The Zeppelin Destroyer: Being Some Chapters of Secret History. Le Queux William
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