ON his homeward voyage Basil Dacres had plenty of opportunities for pondering over his future plans. Having once taken the plunge he was not a fellow to repine. His thoughts were of the future and not of the past.
"In any case," he thought, "I'll be as independent as I can. I don't want to come to loggerheads with the pater, but goodness only knows how he'll take it. If I can have a quiet chat with him before he learns the official version of the row, I may be able to explain matters with a certain degree of satisfaction. After that I'll go abroad, and get an appointment under one of the South American governments. There will be plenty of scope in that direction."
At Suez the liner received a batch of English mails, and, as usual, there was a great demand for newspapers to supplement the meagre details of the world's doings as received by wireless.
Dacres hurriedly scanned the columns of four successive weeks of the journal, but to his relief he saw no mention of his resignation being reported. That gave him hopes of being able to be first in the field as far as his parent was concerned.
Having assured himself on this point he proceeded systematically to wade through the news with the zest that only those who have been cut off from home ties know how to appreciate.
Presently his eye caught sight of a heading, "The mysterious airship again."
"H'm, this sounds interesting," he soliloquized, for anything in connexion with aviation appealed to him. When his services for the Naval Flying Wing were declined the refusal hit him far harder than his being asked to withdraw from his Majesty's Service.
"They say 'again,' I notice. I wonder for how long this airship has been claiming the attention of the great British public? It's a pity I've been unable to see the first account of its appearance. Seems like starting a book at the sixth chapter."
Settling himself in a comfortable deck-chair Dacres was soon lost to his surroundings in the account of the remarkable exploits of an airship of entirely new design. It was seen within a few hours at places as far apart as Newcastle and Plymouth, and Holyhead and Canterbury. Although the eye-witnesses' accounts varied considerably in detail the general description was sufficiently unanimous to prove conclusively that the airship was not a creation of an excited imagination.
It was agreed that the airship was of immense length and of exceptional speed. She invariably flew at a great altitude. Her appearance resembled that of a lead pencil pointed at one end, but the observers were unable to state whether there were planes, cars, and other appendages. There was none of that gently see-sawing motion of the British military and naval dirigibles: she flew as steadily as a seaplane on a calm day, and created a far greater impression of speed.
Near Newcastle she was spotted by a pair of belated motorists who were travelling over a road that follows the old Roman wall between Chollerford and Heddon. It was a moonlight night, although the sky was frequently obscured by drifting clouds. While brought up to make good a slight defect one of the motorists noticed a dark object overhead and called his companion's attention to it. Both simultaneously expressed their opinion that it was an airship, while one of the men found by extending his arm that the extremities of the craft coincided with the length between his outstretched little finger and thumb, while its breadth was roughly half the thickness of the nail joint of the same finger. Taking the breadth to be forty feet it was reasonable to suppose that the length of the airship was nearly thirty times that dimension, or one thousand two hundred feet. The airship was then travelling rapidly in a westerly direction, the time being 1.30 a.m.
So impressed were the travellers by this unusual sight that they proceeded to the offices of the "Newcastle Daily Record" and stated the facts to the sub-editor who happened to be on night duty.
Just before four on the same morning the coastguard on watch at Yealm Head, near Plymouth, "spotted" the airship still flying at a great height, but in an easterly direction. He followed it through his telescope until it was lost to sight, but owing to the airship being against the growing dawn he was unable to give any details as to its construction. His description, however, tallied with that of the Newcastle motorists, whose report was published in a special edition of the principal London papers.
Since Newcastle and Plymouth are roughly 360 miles apart the speed of the airship could not be less than 150 miles per hour, and that not taking into consideration the fact that on each occasion the craft was shaping a course at right angles to the direct line between these two places.
Two days later came an even more startling report, this time from Canterbury.
It appears that a shepherd employed at Wether Farm, Petham—a small village five miles from the Kentish cathedral city—had occasion to visit a fold at some distance from the farm-buildings. This was at three o'clock, an hour before sunrise, but it was just light enough to distinguish surrounding objects.
Suddenly he saw a huge object falling through the air. All he could liken it to was a haystack. It struck the ground quite gently and about two hundred yards from the place where he stood. At first he was afraid to move, until, thinking it might be a balloon that had met with an accident, he ran towards the spot. As he did so he heard voices, evidently discussing the situation; but before he could get close to the "haystack," the object gave a bound and shot skywards.
He stood stock still watching the balloon growing smaller and smaller till it approached an object that had hitherto escaped his notice—an airship resembling a "wooden meat-skewer," according to his description. Of what happened to the smaller balloon he had no idea, but as he watched he saw the airship soar still higher till lost to sight.
Curiosity prompted him to examine the spot where the balloon had alighted. The marks on the dew-sodden grass gave him an opportunity of measuring its base, which was twelve paces square, or, roughly, thirty feet. There were footprints showing that two men had alighted, but had not moved far from the spot. Although he made a careful search he found that nothing had been left behind that might give a clue to the occupants of the balloon.
This story the shepherd told to his master, who, knowing that a mysterious aircraft had been sighted at Newcastle and Plymouth, took the first opportunity of reporting the matter to the military authorities at Canterbury. Asked if he could vouch for his informant's trustworthiness the farmer replied that the man had been in his employment for thirty years, and as far as shepherds went, was intelligent, honest, and not given to immoderate drinking.
When this was reported in the Press the interest in the mysterious airship redoubled. Various theories were advanced as to the presence of the balloon, or airship dinghy as a facetious correspondent suggested. Crediting the airship with a mean speed of 150 miles per hour, it was still doubted whether it would be possible to tow a balloon with it, while, on the other hand, it was equally impossible to deflate and stow the gas-bag within the airship during the short interval that had elapsed according to the shepherd's statement.
Then, of course, there was the alarmist section; People who wrote demanding that the Royal Flying Corps should be brought to book for neglecting their duty. It was pointed out that in the course of her nocturnal voyages the airship had passed the prohibited areas without being challenged by any of the air patrols. It seemed incredible that the mysterious giant of the clouds could be here, there, everywhere, from the north of England to the south, without being seen except by chance by a few individuals. Where, also, could a huge aircraft, measuring at least a thousand feet over-all, be housed in complete secrecy?
Then from the wilds of North Wales came an astounding report. This time the narrator was a signalman on the North Western Railway, who witnessed a remarkable sight from his box near Llanfaelog in the Isle of Anglesey. It was at midnight. The moon had just risen in a cloudless sky, and there was hardly any wind.
The man had just cleared a goods train over his section and was about to set the signals, when he was aware of a huge object rushing with a rapidity greater by far than that of the most powerful express train. It passed almost overhead and, according to his estimate, at about a hundred feet from the ground. After it passed the leaves of the trees close to the signal box were violently agitated and a sudden blast of air swept the papers off his desk, but in spite of the commotion in the air there was hardly any sound from the mysterious airship, save a subdued buzzing.
Recovering his presence of mind the signalman promptly telegraphed the news along the line, but the terrific rush of this gigantic aircraft was unnoticed by any of the other railway employés on duty.
At six o'clock, however, two fishermen put into Dulas Bay, on the north coast of Anglesey, and reported that at dawn they had seen a large airship break in two at a distance of about two miles N. N. of where they were fishing. Both men were unshaken in this statement, that a complete severance had taken place, and that both portions, instead of falling into the sea, headed off at great speed in a westerly direction.
It was pointed out to the Government, in a strongly-worded leader in "The Times," that something must be radically wrong with our system of policing the air, since it was conclusively proved that an unknown aircraft, possessing superior power of propulsion and radius of action to any yet known, had cruised over the length and breadth of England and Wales—and perhaps further afield—without being officially reported.
Although there were no evidences that the mysterious aircraft was flying under the auspices of a foreign power, it was quite possible that she hailed from a country other than our own. If not, and she was built and controlled by a British subject, the Government ought to take steps to secure a right to build others of her pattern; otherwise the bare margin of safety set up by the Aerial Defence Committee was in danger.
Awaking out of its customary lethargy the British Government accepted the advice of "The Times," and steps were taken to locate the base from which the airship operated, and also, if possible, to trace her complete course during one of her nocturnal flights.
Searchlights were temporarily installed on almost every important hill-top from Berwick to Land's End, and from the South Foreland to Holyhead; airmen, both military and civilian, were encouraged to make night flights with the idea of being able to sight and perhaps keep in touch with the giant dirigible; while destroyers and seaplanes patrolled the coast, ready on the first intimation by wireless to concentrate at any rendezvous on the line of flight that the sought-for airship was likely to adopt.
"H'm!" ejaculated Dacres, as he carefully folded the latest newspaper that it was possible to obtain. "This looks lively. Things are getting exciting in the Old Country. Perhaps, after all, I may get a chance of a berth with one of the private flying schools, even if I can't manage to join the Flying Corps. I'll have a shot at it, by Jove!"
UPON the arrival of the liner in the Thames, Basil Dacres took the opportunity of leaving the vessel at Tilbury, thus avoiding the tedious passage up to the docks.
Still uncertain as to what his reception by his father would be he booked his scanty belongings at the London terminus, and proceeded west.
Although outwardly calm his heart was thumping violently as he knocked at the door of Colonel Dacres' house. A strange footman answered him, and in reply to an inquiry said that Colonel Dacres had let the house for the season.
This was astonishing news, for in his last letter the colonel had made no mention of his intention, and to let his house was quite a departure from his usual plans.
"Can you give me Colonel Dacres' present address?"
"Yes, sir," replied the man; "it is Cranbury House, near Holmsley, Hants."
"I wonder what possessed the governor to rusticate," thought Dacres as he turned away. "Well, the sooner we come to an understanding the better, I suppose. I'll get some lunch and then take the first train to this out-of-the-way show. I can't say that I've heard of the place before."
Whilst having lunch Dacres asked for a time-table, and by dint of a considerable tax upon his brain-power he discovered that Holmsley was a small station in the New Forest. An express train, leaving Waterloo at five, would take him as far as Brockenhurst in an hour and fifty minutes. Then, as is usual with railway companies' arrangements, he found that he had three-quarters of an hour to wait until a slow train took him on to Holmsley.
The daily papers gave no further definite information about the unknown airship. It appeared to have escaped notice for nearly three weeks, although during that interval there were several unauthenticated accounts that it had been "spotted." Many reports turned out to be deliberate hoaxes, while in one instance a company of Royal Engineers at Portsmouth turned out with a searchlight, only to find that the "airship" reported by a belated and slightly inebriated clubman was a large telephone cable spanning the narrow roadway between two lofty blocks of buildings.
Finding he had plenty of time on his hands Dacres decided to walk to Waterloo. After an absence from Town he had a strong desire to see some of the familiar haunts, so after walking along Piccadilly and thence to Trafalgar Square, he turned down Northumberland Avenue. Under existing circumstances he gave the Admiralty buildings a wide berth, for he had no inclination to come in contact with any of his former brother-officers.
Just as he was passing the Metropole, Dacres nearly collided with a powerfully-built, athletic-looking man who looked anything between twenty and thirty years of age.
In the midst of mutual apologies the stranger suddenly exclaimed:—
"Why, bless my soul, what are you doing here, Dacres?"
"Hythe, by Jove!" ejaculated Dacres.
"Right you are, old man. You haven't altered much since I saw you last. Let me see, that was when we paid off in the old 'Cornwall' in 1914. But we needn't stand here; come to my club—it's only a few minutes' walk."
Arnold Hythe was in more respects than one a fortunate individual. In recognition of his services in connexion with the submarine "Aphrodite"—now the prototype of the British "M" class—he had been promoted to the rank of Inspecting Commander of Submarines after less than a year's service as lieutenant. This was creating a precedent, but circumstances warranted it, and when the unusual appointment was announced, the shoals of congratulatory telegrams that poured in from his brother-officers showed that in this case there was little or no grumbling at Hythe's well-deserved promotion.
"Dacres, old man, I am awfully sorry," remarked Hythe with genuine concern when Dacres had told his story. "I cannot imagine what possessed old Maynebrace to take such drastic measures. Of course I had a lot to do with him when he was Admiral Superintendent at Portsmouth, and, personally, I found him quite a genial old fellow. Possibly his being sent to sea from a dockyard commission without being promoted to Vice-Admiral may have soured his temper a bit. By the by, what are your plans?"
"Nothing definite at present. Ultimately I hope to do something in the way of flying. Always had an inclination in that direction."
"Yes, I remember you had. A little affair with that aviator at Dartmouth, for instance. Thank goodness, it isn't in my line. Give me six fathoms of water any day of the week."
"I suppose so," rejoined Dacres, "but I'm not keen on submarine work. It lacks the sense of freedom that you get when rushing through the air."
"H'm!" ejaculated Hythe. "My experience does not lead me to agree with you, at least, as far as aeroplanes are concerned. I had a nasty tumble at Zanzibar."
"Yes, I recollect: it was while you were doing your unlawful commission in the 'Aphrodite.' By the by, what's your opinion about this mysterious aircraft? It's making as much commotion as when Captain Restronguet shook us up a couple of years ago."
"Cannot say," replied Hythe laconically.
"But in the event of her proving to be in the employ of a foreign power, how would you propose to collar her?"
"I wouldn't give much for her chances if she came within range of one of our aerial torpedoes."
"An airship moving at over 150 miles an hour wants some hitting," remarked Dacres. "Besides, supposing she keeps clear of the sea?"
"That's out of my bearings," said Hythe. "It's a case for the military authorities. Anyhow, there's been nothing heard of her for days past, so no doubt she has transferred her activities elsewhere. Personally I have but little faith in the command of the air. So long as we keep command of the sea there's not much to trouble about. But to get back to more personal matters, Dacres, where are you bound for?"
"Going to pay the governor a visit."
"But you were shaping a course in the opposite direction when I crossed your bows."
"The pater has let his house and gone to live somewhere in the New Forest—near Holmsley. It's a matter of three hours' journey, even by express."
"Why not hire a 'plane? All you've to do is to tube to Richmond and get one from the Metropolitan and Suburban Volo Company. You'd be at Holmsley in three-quarters of an hour."
Dacres shook his head.
"Can't run to it, old man," he said gravely. "I haven't any too much shot in the locker at present."
Hythe's hand was in his pocket in an instant.
"Don't be offended, Dacres," he said hurriedly, "but if I can let you have——"
Dacres shook his head.
"Thanks, old chap," he replied, "I'd rather not."
"As a loan, then?"
"No, thanks all the same. It hasn't come to that yet, and I hope it never will. It's awfully good of you, Hythe."
"Sorry you won't let me show my sympathy in a tangible manner, Dacres. Still, you know my address. If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to write."
"I won't, forget," said Dacres. "There are not many old shipmates I would care to look to for a favour, but you are the exception, Hythe. Well, I must be getting under way once more. It's close on quarter to five."
By a few seconds Dacres caught his train. He travelled first class, for in spite of his dwindling purse he resolved to maintain the dignity of the family. It was one of the few concessions he made to appearances.
As the train was moving out of the station he bought an evening paper, and settling himself in a corner seat, scanned the pages. In the "stop press column" appeared a report to the effect that the elusive airship had been sighted by the S.S "Micronome" in Lat. 51 degrees 4 minutes N. Long. 30 degrees 25 minutes W., or roughly midway between Liverpool and New York. The tramp was plugging at half speed against a furious easterly gale. The sky was obscured with dark clouds, and although it was noon the light was very dim. The airship, travelling at an estimated speed of one hundred miles an hour, passed at a height of eight hundred feet above the vessel, and was seen by the captain and second mate, who were on the bridge, and also by four of the dockhands. The force of the wind was registered at fifty miles per hour, yet the airship flew steadily and without the slightest inclination to pitch.
The information was received by wireless at Valencia at 2.15 p.m. and immediately transmitted to the Admiralty. Presuming that the speed and direction of the airship were uniformly maintained she ought to be sighted by the coast-guards on the Kerry coast by 6 p.m.
Dacres finished reading the paper without discovering any news bearing directly upon the actual doings of the gigantic aircraft; then, having devoured the advertisement columns for the simple reason that there was nothing else to read, he threw the paper on to the seat and began to take a slight interest in his fellow-passengers.
They were two in number, One, a short, redfaced man whose chief characteristics were a white waistcoat, a massive gold chain, and a large diamond tie pin, was evidently a well-to-do City man. Dacres' surmise was strengthened by the fact that the man was deep in the pages of the "Financial Times."
The second passenger was a man of a very different type. He was about five feet nine inches in height, and heavily-built. He was clean-shaven, revealing an exceedingly sallow complexion. This, together with the fact that the "whites" of his eyes were far from being white and were of an aggressively bilious colour, seemed to suggest that this man had been born under a tropical sun. His hair was dark and inclined to curl, while Dacres noticed that the "half-moons" of his finger-nails were of a purple hue. His lips were heavy and of a pale pink tint.
"Touch of the tar-brush there," soliloquized Dacres. "Finger-nails of that colour invariably betray a dash of black blood. He doesn't look any too well dressed, either."
The stranger was attired in a shabby brown suit; his dirty collar and frayed red tie were in keeping with his sombre appearance. Altogether he looked as unlike a man who habitually travels first class as anyone could possibly imagine.
Dacres made his examination with assumed and well-guarded indifference, but his scrutiny was none the less minute. He had the knack of being able to read a person's character by observation, and was rarely at fault.
"A truculent bounder," was his summing-up. Twenty years back he would have made a fairly tough customer in the ring. "Unless I'm much mistaken he is too fond of bending his elbow. I'd like to hear him talk: ten to one he has a South American accent."
As the train tore past the Brooklands Flying Ground two large biplanes were in the act of ascending. They rose awkwardly, bobbing in the stiff breeze, then, gradually overhauling the express, passed beyond the limits of Dacres' observation.
"Untameable beasts," remarked an evenly-modulated voice, and turning from the window Dacres found that the sallow-faced passenger was addressing him. The City man, deep in his paper, had paid no heed to the aeroplanes in flight.
"Think so?" asked Dacres. "They seem to be making good headway, especially as they are plugging right in the eye of the wind."
"While they are under control they are—well—safe," rejoined the man. "But one never knows when they take it into their heads to side slip or bank too steeply. To my mind accidents are bound to happen till a means is found of counteracting the force of gravity."
"Which is only obtainable by means of hydrogen gas-bags," added Dacres.
"Up to the present," agreed the stranger. "Still, one never knows. A compromise between an airship and an aeroplane, for example?"
"The speed would suffer in consequence," objected Dacres.
"Oh? Take the case of this mysterious airship which has been seen in various parts of the country. Her speed exceeds that of the swiftest monoplane that the country possesses."
In spite of his adverse opinion of the man Dacres felt interested. He felt inclined to admit that he had made a mistake in putting him down as a South American. His accent was almost perfect; in fact, almost too faultless for an average Englishman, yet there was not the slightest trace of a foreign pronunciation in his sentences.
"That is where submarines score," continued the man. "So long as they retain their reserve of buoyancy they are practically safe. They can return to the surface and remain motionless. Of course I am alluding to peace conditions. A helpless submarine lying awash would stand a very poor chance in action if exposed to the fire of a hostile vessel. I presume, sir, that you are a naval officer?"
"Your surmise is at fault," replied Dacres. "I have no connexion with the——" he was about to say "service," but checking himself in time substituted "navy."
A shade of disappointment flitted across the stranger's face.
"Thought perhaps you were," he said apologetically. "The subject of the navy interests me. By the by, does this train stop at Southampton Docks?"
"No," replied Dacres. "Only at Southampton West. It's quite a short distance thence to the Docks."
"Ah, that is good. You see, I am a cold storage contractor, and this is my first visit to Southampton. My duties hitherto have been confined to Liverpool and Manchester. Thanks for the information, sir."
Then, drawing a notebook from his breast-pocket, the stranger broke off the conversation as abruptly as he had started.
"That's strange," thought Dacres. "He seemed very much inclined to yarn till I told him I had no connexion with the service—worse luck. He shut up like a hedgehog after that. Cold storage contractor, eh? With a red-hot temper, I'll be bound. Pity the poor bounders under him."
Shortly afterwards Dacres happened to glance in the direction of the livery-looking individual. He was still deep in his notebook. On the cover, partially concealed by the man's flabby hands, was the title in gilt letters. Enough was left uncovered for Dacres to read the words "Telegrafos y——"
"H'm! My yellow-skinned fellow-traveller understands Spanish after all," he soliloquized. "Perhaps my original summing-up is not so much at fault after all."
The man made no further attempt to enter into conversation, but just as the train was rushing through Winchester station he stood up, took his handbag from the rack, and went out into the corridor.
The express pulled up at Eastleigh for a few minutes; then, just as it was on the move, Dacres happened to catch a glimpse of his late fellow-passenger seated in a Portsmouth train by the furthermost platform.
"H'm! Decidedly funny way to get to Southampton Docks by that train," he muttered. "That fellow was trying to pull my leg over the cold storage business, I'll be bound. Bless me, if I like the cut of your jib. I am not generally given to presupposition, but something seems to tell me that you and I will fall foul of each other before very long."
REFERRING to the back of an envelope on which he had jotted down the times of the trains, Dacres found upon alighting at Brockenhurst junction that he had three-quarters of an hour to wait. Since he did not feel inclined to cool his heels on the station platform he made up his mind to take a stroll through the village, have tea, and thus turn the interval of waiting to good account.
The air was cool, the dense foliage afforded a pleasant shelter from the slanting though powerful rays of the sun, and Dacres began to feel quite easy in his mind.
"By George!" he ejaculated. "That airship seems to interest me far more than my forthcoming interview with the governor. I wonder if she has been sighted again. I'll get an evening paper at the bookstall when I return to the station. How jolly fine the forest scenery is. Now I am not surprised that the pater came down to this part of the country if the scenery around Cranbury House is anything like this."
A plain but substantial tea filled Dacres' cup of contentment to the brim. English bread, fresh country butter, and watercress, after the fare obtainable on board the "Royal Oak" in the Tropics, combined to make the most appetizing meal he had tasted for months past. It reminded him of the saying of an old chief boatswain on returning to England after a two years' arduous commission mostly in the Persian Gulf.
"Bless you, sir," said the warrant officer emphatically. "Directly I set foot ashore at Portsmouth I'll order a prime beefsteak and a tankard—not a glass, mind you—of ale."
Two months later the chief bo's'un retired with the rank of lieutenant, and forthwith settled down in the country. One of his first acts was to hire a man to stand outside his bedroom window every evening from ten to eleven, his duty being to throw buckets of water against the panes.
"Couldn't get to sleep unless I heard the sea breaking against the scuttles," he explained.
Dacres wondered whether the call of the sea would come back to him with such vividness. Perhaps; but up to the present he felt no such overwhelming desire. It was just possible that he had not yet had time to realize his position.
In the midst of his meditation the traveller remembered that he had to catch a train.
Pulling out his watch he found that he had fifteen minutes to get to the station and, since he did the outward journey in ten minutes, it was an easy jaunt back to the junction.
"Where are you for?" asked a porter as Dacres arrived on the practically deserted platform.
"Holmsley."
"Your train's just gone, sir," announced the railway employee with the air of a man who has imparted a joyful surprise.
"But——" Dacres pulled out the envelope. "I thought it went at seven-four."
"Did till this month, sir," was the unconcerned reply. "Now it leaves here at six-fifty-six. Next train at eight-two."
"They must have had an old time-table in that restaurant," muttered Dacres disgustedly. "I was a bit of an ass not to make sure, and a doubly confounded idiot not to have asked when I arrived here. However, can't be helped. 'What's done can't be undone,' as the landlubber remarked when he tied a slippery hitch in his hammock lashing and found himself sprawling on the mess-deck ten seconds later. This time I keep watch here, I don't mean to be let down a second time."
When a fast train bringing the evening papers from London stopped at the station Dacres hurried to buy a copy. The news as far as the airship was concerned was woefully disappointing. She had not been sighted anywhere in Great Britain or Ireland.
There was one item of news that interested him, however. It was a wireless message from Cape Columbia, announcing that Lieutenant Cardyke and four men of the British Arctic Expedition had started on their dash for the North Pole.
"Plucky chap!" ejaculated Dacres. "I hope he'll pull it off all right. It's a jolly risky business, though. Never fancied that kind of job myself, but Cardyke was always keen on Polar work. I remember how he used to devour Scott's and Shackleton's works when he was at Osborne. All the same, I wonder they don't make a dash for the Pole in an up-to-date dirigible, instead of tramping all those hundreds of miles. I'd volunteer for a Polar airship expedition like a shot."
The loud ringing of an electric bell warned Dacres that his train was signalled. Folding the paper and placing it in his pocket he rose from his seat and waited for the train to run into the station.
The last stage of his journey was a short one and he chided himself for not having walked. The sun had just dipped behind the heather-clad hills as Dacres alighted, while already the evening mists were rising from the shallow valleys.
A typical country porter took the tickets of the three passengers who left the train, and in response to Dacres' inquiry as to the direction of Cranbury House, scratched his head in obvious perplexity.
"Garge, du 'ee knaw whur be Cranbury 'Ouse?" he sung out to a shock-headed youth who was struggling with a truck on the opposite platform.
"Yes," was the reply. "A matter of a couple o' mile t'other side o' Wilverley Post."
After a lengthy and complex explanation of how to reach Wilverley Post, Dacres found himself almost as much enlightened as before.
"Can I get a motor or a cab?" he asked.
"Naw, zur; not onless you'm ordered 'em. There be a bus, only it doänt meet this train."
Dacres was not a man to be daunted by difficulties. Emerging from the station he swung along the road, breathing in the pure moorland air, determined by hook or by crook to reach his destination with the least possible delay.
The road was quite deserted. Not even a motorist passed, otherwise he would have boldly asked the favour of a lift. Overhead a deep buzzing caused him to look upwards. Two aviators, making towards Bournemouth, glided swiftly through the gathering gloom. In this part of the country, Dacres reflected, there were more men in the air than on the highway.
Presently he reached a signpost at the junction of four cross roads. By this time there was just sufficient light for him to decipher the directions. Lyndhurst—he did not want to go there; Ringwood—equally undesirable, as were the other places mentioned.
"I suppose this is Wilverley Post," he thought. "Here I must bring up and wait till some one comes along. That ought to be fairly soon. What a deserted-looking spot, though. However," he added optimistically, "it might be a jolly sight worse. For instance, it might be raining hard and blowing half a gale. Ha! Here's a cart coming along."
In response to a hail the driver pulled up, but he was quite at a loss to give the desired information. He had lived at Ringwood all his life, and had never heard of Cranbury House.
Ten minutes later a large motor-car came swinging along. The chauffeur obligingly stopped, but was likewise unable to state the locality of Colonel Dacres' property.
"If it were this way, sir, I would give you a lift with pleasure," added the man, "but ten chances to one it would only be taking you farther out of your way. If you like, though, I'll run you down to Christchurch and you can put up there for the night, sir."
"Thanks all the same, I want particularly to get to Cranbury House to-night," said Dacres.
With a civil good-night the chauffeur sped on his way, while Dacres prepared to resume his vigil by the gaunt signpost.
Presently his ready ear detected the sounds of footsteps plodding methodically along the hard tarred road. Out of the darkness loomed the shape of a powerfully-built man, bending under a load of faggots.
"Cranbury House, zur? Sure I knaws 'ut well. If 'tweer light enow oi could show you the chimbleys, over yonder. Du 'ee taäk this path an' 'twill bring ee right agin the gates of t'ouse. It'll be a matter of a couple o' miles. If ye like, zur, I'll come along wi' ee," said the man, setting his load down by the roadside.
"I won't trouble you, thanks," replied Dacres, bestowing a shilling upon the man. "It's a fairly easy path, I hope?"
"Yes, zur, 's long as you keep to un. There be some bad bogs close on hand. Why, only t'other evenin' old Bill Jarvis as lives down Goatspen Plain wur a-comin'——"
But Dacres was not at all anxious to hear of the nocturnal adventures of the said Bill Jarvis.
"I'll keep to the path all right," he said. "About two miles, eh? Thank you and good night."
The path, showing grey in the misty starlight, was barely wide enough for two persons to walk abreast. On either hand were clumps of furze and heather, that at places encroached to such an extent that the sharp spikes tingled the pedestrian's calves. Here and there the footway, worn by the action of rain and the passing of cattle, was several feet below the surface of the surrounding ground. It was far from level, for all around the country seemed composed of a series of hillocks, all divided by wreaths of mist.
For ten minutes Dacres walked on at a rapid rate till he was suddenly brought up by the bifurcation of the path. So acute was the angle between the two ways and so alike in width that he stood stock still in deep perplexity. His informant had made no mention of the forked paths.
"Perhaps they reunite farther on," muttered Dacres. "It looks like a case of pay your money and take your choice. Why not toss for it? Heads the right hand, tails the left."
He spun the coin. He missed it and it fell dully upon the sandy ground. Three matches he struck before he discovered it standing upright in the soft earth.
"Ah! That bears out my theory. The ways meet again. Anyway, I'll take the right hand one."
He had not gone very far when, with a rush and a swish amidst the heather, four black objects darted across his path, within an ace of capsizing him altogether.
"Pigs," he exclaimed. "Fancy those beasts roaming about in this deserted spot. I wonder if there's a cottage handy?"
A hundred yards further on the path was joined on the left hand by another, which apparently confirmed his suggestion that it was the reunion of the two forked routes. With this reassuring discovery he redoubled his efforts until he found that the path was growing narrower and eventually broke off in three fairly diverging directions.
Taking his bearings by means of the Pole Star Dacres chose the path that followed the direction he had hitherto pursued. Down and down into a wide yet shallow valley it plunged, till once more it split into two ways. To add to the perplexity of the situation both of them bore away to the right and in quite a different direction from that which he supposed to be the proper one.
Dacres brought "all standing." Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. He could easily imagine himself to be "bushed" in the Australian wilds as far as the presence of human beings was concerned.
Again he glanced upwards to ascertain his bearings, but in the hollow the mists were considerably denser and rose high above the ground. The stars were completely blotted out.
"I'll take the left hand path this time," he muttered impatiently, for his peace of mind was now considerably ruffled by the vexatious delays that he had experienced. "It's bound to lead somewhere, so here goes."
But before he had covered a hundred paces he found that his progress was impeded by a brook that trickled over the now ill-defined track. On either hand the ground was marshy and, bearing in mind the incompleted narrative of Bill Jarvis's experience, he acted warily.
"It won't be the first time that I've entered the paternal dwelling with muddy boots," he reflected as he waded through the shallow stream, prodding the bed of the brook with his stick at each step.
When, at length, he negotiated the twenty feet of water he found to his intense disgust that there were no signs of the path being resumed. Evidently that track was made by cattle for the purpose of going to the stream to drink.
Away on the left rose a rounded hill crowned with a gaunt tree, the outlines of which were curiously distorted by the layers of mist.
"Here goes!" he exclaimed desperately. "I'll make for that hill. Perhaps it will be clearer up there, and I may be able to strike a fresh path."
Forcing his way through the heather, dodging aggressive clumps of gorse, and slipping on the loose sandy soil, Dacres reached the summit of the knoll. Here he was no better off, for the sky was still overcast, while as far as he could see in the dim light the surrounding country was enshrouded in mist. In vain he attempted to retrace his steps, till sinking ankle deep in marshy ground warned him that he was not only lost but in danger of being trapped in a bog.
"Ahoy!" he shouted in stentorian tones.
His hail was quickly answered by another "ahoy."
"That's good," he exclaimed. "There's a sailor somewhere about. I've heard that pensioners frequently settle down in these out of the way wilds."
"Ahoy! Where are you?" he hailed again.
"Where are you?" came the voice.
"Hang it all," said Dacres dejectedly. "It's only an echo. I am merely wasting precious breath. If only there were a breeze I could keep a fairly straight course. Luck's quite out this trip."
Striking a match and glancing at his watch Dacres discovered that it was a quarter to ten.
"No use stopping here," he decided. "I'll plug away and trust to find another path. Wish I'd accepted that fellow's offer and got him to pilot me through this wilderness. That's the result of being so beastly independent."
On and on he went, dodging between the thick masses of furze. An hour later he had a shrewd suspicion that he was describing a large circle, for one peculiar-shaped tree struck him as being familiar; yet no longed-for path rewarded his perseverance.
"Hurrah!" he exclaimed as a tiny speck of light leapt up at some distance ahead of him. "Now there's a chance of finding out where I am."
Recklessly he plunged through the undergrowth, his eyes fixed upon the friendly gleam that came from the midst of a deep shadow. Suddenly the light vanished, but the shadow resolved itself into a dense clump of trees extending right and left like a huge wall till lost in the night mist.
Now he could hear voices: men talking rapidly and earnestly, while the clatter of a metal object falling upon hard ground raised a sharp reproof.
"Midnight motor repairs," thought Dacres. "A broken-down car, perhaps. Then, these trees are by the side of the high road. Ha!"
Further progress was impeded by a barbed wire fence upon which he blundered with disastrous results to his trousers and coat sleeves. The pain caused by one of the spikes cutting his wrist made him utter an exclamation of annoyance.
Simultaneously a bell began to tinkle faintly. The men's voices ceased.
Dacres paid scant heed to these ominous warnings. His one desire was to get into touch with human beings once more. Standing upon the lowermost wire and holding upon the one above, he wriggled adroitly through the fence, then hurried through the wood, half expecting to find himself upon the road.
But no highway rewarded his efforts. Pine trunk after pine trunk he passed until it began to occur to him that he was in danger of being lost in a wood, which was as undesirable as being adrift in the midst of a foggy moorland.
He paused. All was quiet.
"I'll give a shout," he thought, but before he could raise his voice there was a sudden scuffling to the right and left of him and a deep voice exclaimed:—
"Collar him, lads. He's one of them."
IT was no time for explanation. Dacres could just discern the outlines of two men in the act of springing upon him. At this uncalled-for outrage is blood was up. He would resist first and explain afterwards.
Stepping agilely aside Dacres thrust out his foot and sent one of his assailants sprawling on his hands and knees. His comrade, within an ace of tripping over the other's prostrate body, thought discretion the better part of valour, and slipped back until he could obtain assistance.
"What's the meaning of this?" demanded Dacres angrily. "I'm not a poacher. I've lost my way."
"A likely story," exclaimed the man who had given the order for the attack. "All the same, you've got to come with us."
"Got to?" repeated Dacres, standing on his guard. "There are two sides to that question."
A minute before he would have gone anywhere with anyone, and with the utmost willingness. Now, the aggressive nature of the reception completely destroyed any such desire.
As he stood with his arms in a professional boxing attitude he heard other footsteps, crunching on the dry pine-needles.
"Look here," continued the speaker. "It's no use resisting. We are five to one. You've jolly well got to be brought before the governor. It may be all right for you or it may not. We've got our orders and we mean to carry them out. Now, then, are you coming quietly?"
"Evidently they take me for a poacher," thought Dacres. "Perhaps I am on the pater's preserves. It will be rather a joke if I am, and they run me in before my own governor."
"Very well, then," he said aloud, "I'll come quietly; only keep your hands off me."
"We will if you promise to give no trouble," replied the leader of the party in a mollified tone, "but orders are orders, you know."
"And this is an illegal arrest," added Dacres.
"Maybe," retorted the man coolly. "Anyway, it isn't our pigeon. You can argue that out with the governor. Quick march, you men."
Two of Dacres' captors faced about with military precision; two more formed up behind him, while the spokesman kept in the rear. In this order, and like an escort marching a deserter through the streets, the men set off through the wood.
Presently they emerged into a circular clearing, measuring roughly two hundred yards in diameter. The ground was covered with grass mown as short and as evenly as a cricket pitch, while at equal distances were five lofty wooden sheds, their fronts level with the surrounding forest and extending backwards into the dense masses of trees. In front of each of these buildings a red lamp was burning brightly.
"Can we get him across to the house before——?" whispered one of Dacres' captors.
"Yes, if we hurry. No, we can't, by Jupiter! There she is."
Overhead, its extremities hidden by the lofty tree tops, was a huge cylindrical object. In a moment the truth flashed across Dacres' mind. The mysterious airship was returning to its place of concealment, and he was the first outsider to stumble upon its secret hiding-place.
"Remember your promise," hissed the leader of the men. "This is a mess. I'll have something to answer for. Come on, you chaps."
Followed by three of his companions the man bounded across the open space. Dacres' remaining captor touched him on the shoulder.
"Get back," he ordered.
"I think not," replied Dacres coolly, although inwardly consumed with excitement. "I mean to stay where I am."
"You jolly well must," said the man threateningly.
"Thank you, but I'm not used to being ordered about," rejoined Dacres with a sternness that commanded respect. "I will take the risk. I am perfectly aware that this is the secret hiding-place of the airship that has been causing such a stir, and I mean to see my part of the business through."
"You'll be sorry for it, then," muttered the man. "We guessed as much. I won't give much for your chances when——"
"My friend, you were not asked to," retorted Dacres. "Remember, I'm giving no trouble, as I promised. Any trouble which arises depends solely upon yourself."
The man, powerful though he was, realized that single-handed he was no match for his athletic prisoner. The rest of his companions had to hasten to assist in the berthing of the airship. To appeal to them would be useless. Fortunately, however, the detained intruder made no attempt to escape.
Fascinated, Dacres watched the strange scene. The airship was almost touching the tree-tops. It was too dark to distinguish any details of her construction. She showed no lights, nor was there a suspended platform visible. He could hear men's voices conversing in subdued tones, although he was unable to distinguish what was being said.
Presently coils of ropes were thrown down and secured by the men who had recently been Dacres' assailants. There came a faint hissing sound like that of escaping air, and, as he watched, Dacres saw the midship section of the huge envelope drop slowly out of line. Held by the ropes it sank gently to the ground, and from it emerged two of the crew, who, assisted by one of the men in waiting guided it into one of the sheds that Dacres had previously noticed.
Another section followed, and then a third, both of which were placed under cover. Only the bow and stern portion now remained, till, smoothly as if they were gliding on a pair of rails, they came together without the faintest suspicion of a jar.
Even with the removal of the major portion of its bulk, the remaining sections of the airship were of considerable dimensions. The extremities almost touched the surrounding trees as the massive fabric was brought to earth.
Dacres could distinguish no signs of any propellers. The remaining remaining sections were very much like those already housed, except for the pointed bow and a long cylindrical projection on either side and parallel to the major axis of the main body.
Nor were there any elevating planes or rudders to be seen. The whole fabric seemed to be remarkably simple and business-like in design.
By this time the fore and aft sections of the airship had shed their crew, and nearly thirty men were holding on to the guide ropes. Again came the faint hissing sound and once more the giant envelope swung apart.
Within ten minutes from the lowering of the first rope the huge leviathan of the air was securely housed in the sheds erected for its reception. The red lights were switched off and darkness brooded over the open space.
"Now for it," thought Dacres, as several of the men crossed the green and approached the spot where he was standing.
"Here is the man, sir," announced the fellow who had directed the capture.
Without saying a word the person addressed flashed an electric torch full in the captive's face. It struck Dacres that this was taking rather a mean advantage, for no man can be at ease with a powerful glare temporarily blinding him.
"You have made a mistake, Callaghan," said the stranger at length, as he switched off the light. "This gentleman is not one of our undesirable friends. You ought to have exercised more discretion."
"I thought, sir——" began Callaghan.
"Never mind what you thought," interrupted the stranger peremptorily. "What is done is, unfortunately, hardly remediable at present. Excuse me," he continued addressing himself to Dacres, "but the zeal of my man rather outran his discretion. I think I am right in assuming that I am speaking to an Englishman and a gentleman?"
Dacres bowed stiffly. He was still unable to see what his questioner was like, but judging by his voice he was a comparatively young man.
"I think I can claim to be both," he replied. He was now in no hurry to furnish explanations. The situation appealed to him, and the more he could prolong his stay on the forbidden ground the better, he decided. Cranbury House was for the time being far remote from his mind.
"Allow me to show you the way to my modest dwelling," continued the unknown. "There is no need for you to hurry away."
Whether there was any significance in the latter sentence Dacres could not quite determine. He cared still less, for here, apparently, was a chance of learning more about the owner of this mysterious airship.
After giving various directions to his men, the stranger took hold of Dacres' arm in an easy yet dignified manner.
"Now," he said, "this way. It is rather a rough path."
"It couldn't be rougher than the path I traversed this evening," said Dacres, but the remark drew no response from his self-constituted companion.
The track seemed a perfect labyrinth. It wound in sharp curves between the thickly-clustered trees; sometimes ascending and sometimes dipping steeply into hollows crowded with dense undergrowth. The darkness under the foliage was intense, and without his companions guiding arm Dacres must have collided with the tree trunks more than once; but the stranger seemed to possess the instincts of a cat, for unhaltingly he pursued his way with the certainty of a man familiar with his haunts.
Presently the two men came upon a road that cut its way boldly through the wood. This the stranger followed for about a hundred yards, till he stopped in front of a gateway in a tall brick wall.
Had Dacres wished to escape there seemed no reason why he should not take to his heels, for the roadway was evidently a carriage-drive, and must lead somewhere. But without hesitation he complied with the unknown's unspoken request as, with a wave of the hand, he indicated that his guest should enter.
"Here we are," said the stranger apologetically as they reached the door of a long rambling house. "We have not the convenience of electric light here, so I must strike a match and light the lamp."
These words were spoken in such a matter-of-fact way that Dacres could hardly realize that the speaker was one and the same as the daring airman who had stirred not only the United Kingdom but the whole of the civilized world.
Unhesitatingly Dacres followed his host into a plain but substantially furnished room, and when the lamp was turned up the former was able to discern the features of his companion.
The owner of the aircraft was the shorter by two inches. He was sparely built, yet his breadth and depth of chest betokened more than average strength. His limbs were long in comparison to his body, while the long, tapering fingers indicated an artistic temperament. His face was oval, and of a deep tanned colour, his eyes were grey and evenly set beneath a pair of heavy brows. His hair was brown in hue and neatly parted in the centre, giving him at first sight a slightly effeminate appearance. Dacres guessed his age to be about twenty-five.
His dress consisted of a brown Norfolk suit and riding breeches, box gaiters and brown boots. Round his neck was a dark green muffler. His golf-cap and doeskin gloves he tossed upon the table.
"Now we can discuss this little matter, Mr.——?" He raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
"Dacres is my name—Basil Dacres."
"Ah! Any relation of Colonel Dacres, my nearest neighbour?" he asked. "His son? That's quite a coincidence. I owe the Colonel a duty call, but I have been so excessively busy of late that I really haven't had time. By the by, my name's Whittinghame—Vaughan Whittinghame. I don't suppose for one moment that you've heard of me before."
"I have reason to dispute that," said Dacres.
"Well, then, as an individual you might, but as far as the name is concerned——"
"I happened to meet a Gerald Whittinghame in town about five years ago," said Dacres.
"Oh—how?"
"During the College summer vacation. I met him at General Shaldon's house, when I was staying with my friend Dick Shaldon. Whittinghame was then a man of about twenty-two. He had just come home from somewhere in South America. He was a rattling good left-hand bowler, I remember."
"That's my brother," said Vaughan Whittinghame quietly. "By the by, are you a 'Varsity man?"
Dacres shook his head. He did not at present feel inclined to lay his cards upon the table.
"To get straight to the point," continued Whittinghame, looking his guest full in the face, "how came you in my grounds this evening?"
"That's easily explained," replied Dacres. "I was on my way to Cranbury House—I've never been there yet—and I lost my way. Nearly got stuck in a bog more than once. Eventually I saw a light, and crawling through a fence"—here he looked regretfully at his torn clothing "—I found myself confronted by some of your men."
"It is as well you thought better of resisting," said Whittinghame quietly. "They are tough customers and they know their orders. I may as well tell you, Mr. Dacres, that I am compelled to detain you here for a few days."
"Very well," replied Dacres with perfect sangfroid.
It was Whittinghame's turn to look astonished.
"There's nothing like making the best of a bad job," he remarked as soon as he had mastered his feelings. "'Pon my soul you are a cool customer. I fully expected that you would have made a dash for it, when we reached the drive."
"There was nothing to prevent me from so doing," rejoined Dacres.
His host smiled.
"There you're wrong You gave your word you'd come quietly, and I wanted to test you. If you had attempted to escape you would have been laid by the heels in a brace of shakes. You honestly assert that you had no idea that my little airship had her head-quarters here when you broke through the fence?"
"No, I did not; but honestly I'm glad I found out."
"I am afraid your knowledge will be of no service to anyone save yourself until there is no further need for concealment, Mr. Dacres. I trust that your enforced detention will in no wise inconvenience you?"
"Not in the least," declared Dacres fervently. "I have no immediate plans."
"But Colonel Dacres?"
"Does not expect me."
"Excuse me, but would you mind telling me what you are?" asked Whittinghame. "If you do not feel inclined I will not press the point; but I am interested to know."
"What I am and what I was a few weeks ago are two very different conditions," said Dacres without hesitation. "I was once a British naval officer. Now I am a—well, one of the unemployed, I suppose."
"Sorry, 'pon my word," said the other sympathetically. "Let's hear your story—but wait: you must be famished. I'll get something to eat and drink."
With that Whittinghame left the room, ostensibly to order refreshment. He also took the opportunity of consulting the latest quarterly copy of the official Navy List.
"By Jove! I'm in luck," soliloquized Dacres. "Whittinghame's quite a decent sort. I may even be able to get him to let me have a trip with him. Anyway, it's something to occupy my mind, and since the governor doesn't know I'm in England our somewhat delicate interview can wait."
He looked round the room. There was nothing to denote the aerial propensities of his host. Over the mantelpiece was a pair of huge horns covered with a metallic substance resembling silver. On the walls were oil-paintings of country scenes which looked suspiciously like Constable's work. In one corner was a gun rack containing several twelve bores and rook-rifles; a few fishing-rods and a pair of waders occupied another. A smoker's cabinet stood on the massive oak table. The room might well be the den of an ordinary country gentleman.
Presently Whittinghame returned followed by a serving-man bearing a loaded tray.
"That will be all to-night, Williamson," said his master. "You can lock up and go to bed."
"Very good, sir."
"H'm!" thought Dacres, looking at the black-garbed man. "You're a bit of a quick-change artist, I know." For he recognized the fellow by his voice: he was the one who had been left to keep an eye on the captive when the airship returned.
"Now, set to," continued Whittinghame genially. "Then, if you're not too tired, we can yarn over a pipe."
Until Dacres commenced eating he had no idea how hungry he really was. The food was plain but appetizing, the cold ham especially, and he did hearty justice to the repast.
"Fill your pipe—or do you prefer a cigar?" asked his host pointing to the cabinet. "Try that chair; you'll find it fairly comfortable. By Jove! your boots are wet. Let me offer you some slippers."
"Yes, I feel sorry for your carpet," said Dacres apologetically as he stooped to unfasten his bootlaces.
For a few moments both men smoked in silence. Dacres felt that his host was watching him narrowly, yet he imperturbably puffed at his pipe.
"Look here, Dacres, old man," Whittinghame suddenly exclaimed, "what do you say? Will you ship along with me?"