left her home in
Cadogan Gardens to go to Hendon to meet me.

"I see.  She was lost sight of between Cadogan Gardens and Hendon," he
exclaimed, adding a memorandum to what he had already written down.
"Well, sir," he said.  "We'll do our best, of course.  But--you don't
think Miss Lethmere has disappeared intentionally--eh?"

And he looked at me inquiringly with his dark, serious eyes.

"Intentionally!  No--why?"

"Well, because we get many young ladies reported missing in the course
of a year, and many of them we find, on inquiry, have hidden themselves
purposely, for their own private reasons, quarrels, run-away matches,
hiding from angry parents, and such-like causes.  I tell you," he added,
"some of the cases give us quite a lot of trouble and annoyance."

"I'm quite sure that Miss Lethmere is not hiding herself purposely," I
declared quickly.  "There can be no object in her doing so."

"No.  Not as far as you are aware, sir," the inspector replied very
politely.  "But neither you nor I can always follow the trend of the
feminine mind," he added with a faint smile.  "You, of course, do not
suspect the existence of any motive which would lead her to disappear
intentionally.  Nobody in such circumstances as yours, ever does.  Do
you happen to know whether she took any money with her when she left
home?"

"Mulliner, Lady Lethmere's maid, says that just before going out Miss
Lethmere glanced in her purse, found that she only had a few shillings,
and took four Treasury-notes from her jewel-box."

"Was that all the money in the jewel-box?" he asked.

"No.  About eighteen pounds remains there now."

"H'm.  She evidently did not make any preparation for a journey--or any
long absence."

"Well," replied the inspector after a brief pause, "we will certainly
circulate her description, and see what we can gather.  The young lady
may have met with a street accident, and be in one of the hospitals.
Though I hope she hasn't, of course!"

So with that rather poor assurance I had to be content, and took my
leave.

That afternoon I again went out to Hendon, making inquiry everywhere of
the men who were Roseye's friends, but she certainly never went there on
the Saturday, and I found her machine still in the hangar.  Her mechanic
knew nothing, for he had received no orders from her since Friday.

Three days--three breathless anxious days passed.  Ah! shall I ever
forget the awful tension of those terrible hours!

Sir Herbert had returned, and, with his wife, was naturally distracted.
He was making inquiries in every quarter of friends and acquaintances,
and of anyone who might have been likely to see his missing daughter.
In this, both Teddy and I actively assisted him.

On the third evening I returned to my rooms to wash, intending to go
along to the Automobile Club to dine with the flying-boys who assembled
there every night, when Theed told me that the police had, an hour
before, rung me up from Scotland Yard, and requested me to go down there
at once.

This I did without delay and, having been shown into that big, bare
waiting-room, the same dark-haired inspector came to see me.

"Well, Mr Munro," he exclaimed, "we've met with no very great result,
though the description of the missing young lady has been circulated
right through the country.  But the affair is certainly a mystery."

"Then you don't suspect that she has purposely disappeared--eh?"  I
asked quickly.

"Well--after all--I don't know," was his hesitating reply.  "Something
belonging to her has been found which rather leads to that supposition."

"What has been found?"  I gasped eagerly.

"This," he answered, and he placed upon the table a gold chatelaine
which I at once recognised as belonging to Roseye--for.  I had given it
to her.  It formed a jingling bunch.  There was a chain-purse, a
combined match-box and cigarette-case, a powder-box with its little
mirror in the cover, and a card-case all strung upon thin gold chains
which, in turn, were attached to a ring--so that it could be carried
upon the finger.

"Wherever was that found?"  I asked, turning pale at sight of it.

"It was discovered this morning by a platelayer engaged in examining the
rails in the long tunnel just beyond Welwyn Station on the Great
Northern Railway."

"In a tunnel!"

"Yes.  The two tunnels which are quite near to each other have, at our
request, been thoroughly searched by the local police and the
platelayers, but nothing else has been found.  My first fear was," added
the inspector, "that there might have been a tragedy in the tunnel.
Happily, however, there is no ground for any such suspicion."

"But there may have been a struggle in the train!"  I suggested.

"Possibly," answered the inspector.  "It's fortunate that the cards were
in the case, for when the chatelaine was handed to the sergeant of
constabulary at Welwyn, he at once recognised Lethmere as the name of
the lady whose description had been circulated by us.  Therefore the
constabulary sent it up here at once."

I took it and found that in the purse were the four Treasury-notes, as
the maid Mulliner had described, together with some silver.  Three of my
own particular brand of Russian cigarettes remained in the case, while
among the cards which I opened upon the table was one of my own upon
which I had, only a few days previously, written down the address of the
makers of a new enamel which I had advised her to try upon her machine.

The tiny powder-puff and the small bevelled mirror were there, though
the latter had been cracked across in its fall in the tunnel.

"Seven years bad luck!"  I remarked to the inspector, whose name I had
learned to be Barton.

I was turning over with curiosity that bunch of jingling feminine
impedimenta which I knew so well, when the door suddenly opened, and a
red-tabbed captain in khaki entered.

"This is Captain Pollock," Barton said, introducing him.  "He wished, I
believe, to ask you a question, Mr Munro."

I looked at the new-comer with some surprise, as he bowed and, in rather
an authoritative manner, took a chair at the big leather-covered table
at which I was seated with the inspector.

"The facts of your friend Miss Lethmere's disappearance have been
communicated to us, Mr Munro," he commenced, "and we find that the
lady's disappearance is much complicated by certain rather curious
facts."

"Well?"  I asked, rather resentful that another department of the State
should enter upon what, after all, was a purely personal investigation.
Besides, I could see no motive.  The War Office had enough to do without
making inquiries regarding missing persons.

"Well," said the captain politely, "I of course know you, Mr Munro, to
be a well-known aviator, and have often read of the long and sensational
flights undertaken by Miss Lethmere and yourself.  I hope you will not
think that I am personally inquisitive regarding your lady friend.
But," he went on apologetically, "I am only performing my duty in
inquiring in the interests of the State.  You are, I know, an intensely
patriotic man.  I hope that I, as a British officer, am equally
patriotic.  Therefore we stand upon the same ground--don't we?"

"Most certainly," was my reply, though, much puzzled as to the drift of
his argument, I looked straight into his face, a round, rather florid
countenance, with a small sandy moustache.

"Good," he said.  "Now I want you to answer me, in confidence, the
questions I will put to you.  Your replies I shall treat as absolutely
secret."

"Captain Pollock is from the Intelligence Department," remarked the
inspector, interrupting in explanation.

"I will answer, of course, to the best of my ability," I said.  "But
with one reservation--I will say nothing that might reflect upon a
woman's honour."

He pursed his lips ever so slightly.  But that very slight movement did
not pass me unnoticed.

Was a woman's honour concerned in this?

The two men exchanged glances, and in an instant a fierce resentment
arose within me.  Between us, upon the bare table, lay the gold
chatelaine that I had bought at Bouet's, in the Gallerie at Monte Carlo
a year and a half ago.

It had been found in that tunnel on the main line of the Great Northern.
Something tragic had occurred.  Was there any further room for doubt?

"The matter does not concern a woman's honour--er--not exactly so," the
man in khaki said slowly.

"I want to know--" And he paused, as though hesitating to explain his
motive for coming along to see me.

"What do you want to know about?"  I asked boldly.  "Come, Captain
Pollock, let us face each other.  There is a mystery here in Miss
Lethmere's disappearance, and in the finding of this bunch of feminine
fripperies in the tunnel.  I intend to elucidate it."

"And I will assist you, Mr Munro--if you will only be frank with me."

"Frank!"  I echoed.  "Of course I'll be frank!"  Again he looked me
straight in the face with those funny, half-closed little eyes of his.
Then, after a few moments' pause, he asked:

"Now--tell me.  Is it a fact that you, with a friend of yours named
Ashton, have made some very remarkable electrical discovery?"

I looked at him, stunned by surprise.  He noticed my abject
astonishment.

"I'll go farther," he went on.  "Does this discovery of yours concern
aircraft; is it designed to bring disaster upon Zeppelins; and are you
engaged in perfecting a secret invention in which you have the most
entire confidence?  In other words, have you nearly perfected a method
by which you will be able to successfully combat enemy airships in the
air?  Tell me the truth, Mr Munro--in strictest secrecy, remember."

His words staggered me.  How could he know the secret that we had so
closely guarded?

I did not reply for several moments.

"Well?" he asked, repeating his question.

"I don't see why I should reveal to anyone--even to you--what I have
been doing in the interests of the defence of our country," I protested.

"Except that by doing so we should both be able to carry our
investigations farther--and, I hope, to a satisfactory issue."

I had given my word to Teddy and to Roseye, and they had given their
words to me, to disclose nothing.  This I recollected and, therefore, I
hesitated.

The captain, seeing my reluctance, said:

"In this inquiry we ought, surely, to assist each other, Mr Munro!
Miss Lethmere is missing, and it is for us to unite in our efforts to
elucidate the mystery."

"But how can answers to the questions you have put to me serve, in any
way whatever, to bring us nearer to the truth of what has happened to
Miss Lethmere?"  I queried.

"They do.  I merely ask you, yes or no.  Your reply will at once place
us in a far better position to conduct this most important inquiry," he
said.  "I may tell you that at present the gravest suspicion rests upon
Miss Lethmere."

"Suspicion!"  I echoed angrily.  "Of what, pray?"

The captain drew a long breath and, once more looking me straight in the
face, replied:

"Well, of being a secret agent of the German Government--or to put it
very bluntly, of being a spy!"

"Roseye a spy!"  I shouted, starting up from my chair.  "A most foul and
abominable lie!  How dare you cast any such imputation upon her?"

"It is, unfortunately, no imputation, Mr Munro," replied the captain.
"You naturally doubt the truth, but we have documentary evidence that
the missing lady is not exactly the purely patriotic young person whom
you have so long believed her to be.  Since the war lots of men who have
trusted pretty women have had many rude awakenings, I assure you."

"I'll believe nothing against Roseye!"

"Well," answered Pollock, taking from his pocket an official envelope,
"perhaps you will look at this!" and from the envelope he took a half
sheet of dark-blue notepaper of a type and size used by ladies, and
handed it across to me, saying:

"This was found in her card-case here.  From Scotland Yard they sent it
over to us this afternoon, and its real import we very quickly
discovered."

My eyes fell upon the paper, and I saw that it was covered with lines of
puzzling figures in groups of seven, all written neatly in a distinctly
feminine hand.

"Well," I asked in surprise, "what does all this mean?"

"Only one thing," was the hard reply.  "This paper, folded small and
secreted, was found in this card-case.  Those figures you see convey a
message in the secret code of the Intelligence Department of the German
Naval War Staff--a seven-figure code.  A couple of hours ago we
succeeded in deciphering the message, which is to the effect that you
and Ashton have made an astounding discovery and have succeeded in
directing a powerful electric wave by which you can charge metals at a
distance, and cause sparking across any intervening spaces of those
metals.  By this means you are hoping to defeat Zeppelins by exploding
the gas inside their ballonets, and as you are both highly dangerous to
the success of the enemy's plans for the wholesale destruction of life
and property by airships, it is here suggested that you should both meet
sudden ends at the hands of certain paid hired assassins of the Berlin
secret police."

Then, after a pause, the captain again looked at me, and said very
slowly:

"Mr Munro.  This document found in Miss Lethmere's purse is nothing
else but your own death-warrant!  Miss Lethmere is a spy and, though she
may be your friend, she is plotting your death!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE SIGNALMAN'S STORY.

I sat, staggered by that damning evidence placed before me!

Proof indisputable lay there that Roseye--my own dear well-beloved, she
whose ready lips met mine so often in those fierce, trustful caresses--
the intrepid girl who had been as "a pal" to Teddy and myself in our
secret experiments, and who knew all the innermost secrets of our
invention and our power to fight Zeppelins--was a traitor to her
country!

It was incredible!

Was it by her connivance that the steel bolt in my machine had been
withdrawn, and one of wood substituted?

In this terrible war men laughed, and women wept.  The men went out to
the front in Flanders with all the fine patriotic sentiment of Britons,
singing gaily the various patriotic songs of war.  But alas! how many
went to their death, and the women wept in silence in the back streets
of our dear old London, and of every town in the work-a-day kingdom.

In official circles it was known--known indeed to the public at large--
that the Zeppelin menace was a real and serious one.  Teddy and I had,
in secret, striven our best to discover a means by which to combat these
sinister attacks upon our non-combatants.

Yet upon that leather-covered table before me lay that puzzling cryptic
message found among the belongings of my missing beloved.

The whole affair was, indeed, a mystery.  After a few moments of silence
I raised my head and, looking again at Pollock, said:

"All this is, of course, very interesting from the point of view of a
police problem, but the hard, real fact remains."

"What fact?" he asked.

"That I, with my friend Ashton, am in possession of certain discoveries
by which we can, under given conditions, bring Zeppelins to the ground."

The red-tabbed captain curled his lip in a rather supercilious smile.

He was evidently one of those persons imported into the Department after
the outbreak of war and, in comparison with Barton as an investigator,
was a nonentity.

True, a piece of paper bearing a message in the enemy's cipher had been
found secreted in Roseye's card-case.

But I argued that before the owner of the card-case could be condemned,
she must be found, and an explanation demanded of her.

"You surely cannot condemn an accused person in her absence!"  I argued.

Barton agreed with me.  It was against all principles of justice to
condemn an accused person unheard.

"Well," explained the red-tabbed captain, "upon the face of it, there
can be no real defence.  Here we have the missing lady's belongings
found in a tunnel, and in them--fortunately, for ourselves--we discover
a message intended for transmission to the enemy.  That message, Mr
Munro, is quite plain, and speaks for itself.  You have made an
interesting scientific discovery.  Possibly they have ferreted out your
secret.  It interests them: they fear you and, therefore, they have
plotted your death."

"I won't believe that!"  I cried in angry resentment.  "Ask yourself!
Would you yourself believe it of the woman whom you loved?"

"My dear Mr Munro," replied the captain coldly, "we are at war now.  We
cannot gauge either our feelings, or our beliefs, by the standard of
pre-war days."

"Well," I declared bluntly, "I don't believe it.  Miss Lethmere would
never hold any communication with the enemy.  Of that I'm quite
positive."

"But we have it written down here--in black and white!"

"True.  But before we take this as authentic we must discover her, and
question her.  To you mysterious people of the Secret Service the task
will, surely, not be so very difficult.  You know the mystery of Miss
Lethmere's sudden and unaccountable disappearance.  Therefore I leave
all to you--to investigate, and to elucidate the puzzle.  I don't
pretend to account for it.  You, both of you, of the War Intelligence
Department and the Special Branch of Scotland Yard, have the facts
before you--plain facts--the disappearance of Lady Lethmere's daughter.
When her whereabouts is ascertained then the remainder of the inquiry is
surely quite easy.  I am not an investigator," I added with biting
sarcasm.  "I'm only an inventor, and I leave it to you both to discover
why Miss Lethmere disappeared."

"You apparently have invented something of which the enemy is
determined, at all hazards, to learn the truth," remarked Inspector
Barton.

I laughed, and slowly took a cigarette from my case.

"They will never know that," I declared with entire confidence.  "I can
tell you both that the secret experiments of Ashton and myself have been
crowned with success.  We have, however, been most wary and watchful.
We are well aware that at our works out at Gunnersbury there have been
intruders, but those who have dared to enter at night to try and
discover our plans have been entirely misled and, up to the present, no
single person beyond ourselves has ever seen, or has ever gained any
knowledge whatsoever of that electrical arrangement which constitutes
our discovery."

"Then you really can fight Zeppelins?" asked Barton, much interested.

I nodded in the affirmative, and smiled.

"So what is written here in cipher is perfectly correct?" asked Pollock.

"Perfectly.  The missing lady has actively assisted Mr Ashton and
myself in our experiments."

"And apparently the lady wrote down this message giving you away,"
remarked Barton.

"Somebody wrote it--but it certainly is not her handwriting."

"Quite so.  Spies frequently get other persons to copy their messages in
order that they can disclaim them," replied the Intelligence officer.
"We've had several such cases before us of late."

His words aroused my anger bitterly.  That Roseye had held any
communication with the enemy I absolutely refused to believe.  Such
suggestion was perfectly monstrous!

Yet how was it possible that anyone should know of the success of our
experiments at Gunnersbury?

Recollection of that well-remembered night when Teddy had declared there
had been strangers prowling about, flashed across my mind.

I knew, too well, that the evil that had befallen me, as well as the
disappearance of my well-beloved, had been the work of the Invisible
Hand--that dastardly, baneful influence that had wrecked my machine and
nearly hurled me to the grave.

"Well," I said at last, "I would much like a copy of this remarkable
document."

"I fear that I cannot give it to you, Mr Munro," was the captain's slow
reply.  "At present it is a confidential matter, concerning only the
Department, and the person in whose possession it was."

"We must find that person," I said resolutely.

"What is your theory regarding Miss Lethmere?"  I asked, turning to
Barton.

"Well, Mr Munro, it would appear that either the lady herself, or some
thief, threw the chatelaine from a train passing north through the
tunnel."

"There may have been a struggle," I remarked, "and in trying to raise
the alarm it might have dropped from her hand."

"That certainly might have been the case," the inspector admitted.

An hour later, accompanied by Teddy and Barton, I set out from King's
Cross station and, on arrival at Welwyn--a journey a little over twenty
miles--we spent the evening in searching inquiry.

The station-master knew nothing, except that both tunnels had been
searched without result.

The story told by the platelayer who found the chatelaine was to the
effect that he noticed a paper bag lying in the centre of the up-express
line and, on picking it up, found the jingling bunch of gold
impedimenta.  The paper bag had probably been blown along there by a
passing train and had somehow become entangled among the short lengths
of chain composing the chatelaine.

"Of course it might ha' been there a couple o' days," the stout,
sooty-faced man replied to a question of Barton's.  "I work in the
tunnels all the time, but I didn't see it before to-day.  We often finds
things thrown out o' trains--things people want to get rid of.  They
must 'ave quite a fine collection o' things up at King's Cross--things
what I and my mates have found while we've been a goin' along with our
flares."

"You can form no idea when it might have been thrown out?"  I asked.

"Probably late last night, or early this mornin'," was the man's reply.
"I started to examine all the rails just after eleven o'clock last
night, and had not quite finished when the 11:30 express out o' King's
Cross for Edinburgh came through."

"It might have been thrown from that," I remarked.  "Where was the first
stop made by that express?"

"Grantham, sir--at 1:33 in the morning--then York," he replied, in a
hard, rough voice.  His face was deeply furrowed, and his eyes were
screwed up, for he spent more than half his life in the darkness,
choking smoke and wild racket of those two cavernous tunnels through
which trains roared constantly, both night and day.  "Of course, sir,"
he added, "there were lots o' trains a passing on the up-line during the
night, mails, goods, and passengers.  Therefore it's quite impossible to
say from which the gold stuff was thrown.  My idea is that a thief
wanted to get rid of it."

"No," I replied.  "If that were so he'd most certainly have taken the
money from the purse.  The Treasury-notes and silver could not have been
identified."

"Then your theory is that it was dropped out by accident?" asked Teddy,
who had been listening to the man's story with keenest interest.

"Well--it certainly was not got rid of purposely by any thief," was my
answer, and with this Barton agreed.

Of other railwaymen we made inquiry.  To each I showed Roseye's
photograph, but none of the porters had any recollection of seeing her.

The signalman who was on night duty in the box north of the second
tunnel was somewhat dubious.  When I showed him the photograph he said:

"Well, sir, Saturday night was a bright calm night--and when the Scotch
express was put through to me from Welwyn box I was wondering if there
were any Zeppelins about, for it was just such another night as that on
which they recently attacked London.  They always seem to look for the
railway lines for guidance up to town.  After I had attended to my
signals, and accepted the express, I went to the window of my cabin to
look out.  As I was standing there the express came out of the tunnel
and flew by.  The driver was a little late and was, I saw, making up
time.  As it went past nearly all the windows had drawn blinds--all but
about three, I think.  At one of them I caught a glimpse of two women
who, standing up near the door, seemed to be struggling with each
other."

"You saw them distinctly?"  I asked eagerly.  "Two women?"

"Yes.  I saw them quite plainly," he replied, and I realised that he was
a man of some intelligence.  "When trains go by, especially the
expresses, the glimpse we get is only for a fraction of a second.  But
in that we can often see inside the carriages at night, if the
regulations are broken and the blinds are up.  A good many people
disregard the danger--even in these days of Zeppelins."

"They do," I said.  "But please describe, as far as you are able,
exactly what you saw."

"Well, sir, the Scotch express tore past just as I was standing at the
window star-gazing.  My mate at Stevenage had just put through an
up-goods, and all was clear, so I stood wondering if the Zepps would
dare to venture out.  Then I heard the low roar of the Edinburgh
night-express approaching up the tunnel, and a moment later it ran past
me.  As it did so I saw in one of the carriages the two women standing
there.  Both had their hats off.  One, a fine big strong person I should
take her to be, seized the other, whose hair had fallen about her
shoulders, and she seemed to be helplessly in her grip."

"Did you report it?"  Barton asked quickly.

"I rang up Stevenage and told my mate that something was going on in the
express.  But he replied later on to say that he had watched, and seen
nothing.  Later on in the night he spoke to me again, and said that the
man in the Hitchin box, who had kept a look out, had reported back that
all blinds of the express had then been drawn."

"So the assumption seems to be that Roseye was attacked by some strange
woman," I said, turning to Teddy.  "She struggled at the door, and in
the struggle the chatelaine which she had in her hand fell out upon the
line."

Barton drew a long breath.

"It's all a profound mystery, Mr Munro," he said.

"If your theory is correct, then we must go a step further and assume
that the stout woman overpowered Miss Lethmere, and afterwards drew down
the blinds before the express reached Hitchin, where there is a junction
and the train would, I suppose, slow down."

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the signalman.  "Drivers have orders to go slow
through Hitchin because of the points there."

"But why should Miss Lethmere be attacked by a woman?"  I queried in
dismay.

"Why should she have disappeared from home at all, Mr Munro?" asked
Barton.  "Yes.  I quite agree with you, sir, the more we probe this
mystery, the more and more complicated it becomes."

"Well, Mr Barton?"  I exclaimed.  "Now, tell me frankly, what's your
theory.  Why has Miss Lethmere disappeared?"

The inspector, one of the best and shrewdest officials attached to the
Criminal Investigation Department, paused for a few moments and, looking
me full in the face, replied:

"To tell you the truth, Mr Munro, I'm still absolutely puzzled.  The
whole affair seems to grow more involved, and more astounding."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

REVEALS AN ASTOUNDING FACT.

Weeks passed, but alas! the problem remained unsolved.  I became plunged
in the darkest depths of despair.

The hue-and-cry had been raised all over the kingdom.  Sir Herbert
Lethmere had offered a reward for any information concerning his
daughter, but nobody came forward with any really tangible declaration.

The hard indisputable fact was that she had gone down those front-door
steps in Cadogan Gardens and disappeared as completely as though the
earth had opened and swallowed her.

For me, those weeks were weeks of keen, hourly anxiety, weeks of grief
and breathless forebodings.

The woman I loved so dearly had been snatched from me, and now I felt
that I had no further object in life.  Indeed, I had no heart to make
any further experiments to perfect my Zeppelin-destroyer, and though
Teddy, in his old cheery way, tried to console me and endeavoured to get
me down to Gunnersbury, I always firmly refused to go.  The place was
now hateful to me.  My keenness had vanished.  Now and then I went out
to Hendon and looked at Roseye's machine still there.  Her mechanic,
whom Sir Herbert still kept on--he being unfit for military service--
hung about the aerodrome and smoked "yellow perils" awaiting his
mistress's return.

Once or twice, on bright days, I made a short flight just to keep fit.
Otherwise I generally remained at home in my rooms pondering, or else
out trying to follow some imaginary clue to which my theory led me.

Lionel Eastwell always expressed himself full of sympathy.  Many times
we met at the club and elsewhere, and he always expressed his belief
that Roseye was somewhere with friends.  Indeed, he seemed full of
optimism.

"My firm opinion is that Miss Lethmere has met with an accident, and is
in some hospital or other--some cottage hospital perhaps.  Maybe she has
lost her memory as result of her unfortunate mishap," he suggested one
day.  "There are lots of such cases recorded in the papers."

Truth to tell, my suspicion of Lionel Eastwell had daily increased.
First, he had always appeared far too inquisitive regarding our
experimental work.  Secondly, he had been ever polite and affable
towards Roseye with a view, it seemed, of preserving an extremely close
friendship.  Why, I wondered?  I knew that she had liked him for his
courtesy and pleasant demeanour ever since they had first met.  And the
point that they had first met in Germany I had never forgotten.  It had
increased my suspicion--and pointedly so.

The most puzzling fact concerning him, however, was that I had
discovered during my eager and constant investigations, from one of the
boys at Hendon--Dick Ferguson, who was flying a new REP "Parasol," that
on the very evening of the day that I had called at Albemarle Street to
find him ill in bed, he had met him in Hatchett's in Piccadilly, and had
actually dined with him there in the grill-room.

When I had sat at Eastwell's bedside, three hours before, he had then
declared himself unable to move without pain, and had told me that the
doctor had strictly forbidden him to get up.  Yet, on that very same
night, he had dined down below in the cheerful grill-room and, according
to Dick, was as merry as ever.

These were facts which certainly required explanation.

Why had he not gone along to the Piccadilly Hotel, or to the Club, as
was his habit?  Was it because, fearing to be seen, he had chosen the
smaller and quieter resort?

Most probably he feared to meet either Teddy or myself at the
Piccadilly, for we both frequently went there as a change from the
Automobile Club.  We flying-men are a small circle, and we have our own
particular haunts--just as every other profession has.

Three times I had questioned Dick Ferguson regarding Lionel's presence
at that small, but popular restaurant on that particular night.  At
first I believed that he had probably mistaken the date--which was so
easy.  But he had fixed it absolutely by telling me that it was the
night when the Admiralty had admitted that Zeppelins had again been over
Essex and Norfolk and been driven back by our anti-aircraft guns.

Certainly I had no reason to doubt Dick's story.  He was a pal of
Teddy's, and I had been up with him twice on his new "Parasol"--that
machine which Hendon men will remember as having caused such a
sensation.

How flying has changed since the war!  In the pre-war days those Sunday
meetings out at Hendon, with their passenger-flights, were quite smart
frivolous gatherings.  In the enclosure stood rows of fine cars with
many young "bloods"--who afterwards gallantly put on khaki--with many of
their best girls, some of them of the bluest blood of the land, while
others were revue actresses, with a few women aged, apeing and adipose,
with of course a good sprinkling of girls on the keen look out for
husbands.

There are some men who went regularly to "exhibitions of flying" before
the war who could tell strange tales--of pretty women held in the
clutches of blackguards, and of good, innocent boys who fell, were
blackmailed, and were "squeezed" to their death.

But it is ever so in sport.  The racecourse and the _tapis vert_ have
both been the cause of the downfall of a good many excellent fellows,
therefore the organisers of the aerodromes are not to be blamed for the
exploits of those pestilent undesirables who as at Epsom, Newmarket or
Sandown, having paid the admission fee, passed through its gates.

Ah!  I recall--and many will recall with me--those summer afternoons
upon the lawn where the little tea-tables were set, and where some of
the worst girls in the smartest and most daring of costumes sat with
some of the best girls in the neatest to sip the innocuous beverage and
to nibble cakes with the best and bravest young fellows in all England.

That strange, daring little world of flying-men--knew it, but they were
level-headed and, keeping themselves to themselves, gave the cold
shoulder to the unknown ones who drifted in from nowhere to display
their brilliant raiment, and to watch, in a bored way, such feats as
looping the loop, and other exercises which have proved such splendid
training for our flying-boys to-day.

I did not trust Eastwell.  Both his actions and his attitude puzzled me.
An intimate friend of Sir Herbert, he was often at Cadogan Gardens,
telling his host and Lady Lethmere that he firmly believed that Roseye
was still ill, and still unidentified.

Purposely I avoided him.  Teddy and I were in full agreement over this.
A man who had been ill in bed and in pain, with no prospect of getting
about for some days, and yet could go and dine merrily at Hatchett's
that same evening, was, I argued, not to be trusted further.

All that Captain Pollock and Inspector Barton had told me served to
increase the amazing puzzle.

They said that Roseye was a spy of Germany, but I defied them.  I
declared that they had lied.

"My own opinion, Munro, is that my poor girl is dead," Sir Herbert
declared one afternoon when I called.  "I know," he went on
sympathetically.  "I know how deeply devoted you were to her.  But alas!
we must be brave and face facts in this critical situation in which we
all find ourselves to-day."

For a moment I did not reply.  I had frankly told him of that mysterious
message found in Roseye's card-case, and he had followed every channel
of my inquiries with eager interest, paying most of the out-of-pocket
expenses and having one or two confidential interviews with Inspector
Barton.

Like myself, and like Teddy also, he would not hear of any allegation
against his daughter.  That cryptic message he regarded as the work of
the Invisible Hand which, since August 1914, had been raised against our
dear beloved country.

Once or twice Lionel Eastwell had called upon me in Shaftesbury Avenue
and sat beside my fire, discussing the war, the Zeppelin menace and the
apparent apathy in certain quarters to deal firmly with it.  At that
moment the popular Press were loud in their parrot-cries that we had no
adequate defence.  In a sense, they voiced the public demand.  But those
papers which were now loudest in the denunciation of the Government were
the selfsame which, before the war, had jeered at any suggested progress
in aviation, and had laughed to scorn any prizes offered to aviators as
encouragement in designing machines, or in flying them.

The Invisible Hand was, even in those days, laid heavily upon the Press,
who laughed at Zeppelins, and declared that on that night long ago, when
they had been seen hovering over Sheerness, the naval witnesses of their
arrival were "pulling the long bow."

The Invisible Hand indeed stretched far and wide in the pre-war days.
From Wick to Walmer, from Cork to Cromer, and from Donegal to Dover, the
British public were assured that Zeppelins could never cross the North
Sea.  They were only very delicate gas-bags--some called them
egg-shells--which could perhaps take up passengers in fair weather and,
given continued fair weather, deposit them somewhere in safety.

The Invisible Hand wrote screeds of deliberate lies and utterly
bamboozled England, just as the Crowned Criminal of Germany carried on
his secret and insidious policy of the Great Betrayal.

Curiously enough the very organs of the Press which in 1913, when
strange airships were reported over Yorkshire and the North-East coast,
received the news with incredulity and amusement, were the very organs
which now cried the loudest that something must be done to destroy
Zeppelins.

I was chatting with Teddy one afternoon in my room, and had pointed out
that fact, whereupon he blew a cloud of cigarette smoke from his lips,
and said:

"You're quite right, my dear Claude.  The armchair sceptics of 1913 were
the people who have since told us that Zeppelins could kill only an
occasional chicken--that Zeppelins could not reach London--that
Zeppelins, if they did get to London, would never return--that Zeppelins
were useless in bad weather--that Zeppelins could not survive a fall of
snow--and so on."

"Do you recollect how one section of the Press violently attacked
another because the latter had dared to warn the country against the
danger of attacks from the air?"  I asked.  "The purblind optimists
waxed hilarious, and called it the `Scareship Campaign.'"

Teddy laughed, as he stretched himself in his chair.

"Yes," he said.  "I recollect quite well, though I had not yet taken my
`ticket,' how the `trust-our-dear-German-brother' propagandists were
terribly angry because some newspaper or other had demanded a large
provision for dirigibles in the coming Estimates.  They accused the
paper of `staging the performance' for the sake of a new journalistic
scoop.  One paper, a copy of which I still have," Teddy went on,
"expressed greatest amusement at the statements of witnesses who had
seen and heard Zeppelins on the North-East coast.  I was only reading it
the other day.  One person heard `the whirr of engines'; another `a
faint throbbing noise.'  To one, the airship appeared as `a cigar-shaped
vessel,' to another as `a small luminous cloud.'  These variations--they
are not contradictions--were sufficient, in the opinion of that
particular paper, to discredit the whole business.  The writer of the
article calmly stated that what was alleged to be a Zeppelin `turns out
to have been merely a farmer working at night in a field on the hilltop,
taking manure about in a creaky wheelbarrow, with a light swung on the
top of a broomstick attached to it.'"

"I know, Teddy," I exclaimed.  "Our dear old England has been sadly
misled by those who intended to send us to our ruin and dominate the
world.  Yet we have one consolation--you and I--namely, that we have,
within our hands, a power of which the enemy knows nothing, and--"

"But the enemy suspects, my dear old fellow," said my friend seriously.
"That's why you had your unfortunate spill--and why Roseye is to-day
missing.  Probably I shall be the next to fall beneath the clutch of the
Invisible Hand."

"Yes.  For heaven's sake! do be careful," I exclaimed anxiously.  "You
can't be too wary!"

"Well--we've the satisfaction of knowing that they haven't discovered
our secret," he declared.

"No--and, by Jove! they won't!"  I declared firmly.  "Yet, the way in
which we have been misled by those infected with the Teuton taint is
really pathetic.  I remember the wheelbarrow story quite well.  Just
about that same time a foreign correspondent of one of our London daily
papers wrote telling us that Zeppelins were mere toys.  They cost fifty
thousand pounds apiece to build, and German experts had agreed that in
fine weather they might reasonably expect to reach our coast, but that
it was doubtful if they could get back.  The return voyage, with the
petrol running low and the capacity of the ship and crew approaching
exhaustion, would probably end in disaster if the wind were contrary.
We were also told by this wonderful correspondent that the idea that
these ships could drop from one to two tons of explosives on our heads
at any time was absurd."

"Yes, yes," Teddy sighed.  "It is all too awful!  That correspondent's
story only serves to show how easily we were fascinated by German
friendship, and by the Emperor himself, who raced at Cowes, and who,
while bowing his head piously over Queen Victoria's grave, was already
secretly plotting our downfall.  But are we not secretly plotting the
downfall of the Zeppelins--eh?" he added, with his usual cheery good
humour.

"Yes, we are.  And, by Gad, we'll show the world what we can do, ere
long," I said.  "But I am full of fierce anger when I recollect how our
little aviation circle has been ridiculed by red-taped officialdom, and
starved by the public, who thought us airy cranks just because the
Invisible Hand was all-powerful in our midst.  The German experts
deceived the Berlin correspondents of our newspapers; the Emperor
uttered his blasphemous prayers for peace, the Teutonic money-bags
jingled and their purse-strings were opened.  And so our trustful public
were lulled to sleep, and we were told to forget all about Zeppelins for
they were mere harmless toys, and we were urged, in leading articles of
our daily papers, to get on with the Plural Voting Bill, and to
investigate the cause in the fall of the output of sandstone--`including
ganister' as officialdom describes that commodity."

"True, Claude," exclaimed my friend, as we smoked together.  "The whole
thing is a striking example of the blindness of those who would not see;
and who, even now, when innocent women and children are being killed,
are dismissing the raids as `of no military importance.'"

"Since war broke out we've learnt one or two things--haven't we?"  I
said.  "Though the public are still in ignorance of the actual truth, we
flying-men who have studied aeronautics as perfected by Germany, know
that Zeppelins can now be brought to a standstill and mark time during
the observations of their pilots.  Aiming is still in a primitive stage,
notwithstanding the use of `directed' aerial torpedoes such as we know,
by the Press bureau, have been used.  Smoke-bombs are effective to cover
the rising of the airship to safety heights.  Zeppelins can fly at a
height of two and a half to three miles, while shots through the fabric
can be repaired during the flight."

"Exactly," replied Teddy.  "But we have also proved that warnings to
Britons do not foster panic.  Nowadays we see quite plainly that
Zeppelin raids have been adopted by the Germans as part of their regular
campaign, and it is quite clear that during the coming months they may
`increase and multiply'--whatever the civilised world may say or think.
The enemy is out to damage our cities, and has, indeed, told the
neutrals that he will do so, regardless of every law of civilised
warfare."

"I contend that Zeppelin raids _are_ of military importance--of very
great importance--and I intend to devote myself to treating them as
such, whatever officialdom may say to the contrary," I declared.

"Bravo! old man!"  Teddy said.  "And I'll help you--with every ounce of
energy I possess!"

Yet scarcely had he uttered those words, when Theed opened the door and
held it back for a visitor to enter.

I started to my feet, pale and speechless!  I could not believe my eyes.

There, before us, upon the threshold, dressed cheaply, plain, even
shabbily, and utterly unlike her usual self, stood Roseye--my own
beloved!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE LEOPARD'S EYES.

For a few moments I stood dumbfounded.

I could scarcely believe my own eyes.

The figure before me was pale-faced and wan.  She wore an old blue felt
hat with wide brim which was most unbecoming, a faded jersey that had
once been dark mauve, and an old black skirt, while her boots were
cracked and bulging, and she was without gloves.

She smiled at me inanely, as she came across the room and Theed closed
the door after her.

"Roseye!"  I gasped.  "Whatever does this mean?"

"Is it really you!" cried Teddy, equally amazed.

"It is," she replied in a low, very weary voice.

I saw that she appeared exhausted, for she clutched at the edge of the
table, so I led her gently to my chair wherein she sank inertly, with a
deep sigh.

"Roseye," I said.  "Where have you been?"

She turned her gaze upon the fire.  Her face remained hard-set.  The
expression upon her white countenance was one of tragedy.

Her chest heaved and fell, and I saw that her ungloved hands, grasping
the arms of the chair, were trembling.

"You are cold!"  I cried.  And dashing to the cupboard I got out some
brandy and a siphon.

She sipped a few drops from the glass I offered her, smiling in grateful
acknowledgment.

Then, as I stood upon the hearthrug facing her, I repeated my question:

"Tell us, Roseye.  Where have you been?"

In her great blue eyes I noticed a strange, vacant expression; a look
such as I had never seen there before.  She only shook her head
mournfully.

"What has happened?"  I inquired, bending and placing my hand tenderly
upon her shoulder.

But, with a sudden movement, she buried her face in her small hands and
burst into a torrent of tears.

"Don't ask me!" she sobbed.  "Don't ask me, Claude!"

"Look here, old chap," exclaimed Teddy, who was quite as mystified as
myself.  "I'll come back later on.  That Miss Lethmere is safe is, after
all, the one great consolation."

And, rising, my friend discreetly left the room.

When he had gone I fell upon my knees before my rediscovered love and,
taking her cold hands in mine, covered them with hot, fervent kisses,
saying:

"Never mind, darling.  You are safe again--and with me!"

All my efforts to calm her, however, proved unavailing, for she still
sobbed bitterly--the reaction, no doubt, of finding herself again beside
me.  With women, in circumstances of great strain, it is the feminine
privilege to relieve themselves by emotion.

"Speak!"  I urged of her.  "Tell me where you've been, darling?"

But she only shook her head and, still convulsed by sobs, sat there
inert and heedless of all about her.

As I knelt in silence, the quiet of my room remained unbroken save for
the low ticking of the clock, and the soft sobs of the woman I so dearly
loved.

Tenderly I took my own handkerchief and wiped those tears from her
white, hard-set face.  Then, for the first time, I saw that her left
eyebrow showed a dark red scar.  It had not been there on the last
occasion when we had been together.

That mark upon her brow set me wondering.

Across her forehead she drew her hand wearily, as at last she sat
forward in her chair, an action as though to clear her confused and
troubled brain.

"Let me take off your hat," I said and, with a man's clumsiness, removed
the old felt hat from her head.

As I did so her wealth of soft hair, which I saw had been sadly
neglected, fell unkempt about her shoulders.

"That--_that woman_!" she suddenly ejaculated, half starting from her
seat.  "_Ah! that woman_!" she cried.

"What woman, dear?"  I asked, much mystified at her words.

"That woman--that awful woman!" she shouted.

"Ah! send her away--save me from her--Oh! save me.  _Look_!"

And she pointed straight before her at some phantom which she had
conjured up in her imagination.

At once I realised that she was hysterical, and that some hideous ghost
of her past adventure had arisen before her.

"Calm yourself, darling," I urged softly, my arm around her waist.
"There is no one here.  You are alone--alone with me--Claude!"

"Claude!" she echoed, turning toward me and gazing blankly into my eyes
with an expression which lacked recognition.  "Oh--yes!" she added in a
tone of surprise.  "Why--yes--Claude!  Is it you--_really you_?"

"Yes.  I am Claude--and you are alone with me," I said in great
apprehension, for I feared lest she might be demented.  No doubt she had
been through some terrible experiences since last I had clasped her
hand.

Again she sighed deeply.  For the next few moments she gazed into my
eyes in silence.  Their stony stare thrilled and awed me.  At last a
very faint smile played about her lips, and she exclaimed: "Oh, yes!
How awfully silly of me, Claude!  How very foolish.  Forgive me, won't
you?"

"Forgive you, darling!  Why, of course," I said, pressing her closely to
me.

"But--but that terrible woman!" she cried, still terrified.  "You won't
let her come near me again--will you?"

"No.  She shan't.  I'm with you, and will protect you, darling.  Trust
in me."

"Ah!" she sighed.  "It was awful.  How--how I've lived through it I
don't know."

"Through what?"  I asked, eager to induce her to tell her story.

"No," she answered.  "You--you would never believe me!--you would never
understand!  Oh! that woman!  Look!" and in terror she raised her finger
and pointed again straight before her.  "Look!  Don't you see her!
She's fixed her eyes upon me--_those awful leopard's eyes_!"

"There's nobody here, Roseye," I assured her.  "You're alone with me."

"Alone!  Why, no.  She's there--see straight over there!" cried my love,
her face distorted by wild terror.  "Ah! she's coming nearer!" she
shrieked, again covering her face with her hands, as though to shut out
the imaginary face.

"Ugh!" she shuddered.  "Don't let her touch me!  Don't let her touch me!
Don't, Claude--for Heaven's sake, I beg of you.  That woman--that awful
woman with the leopard's eyes!"

"Come, come," I said, rather severely.  "You must not give way to these
hallucinations, Roseye.  There's nobody here, I assure you.  It's all--"

"But she _is_ here!" she shrieked.  "You can't deceive _me_; she's
here--with us.  Perhaps you can't see her--but I can.  Oh! those
horrible eyes--the fiend!  Ah! what I have suffered!"

I did not reply.  I was at a loss how to act.  Sight of my beloved
betraying such abject terror unnerved me.

Too well did I recollect the story of the railway signalman near Welwyn,
how, when the night-express came out of the tunnel tearing north from
London, he had distinctly seen two women struggling.  One was in the
grasp of the other.

Was this the woman whom Roseye believed was present in my room--the
mysterious Woman with the Leopard's Eyes?

I crossed to the window, and standing at the spot where at my love
declared she could see the mysterious female by which she seemed
haunted, said:

"Now, look, dear!  There is nobody here."

"There is!" she persisted.  "She's there just behind you.  Mind!  She
intends to do you harm!  Yes," she added.  "I saw her at Hendon.  I
remember, most distinctly!  She knows you--and she means to do you
harm!"

I returned to her side, frantic at my inability to convince her that all
was her imagination.

There was no doubt that, deeply impressed upon her memory, was some
recollection of terrifying events in which a mysterious woman had played
a leading part.

As I looked at that blank, yet horrified expression upon her pale, sweet
face I became more than ever convinced that she had been held beneath
the thraldom of some woman of evil intent--that woman whom she described
as possessing the crafty eyes of a leopard.

For a full half-hour I argued with her, endeavouring to calm her but,
unfortunately, to little avail.  Presently, however, her expression
altered, she grew less agitated, until at last, as I sat holding her in
my arms, I kissed her fondly upon the lips, and again begged:

"Do tell me, my darling, where you have been all this long time?  I've
searched for you everywhere."

"I--I don't know," was her blank reply.  "I can't tell you."

"But surely you recollect something?"  I urged eagerly.  "Those are not
your own clothes that you are wearing.  Where did you get them from?"

She looked quickly down at her jersey and at her skirt, and then raised
her eyes to me in dismay.  Apparently, for the first time, she now
realised that she was dressed in some one else's clothes.

"That's curious!" she exclaimed, as though speaking to herself.  "That's
very curious.  That hat is not mine, either!"

"No, it isn't," I said, handing it to her to examine, which she did
critically.

Then, placing her hands idly upon her knees, she remained for a long
time with brows knit in silence, apparently trying to recall the past.

"You lost your chatelaine--the one I gave you," I said, hoping that the
fact might, in some way, stir the chords of her blunted memory.

"My chatelaine!" she repeated, looking at me vacantly.

"Yes.  You lost your purse and money, and other things," I said.  "I
think you must have lost it from a train."

Suddenly she raised her face again to mine, and asked in a half-dazed
kind of way:

"Are you--_are you Claude_?"

"Yes," I replied.  "Surely you remember me!"

"Oh--yes!  But--oh! my head--my poor head!" and she placed her hands to
her temples and drew a long breath.

"Cannot you recollect--do try and tell me something.  Try and describe
to me what occurred after you left home.  What happened to you?"

She shook her head sadly.

"I can't tell you," she said at last, speaking quite rationally.  "I
really can't."

"But you must recollect something, dear?"  I asked.  "Your chatelaine
was found dropped from a train on the line near Welwyn station, on the
Great Northern Railway."

"On the railway?" she repeated slowly.  "Ah!"

"That brings back something to your memory, dearest, does it not?"  I
inquired anxiously, for I now felt convinced that she remembered
something regarding her loss.

"Yes--but--but--well, I can't tell you about it, Claude."

"You can't, dearest--or do you mean that you decline to tell me!
Which?"

For a few moments she was again silent.  Her blank white face had become
almost as its own self, with that sweet, calm smile I had known so well.

"I must decline to tell you," she slowly answered at last.  "I'm sorry--
but I--I only ask your forgiveness, Claude."

"What is there for me to forgive?"  I cried dismayed.  "You disappeared.
Everybody feared foul play--and--"

"There was foul play!" she interrupted in a hoarse voice.

"By whom?"

"By somebody."

"You know who were your enemies?"  I asked quickly.  "You must know,
indeed."

She nodded in the affirmative, her eyes once more downcast, as though
fearing to meet my gaze.

"Cannot you name them--cannot you denounce them, darling?  It is your
duty," I said in a low, persuasive tone.  "Reveal the truth to me,
Claude."

"No, never!" was her plain and instant reply.

"Why not?"

"There are reasons."

"What reasons?"

"Reasons of my own.  Strong reasons."

"And may I not know them?"  I asked with some resentment.

"No, Claude--I can never reveal the truth--not even to you."  She was
now quite her old self.

"But I thought we trusted each other blindly and implicitly," I
protested.  "You surely know how deeply and fondly I love you, my
darling."

"Exactly," she exclaimed, with one of those sweet and winning smiles of
hers.  "That's just my point.  If you love me as you declare--and I
believe you do--then you will trust me, and you will, when I assure you
that I cannot tell you what has happened, refrain from further
questioning me."

Her argument was, certainly, one to which I could not very well reply.
It was a curious argument, and aroused suspicion within me.

She had now grown quite calm, and I could plainly see that she had at
last recalled the past, yet she did not intend to make any statement
whatever regarding it.

Why?  This disinclination to reveal to me the slightest fact was, in
itself, most extraordinary.  I then found myself reflecting upon the
discovery of that secret memorandum in her card-case, and the allegation
made against her by the red-tabbed Intelligence officer.

I was on the point of telling her what had been discovered--the purport
of the cipher-message and the suspicion which rested upon her.  Yet,
would that induce her to be frank and tell me the truth?  I decided that
it would not, therefore I said nothing.  Instead, I remarked in a low,
sympathetic voice: "I really think, darling, that it is due to me--to
your people also--that you should tell us the truth of what happened to
you, and of the identity of your enemies."

"I have already told you, Claude," was her quiet response.  "If you
really love me, then you should at least trust me."

"I do trust you, darling!"  I protested quickly.  "You surely know that!
You are in possession of all the secrets of our invention, and--"

"Ah! the invention--_the invention_!" she cried and, as she suddenly
recollected it, her whole manner instantly changed.

She started from her chair crying: "Yes--yes!  Now I remember!  I
remember!  It was awful--terrible--ugh!  Ah! my poor brain!" and again
she drew her hand across her brow.  "My poor head!"

She paused but, next second, she turned to me, exclaiming in a tone
quite unusual to her:

"No!  I shall tell you nothing--I shall say nothing!  I do not want to
remember--I pray only to forget--yes, to forget all--everything.  It is
too horrible!  Too cruel!" and I saw that my reference to our secret
apparatus had stirred another chord in her memory--one that caused her
both fierce anger and bitter remorse.

That fact, in itself, revealed to me quite plainly that her tragic
experiences, whatever they might have been, had some curious connexion
with our invention for the destruction of Zeppelins.  Thus, arguing with
myself further, I became more than ever convinced that she, in all her
innocence, had fallen defenceless into the unscrupulous grip of the
terrible but relentless Invisible Hand.

Why did she so persistently withhold from me the truth?  What more
natural than, knowing the identity of her enemies, she should seek to
denounce and justly punish them?  Now she was back at my side she surely
could not fear them!

Certainly her demeanour was most mysterious, and I stood there, facing
her, utterly bewildered.  The expression in her dear face was quite
uncanny.

Once again I begged her to tell me something--however slight--regarding
what had occurred to her.  I told her of our tireless search; of the
eager hue and cry; of the publication of her portrait, and of the
offered reward for any information.

"Ah!" she replied, with a strange, faint smile, as though of triumph
almost.  "All that was to no effect.  The precautions taken were far too
complete.  Nobody could have found me--for I was in a living grave."

"Yes," I said, hoping that she would reveal to me something more,
however vague.  "Tell me about it, darling.  Do, Roseye."

"Tell you!" she echoed with angry resentment, putting me from her firmly
and staring at me.  "No, never!"  Then a second later she turned towards
the curtained window and shrieked:

"Ah! look!--that accursed woman again!  Why do you allow her to come
here--if you love me, Claude!"

"She is not here," I declared firmly.  "It is all your silly
imagination!"

"She is!" cried my love wildly.  "You are lying to me!  She's there!
Over there!  Kill her--Claude--or she will kill you--ah! _that Woman
with the Leopard's Eyes_!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

FALSE OR TRUE?

One bright crisp afternoon in mid-December, Roseye, wrapped warmly in
her furs, sat beside me in the car as we sped through Leatherhead on our
way out to Burford Bridge, where we had decided to have tea.

In the grey wintry light the landscape had become gloomy and depressing.
Yet my love chatted merrily as we sped along.

Since that well-remembered evening at my rooms when she had made her
sudden reappearance on my threshold from nowhere, the days had been very
dark and terribly anxious ones.

After her refusal to tell me anything, I had taken her home, where her
sudden arrival had been as a thunderbolt to her parents.  But alas! her
overstrained brain had then given way, and for three weeks she had
remained in bed under the care of Sir Charles Needham, one of the
greatest mental specialists in Harley Street.

Thanks to his skill, she had slowly recovered--very slowly it seemed to
me.

A dozen times I had chatted with Sir Charles, and he had admitted to me
that the case was not only most unusual, but almost unique.  He could
not obtain from her any lucid account of what had occurred after she had
left home on that fatal morning.  She had contradicted herself so many
times.

Any reference to inventions, to electricity, to trains, to Zeppelins, or
to women, sent her into fierce paroxysms of anger.  Her attitude was
most mysterious.  In fact her adventures during the time she had been
missing were enveloped in a dark cloud of mystery which, even Barton
himself, was unable to penetrate.

Captain Pollock, of course, had been informed and had repeated his
red-taped suspicions.  But, having no reliable or actual evidence upon
which to base his assertions, Barton seemed inclined to disregard them.

I noticed this, putting it down to the usual disagreement which exists
in officialdom the world over.  No one official has ever been known to
be in actual accord with another in another Department.  That's why the
clock of State creaks on so rustily in every civilised community.

Arrived at that motoring rendezvous, the Burford Bridge Hotel, we took a
stroll in its picturesque grounds on the slope of Box Hill, leafless and
deserted on that December afternoon.

Having walked some distance along the gravelled paths, we sat together
upon a seat, when her sudden silence caused me to ponder.  Since we had
been walking she had scarcely uttered a word, and had appeared utterly
absorbed.

At last she exclaimed:

"I shall be so very glad when they let me fly again, Claude.  I feel
ever so much better now--quite my old self again."

"I'm delighted to hear that," was my reply.  "But you must wait another
week or two before you take out your machine.  Your man is overhauling
it thoroughly.  When I was at Hendon yesterday I saw that he had taken
down the engine."

"Yes.  I'm most anxious to help you, dear, with your great invention.
How is it getting on?"

"Famously," I replied.  "Teddy and I have been working hard for the last
four days, and have made progress in both lightening the weight of the
outfit, and increasing its power.  I've ordered a big new dynamo to be
constructed on such lines that it can be placed on my machine with a
second engine.  This engine will either run the dynamo, or the
propeller."

"Of course, I quite see," she exclaimed.  "You must have a second engine
for night-flying.  How long will it be, do you think, before you can
make a trial flight?" she asked anxiously.

"Early in January I hope, darling."

"And you will let me come with you--won't you?  Now promise me.  Do,"
she urged, placing her gloved hand upon my arm, and looking earnestly
into my face.

"Yes.  I promise," I answered laughing.  "Teddy will, no doubt, be very
anxious to come, but you shall make the first flight, darling.  It is
your privilege."

"May I come out to Gunnersbury and help you?" she asked.  "I'm quite all
right again, I assure you."

"When Sir Charles gives his consent, then you may come," I replied.

"I'll ask him to-morrow," she cried gladly.  "I'm so horribly tired of
leading an idle life at home.  Lionel lunched with us yesterday, and
took me out to a _matinee_.  It was quite jolly to have such a change.
We had tea at the Piccadilly afterwards."

"Lionel!"  I exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes.  Why?  Are you jealous--you dear old thing?"

I drew a deep breath, and she evidently noticed my displeasure.

"Jealous!"  I cried with affected nonchalance.  "Why should I be?"

"Well--I ought, of course, to have told you before," she answered.  "But
he's such a good friend of ours, you know."

Good friend.  All the suspicions I held regarding him flashed across my
mind.  Why had he pretended to be an invalid on that day I had sat at
his bedside, and yet afterwards had dined at Hatchett's?  Why was he
ever inquisitive regarding our secret experiments, and why did he appear
to possess such unusual knowledge of coming events?

"Yes," I remarked after a pause.  "He is, no doubt, a good friend."

I saw that I could learn more by disarming suspicion than by appearing
ungenerous.

"You don't mind me going to a _matinee_ with him, do you, Claude?" she
asked frankly.  "Of course, if it has annoyed you, I won't go again.
But mother said she thought a theatre would be a pleasant relaxation for
me, now that we can't go out at night on account of the darkened streets
and the bad winter weather."

"The darkened streets seem to make no difference to pleasure-going," I
said bitterly, and purposely disregarding her first question.  "Though
we are at war--though thousands upon thousands of our poor brave fellows
have been killed or maimed in the defence of their homes and their loved
ones, yet the London public are still the same.  Nothing seems to
disturb them.  Bond Street, with all its fripperies, is still in full
swing: the drapers everywhere are paying big dividends--money is being
squandered in luxuries by those who have never previously known such
things; jewellers are flourishing, and extravagance runs riot through
the land.  Men and women go nightly to revues and join in rollicking
choruses, even while the death-rattle sounds in the throats of Britain's
bravest sons.  Ah!  Roseye," I said.  "It is all too awful.  What I fear
is that we are riding gaily for a fall."

"No," she said.  "I agree in a sense with all you say.  But we are not
riding for a fall, so long as we have brave men ready to sacrifice their
lives in Britain's cause.  You, Claude, are one of those," she added,
looking straight into my face with an open, frank expression--that
love-look which can never be feigned, either by man or by woman.

In that second I realised that at least my suspicion that she had any
secret affection for Lionel Eastwell was groundless.

Yet I was, nevertheless, annoyed that he should still mislead her
parents by expressions of friendship.  True, when I came to examine and
to analyse my doubts, I could discover no real and actual foundation for
them.  Perhaps it was an intuition that possessed me--a strange
half-formed belief that Eastwell, though such a cheerful companion, such
a real good fellow, and so popular with all the flying-boys, was not
exactly of the truly patriotic type which he represented himself to be.

For that reason alone I inwardly objected to Roseye associating with
him, yet as he was such a warmly welcomed friend of the family, it was
extremely difficult for me to move in any antagonistic spirit.

Within myself I had a fierce and desperate struggle, yet long ago I had
realised that if I intended to win I must not show the slightest sign of
anger or of suspicion.

So, as we sat there together--gazing across the sloping lawn, so
melancholy in that falling December twilight, yet so picturesque and gay
on those summer evenings as I had often known it--I crushed down the
apprehension that had arisen within me, and laughed gaily with my dainty
well-beloved.

Still the facts--the mysterious inexplicable facts--remained.  Was it
possible that my love desired again to assist in the completion of our
experiments in order to know the result of them--and perhaps to betray
them?

No.  I could not--even in my inward anger at the knowledge that she had
spent the previous afternoon with the man I suspected--bring myself to
believe that she was really acting in contradiction to the interests of
the country.

Somebody has truly said that love is blind.  Well, I loved Roseye.  And
my blindness had been a very pleasant and delightful affliction up to
that tragic day of her disappearance.

Through those weeks when her mind had remained unbalanced and unhinged,
she had never once made any statement nor had she ever inadvertently
admitted anything which might reveal the truth as to where she had been,
or the identity of the person whom she held in greatest terror--that
Woman with the Leopard's Eyes.

With all the cunning I possessed I had sought to glean from her some
fact, any fact however vague, concerning those weeks when she had been
missing, but beyond what I have written in these pages, I could gather
no single incident.

I was but an ordinary man--one whose father had risen in the medical
profession to grasp one of its plums.  From being a ne'er-do-well and
idler, I had taken up aviation and, after much perseverance, had learned
to fly.  I suppose I was gifted with ordinary intelligence, and that
intelligence had shown me that, now we were at war, the enemy had placed
upon the whole country that secret Hand, eager and clutching, to effect
and secure our undoing.  Its finger-prints, indelible and unmistakable,
remained wherever one sought them.

That Hand had been upon me when I had crashed to earth with a wooden
bolt in my machine in place of one of steel.

But whether the Hand had really been placed upon Roseye was a problem
which utterly defied solution.

That she had suffered had been vividly apparent, yet her absolute and
fixed refusal to say anything, to admit anything, or to make any charge
against anyone, was, in itself, an astounding feature of what was an
extremely curious situation.

I remained that afternoon at Burford Bridge just as dumbfounded and
mystified as I had been at that moment when Theed had opened the door of
my sitting-room and she had returned from what, in her own words, had
been a living tomb.

Why a living tomb?  Who had prepared the trap--if trap there had been?
Who was the unknown woman, the very mention of whom terrified her--the
Woman with the Leopard's Eyes?

Though we sat there and laughed together--for I had affected, I hope
successfully, an utter disregard of any suspicion or jealousy of
Eastwell--I gazed upon her, and I saw that she had grown nervous and
anxious.

Why?

It seemed to me that, with her woman's innate cleverness and cunning--
which by the way is never outmatched by that of the mere man--she was
reading my own innermost thoughts.  She knew my suspicions, and her
intention, at all hazards, was to conceal from me some bitter and
perhaps disgraceful truth.

This thought aroused within me a relentless hatred of the fellow
Eastwell.  Nevertheless, once again when I came to examine the actual
facts, I could discover really nothing tangible--nothing which ought to
lead me, with any degree of right or justice, to an adverse decision.

I had revealed much to Inspector Barton before Roseye's disappearance.
I had told him of my suspicions of Eastwell, but I suppose he had--as
natural to, an investigator of crime--regarded those suspicions as the
natural outcome of a man's jealousy.  But they were not, because I had
never been jealous of the man--not until we sat there on the lawn before
the hotel, and she had told me how she had spent an afternoon at the
theatre in his company.

As a matter of fact jealousy had never entered my head.  Previously I
had always regarded Eastwell as quite a good fellow, full of the true
stamina of a patriot.  He had been, I knew, full of schemes for the
future of aviation in England ever since he had taken his first flap at
the aerodrome.  Once, indeed, he had serious thoughts, in the pre-war
days, of putting up as Parliamentary candidate for a Yorkshire borough.
But the matter fell through because the Opposition, on their part, ran a
man whose chances were assured--an Anglo-Indian colonel who had passed
through every local distinction, from being a member of the local Board
of Guardians to becoming a DL.  Against such odds Eastwell could not
fight.  In the great game of politics it has ever been that the local
man who spends his money with the local butcher, baker and
candlestick-maker, is usually returned with a thumping majority.

The man from afar, the man with a mission, the man who knows his job and
will dare to raise his voice in the House to declaim his country's
shortcomings, will usually be jeered at as a "carpetbagger" and
hopelessly outpaced and outvoted.

I knew this.  I had seen it long ago.

As I sat there at Roseye's side I fell to wondering--wondering whether
she had actually played an open, straightforward game.

Or was she deceiving me!

Which?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

CONCERNS HAROLD HALE.

Christmas came, but it brought no relaxation to Teddy, or to myself.

We were working hard at our scheme out at Gunnersbury, making experiment
after experiment, many being failures, with a few successes.

Of Eastwell we saw nothing, for he had flown up to the north-east coast
in order to watch some evolutions being carried out by the anti-aircraft
corps, and had not returned.

Sir Charles had now given Roseye permission to assist us in our work
and, indeed, one morning in the first week of the New Year she made her
first flight since that day of her disappearance.

My mind, however, was by no means at rest.  After my own experiences I
was careful to examine and to fly her machine several times around the
aerodrome before I would allow her to go up.  If my machine had been
tampered with in the way it had, then there was but little doubt that an
attempt might be made against her.

She had gone for about an hour when I saw her returning, a tiny speck in
the clear sky coming from the south-west, and flying very high.  When at
last she landed and I handed her out of the pilot's seat, she put up her
big goggles and, flushed with satisfaction, cried:

"I've had such a splendid wind behind me!  The weather is quite perfect.
How good it feels to be out once again, Claude!"

"Yes, dear," I answered, as we strolled together over towards the
hangars, whence one of the school-buses had just begun to flap.  "I
should like to go up but, as you know, they are busy putting in my
second engine for night-flying, and to drive the dynamo.  I fear it
won't be ready for quite another fortnight yet."

"What speed do you really expect to develop?" she asked, much
interested.

"In order to overtake a Zeppelin I must, at least, be able to fly eighty
miles an hour," was my reply.  "And I must also be able to fly as slowly
as thirty-five in order to economise fuel and to render the aim accurate
as well as to make night-landing possible."

"Are you certain that you will be able to do it?" she asked, a little
dubiously I thought.  She knew that, as far as our apparatus for the
direction of the intense electric current was concerned, it was
practically perfect.  Yet she had, more than once, expressed her doubt
as to whether my monoplane, with its improvements of my own design,
would be able to perform what I so confidently expected of it.

"Of course one can be certain of nothing in this world, dear," was my
reply.  "But by all the laws of aerodynamics it should, when complete,
be able to do what I require.  I must be able to carry fuel for twelve
hours cruising at low speed, so as to enable me to chase an airship to
the coast, if necessary.  Further, I must, in order to be successful, be
able to climb to ten thousand feet in not more than twenty minutes.  You
see," I explained, "I am trying to have the engines silenced, and I am
fitting up control-gear for two pilots, so as to allow one to relieve
the other, and, further, I have designed the alterations whereby either
Teddy or myself can have equal facilities to work the searchlight as
well as the deadly current."

"I do hope it will be a success.  You have had so many failures, dear,"
she said, as we stood together, watching Teddy make a descent, for he
was up testing his engine.

"Yes, that first magnetic wave idea proved a failure," I said
regretfully.  "And why, I can't yet discover.  My first idea was to
create an intensified magnetic wave which would have the effect of
`seizing' the working parts of the Zeppelin engines, and putting them
out of action.  For instance, from your aeroplane you would direct this
wave against the Zeppelin and bring its engines gradually into a state
of immobility.  The natural act of the Zeppelin engineer, on finding
that his engine was slowing down, would be to admit more fuel for a few
moments.  On the sudden release of the arresting medium the engine would
`pick-up' violently and blow the heads out of the cylinders, thereby
causing the explosion which we desire to create."

"Your experiments were all in secret," Roseye remarked.  "The theory
seems sound enough.  Curious that it did not work!"

"Yes.  Even now I can't, for the life of me, discover the reason," I
replied.  "Yet we have, happily, tested this new apparatus of ours, and
we know it is feasible as soon as ever we can get its weight further
reduced, and the ray intensified."

"And the sooner you can do that, the better," my well-beloved declared.
"Before very long, at the present rate of increase, we shall, I expect,
see Zeppelins of a much greater size."

"True," I remarked, as I watched Teddy spring out of his bus, and make
his way across the aerodrome in our direction.  "No time should be lost.
To be effective the aeroplane will have to be able to climb to 18,000
feet, and even remain aloft at that height for hours to lie in wait for
the airship.  The airship of one year hence will inevitably be a much
more formidable machine than the present Zeppelin."

"But we must be most careful to keep the secret, Claude," she urged.
"The enemy must not know it, or they may combat us!"

I was silent for a few moments.  Across my mind there flashed the
recollection of that strange enemy message in cipher that had been found
in her card-case.

What could be the explanation of that mystery?  It was plain that the
enemy were in possession of some facts and, further, that at all
hazards, and regardless of all risks, they intended to discover our
secret.

I disregarded her remark, merely answering:

"I fear the Zeppelin menace will be serious in the North Sea before many
months.  It is only the bad weather which protects us."

The alterations to my machine were being carried on by a first-class
firm at Willesden, therefore, at Teddy's suggestion, all three of us ran
over in the car in order to inspect the work, which we found progressing
most favourably.

The foreman engineer, a big fat, elderly man, just as we were about to
leave the premises, called me aside and, in a confidential tone,
exclaimed:

"Excuse me, sir.  But did you send a gentleman named Hale here?"

"Hale?"  I repeated, looking at him in surprise.  "I know nobody of that
name!"

"Well--here's his card," said the engineer.  "He called yesterday
afternoon, and told me that you'd sent him, and that he had your
authority to look at your machine."

I took the rather soiled card, and saw upon it the name: "Harold Hale--
National Physical Laboratory."

I held it in my hand in surprise.

"A Government official!"  I exclaimed in wonder.  "I gave no such
permission!"  I declared.  "As I have repeatedly said, these alterations
you are making are strictly in secret."

"That's what I told him, sir."

"You didn't let him see the work, I hope?"  I asked anxiously.

"Not very likely, sir," was the man's reply.  "I asked him for a written
authorisation, but he said he'd left it in his office.  There was a good
deal of swank about him, I thought.  He seemed to have a swelled head."

"Well--what happened?"  I inquired.

"Oh!  He became very officious-like--said he was a Government inspector
of aircraft, and demanded to see what alterations you were making in
your machine.  My reply was to tell him that when he brought a letter
from you, I'd show him--and not before."

"Excellent!"  I said.  "Then he didn't produce any credentials?"

"None.  But he argued with me for a long time--told me that I had no
right to deny him access to information required for official purposes;
that I was liable under the Defence of the Realm Act, and all sorts of
other bunkum.  In reply, I merely told him to go along to the office and
see Mr Smallpiece, our manager--whom I knew to be up at the London
office," added the foreman with a grin.

"What kind of man was he?  Describe him," I urged.

"Well--he was about forty I should say--round-faced, with a little
close-cropped black moustache.  He was well dressed--a dark-blue
overcoat with velvet collar, and a grey plush hat.  He came in a taxi."

"Ah!  If we could find the driver, we might perhaps discover who he
was," I exclaimed.

"Well, sir, I suspected him, somehow.  I didn't like him.  So I took the
number of the taxi.  You'll see it on the back of the card."

I looked, and there found a number scribbled in pencil.

"By Jove!"  I cried.  "Most excellent.  I'll soon find out what his
movements were.  Thank you very much," I added.  "Remember nobody is to
know anything whatever of the work in progress.  That man may have been
a Spy."

"That's just exactly what I put him down to be, sir!" declared the
foreman.  "But trust me.  Nobody shall know anything."

When I rejoined Roseye and Teddy they were inquisitive--and very
naturally--as to what the foreman had been telling me.  But I kept my
own counsel, determined to make investigations alone.

We drove back to town and lunched in the restaurant at the Piccadilly
Hotel.  Teddy had suggested the Automobile Club, but I had overruled
him, and we went to the Piccadilly instead.  At the club there was far
too much flying "shop"--and I wanted time to think.

At three o'clock I ran Roseye home, dropping Teddy on the way, and then
returned to Shaftesbury Avenue.

As I entered, Theed told me that his father had been up to say that on
the previous night there had been some strangers about the shed at
Gunnersbury.  He had heard footsteps around the place at about three
o'clock in the morning, but on going out he could discover nobody.  He
had taken out his big heavy Browning pistol which I had bought for him,
and he had told his own son that he regretted that he had not caught the
intruders.

Here was another source of suspicion!  It confirmed my belief that the
Invisible Hand had been laid once more upon us, and, further, that
whoever directed it was alike most daring and unscrupulous.

"That's most curious!"  I said, in reply to Theed.  "Your father seems
to be having quite a lively time at night out there!"

"Yes.  He does, sir.  He's convinced that somebody is watching to find
out what's going on--spies, he declares."

"No, no, Theed," I laughed, in order to hearten him.  "There's far too
much bunkum talked about spies, and far too many sensational rumours on
every hand.  Tell your father that he's becoming nervous.  Surely he
ought not to be after all his long police service!"

I only uttered those words for effect.  I knew that Theed would bully
the old man, and tell him that he was suffering from nerves.  Every son
loves to jeer at his father, be he peer or peasant.

I passed into my room and took up the telephone.

In a few moments I was on to my friend Professor Appleton, the Director
of the National Physical Laboratory, that department which, for years,
had studied aeronautics.

"I don't follow you, Mr Munro," he said, when I told him the facts.
"What name do you say?"

"Hale," was my reply.  "H-a-l-e," and I spelt it.

"We've nobody of that name.  There must surely be some mistake!"

"But he came with a visiting-card," I said.  "He went to the firm of
engineers who are making certain alterations in my monoplane, and
demanded of the foreman the right to examine what was in progress.  He
told them at Willesden that he was an official of your Department, sent
by you, with authority from myself."

"Well, Mr Munro," replied the professor, in that quiet, matter-of-fact
way of his, "this is the first I've ever heard of any Mr Hale.  He
certainly has never been sent by us.  In fact I was entirely unaware,
until this moment, that you had any experiments in progress."

"Really, professor, I'm awfully sorry to trouble you," I said.  "But I'm
only trying to do my little bit--my very small bit--in the war.  Thank
you for telling me this.  One never knows when one meets enemies.  The
Germans are so clever, so practical, and so subtle."

"They are," he answered.  "Be wary, my dear Munro.  If you are carrying
out experiments upon any extensive scale you may be quite certain that
somebody in enemy pay is watching.  I have long seen it--long before the
outbreak of war."

Here again we had come up against the dead wall of fact.

"Then you think that the stranger was an enemy spy?"  I asked.

"Well, in face of the facts, and of what I myself know, I'm perfectly
certain of it," the professor said.  "I have no knowledge whatever of
any person called Harold Hale.  He evidently went out to Willesden to
try and obtain certain knowledge, yet, by the sturdy attitude of the
foreman whom you mention, he was defeated.  Truly the wily and dastardly
plots of our dear-brother-Germans--as they were called by some
irresponsible Englishmen those hot August days of the declaration of
war--have been amazing.  It seems to me, Munro," added the voice over
the wire, "that if you are wary and watchful you may discover something
that may be of unusual interest to the Intelligence Department."

Then in my ear there was a loud buzz, followed by a sharp click, and all
became silent.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

AT HOLLY FARM.

Those constant proofs of the enemy's eager inquisitiveness were, I here
freely admit, very disconcerting.

We seemed surrounded by spies.

A dastardly attempt had been made to kill me, while some evil--what, I
knew not--had happened to my well-beloved.  It often struck me as most
peculiar why she should preserve that strict secrecy regarding her
whereabouts through those weeks when she had been missing.

Her terror of the mysterious woman whom she so constantly described as
possessing the eyes of a leopard, together with the unbalanced condition
of her brain, were, in themselves, solid proof that she had passed
through some horrifying and terrible experience.  Besides, had she not
admitted that she had existed in what she herself had termed "a living
tomb?"

So evident was it that we were being watched by some persons who
intended, at all hazards, to discover the secret of our directive
electrical apparatus that Teddy and I now adopted a new scheme.  Each
evening, after concluding our experiments, instead of taking the brown
deal box back to my rooms, both my friend and myself disconnected the
essential parts of the apparatus, each taking part of it home for safe
keeping, thus leaving only the shell to be inspected by any intruder who
might make a further visit to the shed.

Old Theed, however, kept a good look out and, as twice he had reported
suspicious persons in the vicinity at night, he always carried his
Browning pistol.

A fortnight had passed and my newly-arranged monoplane was nearing
completion.  Daily I went out to Willesden to superintend, and make
certain alterations which had occurred to me since I had adopted my new
design.

That more Zeppelin raids were expected everybody knew, and none better
than myself.

The weather in the last fortnight of January 1916 was bad, and many
people were declaring that the German airships would not dare to venture
out except in calm conditions.

Some of the boys were discussing that point at Hendon one afternoon.

Teddy was inclined to argue as the public argued, that Zeppelins were
affected by weather conditions, and advanced many theories of fogs,
clouds, rain, snow, and the barometer.

"Then you don't think inclement weather any protection, Claude?" asked
my friend, while the others all listened in silence.

"No," I said.  "I quite agree with the arguments put forward on a basis
of fact by many writers in the press.  Of course Zeppelins, like every
other craft not independent of the weather, prefer to sally forth in
calms or light winds.  But the utmost one can say is, first, that the
calmer the weather the likelier a raid is to occur; and, secondly, that
raids are less likely to occur in broad moonlight than on dark nights."

"Then, my dear fellow," whispered Teddy into my ear, in a tone so low
that the others could not hear, "it is on one of the dark nights that we
must make our trial flight--eh?"

"Well, according to the latest yarns," remarked a fellow named Ainley,
"the newest Zeppelins are armoured, and these very large craft have a
gross lift of over thirty tons."

"That is not much larger than the Zeppelins existing when war broke
out," I said, "but, of course, it must be admitted that even a small
increase of size enlarges an airship's capabilities and range.  The top
speed of the new thousand horse-power type is said to be about sixty-two
miles an hour, but driving at such high speed must involve a heavy
consumption of petrol."

"What about climbing?" asked Ainley.  "You've made Zeppelins a study,
Munro.  Tell us your opinion?"

"Well, in order to escape, more than one German airship has risen, we
know, to 10,000 feet, but that was only in case of great emergency, and
meant sacrifice of load and great waste of gas.  You see, if a Zeppelin
is over a town and is discharging her bombs and consuming her petrol,
her natural tendency would be to rise.  Probably the new type of
super-Zeppelin could, I should say, rise 4,000 to 5,000 feet, but it
must be remembered that it cannot, with impunity, go to 12,000 or 15,000
feet because of the density of the atmosphere."

"Cover Great Britain with up-to-date `Archies.'  That's my opinion--and
one shared by many competent writers on the subject," Ainley remarked,
whereupon Teddy and I exchanged glances.

Little did that small group of pilots dream of the great surprise which
we had "up our sleeve."

A few days later--the First of February to be exact--the country was
startled by the news published in the morning papers that on the
previous night no fewer than six Zeppelins had flown over some Midland
counties, dropping a large number of bombs, and killing and injuring
many innocent women and children.

People who read the accounts stood aghast.  Then, once again, came the
cry from the big populous centres in the Midlands that warning of the
approach of enemy aircraft should be given, and once again the papers
were flooded with letters from indignant readers making all sorts of
wild suggestions how to combat the Zeppelin peril.  On top of this,
however, came the welcome news that the L19, one of the raiders, had
been found by a trawler in a sinking condition in the North Sea.

At least one of the barbaric baby-killers had got its just deserts.

Personally, I felt deeply moved by this latest dastardly invasion.  That
there must be an end to "traditions," to political speech-making, to
conferences and to promises of imaginary "nests of hornets," was now
clear.  The homes of Englishmen were threatened with destruction.
Germany had adopted a new mode of warfare that must change everything.
Therefore, happily, unfettered by red tape, and unattached to any naval
or military branch of the Service, but merely an experimenter, I
intended, at the earliest moment, to put my directive wave to the
crucial test.

During the past week we had not been idle a moment, and Teddy and I,
after more failures, had at last been able to reduce the weight of our
apparatus by nearly one-half, while we had been able to more than double
the intensity of the current since that well-remembered night when we
had tested it upon our wireless-pole while strangers had lurked unseen
in the vicinity.

My monoplane was at last completed, and ready for delivery.  All three
of us became greatly excited, for after so many months of patient
experimenting and designing, all was now ready for a practical trial in
the air.

Lionel had returned from the North, but was gone to France in connexion
with some trials of a new French monoplane at the aerodrome at St
Valery-en-Caux.  Therefore he was in ignorance of our pending
experiments.

That we were being closely watched by spies, and that our every movement
was being noted, we knew quite well.  Indeed, Roseye seemed, curiously
enough, to be filled with serious apprehensions.

Because of this, I decided not to fly from Hendon, but to experiment out
in the country.  Therefore on Thursday, the Tenth of February, in
greatest secrecy, I removed my machine in two motor-lorries down to a
little place called Nutley, on the borders of those high lands of
Ashdown Forest, about eleven miles north of Lewes.

There, after some search, we found a convenient barn at a lonely,
out-of-the-world place called Holly Farm, and this we soon converted
into a suitable hangar.

The farmer and his wife were quite ready to rent us the house furnished
as it stood, so next day we found ourselves in full possession.

Our party consisted of Teddy Ashton, the Theeds (father and son),
Roseye, the maid Mulliner, and myself.  Roseye and I made another
journey by car up to Gunnersbury, and also to my rooms, in order to
fetch down the remainder of the apparatus, and on the third day of our
arrival all the parts were ready for assembling.

Holly Farm was a small but comfortable old house, with an ancient
whitewashed kitchen which had black oak beams across its ceiling.  The
living-room was typical of the "best room" of the old-fashioned British
farmer.  In the deep-seated window stood a case of wool-flowers beneath
a glass dome, while upon the horsehair-covered furniture were many
crocheted antimacassars, and upon the wide, open hearth the farm-hand,
an old fellow of nearly eighty, made huge log fires which were truly
welcome in that wintry chill.

We had brought with us an ample stock of provisions, for the place we
had chosen stood upon one of the highest points, not far from Chelwood
Beacon, and miles from any town or village of any size.

From the attic windows which peeped forth from the thatch, we commanded
a magnificent view both away north over Surrey, and south across the
Downs to the Channel.  We were up upon what the Bathy-orographical map
of England terms "The Forest Ridge," which lies between the North Downs
and the sea.

With old Theed as sentry, we worked away in the farmyard, the doors of
which were carefully closed, assembling the machine.  That work took
three days, though we all strove with a will, leaving Mulliner to act as
housekeeper and prepare our meals.

Every day Theed's son took the farmer's cycle and went to get us a paper
at Forest Row Station on the line between Tunbridge Wells and Horsham,
that being the only connexion we held with the world outside.  The good
farmer I had paid handsomely, and had frankly told him that we were
making some secret experiments with a new aeroplane against the Germans,
whereupon he, as a good Englishman, had promised to hold his tongue.

That week passed rapidly--a week of arduous work, of intense anxiety and
excitement.  Sometimes a part would not fit, or was missing, and then
our spirits would instantly flag.  Still, after much eagerness--and
sometimes a few bad words, _sotto voce_, of course--we gradually got the
machine into readiness, and began the engine-test.

So powerful were those twin engines, with their wide throttle range,
that their roar could be heard miles away, for I had not been able to
silence them.  Nevertheless, nowadays, country people are happily so
used to hearing the rhythmic throb of aeroplane engines, that they
scarcely take notice of it.  Mine, however, were unusually fierce,
especially when both were working, one for the propeller, and the other
either for the searchlight or the directive sparking apparatus.

They had both been run "upon the bench" for many hours, of course, and
passed as perfect by the makers.  Yet a pilot never likes to trust
himself upon something he has not tested with his own hands.

Each one of us had his or her own work, and each one of us worked with a
true spirit of patriotism.  I had argued that if the Anti-Aircraft
Service were unable to bring down Zeppelins, then I, as a private
individual and a pilot who had had some experience in the air, was ready
to risk my own life in the attempt.  And in this Teddy was
whole-heartedly with me.

Naturally, Roseye often grew apprehensive.  It was because of that she
made me repeat many times the promise I had given her--that she should
make the first flight with me in the newly-constructed machine.

Each day Teddy and I, aided by young Theed, worked testing, tightening
strainers, seeing to pins and washers, adjusting bolts and other things.
And at evening, while the Theeds and Mulliner gossiped in the kitchen,
we three made ourselves comfortable before the great log fire in the
farmer's best room, and sometimes passed the time with cards, a
well-thumbed pack of which Roseye had discovered in a drawer.

One evening we had played cards and Teddy had wished us good night,
taken his candle and ascended the narrow creaky stairs, worn hollow by
the tread of generations of farmers.

"Claude," exclaimed my love, when we were alone, "I feel so very worried
over you!  I know how keen you are to act your part in this war, and to
put your theory to the test.  But is it really wise?  Remember that you
are going to risk your life.  The creation of that electric wave, when
in the air, may re-act upon your own engines and seize them--or it may
create a spark across your own petrol-tank.  In that case you would be
blown up in mid-air!"

"Ah!  That contingency I've already provided for, darling," I assured
her.  "Have you not seen that my new petrol-tank is a wooden barrel held
by wooden bands, so that there is no metal over which to spark?"

"I know.  But electricity is such a mysterious force, one never knows
what it will do, or how it will take effect."

"You are going a little wide of the mark, Roseye," I laughed.  "We know
pretty well the limitations of electricity--or rather we three know as
much--and perhaps a little more, than the enemy does.  My discovery is
quite simple, after all.  I have found out the means by which to create
and to direct a flash of intense electrical current, a kind of false
lightning.  And that current, sparking over the interstices between the
aluminium lattice-work and envelope of a Zeppelin, must certainly ignite
the inflammable gas with which the ballonets are filled and which is so
constantly escaping."

"Yes, I know," was her answer, as she allowed me to place my arm
tenderly about her slim waist.

Then she seemed unduly thoughtful and apprehensive.

"Well?"  I asked.  "Why are you worrying, darling?  I am striving to do
my very best for my country.  I am going to fight--or attempt to fight--
just as valiantly as though I were dressed in khaki, and wore the winged
badge of the pilot of the Royal Flying Corps.  Indeed, my chance is
better.  I have no Flight-Commander to look to for orders.  I am simply
a handy man of the air who has, I trust, thought out a feasible plan."

"Your plan is most excellent, Claude," she admitted.  "But what I fear
is the great personal risk and peril to yourself."

"There's none," I laughed.  "You, my dear, have no fear when you are
flying--even at high altitudes.  Neither have I.  Both of us are used to
being up, and our machines are part of ourselves.  I never think of
danger; neither do you, Roseye.  So don't let us discuss it further," I
urged.

Then, in order to turn our conversation into a different channel, while
I still held her hand as she sat upon that old black horsehair couch
with me at her side, I said:

"I've just been reading what is termed a hot-aircraft poem in the
_Aeroplane_.  I wonder if I recollect the concluding lines.  They run
something like this:--"

  The Scout makes no question of Ays or Noes,
  But right or left, as banks the Pilot, goes
  And he who dropped One down into the Field--
  He knows about it all--he knows, he knows!

  Here with a Dud Machine, if Winds allow,
  A Flask of Wine, a Load of Bombs--and Thou
  Before me sitting in the Second Seat--
  A Midnight Raid is Paradise enow.

  And when I turn upon the Homeward Trail,
  Dreaming of Decorations, Cakes and Ale,
  How bitter on the First Day's Leave to find
  My Name spelt wrongly in the "Daily Mail!"

"Ah!" protested my love.  "You really don't take it with sufficient
seriousness, Claude!"

"I do," was my quick protest.  "I am not worrying about failure: I am
only anticipating success."

"Do not be over sanguine, dear, I beg of you."

"I never have been," was my reply.  "To-morrow I shall make the first
test in the air--and you shall come with me, as I have for so long
promised."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

NOT COUNTING THE COST.

From our aviation map--a plan of the country unfamiliar to most people--
we had ascertained that about fourteen miles away, in a direct line due
east from Holly Farm, and about three miles beyond the little town of
Mayfield, lay a small village called Stockhurst.

The reasons why it attracted us were twofold.  First the church was
situated alone at some little distance from the village, and, secondly,
it possessed an unusually high, pointed spire.

Therefore on the following morning Teddy and I took the car, and after
going round by the high road which took us eighteen miles, through
Maresfield, Buxted, and across Hadlow Down, we at last, after going
along a picturesque lane, then brown and leafless, arrived at the long,
straggling village street of Mayfield, a quiet old-world place, far
removed from the noise and bustle of the world at war.  Most of the
homely cottages were thatched, and the whole place was typical of the
charm of rural Sussex.  As we passed slowly along we saw upon our right
an ancient comfortable-looking inn with its big stable-yard at the side,
the "AA" badge and a sign which told us that it was "The George."  Yet,
farther on, an incongruous note was struck by a glaring red-brick shop
called "The Stockhurst Stores."

That morning was bright and crisp, with a clear blue sky.  Indeed,
before we had left we noted that the barometer was rising, and that the
flight conditions were hourly improving.

A little way out of the village we came upon the fine old ivy-covered
church, with a tall spire of a type similar to that of St Martin's in
Trafalgar Square, while the dimensions of the aisle showed that it had
been built in the long ago medieval days when Stockhurst had been one of
the important market-towns of that district, until other and more
convenient markets had sapped its trade, and it had slowly dwindled down
to an obscure little place known only by reason of the monumental
brasses and beautiful stained glass of its church, which Thomas Cromwell
had happily spared.

Pulling up the car, I placed a file, a pair of heavy cutting-pliers, a
piece of asbestos cloth and a short length of copper-wire cable in my
pockets and, with Teddy, wandered through the graveyard in pretence of
inspecting the exterior of the beautiful castellated fabric.  By some
arched windows we saw that its earlier portions were undoubtedly Norman,
while others were of the Perpendicular Period.  These we examined, and
discussed, in order not to attract the undue attention of anybody in the
vicinity.

We tried all the doors, much gratified, in secret, to find them locked.
It proved the absence of any sexton or cleaner.

During our inspection of the church tower we had noticed the exact spot
where descending from the spire ran the narrow flat strip of copper
connecting the lightning-conductor with its earth-plate.  We sauntered
back to that place, where in the angle of the ancient flint wall, beside
one of the heavy buttresses the metal strip went straight down into the
turf.  The copper was much oxidised, for it had been placed there many
years ago for the protection of the steeple during thunderstorms.

"We mustn't lose time," I muttered to Teddy.

"Can you see anybody about?"

"No.  All's clear," he declared.  "I'll watch, while you do it!"

I went quickly across to the wall and at a spot about five feet from the
ground behind a big laurel bush I pulled the strip away from the wall
with my fingers and worked at it with file and pliers, until I had
severed it.

Then, at about a foot nearer the ground, I made a nick in the copper
with my file and bent it until it broke, leaving a portion of the
conductor about a foot long in my hand.  This I at once concealed
beneath the bush, while I placed a strip of asbestos cloth against the
wall beneath each of the loose ends of the copper conductor, the latter
holding the protective cloth in position upon the wall.  Then, when I
had concluded the work to my satisfaction, I pushed back the shrub so as
to conceal as far as possible the damage to the lightning-conductor, and
rejoined my friend.

"I'm afraid the rector wouldn't much approve of our work--if he knew,"
laughed Teddy, as we returned to the car.

"No," I said, adding, "I suppose you'll spend a pretty quiet day in this
place, won't you?"

"Yes.  The George looks comfortable, but not too cheerful," was Teddy's
reply.  "What time shall you fly over?"

"Just after ten.  The whole village should be in bed by then.  You go
out of the hotel just before the place shuts, and wander up here and
watch.  Theed, after seeing us off, will jump into the car and come over
for you at once.  Meanwhile, after the experiment, you can employ your
time in connecting up the broken conductor with the bit of wire cable.
I've left it all ready under the bush."

"By Jove, Claude!" he said enthusiastically.  "I shall be standing there
eager to see whether it sparks across when you turn on the current."

"I shall do so four times--judging the distance at five hundred, one
thousand, two thousand, and three thousand yards," I said.  "Then I
shall flash you two shorts from the searchlight to show you that I've
finished.  Understand?"

"Quite.  Afterwards I shall wait about for Theed to pick me up," Teddy
replied.  "I do hope we shall meet with success."

"We ought.  The points of the lightning-conductor should pick up the
intense current.  We've proved the theory on our insulated guys upon the
wireless-pole," I said in confidence.  "But, of course, we don't want to
attract too much attention here.  So make up some feasible story at the
hotel after I've left you there."

Ten minutes later we were in the old-fashioned bar-parlour of the
George, where the tables were highly polished by the spilt ale of
generations, and where the landlady, a buxom widow in a cap, greeted us
courteously.

I stayed for a quarter of an hour, and smoked a cigarette.  Then,
rising, I said loudly:

"Well--you go over and see about it.  Make the best bargain you can.
But don't pay more than ninety to ninety-five.  Jack will run over in
the car for you sometime this evening."

And so giving the landlady the idea that my friend was about to go out
and do business with some neighbouring farmer, I went out and drove as
rapidly as I could back to Holly Farm.

That afternoon I spent with Theed tuning up in the yard, running the
dynamo, making tests of the searchlight, manipulating the dual controls,
and seeing to my altimeter and other instruments.  I intended that, as
far as was humanly possible, there should be no hitch of any kind.

Roseye, in her mechanic's overalls, helped me eagerly.  Her small hands,
so white and delicate at the Savoy or the Carlton, were now oily and
grimy, and across her chin was a smudge of oil, giving her an almost
weird and comical appearance.

"Well?" she asked.  "And what does it matter, pray?  I haven't my best
frock on, nor my newest _crepe-de-chine_ blouse."

Yes.  She was a real "sport."  She knew as much of aircraft as most
pilots in the services, and could effect a repair as well as most of the
cigarette-smoking mechanics of the Royal Flying Corps.  Women, when they
take to flying aeroplanes, are often too daring, and take risks at which
men would hesitate.  Roseye was an illustration.  I had often stood in
breathless fear watching her bank in a manner that I should never have
dared to, yet she had come to ground lightly as a bird, and hopped out
of her seat laughing with the pure joy of living the exhilarating life
in the air.

Truly the cobwebs are blown away from the brains and lungs of those who
fly.  Indeed, it is a chilly proceeding, even when indulged in during
the dog days.  Motoring without a wind-screen is considered rough by
many people, but let them fly an aeroplane at forty miles an hour at
8,000 or 10,000 feet on any day.  It is always chilly in the air, and by
our thermometer that afternoon we both knew that we should have a cold
night-flight.

Beyond the little front garden of the farm, a square ill-kept grass
patch, bordered by neglected standard roses, was a big grass-field,
while beyond lay the open down sloping away to the valley.  At each
corner of the field we had already placed big acetylene lights, ready
charged, so that after we left, old Theed could light them to show us
our landing-place, for a descent at night is always dangerous,
especially if there is no landmark and the night be dark.

Through those exciting days of our sojourn at Holly Farm, I, assisted by
Teddy and Roseye, had worked night and day attending to every detail.
Indeed, at six o'clock that very morning--almost before the grey dawn--I
had gone round to these four lamps, the intense white light of which
would be visible for many miles, and lit and tested them in order to
assure myself that all was in working order.

The afternoon wore on.  Mulliner brought us out cups of tea into the
yard, for we were far too anxious and busy to think of the afternoon
gossip.  The days were lengthening, of course, but we found them all too
short.  This final experiment that we were undertaking would prove
whether, after all, we had any effective defence against the terror of
the night--or not.

Try how I would, I could not put entirely away from myself the growing
suspicion that, if spies had been so watchful, they would now be
increasingly eager and ingenious in their endeavour to combat us.  Once
I laughed at those who told us there were German spies about us--I
denounced them as scaremongers.  But hard facts, shown to us in black
and white, shown to us in prosecutions and actual executions of spies,
had convinced me--as they must have convinced every Briton unless he
were a pro-German or a lunatic--that dastardly secret agents existed
even in the most unsuspected quarters, and that the Invisible Hand had
been responsible for many a disaster to the British arms on land and at
sea.

Would that Hand still bring disaster upon myself?

Daylight faded--and quickly.  The evening was calm and clear, with an
orange glow of sunset in the west.

All was in readiness.  My machine, with its big dual engines, its
searchlight, its dynamo, and that most deadly apparatus contained in the
brown deal box, stood in the yard running like clockwork, all its
controls in order, every strainer taut, every nut locked, and the wooden
petrol-container filled.

All that was required was to wheel it out into the big grass-field and
give the propeller a start.

Roseye and I ate a frugal meal alone.  Mulliner, who served it, must
have commented inwardly upon our unusual silence.  We generally
chattered merrily.  Truth to tell, my mind was just then too full for
words.  If the test succeeded, then all would be well, and Great Britain
could defy the enemy's Zeppelins.  If it failed, I would not only be
ruined--for I had borrowed money to reconstruct my machine--but I should
know that all my theories had been blown to the winds, and that the
enemy's bombastic threats to set London in flames were no idle ones.

Roseye, reading my thoughts, became also pensive.  The hour of our great
trial was now at hand.

Even as we sat at table we could hear the quick throb of the engines for
a few moments, and then they were cut off.  Theed was busy getting
everything in order.

Darkness had fallen.

There was scarcely a breath of wind; the stars shone brightly in the
steely-blue heavens, and the barometer was steadily rising.

"A splendid night for flying!"  I declared, and as Roseye stood with me
upon the threshold my arm stole lightly around her waist.

"Yes, dear," was her reply, as she stood gazing away at the surrounding
hills silhouetted against the night sky.

The silence was intense.  From the distance, far away from the depth of
the opposite valley, came the noise of a train on the main line which
ran between London and the sea.

We both looked across the starlight scene, and wondered.

It was only half-past eight, so we went back into the farmer's best
room, and sat before the logs chatting.

In those strenuous days we were seldom alone together.  Yet, full well,
I knew how she reciprocated my affection, and how her every thought was
for my welfare.

Yes.  We loved each other truly, and my life would have been one of the
most perfect bliss were it not for that gulf of suspicion that had been
opened by her inexplicable disappearance.  That hour, however, was not
the one in which to recall it, so I crushed down its bitter memory.
Roseye was mine--and mine alone.

"You really want to go up with me to-night, darling?"  I asked, as I
again sat beside her upon the frayed old couch before the big blazing
fire.  "You are not afraid?"

"I fear nothing, Claude, when I am with you," she replied, raising her
big blue eyes to mine.  And then my lips met hers in a long, rapturous
caress.

In the dim light of the cheap paraffin lamp upon the table I saw that
her expression was one of complete trust and devoted affection.  How
could I doubt her further?

And yet the motive of her absolute refusal to tell me the truth
concerning where she had been was veiled in mystery.  It was an enigma
that had puzzled me to distraction.

"Remember, darling," I said, "you have never before flown at night.  We
have no landmarks, and can only guide by the compass.  Towns and
villages which, in normal times, can be easily identified, are now
blotted out by the lighting regulations, and even when we find our
church spire, our landing-place here may be difficult to discover."

"But it will be lighted, and we shall see it," she said.  "If we steer
by the compass for Stockhurst, Teddy--hearing our approach--will show us
flashes from his lamp."

"I hope so.  He's had a weary job I expect in that dead-alive place all
day," I laughed.

"No doubt.  But by this time he's active enough," she replied.

And then we both lit cigarettes, for she was very fond of my own
particular brand--one that I had found in the ward-room of one of our
battle-cruisers before the war, and had always smoked since.

The cheap American clock upon a side table crept slowly on.  Both of us
were impatient.  We waited still half-past nine, when Theed came in to
report that all was in readiness.  Would I help to wheel out the machine
into the grass-field, he asked.

This I did.  The three of us, including Roseye, put out the monoplane
into position, pointing eastwards away from the trees, and facing the
valley where, in the bright starlight, we saw that a faint grey mist was
now rising.

Afterwards we returned into the farm-house and I helped Roseye into her
flying-suit, with its strapped wind-cuffs and wide belt.  She loosened
her wealth of hair and, twisting it up deftly, without pins, placed it
beneath her leather helmet, after which she stuffed her padded gloves
into her pocket.

"It's going to be cold," I said.  "I hope you're warm enough, darling?"
I asked anxiously.

"Quite," she assured me.  "My suit is wind-proof."

Very quickly I also got into my kit--a kit I had used for months,
because in an experiment of that sort one wants to be hampered with
nothing new.  Then, when we were both ready for the flight, we went into
the field and, climbing into our seats, buckled the straps across us.

Theed junior and his father were attending to us, the former being at
the propeller and in readiness.

"As soon as we've gone, jump into the car and go out for Mr Ashton," I
said to the younger man.  "You'll find him somewhere near Stockhurst
church."  He knew the road, for he had gone over it on the previous day
in order to explore.

"Right, sir!  I'll get away at once and leave father to light the flares
for landing," was his reply.

Then, one after the other, I made tests.  First, I ran the engine, then
I switched on the small light which showed our compass, the map in its
celluloid cover, the altimeter, and the other instruments ranged before
me.  Afterwards I switched on the searchlight which for a few seconds
shot a white beam of intense brilliancy towards the sky.

Having proved to my satisfaction that both engines the and dynamo were
working well, I shouted the word to Theed.

In a few seconds there was a sudden throb of the engine which instantly
developed into such a roar that to speak to Roseye at my side became
quite impossible.

We shot forward into the darkness, a sharp gust of wind struck our
faces, we bumped for a few seconds along the ground, and then left the
earth, the noise of the powerful engines almost splitting the drums of
our ears.

I saw before me a belt of trees and, pulling over the lever, rose above
them, described a semicircle, and then, watching my compass, rose at
once and headed for Stockhurst church, where I knew Teddy was anxiously
awaiting our arrival.

I know that Roseye, with the icy wind cutting her eyes, lowered her
goggles, but after that I fear I became too occupied to notice anything
further.

It was a wild night-flight, and I knew that both our lives were now in
jeopardy.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE TRI-COLOURED RINGS.

Almost as soon as we rose we saw straight before us a beam of reddish
light moving swiftly northward in the direction of London.

For a few seconds it was shut off, shone out again, and then went out.
I knew it to be from a railway engine, the stoker of which had been
firing up.  Moving trains, notwithstanding the pulling down of
carriage-blinds, and the darkening of railway platforms so that persons
break their legs in descending, or getting out at a supposed platform
and falling upon the line, form the best guides for aircraft at night.
By following an express locomotive, which must be stoked at frequent
intervals, and looking out for the coloured signal-lights along the
line, an airman can always reach the London area.  I had, when
night-flying at Hendon before the war, often guided myself home by
following an up-express.

So terrific was the roar of my new engine that I could only communicate
with Roseye by signs.

I pointed at the moving train and, understanding my gesture, she nodded.

As we rose higher and yet higher into the calm starlit sky, the earth
beneath us became increasingly mysterious and misty.  Here and there dim
lights showed, single lights of scattered cottages unseen by rural
constables, or improperly obscured lights from the larger houses.

Soon some red and green lights showed away on our left, and I knew that
in the valley there ran the main railway line to London.

By day, at an altitude of 2,500 feet, the whole surface of the earth
appears perfectly flat, hills and valleys seeming to be on the same
level.  Therein lies one of the dangers of aerial navigation.  The
contour of the earth is quite indistinguishable when one is half a mile
high, therefore the altimeter is not of very great use--and more
especially so at night.  The instrument only records the number of feet
above sea-level, and not above the earth.  Thus, a pilot flying by night
can very easily pass over a valley and suddenly find himself
encountering a range of high hills with a fatal belt of trees or row of
houses.

Such is exactly what happened to us on that memorable night.  We crossed
the valley, and as I steered straight by compass in the direction of
Stockhurst at about thirty miles an hour, I had dipped and of a sudden I
found myself nearing a dark, high hill.  Just in time I shot up and
cleared, I believe only by inches, the roof of a house.

Roseye was quick to notice our sudden ascent and how we skimmed over the
house and the trees of somebody's park as we kept our rather zigzag
course.

A clever writer upon aeroplanes has, with much truth, pointed out that
the natural course of a machine is never a direct one, and if a line
could be drawn between two given points it would be found that first it
veered slightly to the left of this line, then gradually worked back to
the true direction, afterwards heading off to the right and again
returning.  Thus the true course is in the form of a continuous series
of left and right-hand semicircles.

These eccentric semicircles we were making with the engine running like
clockwork.  There were few clouds and, therefore, the chance of a nasty
"nose-dive" was not to be apprehended.  Once a machine gets into clouds
it behaves like a ship in a stormy sea, and clouds can easily be met
with after height of three thousand feet.

After passing over the hill I dropped again to 2,000 feet, that being
the best height to fly on a crosscountry journey.  There now opened out
to our view a quantity of lights, among which were the red glare of a
furnace, and a long row of small lights which evidently marked the main
street of some little town in defiance of the "order."

I planed down till I could clearly see the obscured lights of a railway
station, and by my map, over which my little four-volt lamp was shining,
I decided it to be Uckfield.  I therefore realised that I was bearing
too far south and, further, just at that moment I had a "bump"--as we
call it--or rather I ran into a patch of rarefied air which caused the
machine to plunge heavily and tilt.

Righting her, I rose again rapidly to 3,000 feet to get out of the
danger-zone and, turning east, discerned in the darkness below me yet
another cluster of lights which I approached rapidly, having decided
that it must be Buxted.

Still steering south-east I could see, away on my left in the far
distance, a number of scattered lights in a long line, denoting where
Hastings and St Leonards lay.  Beyond those lights, away upon the dark
sea, showed the long beam of a ship's searchlight moving slowly in an
are in the Channel.

Roseye, seated beside me, touched my arm and pointed to it.  Again I
nodded in response.

By the map I saw we were now approaching that high ridge which stretches
from Heathfield across to Burwash, the ridge which overlooks Hailsham
and the Pevensey Levels.  My altimeter then showed 2,800 feet and all
went well for ten minutes, or so, until just as I approached the railway
line near Heathfield, we became suddenly blinded by the white beam of a
searchlight from below.

Roseye put up both hands to her eyes, but I bent my head and kept on my
course.

I saw her put out her hand as though to turn our own searchlight
downwards and gripped her wrist, preventing her.

I knew that our approach had been heard by the anti-aircraft
listening-post on Brightling Beacon, and that, having picked us up, they
would see the tri-coloured rings beneath my planes.  Truly it was
fortunate that I had had them painted there, for I knew that upon the
Beacon they had a very useful anti-aircraft gun.

Beneath my breath, however, I cursed the men with that searchlight for,
following us, it blinded us.  My first impulse was to turn away from it
but, next instant, I realised that to do so might arouse suspicion below
and they might open fire.  Therefore I kept on though, so intense was
the glare, that I could see nothing of my instruments before me, and
Roseye sat with her gloved hands covering her face.

As suddenly as it had opened upon us, the light was shut off.  The naval
gunners on duty below had evidently satisfied themselves that we were
not enemies, and therefore, finding myself too far south for Mayfield, I
made a semicircle until I again came across a railway line going north.
I decided that if I followed it I must find Mayfield station.

It struck me that already Teddy must be hearing my approach.  My
luminous wrist-watch showed it to be now past ten.  Curious how very
quickly time passes in the air if there is but little wind, and one's
engine is running well.  It only seemed as though we had left Holly Farm
a few minutes before.  Since we had left I had spoken no word with my
well-beloved, the roar of the exhaust and the shrill whistling of the
icy wind preventing conversation.  Yet I could see her well-wrapped-up
figure silhouetted against the sky as, seated alert and watchful, she
was now on the look out for Teddy's signal.

That we were flying far too high I suddenly realised, therefore I planed
down to about 900 feet, and at that altitude we sailed over Mayfield
which was, however, in complete darkness, save for a cycle travelling
along its main street, and a couple of lights at the station whither the
green and red signals had guided us.  Passing Mayfield I still descended
to 600 feet, and then again circled round, but neither of us could
discern any flashing signal.

Teddy had with him a strong electric torch, and we had arranged that he
should give me a number of "shorts" followed by a number of "longs" in
order to tell me that all was clear.

But we could discern no signal!

Still lower I descended and circled about until I had actually picked
out the pointed spire of Stockhurst church.

Yet there was still no sign.

Roseye saw how puzzled I had become, and extended her palms to denote
dismay.  What could have gone wrong?  Where was the hitch?

Back I turned over Mayfield again, and once more took certain bearings,
for night-flying is always fraught with many difficulties, and one can
so very easily get lost.  I consulted both map and compass very
carefully, satisfying myself at last that I had made no mistake.

I had certainly picked up Stockhurst.  But where was the agreed sign?

Something surely must have happened!  Why did not Teddy show us his
light?

The time was quite correct.  We were only ten minutes late.  I knew my
friend too well to put his silence down to mere forgetfulness.

No.  Something had happened!

Both of us strained our eyes into that black, cavernous space below, as
we hovered in mid-air full of hesitation and perplexity.

There was but one thing to do, namely, to make our way back, for a
landing there was quite impossible, scarcely anything being
distinguishable save a small winding stream.  Besides, I was without
knowledge as to whether the wind had changed since I had left the farm.
It probably had.

Suddenly, flying as low as I really dared, I struck out a little to the
south making a complete circle of Stockhurst, but avoiding Mayfield.  I
had no desire to rouse the town again by the noise of my exhaust, for in
those days of Zeppelin peril the throb of aircraft engines was always
alarming, and more especially at night.

Three times did I circle round, but failed to attract Teddy's attention.

Suddenly Roseye nudged me and pointed eagerly down to the left.  Her
quick eyes had detected a tiny white light showing, which looked like
short and long sparks.

My heart gave a bound.  Yes, it was Teddy!

Yet we were now so high again, to avoid the surrounding hills, that his
flash-lamp only looked a tiny point of light.

He flashed some message in Morse, but I only got a few letters.

Would he repeat it?  We both watched breathlessly, as I headed the
machine in his direction.

Yes!

Again the light spoke in the "longs" and "shorts" of the Morse code,
which both Roseye and I could understand.

Together we read it.

"_Return in an hour_," he signalled.

Why?  I wondered.  What could have occurred?

Somehow, by the appearance of his light, I thought he must be signalling
in secret, and not in the open.

He would expect some acknowledgment from me, telling him that I
understood.

Therefore I elevated our searchlight so as to shine upward, instead of
below.  Then, touching the lever, a long beam of white light shot
skyward for a second.

Afterwards I shut it off, and made straight away due southward by the
compass, greatly puzzled.

What could possibly have happened?

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

FLASHES IN THE NIGHT.

It was most fortunate that I had taken in plenty of petrol.

Picking up the railway line close to Mayfield, I followed it due south
towards Heathfield.  For half the distance I could see that it ran
through woods, for the moon was rising, and gave us a slightly better
view of what lay below us.

When just over Heathfield Station the searchlight from the anti-aircraft
post on Brightling Beacon again shot up suddenly, and in a few moments
was upon us.  I was flying quite leisurely, and banked so that they
might get another good view of the rings on my planes.

They evidently recognised me through their glasses, for very quickly
they shut off their light and I continued, finding my way by the
coloured signal-lights of the line from London to Eastbourne.

The land beneath us was low-lying and pretty level.  There, before me, I
saw a few half-obscured lights denoting Hailsham town, then the railway
lights of Polegate junction came into view, and still farther in the
distance the row of scattered lights, some of which were moving, denoted
the position of Eastbourne.

The authorities may make all sorts of complicated "lighting orders" with
power to the police to enforce them, but it is next to impossible to
black out any even moderately populous area.

While a hundred residents will effectually darken their windows, there
are the few thoughtless ones who burn gas beneath their skylights, or
who do not sufficiently cover one window--often a staircase-window--or
servants who go to bed neglectful to draw their curtains across the
blinds.

Then there are shaded street lamps burning at dangerous corners, or at
cross-roads, and these, provided the ground is wet after rain, reflect a
zone of bright light which acts as an excellent guide to aviators aloft.

In the increasing light of the moon I made out the big gasometers of
Eastbourne which stood out as a landmark in the direction of Langney,
but, leaving them on my left, I steered a course for the coast over
Willingdon Hill, my altimeter again showing 2,800 feet.

I flew slowly and leisurely for fear of our anti-aircraft guns.

As I expected, a few moments later the listening-post on Beachy Head,
having heard my approach, was instantly on the alert, and the beam from
their searchlight shot up, searching slowly about for me, because at
that moment I had run into a bank of cloud and became obscured.

We were suddenly both enveloped in darkness, our only light being that
little bulb set over the map.  Still I kept blindly on, hoping to get
out of it quickly.  Yet the moments seemed hours as we went along.  I
increased the speed, but so long were we in that damp obscurity, that I
knew that we had entered the cloud at its greatest length.

At last we emerged once more into the cold bright night.  The atmosphere
of the cloud had chilled us both to the bone, but as we emerged the long
white ray fell quickly upon us.  Then I swerved, so as to exhibit to the
naval watchers the rings upon my planes and decreased my speed to show
that I had neither desire nor intention to escape.  Indeed, I hovered
there for a few moments in order to let them have good sight of me.
This satisfied them, and once again the long white ray was shut off.

In the increased light I found that road which most motorists know so
well, the steep and often winding way which runs near Beachy Head down
to Friston and on to Seaford.  Then, flying over Newhaven, I kept on to
Rottingdean and headed for the scattered and ill-obscured lights of
Brighton.

Flying at 3,000 feet I passed over the central station at Brighton,
striking north to Lewes, with my eyes constantly upon my watch.  From
Lewes I followed the right-hand line of railway which I saw, by the map,
would lead me past Barcombe to Uckfield.  And with my engine running
well I again, on gaining Buxted, struck due east in search of another
line of railway which would lead me to Mayfield.

Here, I had some difficulty.  I found a winding river, and believing it
to be the Rother, took my bearings by it.  Ten minutes later I found I
had made an error, and had to return to Buxted and take fresh bearings,
which eventually led me once again back over Mayfield.

An hour had passed, and I now again began to search for Teddy.

By the bearings I had taken before, I soon picked up the spire of
Stockhurst and, descending to about 500 feet, again circled around it.

I had only made one circuit when we both saw Teddy's flashes, and then
we knew that all was in readiness.  _The moment of our great experiment
had come_!

Roseye, who had taken careful instructions beforehand, prepared to
manipulate the levers, while I flew the machine.

To judge distance in the darkness is always extremely difficult,
especially when one is flying an aeroplane.  Nevertheless, I had already
made calculations and, assisted by my previous experiences of
night-flying, began the trial.

I had been travelling at sixty miles an hour for the past few minutes,
but I now slowed up and, dropping still another hundred feet or so,
circled out until I gauged that I was about five hundred yards distant
from the tall, thin steeple.

While I pointed the nose of the machine in the direction of the church,
Roseye set the secondary engine and dynamo at work.  Then I drew over
the little red-painted switch on the box close at my hand ere Roseye was
aware of my intention.  I left it there for a full minute, directing the
invisible wave of electricity upon the lightning-conductor of the
church.  Then I released it, and wondered what result the watchful Teddy
had observed.

Circling the steeple again still higher, and going out farther, to what
I judged to be a thousand yards distant, I repeated the experiment three
times, in order that Teddy could make accurate observation.  Roseye
pulled over the lever the last time, for at that moment we had a "bump."

I wondered if he was witnessing sparks flying across that intervening
space of the severed lightning-conductor--sparks of twelve inches, or
so.

Or was he watching and seeing nothing--in which case it would be proved
that the invention, when put to practical test in the air, was a
failure.

A further thousand yards away I proceeded, and thrice again Roseye
pulled over the switch, peering down below, as though in order to try
and get sight of the flashes of electricity behind that convenient
laurel bush.

For a few moments I made a rapid spiral ascent until I judged that I was
a full three thousand yards in a westerly direction from the church
steeple.

Then I myself made the contact with our apparatus, directing the
intensely powerful current towards the church.

Thrice I repeated it.  Then, once more I went back to a thousand yards,
and again switched on the current.  Afterwards I made two rapid "shorts"
with the searchlight, to indicate to my friend that I had finished and,
turning tail, set forth straight back to try and find the spot where old
Theed had lit the acetylene lamps to mark the field wherein we could
land.

Being so late, all lights of the villages were now practically
extinguished except railway signal-lights.

In consequence, a great difficulty confronted me.

With Roseye seated at my side, motionless and wondering whether our
experiments had proved successful, I flew on until, of a sudden, we
entered a second bank of cloud, all the vista before and below us
becoming obscured.  Since we had started some drifting clouds had blown
across, and in one of these we now found ourselves.  To rise higher
would mean that I could not pick up any landmarks, or perhaps not see
the flares awaiting us.

We knew that young Theed had found Teddy with the car, for he had
flashed on his electric headlights three times to us as signal.

I confess that, at the moment, I became greatly puzzled for, on emerging
from the cloud, I found myself over a big patch of forest, with rising
ground behind it.  My altimeter showed three thousand three hundred
feet, and before me were other clouds drifting rapidly in my direction.

A biting wind having sprung up I, for a full half-hour, lost my bearing
altogether.  Roseye, practised airwoman that she was, had quickly
discerned my perplexity and danger.  Yet she showed no fear--trusting in
me implicitly.

There seemed to be a quantity of rising ground about me, therefore I
decided to ascend farther, first to avoid the oncoming clouds that were
drifting low, precursory of rain or snow, and secondly, from a higher
altitude to be able to pick up hoping, Theed's flares guiding us home.

I rose to five thousand eight hundred feet when, on my left, I saw in
the far distance a red stream of light from the furnace of a locomotive,
but on what line of rail it was I could not decide.  Lost I was in that
unbounded space of darkness--lost until I saw half a dozen scattered
street lamps darkened on top and shedding slight patches of light upon
the pavement, when I suddenly realised that below me lay a small town.
I recognised station lights!  I had seen those once before that evening.
It was Uckfield!

While lost I had flown in a complete circle quite unconsciously, as
every airman flies.  But now, steering again by compass, it was not long
before I at last saw those four tiny points of white light below--the
acetylene lamps over which old Theed was keeping guard.

At such a height were we that the flashes looked mere specks.

Roseye nudged me, and pointed down at them, while I nodded a response.

Just at that moment we saw, a tiny pin-point of light flashing near the
lamps, and knew it to be old Theed signalling to us, fearing lest at
that height we might miss our landmark and go forward.

He could not see us, but of course he must have been hearing our
powerful engine for some time.

In response, I gave one short flash with the searchlight, and then
commenced to plane rapidly down, circling above the field marked for our
landing.

A belt of firs stood on the west side I knew, and these I was compelled
to avoid.  My additional difficulty was one that always confronts a
pilot when landing at night, namely, an ignorance of the direction of
the wind.  By day the pilot can tell this from the way in which smoke
blows, the currents of air waving across growing crops, and by other
signs which in the darkness are not available.  A good landing should be
against the wind, so as to break the impact of coming to earth.  Yet by
night, if there be no mark in the aerodrome telling the pilot the
direction of the wind, he has to take chances and risk it.

This I did.  I came down in a rapid spiral over Holly Farm and, circling
the field twice, alighted carefully, facing the front of the house.
Unable to judge the distance exactly we, of course, bumped along a
little, but I succeeded in steadying her, and a moment later we were
stationary on terra-firma after nearly two hours and a quarter in the
air.

Instantly I shut off the engine and then, turning to Roseye, uttered the
first word.

"Well?"  I asked, taking her gloved hand in mine.

"Splendid, Claude!" she cried enthusiastically.

"Splendid!  Absolutely splendid!"

I saw that she was pinched with cold, half-frozen indeed, and very
cramped, therefore I unstrapped her, and lifted her out into the arms of
old Theed, who came running up to us.

Then I hopped out myself and, taking my love's arm, we walked up to the
farm where we were soon before the huge log fire in the farmer's best
room, while Theed went round to extinguish the lamps.

Then, as we stood before the fire to thaw, still in our flying clothes,
I drew her dear face towards mine and kissed her fondly upon the lips.

"I wonder why Teddy sent us away for an hour, as he did?" she queried.

"Don't know, dearest," was my reply.  "He'll be back very shortly, and
will tell us what happened."

At that moment Mulliner entered with two cups of hot cocoa, a beverage
at that hour and in those circumstances very welcome.

"You managed splendidly!"  Roseye declared.  "Isn't it awfully exciting
to be up in the dark!  Nobody who hasn't been up at night would ever
dream how weird and yet how lovely is the feeling--would they?"

"It's far worse with these new lighting orders," I remarked.  "One gets
so few landmarks.  That's why I lost my way more than once."

Scarcely had I uttered those words when Teddy, in his big brown
motor-coat and muffler, burst into the room.

Dashing across to me he wrung my hands with wild enthusiasm.

"It works, Claude!" he cried.  "The conductor sparked across at every
test.  Even the last, at three thousand yards, the spark was quite an
intense one!"

"Then we haven't failed!"  I cried breathlessly.

"No.  I should rather think not!" was my friend's eager reply.  "Why, at
five hundred yards the laurel bush got badly burnt, and at a thousand it
made a fearful crackle and was alight."

"But it really acted at three thousand--you say?"

"It acted perfectly--and over a twelve-inch spark, too!"

"Then it shows that, after all, we can direct the electric current and
thus create sparks across from metal to metal!"  I remarked.

"Yes.  We've succeeded," he said.  "To-night I've witnessed something
that no man has hitherto seen.  Our minor experiments were interesting
enough, but this is proof positive that an invincible power to
successfully destroy Zeppelins has at last been put into our hands."

"I hope so," declared Roseye.  "Mr Munro and I have had a most exciting
flight.  But why," she asked, "why did you send us away on our arrival?"

"Because the terrible roar made by your engine alarmed the whole
neighbourhood, and some people ran out in their night-clothes towards
the church, believing you to be an enemy machine.  Therefore I climbed a
wall and signalled to you to return in an hour, when all would, I hope,
be quiet again."

"Was all quiet when we returned?"

"Yes, they had all gone back to their beds.  Theed had arrived for me by
that time, so after your second visit he assisted me to take out the
asbestos sheet and rejoin the conductor with the copper cable.  We made
a good joint; so that there'll be no danger to the church in case of a
thunderstorm."

"Then the importance of the invention is proved?" asked Roseye.

"Proved?" he echoed.  "Proved without a shadow of doubt."

And he unwound his muffler, cast off his heavy frieze coat, and we both
went out to assist in wheeling the machine back into the barn.

That night we had proved to our satisfaction that our long and patient
labours had certainly not been in vain.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THOSE "EYES!"

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 ear.  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 recognised 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.  "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 in 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 realised that a Zeppelin is a very difficult
thing to attack successfully," declared the Flight-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."

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."

I led Roseye into the best room and, having closed the door, stood
before her in front of the log fire and asked:

"Now what is your opinion, dear?  Has Lionel Eastwell been here
to-night, do you really think?"  Her pale lips compressed, and her eyes
narrowed at my words.  I saw that she was unnerved and trembling.

"Yes," she whispered at last.  "Yes--Claude--I believe he has been
here!"

"Then he's not our friend, as we have so foolishly believed--eh?"

She drew a long breath, and gazed about the room as though utterly
mystified.

"I--I never suspected this!" was her low reply.  "But--"

"But what?  Tell me, darling.  Do tell me," I begged.

"But he may be acting in conjunction with that woman in some desperate
plot against us!"

"I believe he is," I declared.  "I believe that whatever has happened to
you, and my accident also, are both the result of cunning and dastardly
plots directed by this man who has so long posed as our friend.  Have
you never suspected it?"  I asked of her.

"Never--until to-night," was her reply.  "But if he has dared to come
here in order to assist that woman, then his action places an entirely
fresh complexion upon the whole affair."

"My opinion is that Lionel Eastwell has, all along, suspected that we
have perfected our invention, and has formed a most clever and desperate
plot to possess himself of our secret, in order to transmit it to
Germany," I declared, as I held her hand tenderly in mine.

"Yes," she replied, sighing after a pause.  "Your surmise may be
correct, Claude."

"But do you share my views?"

"Well--" she responded at last, "yes, Claude--I do!  But," she added,
"the whole affair is too mystifying--too utterly amazing.  When, one
day, I can tell you what happened to me you will, I know, stand aghast.
Ah! when I think of it all," she cried hoarsely, "I often regard it as a
miracle that I am alive and at your side again--at the side of the man I
love!"

More than this she refused to tell me.

I had, at last, established that the hand of Lionel Eastwell, the
popular pilot at Hendon, was the hand of the enemy.  I had suspected it,
but here was proof!

His association with the mysterious woman was, of course, still an
enigma, but I saw that Roseye herself held the key to it, and now that
we had agreed that Eastwell was playing us both false, I hoped that
this, in itself, would induce her to tell me the frank and open truth.

When Teddy returned he heard from my lips what had happened during our
absence, and he stood speechless.

"Let's run the dynamo, light up, and examine the machine," he suggested,
and though it was already midnight we readily adopted his suggestion.

That it had again been tampered with I felt no doubt.

That statement of old Theed's that he had heard "sawing" made it plain
that some devil's work had been done--and by Eastwell no doubt, because
he was an expert in aviation.  The expert knows exactly the point at
which he can weaken the strongest aeroplane.

Well, we soon ran the dynamo, and had a good light going, one that was
almost too glaring in that confined space.  All of us were present,
including the maid Mulliner, as slowly we examined and tested, piece by
piece, every bolt, nut, strainer, and indeed every part of the machine.

It was past three o'clock in the morning ere we finished, yet we could
find absolutely nothing wrong.  The engines worked well: the dynamo was
in order, the intensified current for the working of the invisible wave
was up to the high voltage as before, and as far as we could discover
the machine had not been tampered with in any way.

"They intended to investigate the secrets of the box," Teddy remarked.
"No doubt that's what they were after."

"Well--they didn't see very much!"  I laughed, for already I had been up
to the locked attic to which we had carried it on the previous night,
and found it there with the door still secure.

Then, having satisfied ourselves that no damage had been done, we all
retired to rest.

But sleep did not come to my eyes.

Hour after hour I lay awake until the grey dawn, pondering over the
events of that night.  That a desperate plot of the enemy was afoot
against us could not be doubted, and I realised that it would take all
our ingenuity and foresight to combat the plans of an unscrupulous enemy
well provided with money, and desperate upon a resolve.

To go boldly to the authorities and denounce Lionel Eastwell as a spy
would avail me nothing.  Indeed, there was no actual evidence of it.  No
more popular man at Hendon, at Brooklands, or at the Royal Automobile
Club was there than Eastwell.  Yet, was not that popularity, purchased
by the ample means at his disposal, and the constant dinners and
luncheons which he gave regardless of their cost, proof in itself that
he was acting secretly against the interests of Great Britain?  Long ago
I had suspected that his was the Invisible Hand that sent every secret
of our progress in aviation to Germany by way of the United States.  He
had several American friends to whom I had been introduced, apparently
business men who had come over for various reasons, and it was, no
doubt, those men who conveyed back to New York secret information which,
later on, returned across the Atlantic and was duly docketed in the
Intelligence Bureau of the German General Staff at Berlin.  Truly the
wily Teuton leaves nothing to chance, and has his secret agents in the
most unsuspected places.

Yet, reflecting as I did in those long wakeful hours, I saw that it was
not surprising, and that the enemy would, naturally, have kept a very
watchful eye upon anyone who had devised a means of fighting Zeppelins,
and, if possible, defeat him in his attempt.

This thought decided me.  I meant, at all hazards, to try my device
against an enemy airship, even though I might fail.  I had foreseen all
the risks of machine-guns mounted upon the top of the latest airship, of
the dangers of night-flying, of landing difficulties even if successful,
and the hundred and one mishaps which might occur in the excitement and
darkness.

Indeed, in following a Zeppelin at a high altitude and in clouds, I
might very easily be mistaken for an enemy attendant aeroplane, and thus
draw the fire of our own anti-aircraft guns.  In addition, I held no
official position in the anti-aircraft service.  As far as the
newly-formed Joint Naval and Military Air Committee were concerned, I
might be a mere man-in-the-street.  Therefore I should be compelled to
act upon my own initiative.  Indeed, I had already offered my invention
to the proper official quarter, but had only received a type-written
acknowledgment.  I, however, was not surprised, because that Department
had, I knew, been flooded by the devices of hot-air cranks.

Still, as I lay reflecting, I remembered that we could build 1,700
aeroplanes for the cost of one Dreadnought, and a Zeppelin would cost a
good deal less than a destroyer.  I did not approve of that shrieking
section of the Press which was loudly declaring that we had lost the
supremacy in aeroplanes which we possessed at the beginning of the war.
That was not a fact.  We, of course, had no dirigibles worth the name
and, perhaps, we were asking pilots to fly machines inferior to the
Fokker.  Yet we had brought Fokkers down at the front, and with good
experimental work and a speedy policy of construction we should, I
believed, soon be far ahead of the Central Powers as far as aircraft was
concerned.

Those days were dark and perilous days for Britain.

That something must be done, every one was agreed.  Yet, as I tossed
upon my bed in that narrow little room in the obscure farm-house, I knew
that within my hand I possessed a great, and yet mysterious power--and
that power I intended to use and prove at the earliest opportunity.

Still I had to reckon with enemies; cool, clever, cunning persons who
would hesitate at nothing in order to nullify my efforts, and wreck my
machine and all my hopes.

Ah!  If only Roseye, my well-beloved, would reveal to me the truth.

Why did she so persistently refuse?

Why?  I wondered why?

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MORE DEVIL'S WORK.

Next day I decided that, in view of the fact that our enemies had traced
us, it would be best to at once remove our headquarters.  Further, in
order to attack a Zeppelin, as I intended, we ought to station ourselves
upon the line of their advance from the East Coast towards London, and
somewhere in proximity to an anti-aircraft listening-post.

All three of us held council and decided that, as I knew of a
listening-post in East Anglia, I should fly the machine to that
neighbourhood, rather than dismantle it and take it by road.  It was
arranged that Teddy should accompany me, and that Theed should drive
Roseye, Mulliner and his father in the car.  By this rapid and
unexpected flight we hoped to at least evade the unwelcome attentions of
that mysterious woman whom Roseye described as having leopard's eyes.

Experience had taught us that in the Zeppelin raids upon England the
airships generally approached by crossing the coast-line between
Lowestoft and Margate, therefore I decided upon a district that would be
the centre of a danger-zone.

Having studied my map I saw that my most direct route would be over
Tonbridge, thence by the railway line to Sevenoaks, and then north-east
till I could pick up Gravesend--which would be easy on account of the
river Thames--and afterwards due north would bring me to G--, which
would be easily distinguishable by certain landmarks.

We had wheeled out the machine, and I was tuning her up before starting,
both Teddy and I ready in our air-clothes, when Theed, who was giving
the machine a final look round, suddenly gave vent to an ejaculation of
dismay.

"Why look, sir!" he cried.  "What's this?"

I hopped quickly out of the pilot's seat and, joining him, saw to my
surprise that, beneath the wooden petrol-tank a fine insulated twin-wire
had been, placed, and upon it, tacked lightly to the wood, was a small
disc of some black-looking material through which the fine wire ran.

In breathless eagerness I traced the wire and, to my horror, saw what a
devilish contrivance it was.  The twin-wire had been connected up to the
battery that ran the lamp over my map and instruments, therefore had I
switched on the light at night, it would have failed, for it was
intended that the current should ignite that little disc of inflammable
material and explode my petrol-tank behind me!

Truly, the device of those crafty and subtle enemies was a devilish one.
That wire had been connected up by an Invisible Hand--by the hand of
one who certainly knew the most vulnerable point of the machine.

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."

"Well--let's hope so," laughed the colonel.  "But that speech is full of
grim humour--is it not?"

And with that we were compelled to agree.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE "L39."

Having taken Colonel and Mrs Cator into our confidence, and they having
invited Roseye to stay with them, we were all, on the following day,
duly installed at Swalecliffe Park.

Without delay I called upon the officer in charge of the
listening-post--the whereabouts of which I do not intend to disclose--
and, to my joy, found that he was a man named Moncrieff whom I had met
many times at Hendon, and also at the club.

Having told him of my intention to have a "go" at the next enemy airship
that might come over, he readily promised that upon receiving the next
alarm, he would make a point of ringing me up at Swalecliffe.

Then, with the machine in readiness and already tested and re-tested,
and also with a full petrol-tank, there was nothing further to do but to
draw it out into the park each night, and await the alarm.

It was on the first day of March when we had come down in Swalecliffe
Park as strangers--on a Wednesday I remember--and the following days had
been fully occupied with our preparations, while throughout each night
Teddy and I, ready dressed for flight, sat in the colonel's study
wherein the telephone was installed.

Thursday night passed quite uneventfully.  During the earlier hours the
colonel and Roseye sat with us, but the barometer being low, and the
weather gusty, we had, even at ten o'clock, decided that no Zeppelin
would risk crossing the North Sea.

On Friday night the four of us played bridge till half-past four, the
Theeds being, of course, on duty outside.  We had the consolation of
knowing that, though the Invisible Hand might be searching for us, it
had not yet discovered our place of concealment.  Each evening we tested
the telephone--through the local exchange--out to the listening-post,
and each evening Moncrieff, who was in charge, answered cheerily:

"Don't fear, old chap, I'll give you a ring as soon as anything is going
on."

Saturday, the fourth of March, was bright and warm, but just before
sunset a sharp easterly breeze sprang up and, with a falling barometer,
we knew that our vigilance would remain unrewarded.  So again we played
bridge until Roseye grew sleepy and then retired.  Certainly we did not
appear to meet with any luck.

On Sunday morning we all went to the pretty little church of
Swalecliffe, and in the afternoon I went out for a pleasant stroll with
Roseye through the park and leafless woods.

Again I pressed her to reveal to me what she knew regarding that
mysterious woman who was in association with the fellow Eastwell.

But once again she steadfastly declined to reveal anything.

"No, no!" she protested.  "Please don't ask me, Claude."

"But surely I have a right to know!"  I declared.  "Your enemies are
mine; and we are fighting them together.  We have agreed to marry,
Roseye, therefore you may surely trust me with your secret!"

I had halted at a stile before crossing our path leading into the wood,
and, as I held her hand in mine, I looked straight into her big blue
eyes.

She drew a long breath, and her gaze wavered.  I saw that she now
relented, and that she was unable to refute my argument.

I pressed her hand and, in a deep, earnest voice, urged:

"Tell me darling.  _Do tell me_?"

Again her chest heaved and fell beneath her furs.

"Well, Claude.  It's--it's a strange story--as strange as any woman has
ever lived to tell," she said at last, with great hesitation and
speaking very slowly.  "On that morning when I left I received a letter
purporting to come from you, and urging me to meet you in secret on the
departure platform of the Great Northern station at King's Cross.
Naturally, much puzzled, I went there, wondering what had happened.
While waiting, a woman--the woman you have seen--came up to me and told
me that you had sent her--that you wished to see me in secret in
connexion with your invention, but that you were in hiding because you
feared that some spies intended to obtain knowledge of the truth.  She
said that there were enemy spies on every hand, and that it would be
best to go over to the hotel, and there wait till night before we went
North to Grantham, whither you had gone."

"Grantham!"  I echoed.  "I've not been in Grantham for years."

"But I believed that you were there, so plausible was the woman's
story," she replied.  "We left at night, travelling in a first-class
compartment together.  On the way, I suddenly suspected her.  Somehow I
did not like the look in those strange eyes of hers, and I accused her
of deceiving me.  Indeed, while dozing, I had seen her carefully take my
chatelaine, put something into it, and drop it out of the window.  We
were in a tunnel, I believe."

"Then it was that woman who put the cipher-message into your card-case!"
I exclaimed.  "Yes, go on."

"Yes," she replied.  "I sprang up, and tried to pull the
communication-cord as we came out of the tunnel, but she prevented me.
She pushed a sponge saturated with some pungent-smelling liquid into my
face, and then I knew nothing more until I found myself in a small room
in a cottage somewhere remote in the country."

"Then you were detained there--eh?"

"Yes.  Forcibly.  That awful woman tried, by every means in her power,
to force or induce me to reveal the details of the experiments which you
and Teddy were making at Gunnersbury.  But I refused.  Ah! how that
hell-fiend tortured me day after day!

"She nearly drove me mad by those fearful ordeals which, in a hundred
ways, she put upon me--always promising to release me if I would but
reveal details of what we had discovered.  But I refused--refused
always, Claude--because I knew that she was an enemy, and victory must
be ours if I remained silent.  Days--those terrible days--passed--so
many that I lost count of them--yet I knew that the woman with the cruel
eyes of a leopard had dosed me with some drug that sapped my senses, and
she held me irrevocably in her power, prompted no doubt by somebody who
meant to work evil also upon you.  In the end I must have lost my
reason.  I think she must have given me certain drugs in order to
confuse me as to the past.  Then, one day, I found myself in the town of
Grantham, inquiring for the station.  I was in a maid's clothes, and in
them I eventually returned to you.  And you--Claude--you know all the
rest."  And she burst into a torrent of tears.

"Yes," I said slowly.  "And that blackguard Lionel Eastwell is the man
who has directed all this intricate and dastardly intrigue against us."

Then I took my love into my arms, and pressing her to me, soothed her
tears with my passionate kisses.

What she had revealed to me amazed me.

In the evening, just after the Sunday-night supper, Benton, the fat old
butler, entered the drawing-room and, approaching me, said:

"Mr Moncrieff is on the telephone, sir."

I sprang up with alacrity and, a few seconds later, spoke to my friend
at the listening-post.

"You there, Munro?" he asked.  "We've just had a message to say that
three Zeppelins are crossing the North Sea in the direction of the
Norfolk coast."

"Right!"  I said, and shut off at once.  There was no time to lose.

In a moment I told them of the alarm.  Without much delay Teddy and I
slipped into our air-kit, while Theed, with the machine wheeled out into
the park, reported that all was in readiness.

I met Roseye in the corridor above the central staircase of the great
old-world house, and there kissed her fondly.

"For your dear sake I go, and for the sake of my King and country!"  I
whispered.  "Good-bye, my darling.  Keep a stout heart until you hear of
me again!"

"But--oh!--oh!--I fear, Claude!" she cried anxiously, clinging to me.

"No, my darling.  We must, to-day, all make sacrifices.  There must be
no fear.  I shall be back with you to-morrow."

And then again I kissed her and disengaged those loving, clinging arms
about me.

Five minutes later Teddy and I were away in the air.

The night was dull and overcast with a promise of clearing--yet bitterly
cold.

Of course with our big engine roaring we could hear nothing of the
enemy's approach, but I deemed it wise to rise high and, at the same
time, to follow the railway line from Colchester towards London, because
that, no doubt, was the route which the airships would follow.

The alarm had been given, trains being darkened and brought to a
standstill, station and signal-lights extinguished and towns blotted
out, I quickly lost sight of the railway track and could only go very
slowly to save petrol in case of a chase, and guide myself by my
compass.

From a town somewhere on the coast I could see the long scintillating
beams of a searchlight striking across the dark night sky, first
directed in one quarter and then in another.  I think it must have been
the searchlight on the coast at T--.

I saw Teddy was busy adjusting the Lewis machine-gun at his side as we
climbed rapidly in the pitch darkness.  The engine raced and hummed and
the wind shrieked weirdly around us.

I switched on the bulb over the instruments, in order to look at my
altimeter, but so dark was it that the light got into my eyes and I was
compelled to shut it off again.

I flew in a wide circle at first, steadily climbing until the few faint
twinkling lights below had disappeared entirely.  We were getting nearer
and nearer the Zeppelin altitude.

Ah! how the engine throbbed and roared.

Suddenly something black shot up close to me, rushing on as quickly as
an express train.  So suddenly did it rise up against me, that it gave
me quite a start.  It seemed a great, unholy thing, and quite shapeless.

It was another aeroplane, like ourselves, out to destroy the enemy
airship with bombs.  And by Jove! we narrowly avoided a nasty collision.

A second later we heard the loud report of a gun.  Our anti-aircraft
gunners had spotted their quarry somewhere in the vicinity.  A moment
afterwards upon our left, straight before us, two long beams of
searchlight shot out, and then a sharp volley from the guns.

They were possibly five miles distant, and in the direction of London--
somewhere near Brentwood I thought.

Bang! bang!--bang! we could hear, even above the throb of our powerful
engine.  Teddy turned on the second engine, and then opened up the
searchlight, sweeping it around before us.  But we could see nothing
save some thin filmy clouds.

Suddenly the searchlights from below went out, and the guns ceased.
With one eye upon the altimeter I peered over, hoping to pick up some
landmark, but I could find absolutely none.

That a Zeppelin was in the vicinity was certain.  I tried to keep as
cool as I possibly could, but I confess that at that moment it was
difficult.

I cruised about, knowing that I was now nearing the London area.

Suddenly, deep below, yet some miles ahead, I saw a blood-red flash.
The Zeppelin had dropped a bomb!

Again I switched on the little light, and a glance at my altimeter
showed that I was up eleven thousand feet, therefore I pushed straight
along in the direction of that red glare.

That it was an incendiary one I saw, because the flare continued far
down in the misty workaday world below.

The Zeppelin was executing its evil work upon the harmless civilian
inhabitants.

I craned and peered around on all sides, but could see nothing else--
only the glare from the incendiary fire.

The night was rapidly growing brighter, and we could see the stars.
Again we heard a violent cannonade, and once more half a dozen beams of
searchlights swept the sky from several points evidently much nearer to
London.  More than once the searchlights picked us up and examined us
with suspicion, blinding us with their glare the while.

Once more from below there came up two loud detonations--high explosive
bombs--yet we could see no Zeppelin, though we peered into the darkness
again as soon as the searchlight left us.

Blinded by the glare, I had banked a little too steeply, and nearly had
another bad nose-dive.  Teddy noticed it, and said something, but what
it was I could not hear for the roar.  That an enemy airship was about,
and that it had dropped incendiary bombs was proved by the three or four
red glares we could distinctly see beneath us.

No doubt the Zeppelin was moving fast, dropping her bombs preparatory to
rising and escaping beyond the zone of our anti-aircraft guns.  I rose
higher, but still no sign of it.  Apparently the searchlights, having
once located it, had again lost it, for once more all the guns were
silent.

I began to lose heart.  How horribly cold it was!

I was now over London, unless I was much mistaken.  Several other of our
bomb-dropping aeroplanes were circling below me, also unable to find the
Zeppelin.

Suddenly Teddy gave me a sharp nudge and pointed upward.

I glanced in the direction he indicated, and there saw the great long
dark hull of the airship hovering quite near us.

We were then over eight thousand feet up, and the airship was perhaps
another thousand feet higher.  I could distinguish its two gondolas, and
as we passed near its stern its fins and planes were now plainly
silhouetted against the bright, steely sky.

With all speed possible I shot upward, but apparently the commander of
the Zeppelin had discovered us, while at that very same moment a
searchlight from somewhere below picked him up and revealed him, a huge
silvery object, upon the side of which was painted in black a large
iron-cross, the Hun badge of frightfulness, together with initial and
number "L39."

Scarcely had I become aware of the close proximity of the enemy when I
saw a little spurt of red flare from the forward gondola.  It continued
for several moments, and I knew that it was a machine-gun spitting forth
its leaden hail upon us.

Therefore I drew away and rose still higher, while, next second, the
propellers of the monster airship began to whirr and it started away,
nose upward and due east, evidently upon its homeward journey.

Unfortunately the men manning our searchlights below kept one of their
beams upon us as well as another upon the Zeppelin, and I must confess
that both Teddy and I, in our excitement, consigned them to a place with
an atmosphere slightly warmer than the one we were at that moment
experiencing.  It seemed as though the anti-aircraft gunners, knowing
the airship to be now out of range, were seized by a sudden curiosity to
see what we were doing chasing the Zeppelin away as we gradually rose
above it.

Ah!  Shall I ever forget those exciting moments!  Time after time the
machine-gun on the monster airship fired upon us, but I was flying in
such a manner that to hit us would, I knew, be difficult.  Yet just then
a stray bullet struck one of my planes and went through it, while a
second later another tore through the casing of the fuselage.

The commander of the Zeppelin thought, no doubt, that our intention was
to rise and drop a bomb upon him, and he was now travelling very quickly
in order to try and outpace us.  In this, however, he did not succeed.

How far we travelled I have no idea.  In those moments I lost all sense
of time and of distance.  I only know that, though so high, I could
distinguish the Thames with its few dotted lights about, though we were
rapidly leaving London behind.

We were passing over Essex, for I could plainly see the Thames widening
upon my right, and I was gradually overhauling the enemy.

At that moment I steadied myself, for I knew that the smallest slip
would mean death to us both.  At signal from me Teddy--who had already
had the dynamo running for some time--placed his hand upon the switch
which controlled the unseen, but deadly current.

Slowly I crept nearer and nearer.  Four thousand yards off--three
thousand--another spurt--then I judged I was only two thousand yards
away.  Yet try how I would, I could get no nearer.

Again I set to work and, letting out my roaring engines to their full
power, I slowly decreased the space between the fleeing monster and
myself, Teddy still awaiting my signal.

Next instant I saw yet another spurt of fire from the rear gondola of
the Zeppelin, and felt a hot, burning sensation in my forearm.

Then I knew that I had been hit!

I nudged Teddy, and he nodded.  He understood and with the end of the
box in which was the large, lens something like a camera, directed full
upon the enemy, he pulled over the switch.

The result was appalling.

Next instant there was a blinding flash as the electric sparks flying
from point to point all over the metal framework of the Zeppelin ignited
the hydrogen; a huge red burst of flame came from the centre of the
great airship, and following it was a terrific explosion, the frightful
force of which would have turned us completely over had I not been
prepared.

I swerved quickly, in order to get out of the vicinity, for the danger
at that instant was very great.

Then, as I glanced aside, I saw the huge monster plunge down to earth,
ablaze and flaring like a huge torch.

A second terrific explosion of bombs occurred when it reached the
ground, and the whole country-side, shaken as though by an earthquake,
became instantly illuminated for miles around.

Appalled at the sight, and yet relieved of the terrible tension, we both
looked down and found that the enemy airship had, fortunately, fallen
upon some flat land without houses--a wide, lonely marsh it appeared to
be.

I at once dropped to a thousand feet and then, with a final glance at
our work of destruction, turned tail and set about finding a landmark.

It was difficult, but I discovered one at last and, half an hour later,
finding old Theed's flares in Swalecliffe Park, gently planed again to
earth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Need I detail the congratulations showered upon Teddy and myself; of
Roseye's delight, or of her parent's enthusiasm next day?  Indeed, it
seemed as though the world about us--our little world who knew the truth
of our night-exploit--had gone mad with joy.

On the following day I reported personally to the authorities, and
afterwards had a long conference with certain high officials, who
listened most intently to the description of my apparatus, and who
heartily congratulated both Teddy and myself.

That same night, indeed, my description being but superficial, experts
came down with me to Swalecliffe, where the apparatus was thoroughly and
satisfactorily tested, and declared to be an air-defence of the highest
importance, and one which must soon prove our superiority against the
Zeppelin menace.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was, I felt, my duty to reveal in the proper quarter the dastardly
attempts made upon all three of us by our enemies, directed by the man
Eastwell, who I feared knew something of our secret, whereupon orders
were at once given to the Special Branch of Scotland Yard for his arrest
under the Defence of the Realm Act.

Two officers ascended to his rooms in Albemarle Street an hour later,
but when he learnt they were detectives he dashed into his bedroom and,
without hesitation and before they could prevent him, shot himself.

Sir Herbert has now given his consent to Roseye's marriage "directly
after the war," and as for myself--well, I have been given an important
post--with Teddy, of course, as my co-worker.  We are working hard day
and night in construction of certain heavy brown deal boxes, the secret
of which the enemy in our midst is straining every nerve to discover.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The only mention of the missing airship was a telegram published in the
London newspapers on March 12, 1916, and which can be turned up in the
files by any curious reader.  I here give it in facsimile:--

SEQUEL TO AIR RAID.

ONE OF THE ZEPPELINS REPORTED DESTROYED.

The Hague, March 11.--Private information received from Cologne says
that one of the Zeppelins which dropped bombs recently in England has
not yet returned.  It is believed that the airship was wrecked.--Central
News.

The End.





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