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The Dreadnought of the Air

by Percy F. Westerman · English · Gutenberg #46117 · 543,114 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Dreadnought of the Air

Author: Percy F. Westerman


        
Release date: June 27, 2014 [eBook #46117]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR ***

[Illustration: cover art]




THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR




GLORIES OF SEA
AND AIR SERIES

By
PERCY F.
WESTERMAN

THE MYSTERY SHIP
THE RIVAL SUBMARINES
BILLY BARCROFT OF THE R.N.A.S.
A WATCH-DOG OF THE NORTH SEA
A SUB OF THE R.N.R.
THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR

Publishers
PARTRIDGE
LONDON




[Illustration: "She was describing a succession of 'loops,' while her
motors were still running." Frontispiece]




THE DREADNOUGHT
OF THE AIR



BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
AUTHOR OF "THE RIVAL SUBMARINES"
ETC., ETC., ETC



Publishers
PARTRIDGE
LONDON




MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN




CONTENTS.

CHAP.
       I. CONCERNING SUB-LIEUTENANT DACRES
      II. THE FRENCH INSTRUCTOR
     III. REMOVED FROM THE NAVY LIST
      IV. THE MYSTERIOUS AIRSHIP
       V. A MOMENTOUS TRAIN JOURNEY
      VI. CHALLENGED
     VII. THE RETURN OF THE AIRSHIP
    VIII. WHITTINGHAME'S NARRATIVE
      IX. THE FLIGHT TO LONDON
       X. THE STOLEN PLANS
      XI. THE "METEOR"
     XII. THE "METEOR'S" DEBUT
    XIII. AN OFFICIAL AND AN UNOFFICIAL INSPECTION
     XIV. ACROSS GREENLAND
      XV. THE NORTH POLE
     XVI. IN THE NICK OF TIME
    XVII. ZAYPURU'S BOLD STROKE
   XVIII. THE DISASTER TO THE "LIBERTAD"
     XIX. INVESTIGATING THE WRECK
      XX. A HAZARDOUS PROPOSAL
     XXI. WITHIN THE CAVARALE PRISON
    XXII. DACRES REMINDS THE ADMIRAL
   XXIII. LOCOMOTIVE VERSUS AEROPLANE
    XXIV. A BRUSH WITH THE INDIANS
     XXV. THE CAPTURE OF THE CAVARALE
    XXVI. UNABLE TO RISE
   XXVII. PREPARING FOR THE PRESIDENT'S VISIT
  XXVIII. A PRISONER OF WAR
    XXIX. WORK FOR THE SEAPLANES
     XXX. THE FALL OF NAOCUANHA
    XXXI. A SURPRISE FOR DACRES
   XXXII. A SUBMARINE ENCOUNTER
  XXXIII. NEWS OF DURANGO
   XXXIV. THE CHASE
    XXXV. THE THUNDERSTORM
   XXXVI. THE ABANDONED FLYING-BOAT
  XXXVII. THE GALAPAGOS FISHERMEN
 XXXVIII. CORNERED
   XXXIX. DACRES' PROMOTION




THE DREADNOUGHT
OF THE AIR.


CHAPTER I.

CONCERNING SUB-LIEUTENANT DACRES.


IT was Thursday afternoon--Make and Mend Clothes Day as it is known
in the Royal Navy. H.M.S. "Royal Oak," a Super-Dreadnought now
relegated to the second class, lay at moorings off Singapore. Two
cables' length ahead of her swung her sister ship the "Repulse,"
flying the flag of Admiral Maynebrace commanding the Special
Squadron, now on a cruise round the world in order to display the
White Ensign in foreign waters as a gentle reminder to petty
potentates that the British Lion's tail could not be twisted with
impunity.

The heat was terrific. The sun's scorching rays beat down with
relentless violence upon the white awnings that shrouded the warships
from bow to stern. The glare, reflected from the oily sea, seemed to
penetrate everywhere on board in spite of electric fans and the
latest type of ventilators. Officers and men, used though they were
to the heat of the Tropics, were reduced to a state of perspiring
listlessness. Alacrity seemed for the time being no longer the
characteristic of the British seamen. One and all they barely existed
in Nature's stew-pan and waited for the sun to set.

To add to the discomfort the crew of the "Royal Oak" were rankling
under a grievance. Hitherto first in the list for prize-firing, they
had been ousted from their proud position by the flagship: and the
flagship didn't forget to crow over her success. Had the contest been
carried out under equal conditions and the "Royal Oak" had "gone
under" the disappointment would not have been so great; but the
"Repulse" had gained the position of "top-dog" more by a fluke than
anything else.

"Makes one feel jolly rotten," remarked Eccles, the "Royal Oak's"
gunnery jack. "The Service papers at home will publish the results
and add a lot about the superb efficiency of the flagship and the
lamentable falling-off of the 'Royal Oak's' gun-layers. All that sort
of twaddle, you know: penny-a-line stuff from a fellow who does not
know a fifteen-inch from a seven-pounder."

"You'll bet your bottom dollar, Eccles, there won't be a word said
about the flagship making her record with the Beaufort Scale logged
as O (a flat calm), while our packet was shoving her nose into it
with the fo'c'sle awash and everything battened down. Ugh! It makes
me wild," rejoined Commander Bourne. "Healthy rivalry is all very
well, but----"

"I don't know whether you heard the yarn," said Eccles, "but
indirectly an outstanding row between the Admiral and the skipper has
something to do with it: a little misunderstanding they had when they
were at Osborne, I believe. And the fact that Maynebrace is now an
admiral and Staggers only a captain doesn't improve matters. The
owner forgets sometimes that the Admiral's grandfather was an earl
and his only a post-captain."

"I did hear something of the sort," replied Bourne. "It's a pity that
personal matters are taken into consideration in the Service. Anyway,
Captain Staggers would be glad of a chance to pull the Admiral's
leg."

"Hear that?" asked little Dick Alderney, the midshipman of the watch.

"Rather," agreed Sub-lieutenant Basil Dacres emphatically. "It almost
gives one a cue."

Basil Dacres was a tall, alert-looking young officer of nineteen. His
features were clean cut, his complexion tanned to a deep brown by
reason of exposure to the sun and the salt breezes of three of the
five oceans. His athletic frame betokened a zest for sport, for in
spite of the heat he paced the deck with an elasticity of tread that
denoted exceptional physical energy. It did not take long for an
observer to come to the right conclusion that Basil Dacres' solemnity
of manner when on duty was an acquired one. Those dancing clear blue
eyes betrayed the inborn love of a high-spirited nature. Even the
rigid rules and regulations of the Service could not break his
fondness of practical Joking.

Yet, somehow, he contrived to wriggle out of the dire consequences
without dishonour, and upon calming down he would enter into the
preparatory stages of perpetrating another joke. Upon the eve of his
departure from home on the present commission this trait asserted
itself. Dacres' little pranks were invariably intended to be of a
harmless nature, but sometimes the result surpassed his expectations.

Dacres' father was a retired colonel who, possessed of ample private
means, kept a large establishment in the West End. The colonel was
absolutely military to the backbone, a martinet even in home life,
although "his bark was worse than his bite." One thing is certain,
Basil Dacres never inherited the lighter vein from his father, for
the latter was never known to have spoken a funny sentence except by
a sheer accident; and then, when the rest of the mess laughed, he was
completely puzzled to know why.

It happened that the Thursday on which the sub was to leave to join
his ship was his mother's at-home day, and Mrs. Dacres' at-homes were
always well-attended. On this occasion there were present a colonial
bishop and his wife in addition to the usual "smart-set" in which the
hostess moved.

Now Mrs. Dacres' Georgian silver tea service was the envy and
admiration of her guests, and Mrs. Colonial Bishop had been
previously told to pay particular attention to the magnificent
teapot. In came the head footman, resplendent in his fine livery and
powdered hair, and placed the tray in front of the hostess. The
far-famed teapot, enveloped in a huge cosy, was for the time being
hidden from admiring and covetous eyes.

"Pouring-out" was one of the great events of Mrs. Dacres' at-homes:
it was a sort of sacrifice at the altar of conventionality.

The hostess, after having asked whether the guests took cream and
sugar, made a preliminary flourish ere removing the covering that hid
the gorgeous silver teapot. The act was a silent appeal for
attention, and all eyes were fixed in anticipation upon the piece of
plate that held the fragrant beverage.

With the dexterity of a practised conjuror Mrs. Dacres lifted the
cosy. . . .

In the place of the teapot was a huge tortoise that blinked solemnly
at the sudden transit from darkness into light, and proceeded to
slowly waddle across the slippery silver tray.

The next instant, amidst a chorus of shrieks, tortoise and
tea-things, including the choicest Crown Derby, clattered on the
floor.

The sub's departure took place under a cloud. His mother's farewell
was somewhat chilly, while the colonel spoke his mind in a very blunt
manner.

"Mark my words, you confounded young fool!" he said, "unless you stop
this sort of thing there'll be trouble. It will end with your being
court-martialled and kicked out of the Service. And, by Jove! if you
are, don't look to me for any sympathy."

But the funny part about the whole business was that Basil knew
nothing about the tortoise episode until after the tea cosy was
removed. His part of the joke was to take the blame upon his broad
shoulders and to chuckle at the idea that he had been accused of what
he had not done. He was not asked for an explanation, nor did he give
one. He had no wish that punishment should fall upon the real
culprit--his ten-year-old brother, Clarence; for the fond parents
never for one moment suspected that guile could be found in their
cherub-faced youngest-born child.

"Give you a cue--what about?" asked the midshipman.

The sub brought himself up with a round turn. He realized that
perhaps it was not altogether wise to confide in his subordinate over
the plan that had readily resolved itself in his brain.

"H'm!" he ejaculated. "Eccles seems rather up the pole about the
prize-firing result. I suppose it's natural."

"Well, aren't you, sir?" asked Alderney. "I know I am, and so are the
rest of the gun-room. Just fancy! the midshipmen of the flagship,
whom we licked hollow at cricket, actually had the cheek to row round
the ship with a cock perched on a jack-staff in the bows, and the
whole crowd crowing like anything. Beastly bad form, I call it. After
all, gunnery isn't everything, as the Admiral ought to know he had
with the 'Aphrodite.'"

"The submarine? Yes, I remember. She's 'M. I.' now. That business has
given us a good lead in submarines and pretty well knocked the Flying
Branch into a cocked hat, worse luck."

And Dacres shook his shoulders deprecatingly. He had volunteered for
the Service with the Naval Wing of the Royal Flying Corps, but owing
to an unexpected decision on the part of the First Lord to cut down
that part of the Service his offer had been declined.

Just then Sinclair, the duty-sub for the First Dog Watch, came on
deck, and Dacres, freed from his responsible duty of doing nothing in
particular, made his way below to the gun-room.

There the conversation was mainly upon the bumptiousness of the
flagship. Dacres said little, but thought the more. After a while he
went to the half-deck and knocked at the Gunnery Lieutenant's cabin
door. He was there for nearly an hour, at the end of which time he
applied for leave till eight bells (noon) on the following day. This
he obtained without difficulty, then changing into mufti he went
ashore.




CHAPTER II.

THE FRENCH INSTRUCTOR.


SINGAPORE in the year 1919 was a very important naval station. During
the last six or seven years it had undergone great changes. The
practical abandonment of a powerful war-squadron on the China
Station, owing to the understanding with Japan, had led to a decline
in the greatness of Hong-Kong as a base. And what Hong-Kong had lost
Singapore had gained--with compound interest. Henceforth that little
island at the extreme south of the Malay Peninsula was to be the
greatest British naval station on the portals of the Pacific.

Additional docks, capable of taking the largest battleships afloat,
had been constructed, with smaller basins for submarines, of which
twelve of the "C" class and six of the "D" type were stationed there.
Bomb-proof sheds for seaplanes had been built, and the whole defended
by modern forts armed with the most up-to-date and powerful guns.

At half-past eight on the morning following the event recorded in the
first chapter a signal was made from the dockyard to the flagship of
Rear-Admiral Maynebrace. It read: "Commander-in-Chief to 'Repulse':
French instructor will proceed on board at four bells. Please send
boat to meet him at Kelang Steps."

The receipt of this message was duly acknowledged and then
communicated through the manifold yet proper channels to the
gun-room, where the midshipmen received it with ill-concealed
disgust.

They had planned a picnic along the well-kept country road that,
fringed on either side by unbroken avenues of fruit-trees and
luxuriant palms, led to the lofty Who Hen Kang. There they had hoped
to revel in the gorgeous glades, eating pine-apples and coco-nuts
till the services of the sick-bay staff might have to be called into
requisition. The prospect, ignoring the consequences of their
injudicious appetites, was most alluring; till almost on the eve of
the anticipated picnic came this disconcerting message that the
French instructor was about to come off to the ship.

French lessons with the temperature at ninety-eight in the shade!
This ordeal was sufficient to crush even the resistance of a
punch-ball, let alone a dozen irresponsible midshipmen.

Such terrors did not exist for Rear-Admiral Maynebrace. He had
forgotten all the foreign languages that had been dinned into his
head forty years ago, and since the King's Regulations say nothing
about flag officers polishing up their French, Maynebrace felt no
qualms. As it happened he had an invitation to meet the Governor.

With due ceremony the Admiral was piped over the side and his
motor-pinnace landed him at the Kelang Steps. Somehow there was no
conveyance in waiting, not even a rickshaw, so Maynebrace and his
flag-lieutenant had to walk.

On his way through the dockyard the Admiral's attention was directed
towards an individual who, even amidst the quaintly-costumed
inhabitants of Singapore, looked singularly bizarre.

The person who attracted the notice of the mighty Maynebrace was
tall, inclined to corpulence, and bowed in the shoulders. His
sun-dried face was partly concealed by a bristling black moustache
and an imperial. His hair, or at least what was visible outside a top
hat of wondrous style, was grey.

A white waistcoat, buttoned almost to bursting strain over his
_embonpoint_ and fitting where it touched elsewhere, was cut deeply
at the throat, revealing a wide, turned-down collar and an enormous
red silk tie. His frock coat was of a late nineteenth century
pattern; while his trousers, baggy fore and aft, were at one time
"white ducks": now they were saffron colour. Sky-blue socks and brown
canvas shoes completed the extraordinary "get-up."

As this remarkable personage passed the Admiral he hesitated a
moment, then removing his "stove-pipe" made a most elaborate bow, a
compliment that Maynebrace returned by stiffly bringing his right
hand up to the edge of his white-covered peaked cap.

"Rummy codger," remarked the Admiral.

"It's the French instructor, I believe, sir," said the
flag-lieutenant.

"H'm! fancy that on board my ship!"

"Regulations, sir; paragraph 574d says: Whenever practicable
instruction in French is to be given to midshipmen by French
instructors domiciled in British ports."

"Well, well. Thank goodness I'm not a midshipman," ejaculated
Maynebrace, as he frantically signalled to a passing rickshaw-man.

Whatever opinion the Frenchman had of Rear-Admiral Maynebrace he
wisely kept it to himself, and trotting along with short jerky steps
he reached the place where the gig from H.M.S. "Repulse" awaited him.

The coxswain could scarce suppress a grin as the instructor stepped
into the stern sheets. His surprise was still greater when the latter
took the yoke-lines and gave the order to "Pull you to ze ship!"

Bending their backs to the supple ash oars the boats crew made the
gig dart rapidly through the water. Some of them, possibly, wondered
what order the grotesque object in the stern-sheets would give as the
boat ran alongside the flagship. As a matter of fact he gave none,
but pulling at the wrong yoke-line he made the light gig collide bows
on with the accommodation ladder, jerking the rowers backwards off
their thwarts, and causing himself to sit ungracefully upon the
gratings.

Considering his corpulence the instructor picked himself up with
agility and, not waiting for the boat to be brought properly
alongside, made his way from thwart to thwart, gaining the foot of
the accommodation-ladder by way of the bows of the gig.

At the head of the ladder he was met by the Officer of the watch.
Greatly to the latter's disgust the instructor committed a most
heinous offence: he spat upon the sacred precincts of the
quarter-deck and coolly threw his cigarette end upon the snowy
planks!

So flabbergasted was the duty-lieutenant that he said not a word, and
before he could recover his composure he was anticipated by
First-lieutenant Garboard.

Garboard was an officer who owed his position to influence rather
than to merit. He shone in the reflected light of his parent, Sir
Peter Garboard, till lately Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth.

He was one of those officers, luckily becoming rarer, who believe in
cast-iron discipline amounting almost to tyranny. He would bully and
brow-beat at the ship's-police when there were not enough defaulters
to do the odd jobs requisitioned by the commander. When the childish
punishment known as 10_a_ (which consisted of compelling blacklist
men to stand on the lee side of the quarter-deck from 8 to 10 p.m.,
to have their meals under the sentry's charge and to be deprived of
grog and tobacco) was abolished, Garboard, then a junior lieutenant,
asserted that the Service was going, to the dogs. He was never
happier than when bully-ragging the men of his watch, under the plea
of efficiency.

Wishing to air his French the first lieutenant remarked: "_Il fait
très chaud, monsieur._"

The instructor whisked off his stove-pipe hat and bowed
ceremoniously.

"Show?" he repeated. "_Oui_, ver' fine show," and looked about him as
if he expected to see a floating Agricultural Hall.

"Blockhead!" muttered the discomfited Garboard as he beat a retreat,
signing to a quarter-master to take the Frenchman below to the
midshipmen's study.

The dozen disconsolate youngsters were already mustered, and awaited
with no great zest the arrival of their instructor; but their apathy
changed when the Frenchman appeared. They seemed to scent a lark.

But they were sadly mistaken if they hoped to rag that oddly-garbed
individual.

"Sit you down," he said sternly. "Sit you down. You tink I haf not
imparted ze instruction to ze midsheepmens before, eh? You make great
mistake. Ze first zat acts ze light-headed goat he go in ze capitan's
report: zen, no leave for a whole veek."

Taking up a piece of chalk the instructor wrote in a firm hand:--

"_Mon frère a raison, mais ma soeur a tort._"

"Now, zen," he continued, "zat young zhentleman with ze red hair. How
you translate zat, eh?"

Mr. Midshipman Moxitter's particular weakness was French translation.
It had caused him hours of uneasiness at Osborne and Dartmouth. By a
succession of lucky shots he had foiled the examiners and had managed
to scrape through in that particular subject.

Upon being asked to translate the sentence, Moxitter stood up,
squared his shoulders, and said solemnly:--

"'My brother has reasons that my sister's a tart,' sir."

A roar of laughter, audible even in the captain's cabin, greeted this
information. The rest of the midshipmen nearly succumbed to apoplexy,
while even the Frenchman was obliged to pull out his pink silk
handkerchief and press it tightly to his face.

"We vill not dispute ze point, monsieur," he said after an awkward
pause. "Ze affairs of your family are of no concern to ze rest of ze
class, mais you are a good-for-nothing rascal, I say. If you no
better are at ze rest of ze work on ze sheep zen I say you are a
young rotter."

For the full three-quarters of an hour the instructor bullied and
badgered the midshipmen in a manner that outvied Lieutenant
Garboard's treatment of the men. They had to submit: the alternative
of having their leave stopped by the captain put all idea of
resistance out of their heads. Finally he made each midshipman write
in bold characters, "_Mais, que je suis sot,_" and sign this
humiliating confession.

Gathering up the papers the instructor went on deck.

"Will you take any refreshment before you leave?" asked the officer
of the watch.

"No, sare, with many tanks. Permit me: my card."

The lieutenant took the proffered piece of pasteboard, and watched
the Frenchman go over the side. The coxswain of the gig had been
previously cautioned not to allow the instructor to handle the
yoke-lines again.

As the boat headed for Kelang Steps the officer of the watch glanced
at the instructor's card. It was written in a flowing hand:--

"_Jean le Plaisant, professeur de litérature et des langues,
Singapore._"

The second time the officer of the watch looked at the piece of
pasteboard more intently. He even tilted his cap on one side and
scratched his closely-cut hair.

"Fetch me the French dictionary from the wardroom," he ordered, and
the quarter-deck messenger hastened to carry out his instructions.

Seizing the book the lieutenant hurriedly turned over the pages, then
looked dubiously at the retreating gig, now out of hailing distance.

"H'm," he muttered. "I'll speak to the commander. By Jove! I
will."




CHAPTER III.

REMOVED FROM THE NAVY LIST.


"WELL?" asked Eccles, as Sub-lieutenant Basil Dacres came off to the
ship at the expiration of his leave.

"Ripping time, by Jove! I'll tell you about it when you've done your
trick. Is the commander below?"

Receiving an affirmative reply the sub made his way to Commander
Bourne's cabin, bubbling over with suppressed excitement.

"I've done it, sir," he announced. "Spoofed the whole jolly lot of
them, Admiral included."

"Hope you've covered up your tracks?" asked his superior anxiously.

"Rather! I snubbed Garboard, twitted Oxley and played the very
dickens with the flagship's midshipmen. It was hot work, though.
Fancy spending a couple of hours on a day like this with a pillow
stuffed under your waistcoat, and false moustaches tickling like
billy-ho."

Bourne laughed heartily as Dacres related the details of the joke he
had played, but his face grew serious as he remarked:--

"'Pon my word, Dacres, I'm rather sorry I let you carry out this mad
prank, after all. It's bound to leak out."

"It may, sir. If it does the flagship's people won't say much. The
less they say the better, for they will be the laughing-stock of the
squadron."

"I don't know so much about that," rejoined the commander. "You see,
we must do our best to keep it to ourselves. The culprit must be
screened. If there is a row, of course I must own up to my share."

"You must do nothing of the sort, sir," said the sub firmly. "This is
my pigeon, you know. Anyway, they haven't tumbled to it yet, and when
they do they'll have to go a long way to spot me."

During the First Dog Watch the commander told the captain, who
laughed till the tears rolled down his mahogany-coloured cheeks. The
chaplain had it third hand from the skipper, and passed the news on
to the ward-room. As for the gun-room they heard it directly from
Dacres.

So far so good. Loyalty to a brother officer joke a sure bond that
the joke against the unpopular flagship would be kept a secret. But
Jones, the captain's valet, heard his master and the padre laughing
immoderately--was human enough to put his ear to the keyhole of the
captain's cabin. In less than an hour the whole of the lower deck
heard the yarn, and Mr. Dacres was unanimously acclaimed a
"thunderin' brick."

Everything passed off quietly until the following afternoon. It was
the calm before the storm.

Basil Dacres had just completed his trick as "Duty Sub," and was
enjoying a cooling glass of lime juice in the gun-room when a
signalman knocked at the door.

"Chit for Mr. Dacres, sir," he announced.

The sub held out his hand for the folded slip of paper. His intuition
told him that something was amiss: it was.

"Flag to officer commanding H.M.S. 'Royal Oak.' Mr. Basil Dacres,
sub-lieutenant, is to report himself on board the flagship as soon as
possible."

Dacres said not a word to his messmates, but the deep flush that
swept over his bronzed features told its own tale.

Without waiting to give explanations or to receive condolences or
advice the sub hurried off to his cabin and changed into No. Eight
Rig. In the midst of the operation Commander Bourne entered. He had,
in the course of his duty, initialled the message and guessed its
purport.

"Look here, Dacres," he exclaimed impulsively, "I'm going with you.
There's bound to be a most unholy bust-up, I'm afraid; but I mean to
stand by you."

For a moment the sub hesitated. He quite realized the need of a
friend to back him up during the coming ordeal, but his independence
quickly reasserted itself.

"I don't think you need, sir," he replied. "You see, it may be
something else. In any case, I'd much rather I went through by
myself."

"You would?"

"Yes, sir."

"But, look here, Dacres----"

"It's no use, sir. I'll stick to it somehow. What's the good of
getting other men mixed up in this affair when one can bear the
brunt. Sharing the blame will not make things any easier for me, I'm
afraid. After all, I had a rattling good time."

There was a ring of determination in the sub's voice that compelled
his superior officer to give way.

"Very well, then," said Bourne reluctantly. "You go alone. But, mark
you, if there's to be any serious bother I, as your commander and a
fellow conspirator, will stand by you."

"All right, then, sir," replied Dacres, "that's agreed. If I am in
danger of going under I'll look to my superior officer for
assistance."

Just then Eccles and Plumbly, the assistant paymaster, entered the
cabin and expressed their intention of "standing in."

"Standing in--what about?" demanded Dacres.

"About hoaxing the flagship, of course," replied Eccles.

"You've done your part of the business," retorted the sub, "now let
me carry on with mine. For one thing I'm not sure that the Admiral
wants me in connexion with that affair. How on earth could he find
out? Now sheer off, there's good fellows, and let me finish
dressing."

Young Alderney was midshipman of the duty boats, and on the run to
the "Repulse" he added his condolences till Dacres peremptorily cut
him short. The sub hated outward expressions of sympathy almost as
much as he detested formal praise. He vastly preferred in matters of
this sort to be self-reliant.

Gaining the quarter-deck of the flagship he saluted with the utmost
coolness, and turned to follow the lieutenant who was to escort him
to the Admiral's cabin. Three or four youngsters, whom he recognized
as being members of the French instructor's class, were on deck,
evidently anticipating his discomfiture. Something about his bearing
impelled them to return to the shelter of the after barbette, feeling
rather sorry for the man who had so recently "pulled their legs."

Vice-Admiral Maynebrace was alone. He had sent his secretary away on
some convenient duty, and well-nigh bursting with indignation he
stood prepared for the fray.

"Well, sir," he began, as soon as the door was closed. "Do you
recognize this?"

And he held up the pseudo Jean le Plaisant's card.

"Yes, sir," answered the sub calmly.

"Then, perhaps, sir, next time you have an opportunity to impersonate
a French professor you might have the sense to remember that
_littérateur_ is spelt with a double 't.' Had it not been for the
perspicuity of the officer of the watch your senseless joke might
have passed off undetected--at least for a time. Now, sir, you, on
your own confession, have been guilty of the heinous offence of
bringing his Majesty's uniform into contempt. A senseless joke, sir!
There are no extenuating circumstances."

Admiral Maynebrace paused to recover his breath. He had completely
forgotten his early days, when, a ringleader of a little mob of
midshipmen from the guardship, he had gone ashore at Southampton in
the small hours of the morning and had artistically decorated the two
lions guarding the historic Bargate. Dacres had heard of the episode
and how young Maynebrace was jockeyed out of what promised to be a
serious scrape; and he was half tempted to remind his superior of
that little delinquency, but the sub had steadfastly made up his mind
not to say a word save to reply directly to questions put to him.

The Admiral had fully expected that the culprit would metaphorically
go down on his knees and beg for pardon, but he had mistaken Dacres'
character. The sub's silence and coolness goaded him to a further
outburst.

"Confound you, sir!" he roared. "You're a discredit to the Service,
sir. You have two alternatives: either to stand your trial by
court-martial for unbecoming conduct, or to send in your papers. You
understand?"

"Yes, sir," replied Dacres.

The pros and cons of the two alternatives flashed through his mind in
a brief instant. He was fully convinced that the old martinet meant
to have him kicked out of the Service. A court-martial could but
bring in a verdict of guilty and with no extenuating circumstances.
The publicity and disgrace were most undesirable. By resigning he
might be able to make a fresh start in another sphere, without the
taint of ignominy. His father's words, "Unless you stop this sort of
thing there'll be trouble. It will end in your being court-martialled
and kicked out of the Service. And, by Jove! if you are, don't look
to me for sympathy," came home with redoubled force.

"I'll send in my papers, sir," he said steadily.

The Admiral looked searchingly at him as if to detect any signs of
remorse in his words. There were none.

"Very good," he replied with an air of finality. "You may go, sir."

Vice-Admiral Maynebrace spent a restless night. Possibly it was the
tropical heat, but more than once he thought of the young officer
whose career was in jeopardy.

"If only the young fool had said he was sorry," he soliloquized, "I
would have let him down lightly. Hang it! I'll send for him again in
the morning and see if he's amenable to reason."

But when morning came, before the Admiral could carry out his good
intention, Sub-lieutenant Basil Dacres' papers, duly annoted by his
captain, were sent to the flagship accompanied by a written
application for the young officer to be allowed to withdraw from his
Majesty's Service.

The receipt of this document was received by both ships with feelings
of regret. The officers of the flagship, in spite of the fact that
they were indignant at the prank that had been played upon them, were
good-natured fellows. They fully expected that the culprit would
"climb down" and apologize for his delinquency; but they were
mistaken. They had misjudged Dacres' peculiar temperament, for the
sub, regarding himself as being with his back to the wall, was as
obstinate as the proverbial mule. Now that the sub had taken the
desperate plunge, they felt genuinely sorry.

As for the ship's company of the "Royal Oak" they were all completely
taken aback. Dacres was a favourite with his brother-officers and
well-liked by the Lower Deck. It seemed incomprehensible that the
Admiral should take such a strong step; but it was not the first time
that drastic measures were the result of comparatively slight
offences against discipline.

At the eleventh hour Admiral Maynebrace sent a message to the "Royal
Oak" to ask whether Sub-lieutenant Dacres had reconsidered the
matter. In vain Captain Staggers tried to reason with his
subordinate.

"Look here, Dacres," he said kindly. "Think over this affair.
Remember your career is at stake. It was a silly thing to do to
attempt to hoax the flagship, in spite of the circumstances. Of
course you realize that we were in sympathy with you, but that was a
mistake. If you think you are going to come out 'top-dog' in your
difference with the Admiral the sooner you put that idea out of your
head the better. I don't believe in the whole of naval history that a
junior officer has done so with any degree of success. You see, it's
against all principles of discipline."

"Thank you, sir," replied Dacres, "but I'm afraid you cannot
understand my motives, and I cannot very well explain. All the same,
I don't wish to withdraw my resignation; and as to scoring over the
Admiral, well, the idea never entered into my head until you
mentioned it. But I may, even yet," he added.

Nettled by the sub's refusal, the Admiral used the power entrusted to
him under the revised King's Regulations. He accepted Dacres'
resignation, without having to wait for Admiralty authority; and
before noon on the same day Dacres ceased to be an officer of his
Majesty's navy.

"Look here, Dacres," exclaimed Commander Bourne impetuously, "you're
a young rotter. You remember what I said: 'If there's any serious
bother I, your commander and fellow conspirator, will stand by you.'
To that you agreed; so I'm off to the flagship to bear my share of
the brunt."

Dacres looked at the commander for a few moments, then, doing what he
would not have dared to do but an hour previously, he tapped him
familiarly on the shoulder.

"Look here, Bourne," he said, "you are no longer my superior officer,
so the deal's off. If you attempt to put your finger in my pie I'll
give you the biggest hiding you've ever had in your life. So don't
make matters worse, and I'll be thankful to one of the best pals I've
ever had in the Service."

Bourne agreed reluctantly. He had fully intended to interview the
Admiral, but now he was somewhat relieved to find that Dacres had
vetoed the proposal. The commander's prospects were no longer in
danger; and since Bourne's chances of promotion depended solely upon
merit--for he had no outside influence--he was genuinely grateful for
the principal culprit's magnanimity.

That same afternoon the squadron, with the exception of the "Royal
Oak," weighed and proceeded to sea. The "Royal Oak" had developed
slight engine-room defects and was left behind in order to effect
necessary repairs.

Thus an opportunity occurred of giving a demonstration that otherwise
could not have taken place; for as Dacres went over the side of the
battleship for the last time the officers turned out on the
quarter-deck to bid him good luck, while by a purely spontaneous
impulse the men gave three rousing cheers for the youngster whom they
could no longer regard as one of the ship's company of H.M.S. "Royal
Oak."




CHAPTER IV.

THE MYSTERIOUS AIRSHIP.


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!"




CHAPTER V.

A MOMENTOUS TRAIN JOURNEY.

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."




CHAPTER VI.

CHALLENGED.


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."




CHAPTER VII.

THE RETURN OF THE AIRSHIP.


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?"




CHAPTER VIII.

WHITTINGHAME'S NARRATIVE.


VAUGHAN WHITTINGHAME had not made the proposal on the spur of the
moment. He already knew the circumstances under which Dacres had left
the Service; he was aware that the young man was "down on his luck;"
he also had found out that he had volunteered for the Royal Flying
Corps.

Dacres was a man who could be useful to him in more ways than one. He
was used to command; he had a thorough knowledge of armaments, and
what was more essential he was used to navigating a ship and could
determine his position by either solar or stellar observation. The
coolness with which he had followed Whittinghame into what might have
proved to be a dangerous trap convinced the latter that the ex-naval
officer was a man on whom he could entirely depend.

"Conditionally--yes," replied Dacres, whereat his companion was even
better pleased. He was not a hot-headed man, he reflected.

"What stipulations do you lay down?" he asked.

"One only," answered Dacres. "That I am not called upon to assist in
committing any acts prejudicial to the interests of King and
country."

"That I can safely agree to. But before I give you any details as to
the nature of my masterpiece I ought to explain the reasons why I
have undertaken a definite mission."

"Quite so," assented Dacres.

"You are not too tired? Would you rather turn in?"

"Not in the least. Fire away; I am all attention."

"You've heard, of course, of Valderia?" began Whittinghame abruptly.

"Yes, that rotten tin-pot South American republic that owes its very
existence to the jealousy between Chili and Peru."

"That's the average Englishman's idea of Valderia. You can take it
from me that that republic is greatly under-rated. The inhabitants,
of course, are of the usual South American type: the better class are
Creoles and the lower class are a mixture of Spanish, Negro, and
Indian blood. You may remember President Santobar? He was
assassinated about two years ago--in March, 1917, to be correct. He
was a most able ruler as far as order and progress went. Under his
presidency Valderia became prosperous. Gold was found there, and
also, although not generally known, platinum. That pair of horns, for
example, is overlaid with thin platinum from the San Bonetta mines.
At current London prices that metal is worth at least eight thousand
pounds.

"My brother Gerald had a mining concession at San Bonetta, which is
less than thirty miles from the capital, Naocuanha. He was held in
great esteem by President Santobar, who often asked his advice on
matters concerning internal transport.

"After a while prosperity turned the Valderians heads. They hankered
after military and naval supremacy amongst the South American
republics; and since Santobar was of a peace-loving disposition,
there was a revolution and he was deposed. Four days after the
revolution the president was murdered, and an octroon named Diego
Zaypuru became dictator.

"A glance at the map will convince anyone who studies the situation
of the favourable physical conditions of Valderia. It has a fair
extent of coast-line, possessing several deep and land-locked
harbours, while a semi-circle of lofty snow-capped mountains,
breaking off abruptly at the coast on the northern and southern
frontiers, form a well-nigh impossible barrier between it and the
neighbouring states.

"Although the climate on the littoral is unhealthy it is quite the
reverse on the three great terraces that lie between the sea and the
Sierras. Not only is there abundant mineral wealth, but two of these
plateaux are extremely suitable for raising corn and rearing cattle.

"Had the Valderians contented themselves with their commercial
advantages they might easily, within a few years, have become the
most prosperous state of South America, but their aptitude for
commerce was outweighed by their desire for the hollow glory of feats
of arms.

"One of President Zaypuru's first acts was to purchase a
Super-Dreadnought that had been constructed at Elswick to the order
of another South American republic; four ocean-going destroyers were
bought from the Vulkan Yard at Stettin, and six semi-obsolete
submarines were obtained from the French government. These formed the
nucleus of the Valderian navy, while docks were constructed at
Zandovar, the port of Naocuanha.

"At the same time an army of fifteen thousand men was raised, armed
with modern rifles, and drilled by ex-non-commissioned officers of
the German army. Of course, President Zaypuru must have an aerial
fleet, and with this object in view he sent for my brother.

"Gerald and I had always been very keen on all matters appertaining
to aviation and aeronautics. Before he left England for Valderia we
prepared plans in duplicate of a veritable Dreadnought of the Air--in
fact, they were the plans from which my airship was constructed.

"It was agreed that as soon as Gerald made sufficient money he was to
return home, and both of us were to carry our long-cherished plan
into effect.

"Somehow, Don Diego Zaypuru came to know of the existence of these
plans, and sending for my brother offered him immense sums if he
would superintend the construction of an aerial Dreadnought on the
lines indicated in the design.

"Gerald had sufficient foresight to be prepared for a rupture. He had
already sent home an amount more than enough to defray the cost of
building and maintaining the projected airship. He was actually about
to leave the country when the President's arbitrary summons was
presented to him.

"There was no love lost between my brother and the murderer of
ex-President Santobar. Gerald point-blank refused to have any truck
with Zaypuru; and because of this refusal my brother was arrested and
thrown into prison, where he still remains.

"It is with the primary object of rescuing my brother from the
clutches of President Zaypuru that my Dreadnought of the Air--the
'Meteor,' as I have named her--has now become an airship in being."

"But surely," remarked Dacres, taking advantage of a pause in the
narrative, "surely the British government would take up the matter,
since the life and liberty of one of its subjects is at stake?"

"You have not yet heard all of the business, Dacres. In the first
place, the lethargy of the British government is proverbial. The time
has passed when England would strike and explain afterwards. Now a
long-winded and generally futile course of diplomatic relations is
the order of things. My own opinion is that sooner than release my
brother President Zaypuru would put him out of the way, disclaim
knowledge of the act, and if pressed offer apologies and a monetary
indemnity.

"But there is another phase in the story of Valderia. You remember,
of course, a renegade called von Harburg?"

"The fellow Captain Restronguet tracked and eventually discovered
dead somewhere in Portuguese East Africa. Yes, and curiously enough I
met Hythe in town this afternoon."

"In all probability you'll meet again ere long; but to carry on. Von
Harburg's base was in the Dutch East Indies, and, when the 'Vorwartz'
was captured, the renegade's Sumatran retreat was occupied by Dutch
troops and the remainder of his gang dispersed.

"The fellow whom von Harburg had left in charge of his repairing-base
was a Mexican named Reno Durango. He is a clever rascal, from all
accounts, for on being pushed out of Sumatra--he managed, by the by,
to get clear with a tidy sum of money--he volunteered his services to
President Zaypuru as adviser to the submarine branch of the infant
Valderian navy.

"The semi-obsolete French submarines were equipped with many of von
Harburg's really dangerous means of offence; while Durango managed to
build a large airship from the plans which had been found in Gerald's
house. Of course that airship does not embody all my inventions,
still it is not to be despised. I would class it as superior to any
dirigible now owned by the Great Powers.

"But to get back to the submarine part of my narrative. Reno
Durango's ambition was to acquire the secrets of the British 'M'
class of submarines--those built to the same type as the renowned
'Aphrodite.' And with this object in view, I hear from a very
trustworthy source--from one of my brother's native assistants and a
real loyal man to his employer's interests--that Durango is on his
way to England to attempt to steal the specifications from the
British Admiralty."

Dacres smiled.

"Surely," he said incredulously, "the fellow doesn't know the utter
impracticability of his scheme. His appearance, his accent, would
betray him. Besides, see how jealously those secrets are guarded."

"Perhaps you do not know that this rascal was educated in England--at
a public school near London. He speaks English perfectly. He is as
wily as a fox, and since he has ample funds--well, there have been
instances of high officials being known to sell state secrets for a
considerable bribe, you know."

"The Admiralty ought to be warned."

"I agree with you. I mean to do so; but there is plenty of time.
Durango is still on the high seas. Now you can follow my plan of
operation. The 'Meteor' has now passed her final trials. In a few
days I mean to offer my services to the Admiralty and to ask for a
letter of marque to destroy the airship that the Valderian government
has taken under its protection. In the course of this operation I
hope to rescue my brother."

"But Valderia is a friendly state. The republic has been recognized
by the Powers," objected Dacres.

"Admitted; but the airship is still the private property of Reno
Durango, and since that rogue is branded as an outlaw--for the
declaration by the Great Powers against Karl von Harburg and his gang
has never been withdrawn--he is still the lawful prey to anyone who
can lay him by the heels."

"When taking refuge in a neutral country?"

"We'll see about that later on," rejoined Whittinghame grimly.
"Suppose we knock off now; you've quite enough to dream about
to-night."

"One moment," said Dacres, a thought flashing across his mind. "What
is this fellow Durango like?"

"I'll describe him--no, I won't. I've a photograph of him somewhere.
I'll fetch it."

"Don't trouble."

"No trouble at all. Have another cigar."

Whittinghame hurried out of the room, soon to return with a cabinet
photograph in his hand.

"Here you are," he announced. Dacres took the photograph. One glance
was sufficient.

"It strikes me rather forcibly that you are mistaken about Reno
Durango," he remarked. "He is not on the high seas: he's in England.
I travelled from Waterloo in the same carriage with him this
afternoon."




CHAPTER IX.

THE FLIGHT TO LONDON.

WHITTINGHAME sprang to his feet, the muscles of his face working with
excitement.

"That's serious--decidedly serious," he exclaimed. "We can't afford
to underrate that fellow. Look here, Dacres, there's a job for you
the first thing to-morrow. Your formal introduction to the 'Meteor'
can wait."

"Very good; what is it?"

"You told me you knew Commander Hythe; go up to town to-morrow
morning and warn him. Don't give him the name of your informant,
merely say that Reno Durango is in England, and was seen in a
Portsmouth train. That will be enough--he knows the character of the
rogue. If we can nab the fellow on English soil that will save a lot
of complications, for otherwise it won't end only in a rupture
between Great Britain and Valderia. Valderia is only a pawn in the
game as far as Durango is concerned. If he succeeds in obtaining the
secret specifications and getting back to Zandovar he will, of
course, apply his knowledge to the improvement of the Valderian
submarines."

Whittinghame paused to wipe his face. The perspiration was slowly
trickling down his forehead. He was labouring under intense mental
strain. Dacres made no remark. He allowed his companion to take his
time. Presently Whittinghame resumed.

"No, Valderia hardly counts in Durango's estimation. He is playing
for higher stakes. Once he has succeeded in working the
specifications what is there to prevent him from negotiating with
some of the Great Powers? Should the secret pass into the hands of
our avowed rivals, in a very short space of time they would possess a
fleet of submarines of the 'Aphrodite' type, and our present
unquestionable superiority would become a thing of the past."

"I see the drift of your argument," said Dacres. "In a way, Durango
indirectly gains you the sympathy of the government, and your plans
to rescue your brother will be facilitated."

"You've hit the right nail on the head, Dacres," observed
Whittinghame. "Now let's see about turning in. It is half-past one."

Dacres was shown into a small but well-furnished bedroom. He noticed,
with considerable surprise, that his small handbag for immediate use
was placed on a chair by, the side of his bed.

"Hang it!" he exclaimed, as soon as he was left alone. "I clean
forgot all about that bag. I must have dropped it when Callaghan and
Co. tracked me in the wood. Well, I'm in luck--by Jove, I am! Here I
am signed on for service in the mysterious airship--and already
entrusted with an important mission. By the by, I wonder what that
fellow Callaghan meant by saying, 'He's one of them!' I'll ask
Whittinghame in the morning."

Even the momentous events of the day did not keep Dacres from
sleeping. In less than ten minutes he was lost to the world in a
sound, dreamless slumber.

At seven o'clock Dacres was awakened by a knock on the door, and in
reply to his "All right" the man Williamson, who had acted as butler
on the preceding evening, entered.

"Your bath is ready, sir," he announced, "and Mr. Whittinghame
presents his compliments and would you care to make use of this suit
of clothes until you can get your luggage?"

Half an hour later Dacres, rigged out in a suit of his host's--which
fitted him fairly well considering the slight difference in
height--entered the diningroom, where breakfast was already served.

"Hope it's not too early for you," remarked Whittinghame after the
customary morning greetings, "but the matter is urgent. One of my
monoplanes will be ready for you at half-past eight. With luck you
ought to be at the Admiralty soon after ten--that, I believe, is the
usual hour at which the officials arrive preparatory to duty. All
being well you should be back by noon. If, for any unforeseen cause,
you are detained you might communicate with me."

"How?" asked Dacres; "by telegraph?"

Whittinghame shook his head.

"Too risky, in spite of the vaunted 'official reticence' of the
Postmaster-General. No, there is another way--by wireless."

"By wireless?" echoed Dacres.

"Why not? The monoplane is fitted with an installation of the latest
type, and Callaghan, who is to pilot you, is a skilled operator. You
give him any message and he will transmit it in code."

"There was one thing I meant to ask you," said Dacres, in the course
of the meal. "Have any persons attempted to trespass upon your
property?"

"Yes, several," was the reply. "At first I had a lot of trouble with
poachers, until I effectually scared them off. After that I had to
deal with one or two members of Durango's gang."

"Then, Durango knows of the existence of the 'Meteor' and of her
place of concealment?"

"Oh, no. He knows through his spies that I have taken a house in the
New Forest, but I do not for one moment think he suspects that the
'Meteor' is hidden here. To conceal an airship of over a thousand
feet in length in a comparatively small plantation seems illogical.
That is the beauty of the whole scheme. He knows right enough who the
owner of the 'Meteor' is--he has good reasons for so doing--but it is
to his own interests to keep that a secret."

"Why do his agents prowl about here?"

"Under his orders. I don't believe that they even know who or what he
is, but money will work wonders. If these fellows had the opportunity
I don't suppose they would hesitate to kidnap or even murder me; but
I don't give them the chance. You may recollect that when you made
your way through the fence a bell rang?"

"Now you mention it, I do."

"That is for the purpose of raising an alarm. Also two of the wires
of that fence are electrically charged. By a thousand to one chances
you missed them. Had you touched them you would have been held
powerless till my men released you. Again, had you made a dash for
liberty last night, you would have found the drive barred by a gate.
Naturally you would either open it, or vault over the top. In either
case you would have been stopped by the live wire and become as
helpless as a fly stuck to a fly paper."

"Then, perhaps it's as well I didn't attempt it," remarked Dacres
with a smile. "I'm jolly glad I didn't for other reasons. But what
happens when tradesmen and _bona fide_ visitors call?"

"They are few and far between," replied Whittinghame. "We make due
allowance for them. Fifty yards beyond the electrically-charged gate
is another gate. The lodge-keeper has to open that, and if he is
certain that the callers are above suspicion, he switches off the
current and telephones up to the house."

"Then, where is the generating station?"

"Underground. In fact, all the gas-producing plant and workshops are
underground. I'll show them to you when you return. By a rare slice
of luck the house is built on the site of an old royal hunting-lodge,
and the extensive cellars still remain, although long forgotten until
we discovered them by pure accident. Otherwise, had the workshops to
be above ground, the risk of detection would be infinitely great. But
it's close on the half-hour. Are you ready for your journey?"

On a lawn in front of the house was a two-seated monoplane, one of
the standard "Velox" design that had recently become popular in Great
Britain. Aviation as a means of making a journey had become quite
common, and an aeroplane in flight attracted no more attention than a
taxi in the Strand.

Callaghan, a burly, good-natured Irishman, was already in the pilot's
seat. On his left was the wireless installation which, since the
monoplane was automatically steered when once in the air, could be
worked without detriment to Callaghan's other duties. The passenger's
seat, in the rear and slightly higher than the pilot's, was protected
from the wind and rain by an enclosed structure resembling the body
of the now defunct hansom-cab. To view the country beneath him the
passenger could make use of the two sponson-like windows on either
side, through which the traveller, leaning sideways, could see
immediately below.

There was no necessity for half a dozen men to hang on to the
monoplane's tail. As soon as Dacres had taken his seat, Callaghan
thrust forward a short lever and the propeller began to revolve. The
passenger was made aware that the flight had begun by reason of his
head coming into contact with the padded back of the cab, and by a
sinking sensation in the region of his waist like the experience when
being suddenly jerked up in a lift.

Beyond that there was nothing to give an impression of flight. The
glass protected him from the wind and silenced the buzz of the
powerful rotary motor, and it was not until Dacres looked over the
side and saw the moorland and forest slipping away beneath him that
he realized that he was being borne through the air at one hundred
and twenty miles an hour.

Even at that terrific speed the light westerly wind caused an
appreciable drift. In eight minutes the monoplane was over and
slightly to the west of Southampton. Here Callaghan altered the
course to counteract the cross air-current, and three minutes later
Winchester, nestling between the downs, glided underneath like a
panoramic effect. Then Alton and Aldershot were left behind in quick
succession, and forty minutes after leaving the ground Dacres
discerned the Thames looking like a silvery thread amidst the meadows
and woods of Middlesex and Surrey.

With the rapid progress and popularity of aviation many of the
restrictions that had been placed upon the pioneers of this branch of
aeronautics had been abolished. It was no longer forbidden to fly
over towns, and the metropolis was no exception. In fact, a portion
of Hyde Park had, with part of other open spaces, been allotted to
the use of airmen.

It was to the Hyde Park alighting station that Callaghan steered. Had
he been a stranger to London he could easily have found his way by
reason of hundreds of aeroplanes making for or returning from the
most central aviation ground in the metropolis.

Speed was reduced to a safe forty miles an hour, which, after the
rapid rush, seemed to Dacres more like a painful crawl in a motor-bus
through Cheapside.

Almost immediately beneath them was Hyde Park. The monoplane was
circling now in company with ten more, spread out at regular
intervals like a flock of wood-pigeons in flight.

Presently Callaghan's practised eye caught sight of the signal he was
waiting for: a huge red and white disk rotated till its face was
visible from above. It was to signify that the ground was clear to
receive the next batch of waiting 'planes. Fascinated, Dacres watched
the sward apparently rising to meet him. The volplane was so steep
that it seemed that nothing could prevent the monoplane from being
dashed to bits upon the earth. So acute was the angle that he had to
plant his feet firmly against the front of the cab to prevent himself
from slipping from his seat.

Suddenly the whole fabric tilted upwards, then with a barely
perceptible jar and a strange sensation in the back of his neck,
Dacres found himself on terra firma in the heart of the metropolis.

"We would have done it in forty-eight minutes, sir, if it hadn't been
for that block," remarked Callaghan apologetically, as he opened the
door. "You'll find me over by that pylon, sir. We are not allowed to
wait here."

"Very good," replied Dacres, and feeling rather stiff in his lower
limbs, hurried to the exit, called a taxi, and was soon bowling along
towards Whitehall.

"I wish to see Commander Hythe," he announced to the petty-officer
messenger on duty at the Admiralty.

The man consulted a register.

"I'm sorry, sir," he replied, "but Commander Hythe is not in the
building. Mr. Wells is doing duty for him. Would you wish to see Mr.
Wells sir?"

"I don't know the man," thought Dacres, "and I don't suppose he'll
know me. In any case, he can tell me where Hythe is with more
certainty than the messenger. Very well," he said. "I'll see Mr.
Wells."

Much to his disgust Dacres had to cool his heels in a waiting-room
for full twenty minutes until the official was at liberty to receive
him.

Commander Hythe was on duty at Portsmouth, Dacres was informed. It
was quite uncertain when he would return: it might be a matter of a
few hours or it might be a couple of days.

"We've got to run down to Portsmouth, Callaghan," announced Dacres as
he rejoined the monoplane. "Send a message to Mr. Whittinghame and
explain that Commander Hythe is away on duty and that I am going to
get in touch with him."

"Very good, sir. I'll send off a wireless when we are clear of this
place. I'll land you on the Officers' Recreation Ground."

"That will do nicely," agreed Dacres as he took his seat.

Thirty-nine minutes after leaving Hyde Park the monoplane shaved past
the tower of Portsmouth Town Hall and alighted at the spot the
Irishman had suggested.

From a police inspector at the Dockyard gate Dacres elicited the
information that Commander Hythe was engaged with the
Commander-in-Chief, and that it was very doubtful whether he could be
seen.

"But I must see him," declared Dacres peremptorily, "the
Commander-in-Chief notwithstanding. This is official and not private
business. Would you mind letting me have paper and envelope? I'll
write a note and one of your men can take it to Commander Hythe."

Five minutes later a telephone message was received at the gate to
the effect that Commander Hythe would receive Mr. Dacres at once.

"Hulloa, old man!" exclaimed the youthful commander as Dacres was
shown into the office.

"You've come at a very busy time. I can give you five minutes only.
What can I do for you?"

Hythe's usually cheerful face looked drawn and haggard. It seemed as
if he had aged ten years since yesterday, when Dacres met him in
Northumberland Avenue.

"I've been sent to warn you that the plans of the 'M' class of
submarines are in danger."

"To warn me," echoed Hythe grimly. "My dear fellow, you're too late.
The plans and specifications were stolen from the manager's
confidential record room between six last evening and this morning.
That's why I'm here."




CHAPTER X.

THE STOLEN PLANS.


"RENO DURANGO is the culprit," said Dacres. "If you lay him by the
heels the secret will be safe."

"But the fellow isn't in England," objected Hythe.

"Perhaps not," agreed Dacres. "But he was last night. I saw him in
the train."

"Then why on earth didn't you report the matter?"

"Simply because I had then no idea who or what he was. I know now."

"Come and see the Admiral," said the Commander, taking his friend by
the arm.

"One minute. Look here, old man, I'm in a bit of a fix. I'm not a
free agent in the matter. Besides----"

"Can't be helped. This is a matter of national importance."

"Very well, then; only don't give the show away that I once held his
Majesty's commission."

Dacres found himself in the company of the Commander-in-Chief, the
Admiral Superintendent of the Dockyard, two naval secretaries, the
Superintendent of Police, and two high officials from Scotland Yard.

To these he related the circumstances under which he had met the
Mexican in the train, and that he had come purposely to warn his
friend, Commander Hythe, that the plans of the submarines were in
danger.

"Did you come here on your own initiative, sir?" asked one of the
Scotland Yard men.

"No," replied Dacres. "I was acting under instructions."

"Whose, might I ask?"

This was an awkward question. Dacres hesitated.

"One who has good reason to wish to see Durango arrested," he replied
guardedly. "I'm not at liberty at present to divulge his name."

"But suppose we insist?" asked the Commander-in-Chief bluntly.

"No useful purpose would result, sir," said Dacres boldly. "In fact,
the chances of recovering the papers would be considerably retarded.
I will return at once to my principal and inform him of the loss of
the documents. No doubt he will act promptly and unreservedly in
conjunction with you. Meanwhile, I would suggest that you ascertain
what ships left Southampton between six o'clock yesterday and the
present time. By giving a description of this Señor Durango you will
possibly be able to find out whether he has left the country."

"That we propose to do," said one of the Scotland Yard officials with
owl-like wisdom. As a matter of fact, such an idea had not previously
entered his head.

"Very well, gentlemen," said Dacres firmly, "I will now take my
leave. I can assure you that at present I can be of no further use to
you. No doubt my principal will communicate with you in due course."

Dacres certainly held the whip hand. He was no longer a naval officer
subject to the King's Regulations; there was not the faintest excuse
for arresting him, while his vague hint as to what might happen if he
were detained could not be ignored.

Hythe followed him into the ante-room.

"I say, old man," he exclaimed, "what sort of enterprise have you
embarked upon?"

"Something that will never cause me to regret leaving the Service,"
replied Dacres. "You'll be surprised when you are told, but I cannot
say any more about it at present. Cheer up, old fellow! We'll get
those plans before there's any serious damage done."

"Stop at Southampton, Callaghan," ordered Dacres, as calmly as if he
were giving directions to a taxi-driver. "Somewhere as close to the
shipping offices as you can."

The pilot was "all out" to break records, and within eight minutes of
the time of rising from the ground he alighted at Southampton--a
distance of sixteen miles as the crow flies.

Dacre's instincts prompted him first to visit the offices of a
Brazilian steamship company. Fortune favoured him, for he made the
discovery that a man answering to his description of Señor Durango
had booked a passage on board the S.S "Maranhao." The ship had
cleared Southampton Docks at 10 a.m.

"She's well down Channel by this time," soliloquised Dacres. "The
rogue is safe for the time being, for the authorities dare not arrest
him on a vessel flying Brazilian colours."

"What is the speed of the 'Maranhao'?" he asked of the English clerk
in the firm's office.

"She's a fairly slow boat, sir," replied the man apologetically. "You
see, she's running a relief trip, because the 'Alagoas' has broken
her mainshaft. Twelve knots would be her average."

Dacres thanked him for the information and inquired when the
"Maranhao" was likely to arrive at her destination--Pernambuco.

The man was unable to hazard an opinion, but in answer to further
inquiries said that the distance from Southampton to Pernambuco was
3920 seamiles.

Allowing for a stop at Cape Verde Islands, Dacres came to the
conclusion that the "Maranhao" would take at least thirteen and a
half days to reach Pernambuco. This was reassuring, and having
thanked the clerk for the trouble he had taken, he rejoined Callaghan
and gave instructions to be whirled back to Whittinghame's retreat.

"We're too late," he announced as Vaughan Whittinghame came from the
house to meet him. "Durango has contrived to get hold of the plans."

"Knowing the man I am not surprised," replied the owner of the
"Meteor" calmly. "Have they collared him?"

"No; he's on the high seas. In another thirteen or fourteen days
he'll land at Pernambuco--if he doesn't double on his tracks and
disembark at Las Palmas or Cape Verde."

"He won't," said Whittinghame. "He'll get across to Naocuanha as
sharp as he can possibly manage it. We'll try to nab him when he
enters Valderian territory. It would be too risky to do so before."

As briefly as he could Dacres related the incidents of his aerial
journey and his interview with the authorities at Portsmouth.

"I told them that in the interests of the Empire you would doubtless
communicate with them direct," he added.

"I will," assented Whittinghame.

"When?" asked Dacres eagerly.

"Plenty of time. Let them have a chance to indulge in a mild panic.
We will pay them an official visit at the end of the week--say on
Saturday."

"We?" repeated Dacres.

"Yes--in the 'Meteor' There are times when dramatic moments are
desirable, and this is one of them. I'll write to the
Commander-in-Chief and inform him that the airship that has caused so
much stir in official circles will appear at Portsmouth at 10 a.m. on
the 9th instant, and that her commander will, in support of his
deputy's assurances, communicate an important announcement to the
representatives of My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty--sounds
imposing, eh? Well, let's have lunch, and then I'll introduce you to
the 'Meteor.'"

During the meal Whittinghame studiously avoided talking "shop." He
discussed topics of ordinary interest with consummate ease, his
knowledge of all branches of sport being especially profound. He had
all the noteworthy records of athletics at his fingers' ends, and had
the happy knack of imparting his knowledge without conveying the idea
that he was trying to be pedantic.

"Before we go outside," he said, after lunch was over, "suppose we
have a look at the workshops?"

"I should be delighted," assented his guest.

"This is my private entrance," announced Whittinghame, touching an
almost invisible projection on the wall and causing a secret panel to
open. "At one time it was a boast that an Englishman's house was his
castle, but that is no longer true. Since I cannot prevent the
minions of the Government from entering my house and taking an
immense amount of data for some useless purpose, I must protect my
own interests by this means. I discovered the secret panel after the
under-ground cellars had been opened up from outside. Evidently it
was a 'Priest's hole,' or refuge in troublous times. This is a
seventeenth century house built over cellars of a much older date.
Mind the steps; they are a lot worn in places."

At the lowermost step Whittinghame stopped and unlocked a
baize-covered door. A faint buzz greeted Dacre's ears.

"The doors are almost sound-proof," continued his guide. "Wait while
I switch on a light."

The brilliant glow from an electric lamp revealed the fact that they
were standing in a long narrow passage, with a door at the far end
similar to the one that had just been opened.

"You wonder why I use lamps in a house when there is electric
lighting in the cellars?" asked Whittinghame, noting the look of
surprise on his companion's face. "It's easy to explain. If I had
electric fittings installed in the house they would cause comment. By
retaining the old-fashioned system of lighting it helps to keep up
the deception that this is a remote country house and the home of a
simple country gentleman of limited means. This is the retort room,"
he added, opening the second sound-proof door.

The place reeked of gas. Dacres felt somewhat apprehensive, for there
were no visible means of ventilation.

"Quite harmless," said Whittinghame reassuringly. "We use electricity
for producing the gas ultra-hydrogen we term it. I had the secret
from a German scientist who was unable to sell his priceless formula
in his own country. He was regarded as a lunatic, poor fellow. This
ultra-hydrogen has, under equal conditions of density and capacity,
three times the lifting-power of ordinary hydrogen. Nor is that all:
it is absolutely non-inflammable."

"By Jove!" ejaculated Dacres, too surprised to say anything else.

"Yes," continued his companion. "You may well express astonishment.
Just think: nine-tenths of the dangers to which an airship is exposed
are by this stupendous discovery. Thanks to the practical
non-porosity of the ballonettes of the 'Meteor' we have not yet found
it necessary to recharge them. We are, however, laying in a reserve
supply of ultra-hydrogen and storing it under pressure in cast-steel
cylinders."

"Then, what happens when you want to descend?" asked Dacres. "Has not
the gas to be released?"

"No, otherwise we should have to continually rely upon our reserve of
ultra-hydrogen. It is six weeks since the 'Meteor' made her first
flight, by the by."

"Then, how do you manage to husband the supply of gas in the
ballonettes?"

"There are no less than a hundred of these sub-divisions. Each
consists of two skins, the outer one of rigid aluminium, the inner of
flexible non-porous fabric. When we wish to descend--apart from the
action of the horizontal planes--the ultra-hydrogen is exhausted from
the required number of ballonettes and forced under great pressure
into steel cylinders similar to those you see here. Air at the normal
atmospheric pressure is then introduced into the ballonettes until
the weight of the airship is slightly heavier than air.

"These men you see working here also form part of the crew of the
'Meteor.' In due course I shall muster them and give them proper
notice of your appointment as navigating officer to the vessel. I
might mention, however, that every one of them has seen service in
the Royal Navy. They are all trained men, who, under the rotten short
service system, have been cast aside by the Admiralty when they might
be of the best possible use."

"Aren't you afraid that some of them might betray your secret?"

Whittinghame laughed.

"No," he replied emphatically, "I am not. Many people imagine that
nowadays there is not such a thing as honour. Government officials
wonder why important secrets leak out. They threaten their employees
with dire pains and penalties, instead of paying them decent wages
and appealing to their sense of honour. I know that for a fact. My
experience teaches me that so long as you pick your men carefully in
the first instance, pay them adequately, and treat them
considerately, they'll stick to you through thick and thin with
unswerving loyalty. Now let us visit the workshops. There is not much
to be seen, for all the constructive work is now completed, but you
will be able to form some idea of how an airship of over one thousand
feet in length was constructed in secret."

The next cellar was about fifty feet in length and twenty-five in
breadth, and practically bare.

"This is our mould loft," explained Whittinghame. "Through dire
necessity we were compelled to make the work in comparatively small
sections. Each subdivision was assembled here before taken into the
open air. I might add that the whole work of finally assembling the
parts was done without the use of a hammer. Over thirty thousand
bolts and nuts were used in setting up the completed craft. In the
next room are the lathes and fitters' benches; beyond that are the
electric rolls for making the aluminium sheets, and the hydraulic
presses for moulding them into shape. But I do not think we need
waste time there; suppose we devote our attention to an inspection of
the 'Meteor'?"




CHAPTER XI.

THE "METEOR."


WHITTINGHAME conducted his companion to the open air by a different
route from that by which they had gained the subterranean workshops.
It was a fairly broad way, of quite recent construction, and sloping
gently for quite eighty yards and finishing, up by a steep incline.

Dacres found himself in the midst of a thick wood, an avenue the
width of the passage terminating at the rear of a large shed. But
instead of entering the building, Whittinghame broke away to the left
by a narrow footpath, which by a circuitous route gained the open
space where Dacres had obtained his first glimpse of the returning
airship.

At first he was puzzled. There was the circular clearing with its
closely-mown grass, but no signs of the five airship-sheds.

Pulling out a whistle Whittinghame gave two sharp blasts. This signal
was almost immediately followed by the appearance of three men clad
in dungaree suits.

"Open up No I. shed, Parsons," ordered the "Meteor's" owner, then
turning to his companion he observed: "That's my chief engineer. He
is absolutely part and parcel of the 'Meteor's' machinery. What he
doesn't know about motors is hardly worth troubling about. Now
watch."

The engineer and his two assistants disappeared behind a clump of
trees. Then, even as Dacres looked, a number of lofty pines moved
bodily sideways with regimental precision, disclosing the end of one
of the sheds that he had seen overnight.

"We have to disguise our sheds as much as possible," said
Whittinghame. "Those trees are dummies set in a base that travels on
wheels on a pair of rails. They would defy detection unless anyone
were warned as to their nature. The roof too, is covered with
artificial tree-tops. An airman passing overhead would have no idea
that there were five sheds each two hundred and forty feet in length,
forty-five feet in height and forty in breadth hidden in this
comparatively small wood. Now, this is the bow section of the
'Meteor.' A noble craft, I think you'll admit."

As soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom Dacres saw that
the pointed bow was facing him, while on either side of the main
fabric was a smaller cylinder open at each end.

"Those contain the propellers," explained his guide. "The airship has
four cylinders with two propellers in each. The foremost propeller
works at 1,200 revolutions per minute, and the backdraught is taken
up by the rear propeller, which runs at twice that speed. The
cylinders form a partial silencer, so that, except through an arc of
about eleven degrees, its centre parallel to the major axis of the
airship, the whirr of the blades is practically inaudible when at a
height of two hundred or more feet above the ground. Do you notice
those plates of metal lying against the outer envelope?"

"One above and one underneath the propeller covering?"

"Yes, those are the elevating planes and rudders, 'housed' for the
time being to allow the craft to enter her shed. The motors are in
the centre of the body, the propeller shafting being chain-driven."
"What do you use--petrol?" asked Dacres.

Whittinghame shook his head.

"Too dangerous," he replied. "We use cordite."

"Eh?" ejaculated Dacres incredulously.

"Yes, cordite: the ideal fuel for internal combustion engines. You
must be perfectly aware of the properties of cordite. In the open air
and not under pressure it burns slowly; but under pressure its
explosive capabilities are enormous. Our motors are actuated by
introducing small charges of cordite into the cylinders and exploding
them by electricity. The principle is similar to that of a maxim gun,
only of course we don't use cartridges on a belt. The cylinder
chamber itself acts as a cartridge case. Suppose we go aboard?"

Whittinghame indicated a wire rope-ladder running from a doorway
about twenty feet from the ground.

"The whole of the underbody of the outer envelope is watertight," he
remarked. "The 'Meteor' can float on the sea if necessary. Of course
there are observation scuttles and bomb-dropping ports, but these can
be hermetically sealed."

Agilely Dacres swarmed up the swinging ladder and passed through the
doorway. He found himself in a room twenty feet square, and ten in
height, with circular ports on one side and doors on the transverse
bulkheads. In the floor were two rectangular openings furnished with
plate-glass, but for the time being shuttered on the outside by
closely-fitting slides.

"This is our forward bomb-dropping compartment," continued
Whittinghame as he regained his companion. "The devices for that
purpose are behind that partition. All the ammunition is stored in
the 'midship or No. 3 section and transported along these rails as
required. We also keep stores here, the idea being that should the
various sections of the airship have to part company each will be
self-supporting in a double sense.

"The next compartment for'ard contains the mechanism for actuating
the vertical rudders. Above that are the motor-rooms, while right
for'ard are the twin navigation-rooms. We'll have a look at the
motor-rooms first of all. By the by, those are the cylinders for
storing the ultra-hydrogen under pressure. At the present moment the
dead weight of this section is less than fifty pounds."

"But we weigh more than that," observed Dacres.

"Quite so; but the buoyancy is automatically maintained. As you
crossed the threshold of the doorway you stepped upon a plate
resembling the floor of aweigh-bridge. At once a sufficient quantity
of ultra-hydrogen is introduced into the ballonettes to counteract
your weight, and, in fact, the weight of any person or article
brought on board."

"I'm afraid I'm curious," said Dacres, "but what will happen when we
go 'ashore'? Will the volume of the gas in the ballonettes be
correspondingly reduced?"

"Yes, but not wholly automatically. You will have to record your
weight on an indicator, and the adjustment then takes place. That
dial you see on the bulkhead gives the total lifting power of the
whole of the ballonettes. That instrument to the left makes the
necessary compensating adjustments to the airship according to the
temperature, altitude, and amount of moisture in the air."

In the starboard engine-room Dacres noticed that each of the two
motors had four cylinders of comparatively small bore considering the
horsepower developed.

"These are not air-cooled?" he asked pointing to the motors.

"No, water-cooled. This system serves a dual purpose, for the water
circulates throughout all the cabins of the section, and if necessary
through Nos. 2 and 3 section as well, thus affording a warmth that is
appreciated when we are flying at a great altitude. Ten to twelve
thousand feet is our favourite height, for then we can command a
field of vision--provided the atmosphere is clear--of anything up to
one hundred and twenty miles. Now for the upper navigation-room--your
future post."

This compartment was situated under the commencement of the tapering
portion of the envelope, its roof and walls being formed by the
rounded surface of the outer skin. Here there were several
observation panes, so that a fairly extensive view could be obtained.
It was impossible, however, to see immediately below, and on this
account the necessity of a second navigation-room was apparent.

It reminded Dacres strongly of the conning-tower of a battleship,
except that the scuttles were much larger than the slits in the
armoured walls of the latter. A standard compass, chart-table,
gauges, indicator, voice-tubes, and telephones left very little space
unoccupied.

Professional habit prompted Dacres to unfasten a sextant case and
critically examine the instrument. "Can't say I altogether like this
chap," he observed bluntly. "If you don't mind I'll use my own
sextant. It's with the rest of my luggage at Fenchurch Street
Station."

"We'll send for it, by all means," said Whittinghame. "I frankly
admit that I'm not much use at fixing positions, and one sextant is
very much like another to me. The difficulty of getting hold of a
competent navigator worried me considerably until you trespassed upon
my property. I'm jolly glad you did."

"And so am I," said Dacres cordially.

"Now you've seen practically everything of importance in the foremost
section," continued his companion. "The rest of the available space
is taken up with ballonettes. No. 2 section is devoted to crew space,
stores, and of course more ballonettes. No. 3 contains the
wireless-room, the ammunition and reserve of cordite for propelling
purposes, in No. 4 the officers are berthed, while the aftermost, or
No. 5, is practically identical with No. 1."

"But how are the various divisions kept in position?" asked Dacres.

"By means of double-cam action bolts. The 'Meteor' is of a semi-rigid
type. Her great length would be a positive danger if she were
otherwise, while she would be most awkward to manoeuvre. As it is we
can turn her in a radius equal to twice her length. In violent
air-currents she 'whips' considerably; it's a weird experience until
you get accustomed to it, but therein lies another proof of safety.
It is analogous to the case of a tall chimney that sways in a gale.
If it didn't it would snap like a carrot.

"The upper surface of the envelope is flattened, and we have a
promenade deck exactly one thousand feet in length. Of course it is
only available when we are running at a greatly reduced speed or are
brought up. At a very high rate of speed you would be unable to keep
your feet and run a great risk of having the air forced out of your
lungs."

"A most marvellous craft!" exclaimed Dacres enthusiastically. "How I
shall enjoy a cruise in her!"

"I hope you will," added Whittinghame gravely.

"Are you making another trip before you take her to Portsmouth?"

"I think not. I do not believe in purposeless flights. Her final
trials have been successfully passed, and now nothing remains to be
done until she is required to perform some task for the well-being of
the British nation."

As the two men prepared to descend the ladder Whittinghame suddenly
remarked:--

"You'll meet the rest of the officers to-night, Dacres. Hambrough,
our doctor, turns up at five. You'll like him, I think. He's a real
good sort, and as keen as anything on the voyage. I don't suppose
he'll have much to do, for these high altitudes are so beastly
healthy; but there's no telling. He hasn't seen the 'Meteor' yet; in
fact, he's only just resigned his post as medical officer to a North
of England hospital. Setchell, who will be next in seniority to you,
is at present on leave. We dropped him near his home at Plymouth
about three weeks ago. He had urgent domestic affairs to demand his
attention, and our wireless man here got in touch with us as we were
passing over the Pennines. We made a rattling good run down to
Plymouth--rattling good--but cut it rather fine in getting back here.
I was almost afraid that we should be spotted, but luckily we
descended without being detected. Setchell will also be here at about
the same time. Callaghan will pick the pair of them up at Holmsley
Station. By Jove! It's close on five already. How time flies when
you're busy. We had better get back to the house."




CHAPTER XII.

THE "METEOR'S" DEBUT.


SETCHELL and Dr. Hambrough arrived before Whittinghame and his
companion had completed their preparations for dinner, and as soon as
the formal introductions were gone through, the thin ice of reserve
quickly vanished.

Dacres instinctively felt that he would have true comrades on his
first commission in the Dreadnought of the Air.

The two new arrivals were quite different in temperament. Setchell
was vivacious--even boisterous at times; while the doctor was grave
and dignified--at first one might have thought he was taciturn.

They were both fairly young men--under thirty--and as keen on their
work as Whittinghame could possibly desire.

"We're now practically ready to put the 'Meteor' into full
commission," observed Whittinghame. "All her stores are on board.
Dacres has to have his kit brought from London, and there is about
another half-day's work to complete the charging of the reserve
cylinders. So we'll have 'divisions' to-morrow, and put the men into
their proper watches. You brought those rifles along with you all
right, Setchell?"

"Rather. There are two cases of them at Holmsley Station, and four
boxes of ammunition. With the eight thousand rounds we already
have--I suppose you haven't expended any yet, sir--that ought to be
ample."

"Very good," assented the skipper. "We'll send a trolley for them
early to-morrow morning. By the by, how did you get on after we
dropped you at Yealmpton?"

Setchell laughed.

"You might have been more discriminating, sir, but I suppose we must
make allowances for the fact that it was pitch-dark and we could show
no light. As a matter of fact I found myself in a piggery. When I
managed to struggle out of that and over a very aggressive fence I
struck a fowl-run. Did you hear the noise those creatures made?"

"No, we were too far off by that time," replied Whittinghame.

"At any rate," continued the third officer, "the farmer turned out
with a gun. I had to pitch up some sort of yarn, so I told him I was
a tourist who had lost his way. The old chap promptly harnessed a
pony and drove me to the outskirts of Plymouth."

"Talking of that," remarked Dacres, "the shepherd of Canterbury said
the section of the airship that dropped to the ground was about the
size of a haystack."

"So it was," replied Whittinghame. "When we wish to make hurried
descents we can detach a subdivision of No. 3 section. It is also
handy for landing in fairly confined spaces, where the length of a
complete section might be too great for safety. I'll show you that
arrangement to-morrow; but what do you say to a game of billiards,
gentlemen? It may be our last opportunity for a considerable time,
for, with all her wonderful mechanism, I cannot guarantee a level bed
on board the 'Meteor.'"

This proposal was received with acclamation, and the four men
adjourned to the billiard-room, where they amused themselves till the
clock struck eleven and warned them that it was time to retire to
rest.

At ten on the following morning all hands formed up on the open space
between the sheds. There were thirty-two men, exclusive of the four
officers, and a fine athletic set they made, rigged out in neat yet
serviceable uniforms.

Whittinghame, as captain, headed the starboard watch, with the doctor
as his assistant for executive duties in the after-part of the ship;
for Hambrough was not content to act simply as surgeon to the ship's
company. Williamson was chosen as first quartermaster of the watch,
the rest of the division consisting of ten "deck hands" and five
mechanics for engine-room duties.

Dacres had charge of the port watch, Setchell being responsible for
the after-guard during the "watch on deck". The stalwart Irishman,
Callaghan, was appointed quartermaster, and the rest of the crew
consisted of an equal number of hands to that of the captain's watch.

The men were then served out with small-arms, the rifles being
up-to-date automatic weapons firing twenty-two cartridges and having
a range and velocity equal to the latest service rifles. Bayonets
were also issued, and since the crew had had a thorough training
whilst they were serving in the Royal Navy they were now able to pick
up their drill without much difficulty.

Under Dacres' orders they were exercised for nearly an hour. The
ex-sub-lieutenant had reason to be very well satisfied with them, and
expressed his opinion to Whittinghame that if necessary they could
give a very good account of themselves. As for the men, they
recognized that they had an officer over them who knew his work, and
they respected him accordingly.

At length the eventful Saturday came round, and just after eight
o'clock the fore-section of the airship was taken out of its shed
and, to use Dacres' expression, "sent aloft."

The bow portion, with its complement of nine men, was the first to
leave the ground, anchoring at a height of seventy-four feet from the
surface--the "ground-tackle" consisting of a bridle with a single
loop running through a huge pulley fixed in the earth, and back to
the bow division of the "Meteor."

No. 2 section was sent up, and by means of a wire hawser hauled into
position, so that the cam-action could come into play. Only three and
a half minutes elapsed between the time of its leaving the ground and
of its being united to the bow-section.

Divisions 3 and 4 were "launched" and joined up in a similar fashion,
"and then there was one," as the nursery rhyme goes.

Dacres found himself with six men to man the aftermost section of the
airship. He had already "got the hang of it," although he could not
quite see how any of the crew could be left behind to guide the huge
fabric on its ascent to unite to the still greater bulk that floated
serenely above the tree-tops, her propellers churning slowly ahead to
counteract the faint breeze that blew from the south-west.

"Give the word for the men to get aboard, sir," said Callaghan, who,
being an ex-gunner's mate, knew how to prompt judiciously young
officers who were not quite up to their work.

Dacres complied. He was glad of his quarter-master's assistance,
although fully determined to master his part of the routine as soon
as possible.

When the last man swarmed up the rope-ladder Dacres followed, and
took up his station at the open doorway in the for'ard bulkhead.

"All ready, sir?" asked Callaghan.

"All ready," echoed the newly appointed officer.

"Here's the lever for charging the ballonettes, sir," continued the
quartermaster. "Turn the indicator to eighty, sir. That will be
enough to raise us."

Gently and almost imperceptibly the after-section rose clear of the
ground, guided by a light wire rope joining it to the already
coupled-up portions of the airship. With a rhythmic purr the
windlass, worked by a supplementary belt from one of the motors,
hauled in the slack till the "Meteor" was complete and ready for
flight.

So nice was the adjustment of the various sections that connexion
with the telephones and electric telegraphs was made automatically by
the contact of insulated bushes in corresponding position to the
exterior bulkheads.

From the navigation-room for'ard Whittinghame asked if all were
ready, and received a confirmative reply from the after-end of the
ship. As far as Dacres was concerned he was now at liberty to "stand
easy," for it was his watch below, and Setchell had come aft to take
charge.

"Captain says he would like to see you for'ard," announced the third
officer. "Hold on till she gathers way, old man."

Warning bells tinkled in various parts of the giant airship.
Instantly every man grasped some object to prevent himself from being
thrown across the floor. Simultaneously the eight propellers began to
revolve.

For quite half a minute Dacres felt as if he were seized by an
invisible arm round his waist and was being forced backwards. Then
the tension ceased as the inertia was overcome, he was part and
parcel of a mass flying through the air at more than twice the speed
of an express train.

Dacres glanced at his watch--it was twenty-five minutes past
nine--then, lurching along the alley-way, for the "Meteor" was
trembling and swaying as she cleft the air, he made his way for'ard.

He found Whittinghame standing in front of one of the observation
scuttles in the lower navigation room. Williamson was at the wheel
controlling the vertical rudders, while another man had his eye upon
the indicators of the horizontal planes.

"Look!" exclaimed the captain, pointing downwards.

Dacres did so. Nine thousand feet beneath him stretched a ribbon-like
expanse of water like a silver-streak between dense woodland on one
hand and green fields on the other. Away on the starboard bow this
streak merged into a wide stretch of sea, backed by hills that were
dwarfed to the size of a mere series of mounds.

"By Jove! We're passing Southampton Water," ejaculated Dacres. He
again glanced at his watch. It had taken him three and a half minutes
to traverse the length of the "Meteor," and in that space of time the
airship had travelled eleven miles.

"Top speed now," announced Whittinghame. "We're doing one hundred and
ninety. We'll have to slacken down now; we're nearly there."

As he spoke the Captain rang down for half speed. The order being
simultaneously received by both engine-rooms, resulted in a gradual
slowing down till the mud-flats of Portsmouth Harbour hove in sight.
Even then the "Meteor" overhauled a naval seaplane as quickly as an
express runs past a "suburban" crawling into Clapham Junction.

"Still sou'west," remarked Whittinghame pointing to the smoke that
was pouring out of a tall chimney between Fareham and Gosport. "We'll
bring her head to wind in any case."

Down swooped the "Meteor" till she was less than three hundred feet
from the ground. She was now following the main road to Gosport. On
her left could be discerned the battleships and cruisers in the
harbour, their decks and riggings black with men, while hundreds of
craft of various sizes, crowded with spectators, literally swarmed on
the tidal waters between the Dockyard and the western shore.

Swooping past the new semaphore tower, and skimming above the lofty
chimneys of the electric light station, the "Meteor" shaped a course
towards the Town Hall clock tower. So quickly did she turn that it
seemed as if a straight line between the bow and stern would cut the
masonry of the tower. Looking aft the appearance of the twelve
hundred feet of airship reminded Dacres of a train taking a curve.
Her starboard planes were within twenty feet of the cupola of the
tower.

But the helmsman knew his business. He was well to leeward of the
improvised "pylon," and before the thousand of spectators gathered in
the Town Hall square could recover from their astonishment the
"Meteor" was heading back to the dockyard.

Slowly, with her propellers revolving enough to keep her up against
the breeze, the Dreadnought of the Air hovered over the Government
establishment, seeking a place where she could come to rest. The
swarm of vessels in the harbour made it impossible for her to descend
without great risk to the spectators.

"There's the semaphore working," announced Dacres, pointing to the
two arms that were set at the "preparatory" sign.

In response to an order, one of the "Meteor's" crew, armed with two
hand flags, made his way up to the platform of the promenade deck. As
soon as he replied, the semaphore began to spell out the message:--

"Berth ready for airship in Fountain Lake," said Dacres, translating
the signal for his chief's information. "That's on the north side of
the Dockyard and between it and Whale Island."

"Easy ahead," ordered Whittinghame; then, "Stop her."

A series of hisses, similar to the sounds that Dacres had heard when
he first beheld the "Meteor," announced that the contents of several
of the ballonettes were being pumped out and forced into the metal
cylinders. Slowly and on an even keel the giant bulk sank lower and
lower till a gentle roll announced that the airship was riding head
to wind upon the sheltered waters of Portsmouth Harbour. The "Meteor"
had made her debut.




CHAPTER XIII.

AN OFFICIAL AND AN UNOFFICIAL INSPECTION.


PROMPTLY the naval picket-boats had taken the bow-hawsers of the
airship and had passed them to two mooring buoys. Other wire ropes
were run out astern, till like a fettered Cyclops the "Meteor" was
securely moored.

"Commander-in-Chief coming off, sir," announced Dacres, as a green
motor-boat flying the St. George's Cross in the bows, tore towards
the airship.

"So the reception is to be held on board the 'Meteor,' eh?" remarked
Whittinghame. "I'm sorry I didn't provide an accommodation-ladder.
The Admiral may find it rather awkward to swarm up a swaying
rope-ladder. Will you see that the after entry-port is opened?"

The officers of the "Meteor" assembled ready to receive the
Commander-in-Chief and his staff, while a "guard of honour" stood at
attention, to do honour to the distinguished visitor.

Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers--"Old Courteous," as he was nick-named in
the Service--was one of the most popular officers of Flag rank. His
nickname was an apt one, for he was invariably polite to every one he
came in contact with. Nothing seemed to ruffle his composure. He was
a strict disciplinarian, and woe betide the subordinate--be he
officer or man--who deliberately shirked his duty. On the other hand,
he was keenly observant to reward zeal on the part of those under
him, but whether admonishing or praising he was uniformly urbane.

Considering his age--for Sir Hardy was bordering on fifty-five--he
climbed up the swaying rope-ladder with marvellous agility, and,
greeted by the pipe of the bos'n's whistle, he advanced to meet the
Captain and owner of the Dreadnought of the Air.

Accompanying the Admiral were his secretary, several officers of the
executive and engineering branch, and--to Dacres'
satisfaction--Commander Arnold Hythe.

"You have a wonderful craft here," observed Sir Hardy, after the
usual courtesies had been exchanged.

"I think we have, sir," replied Whittinghame modestly. "Would you
care to look round, or would you rather discuss the business that
brought us here?"

The Commander-in-Chief expressed his desire to make an inspection of
the "Meteor," and, escorted by his host and followed by their
respective officers, Sir Hardy and Whittinghame proceeded on their
tour of the airship.

"You are a lucky dog, Dacres," said Hythe, for the two old friends
had contrived to "tail off" at the rear of the procession. "So this
was the business which you so mysteriously hinted at? Mind you, I'm
not envious. The submarine service suits me entirely, but I am glad
for your sake. Do you know how Whittinghame proposes to put a stopper
on that rascal Durango?"

Dacres shook his head.

"I do not know exactly," he replied. "At any rate, we are waiting
till he lands in South America."

"The Scotland Yard men are at a loss to know on what ship he took
passage," remarked Hythe. "They made inquiries at the offices of all
the steam-ship companies running boats through the Panama Canal, but
without success."

"I'm not surprised, old man. Durango was too artful to book by any of
those lines. His plan was to make for Pernambuco, and cross to the
Pacific coast by the new trans-continental railway. I know that for a
fact."

"You do?" asked the Commander surprisedly. "How?"

"Simply by making enquiries at the Brazilian Steamship Company's
office. We'll get your plans back again, Hythe, or I'm sadly mistaken
in my estimate of the 'Meteor' and her skipper."

The inspection finished, Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers and Whittinghame
retired to the latter's private cabin to discuss the proposals for
the "Meteor's" future. They were alone for the best part of an hour,
and when they rejoined the others both their faces simply beamed with
satisfaction.

"President Zaypuru has foolishly played into our hands, Dacres," said
Whittinghame, when the Commander-in-Chief and his staff had taken
their departure. "An incident has occurred of which, strangely
enough, I have hitherto been in ignorance, although I am generally
well posted in events taking place in Valderia. Sir Hardy has just
informed me that two men belonging to a British trader have been
arrested on a trumped-up charge at the port of Zandovar. In spite of
the protests of the British Consul the men were taken to Naocuanha
and thrown into prison, while His Majesty's representative was most
grossly insulted by the President.

"Evidently the Valderians have a poor opinion of British prestige,
for their Government refused to apologize. Knowing the pig-headed
obstinacy of Don Diego Zaypuru I am not surprised, but it will end in
a declaration of war between Great Britain and Valderia. Of course,
although it would hardly admit it, the British Government is glad of
the opportunity to strike a blow at that elusive and daring outlaw,
Durango."

"How do you think your brother will fare?" asked Dacres.

"That is what is troubling me considerably," replied Whittinghame.
"If there is a rupture and a fleet is sent to chastise the Republic,
Zaypuru may, and probably will, make reprisals. It may be taken for
granted, however, that the President will go gently until Durango is
back at Naocuanha. Our plan will be to act promptly at the very first
intimation of hostilities, liberate my brother Gerald and capture
Durango before the Valderians are aware of the presence of the
'Meteor' on the west side of the Sierras. Sir Hardy approves of my
plan, and has promised to get official concurrence from the
Admiralty; so everything will be square and above board."

"Are we remaining here long, sir?" asked Setchell, who, being the
officer of the watch, had all his work cut out to refuse repeated
requests for the occupants of the swarm of small craft to be shown
over the airship. Whittinghame's orders were adamant. No one was to
be allowed on board on any pretext whatsoever. Nevertheless, in spite
of the heroic efforts of the water-police, the crowd of boats lay
thickly round the "Meteor," their crews patiently waiting for the
huge airship to resume its voyage, or else clamouring to be allowed
on board.

"For why?" asked the skipper.

"Well, sir, the crowd is getting a bit out of hand. There are some
fellows hammering away at the side. They'll be chopping bits off as
souvenirs, I'm thinking, or else painting advertisements on the hull.
And what is more, sir, there's a reporter sitting on the after
horizontal plane on the port side. He cannot climb up, and he
declines to budge until he's had an interview with you."

"Oh, I'll see about that," said Whittinghame grimly. "Come aft,
Dacres, and let us see what this enterprising member of the Press is
like."

The fellow was evidently not lacking in pluck and determination, for
he had coolly passed a length of rope round the plane with the
deliberate intention of "sitting tight."

"Hulloa, sir!" he sung out as Whittinghame made his way out upon the
platform above the propeller-guard. "I represent the 'Weekly Lyre.'
I've asked half a dozen times to be allowed on board to interview
you."

"You are as much on board as you can reasonably expect to be,"
replied Whittinghame genially. "You are trespassing, you know. I
shall be greatly obliged if you will go back to your boat, as we are
about to move. I haven't time for an interview." "Then I'll wait,"
replied the man, to the great delight of the crowd of spectators
afloat. "I'll have the distinction of being the first man, apart from
your crew, to experience a flight in your airship, sir. Here I
stick."

"You'll be blown away if you remain there."

"I risk that," replied the reporter imperturbably. "I'll lash myself
on."

"Have the goodness to go," said Whittinghame with a faint show of
annoyance.

The man shook his head. He had the appearance of being a resolute
sort of individual.

Without another word Whittinghame walked to the after motor-room and
gave orders for the propellers to be started easy ahead. Then he went
outside, fully expecting to find the man gone.

At the first sign of movement the dense pack of boats had given back,
but the pressman still stuck to his precarious post.

"There's pluck for you," commented the skipper. "That's the sort of
man we could very well do with. But I'm not going to be balked. Just
wait here for a few minutes, Dacres, and watch developments.
Telephone to me when he's gone, and then take care to get inside and
close the sliding panel as sharp as you can."

"He's lashed himself on, by Jove!" said Dacres.

"It will be a case of suicide if he's there when we gather speed,"
rejoined Whittinghame. "The sharp edge of the plane will cut through
that lashing as if it were a piece of worsted."

With that the Captain went aft, leaving Dacres on the platform to
report the course of events.

In response to an order the after hawsers were cast off, while the
crew stood by ready to let go the for'ard springs that alone held the
"Meteor" head to wind.

Suddenly Dacres saw the horizontal plane dip into an almost vertical
position. The unfortunate reporter slid until brought up by the rope.
For a few moments he hung there, struggling frantically to gain a
foothold upon the smooth surface. His efforts only caused the rope to
chafe through on the sharp edge of the plane and with a splash he
fell into the sea.

Quickly rising to the surface he struck out for the nearest boat,
amid the laughter of the onlookers, while Dacres, mindful of his
warning, returned to the shelter of the outer envelope.

Whittinghame was about to give the order to let go for'ard when
Callaghan entered the navigation-room.

"Wireless just come through, sir," he announced.

"Important?"

"Yes, sir," said the man gravely.

Half dreading that it was bad news from Naocuanha the Captain took
the proffered paper.

The message was not from Valderia, but from the Admiralty. Its
wording was indeed serious:--

"To Captain Whittinghame, airship 'Meteor.' Advises from British
Polar Expedition state that communication with Lieutenant Cardyke has
been interrupted for forty-eight hours. Feared disaster has overtaken
party. Is 'Meteor' capable of rescue?"

Whittinghame turned to the operator.

"Reply, 'Yes; will proceed at once,'" he said.




CHAPTER XIV.

ACROSS GREENLAND.


VAUGHAN WHITTINGHAME was one of those men who make up their minds
almost on the spur of the moment, yet possessing the rare capability
of weighing the pros and cons of the issue with lightning speed.

Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers must have communicated with the Admiralty
with the least possible delay, for one of Whittinghame's conditions
was that he and his crew should receive official recognition. By
giving him the title of Captain the authorities had tacitly expressed
their consent.

Apart from that the appeal for aid was such that no man with humane
principles could refuse.

The undertaking--navigating a huge airship through the intensely cold
atmosphere of the Arctic--was a hazardous one, but Whittinghame was
ready and willing to attempt the task.

In obedience to a general order all hands were mustered in the large
compartment of No. 4 section. Officers, deck-hands and mechanics all
wondering what had happened to cause the Captain to suspend suddenly
the operation of unmooring, eagerly waited for Whittinghame to
address them.

"My lads," said he, "I have been asked to make a voyage of three
thousand four hundred miles and back. Not to Valderia but to a region
where the climate is quite different. To be brief, the Admiralty have
informed me that Lieutenant Cardyke and four men who made a dash for
the North Pole some weeks ago are in pressing danger. Their Lordships
appeal to me to proceed to his assistance, and I have signified my
intention of so doing.

"It will be a hazardous task, for there are conditions to be met with
that were not taken into consideration when the 'Meteor' was
projected. Since you, my men, were not engaged to undertake a Polar
Relief Expedition, I must ask for volunteers. All those who are
willing to take part in this work will step two paces to the front."

Without the faintest hesitation every man stepped forward. A flush of
pleasure swept across the face of their young Captain.

"Thank you," he said simply. "This is just what I expected. Now,
dismiss. There will be half an hour's 'stand easy.' If any man wish
to take advantage of that interval to write to his relatives or
friends, opportunity will be found to send the letters ashore."

While the ship's company were thus employed, Whittinghame stood by
the entry-port, pondering over his plans for the voyage.

As he did so, he became aware that the flotilla of boats still
hovered around, and prominently in the foreground was the pressman,
who seemed none the worse for his involuntary bath.

"May as well do the chap a good turn," soliloquised Whittinghame, and
beckoning him to approach waited till the boat was alongside the
rope-ladder.

"Sorry I had to drop you overboard, but you asked for it, my friend,"
said the Captain blandly. "I hope you bear no ill will."

"Not in the least," replied the reporter with a laugh. "It's not the
first time I've been 'chucked out.' Besides, as you say, I asked for
it. Are you going to invite me for a trip, sir?"

"No," replied Whittinghame, "but here's some information for you:
it's perfectly genuine."

The man caught a folded slip of paper on which Whittinghame had
written a few words. He opened it, then gave a searching glance at
the Captain's face. He had been hoaxed before and was consequently
cautious.

But that glance was sufficient. He was convinced. With a few words of
thanks to Whittinghame he bade the boatman row like greased lightning
for the shore. Twenty minutes later the "Weekly Lyre" issued a
special with the exclusive information that the airship "Meteor" was
to proceed to the relief of the British Arctic Expedition.

Meanwhile, Sir Hardy Staplers came on board to bid the departing
aircraft God-speed, while, acting upon an "immediate demand note,"
suits of Arctic clothing were sent aboard from the clothing
department of Royal Clarence Yard.

By twenty minutes past four all preparations were complete, and for
the first time in her brief yet exciting career the "Meteor" hoisted
the Blue Ensign; an Admiralty warrant having been hurriedly granted
for that purpose.

Amid the deafening cheers of the thousands of spectators the "Meteor"
rose majestically to a height of four hundred feet, then gathering
way, darted forward in a northerly direction towards the desolate
regions of the Far North.

Whittinghame, knowing that every moment was precious, gave orders for
every possible knot to be screwed out of the motors, and nobly the
engineers responded to the call. Within ten minutes of the start the
speed indicators hovered around the two hundred miles an hour mark.

"Seventeen hours ought to do it," remarked the doctor.

"Hardly," corrected Whittinghame. "In the rarefied air we shall have
to slow down a trifle. There will be less resistance to the vessel
and correspondingly less resistance to the propeller blades. With
luck we ought to reckon on twenty hours."

The navigation of the "Meteor" was entirely in Dacres' hands. There
could be no rest for him until the voyage ended, for he alone of all
on board could shape a course in these high latitudes, when the
compass is useless to any but men skilled in the art of applying
complicated magnetic variation adjustments.

Already the needle was pointing thirty degrees west of north, while
hourly the angle was increasing.

Just before eleven Dacres pointed to the setting sun.

"That's the last sunset we'll see for some days, I fancy, doctor," he
remarked. "We are nearing the Arctic Circle."

"Of course, I didn't think of that," replied Hambrough. "I was
imagining us ploughing along in the pitch dark night with our
searchlight on."

"It would be looking for a needle in a haystack were it not for the
midnight sun," said Dacres. "By Jove, it is getting cold in spite of
the hot water pipes. Would you mind bringing my coat from the cabin?"

By the time the doctor returned Dacres was able to report that the
coast of Iceland was in sight.

"Where are you making for?" asked Hambrough. "The west coast of
Greenland?"

"No," replied Dacres. "Here's the chart. We're making almost a
bee-line for Cape Columbia. That will take us across Greenland from
Scoresby's Land to the Humboldt Glacier and over the icy-clad plateau
which the eye of man has never yet seen. Excuse me a minute while I
look up this variation chart."

"You must be tired," observed Hambrough.

"Can't afford to be," said his companion. "It's a thirty-hour watch
for me. All the same, doctor, if you can give me something to
overcome this sleepy feeling I shall be glad. I suppose it is being
unaccustomed to the altitude."

"I'll fix you up all right," declared Hambrough. "It won't do for you
to be knocked up, or we'll be in a bit of a hole."

"It's not that. The 'Meteor' is quite capable of finding her way back
to temperate regions. It was young Cardyke I was thinking of."

"You know him, then?"

"Rather. Lucky youngster obtained his promotion over the
'Independencia' affair."

Before Dacres could relate the incident Whittinghame entered the
navigation room.

"How goes it?" he asked.

"Right as rain," replied Dacres cheerfully.

"Good! Now you take a spell and have some food. I'll stand by the
helm and you can sing out the compass-course as you re eating. I'm
sorry I didn't apply to the Commander-in-Chief for a navigator to
take turns with you. Honestly, flying to a course in these regions is
beyond me."

Already--it was twenty minutes past twelve by Greenwich time--the sun
was rising--a pale, watery-looking disc. Six thousand feet beneath
the airship could be seen the sea dotted with masses of floating ice,
dwarfed into insignificance when viewed from above.

"We've struck the drift-ice rather far south, I think," remarked
Dacres. "It's rather a bad sign, although, of course, there may be a
higher temperature in the corresponding latitude in Baffin Bay."

"Let us hope so, in any case," rejoined the captain. "But isn't
Parsons doing well? I don't think our speed has dropped to 190 since
we started. I mustn't boast, though."

Hour after hour Whittinghame remained with the navigator. He scorned
to sleep when such a luxury was denied his comrade.

On nearing the Greenland coast the "Meteor's" speed was reduced in
order that Dacres could go on deck and take an observation. The cold
cut him like a knife. His fingers could scarcely feel the
vernier-screw of the sextant.

"I'm not cut out for an Arctic explorer," he muttered as he hastened
below to work out his position. "If it's like this on the coast what
will it be like over there, I wonder?"

"Well?" asked Whittinghame anxiously, as his companion straightened
himself after bending over the set of figures.

"Here we are," announced Dacres, pricking off the portion on the
chart. "Twenty miles farther north than I expected. We must have
under-estimated the strength of the wind. I'll take good care to make
allowance for that in the future."

"What a waste of desolation!" ejaculated the Captain, looking down
upon the snow-clad land. They were far above the northern limit of
trees. The ground rose steeply in places, black granite precipices
loomed menacingly against the white mantle which covered the gentle
slopes.

Lower and lower fell the temperature. The crew, muffled in their fur
garments, were already feeling numbed in spite of the hot-water
apparatus. Higher and higher rose the airship, until a height of
twelve thousand feet above the sea level was recorded. Yet less than
nine hundred feet below was the summit of that ice-bound plateau--the
portals of death.

Presently Parsons, the chief engineer, entered the navigation room.

"We'll have to shut off the heating pipes in the cabins, sir," he
announced, "or the water will freeze and burst them. The heat of the
motors is not enough to warm the jacket of the cylinders. I've even
had to melt the oil before I could fill up the lubricators."

"Very well; carry on," replied Whittinghame. "We must endure the cold
as best we may. Are the engines all right otherwise?"

"Running splendidly, sir."

"What temperature have you in the motor-rooms?"

"Minus ten for'ard and a point above zero aft, sir."

The Captain glanced at the thermometer on the navigation room
bulkhead. The mercury stood at minus twenty-five degrees or
fifty-seven below freezing point.

"I almost wish we had taken the east coast route and gone through
Davis Strait," remarked Whittinghame. "It wouldn't have been anything
like so cold."

"She'll do it all right, sir," declared Parsons. "Besides, we shan't
find it any colder at the Pole itself."

"And it will save us at least six hours," added Dacres.

Acting under his suggestion two quarter-masters took ten minute
spells at the wheel, for beyond that period a man's outstretched arms
would be numbed.

Mile after mile was reeled off with the utmost rapidity. There was
nothing to be seen but the dreary expanse of cliffs, snow and
ice--cliffs that outvied the canons of Colorado for height, and snow
and ice that had covered what at one time might have been a fertile
land for perhaps millions of years. It was a vision of the earth
during the Glacial Age.

At seven o'clock, or twenty-two hours after the "Meteor" had left
Portsmouth, Dacres pointed to a huge winding track of ice that,
according to the most modest estimate, was at least fifty miles wide.

"We're nearly there, sir," he said. "We've struck the head of the
Humboldt Glacier. With luck we ought to sight the open sea in another
hour. We are covering one degree of longitude every three minutes
now."

Whittinghame nodded. It was almost too cold to talk. Speaking was
accompanied by a volume of white vapour that, rapidly congealing,
fell upon the floor in showers of fine ice. To touch a piece of metal
with bare hands caused painful blisters, as many of the crew learnt
to their cost. The airship was little more than a floating icebox.

Presently Dacres touched his comrade on the shoulder.

"The sea!" he exclaimed.

It was the sea. Right ahead was an expanse of open water, though
greatly encumbered with huge bergs, for the "Meteor" was now passing
over the birth-place of those enormous mountains of floating ice that
find their way down into the Atlantic as far south as the fortieth
parallel.

Even as he spoke there was a terrific crash, like that of a peal of
thunder. The voyagers were just in time to see a mass of ice, nearly
three miles in width, topple over the end of the glacier and fall
into the sea. Almost instantaneously the placid surface changed to
that of a tempestuous sea, as the iceberg rolled and plunged ere it
gained a position of stability.

Ten seconds later the "Meteor" struck the first of the air-waves
caused by the sudden disturbance of the atmosphere.

Well it was that she was of the non-rigid type, for otherwise the
shock would have broken her back. As it was she writhed like a
tortured animal. The crew, holding on like grim death, looked at each
other in amazement akin to terror. At one moment her bow was pointing
upwards at an angle of forty-five degrees; at the next the airship
was banking steeply downwards.

It was a nasty two minutes while it lasted, but by the time the
"Meteor" settled on an even keel she was tearing over the open
sea.




CHAPTER XV.

THE NORTH POLE.


AT the twenty-third hour after leaving Portsmouth the "Meteor" came
to rest on the ice under the lee of Cape Columbia and within three
hundred yards of the "New Resolute," the ship of the British Arctic
Expedition.

News of the airship's approach had already been communicated by
wireless, and as she gracefully settled upon the ice she was greeted
by three tremendous cheers from the crew of the ship.

But Dacres knew nothing of this. As soon as Cape Columbia had been
sighted he went to his cabin to snatch a few hours' well-earned and
needed sleep. For the time being his responsibility was not in
request.

Compared with the severity of the climate above the Greenland plateau
the temperature at Cape Columbia was milder. The "New Resolute,"
although moored to the ice, was still afloat, and sheltered from all
gales by the land-locked harbour.

From the captain the "Meteor's" people soon had a fairly definite
idea of the state of affairs.

Lieutenant Cardyke, with four men, had pushed on towards the pole,
the party being accompanied by thirty-two Esquimo dogs. A portable
wireless installation had been taken, so that the progress and
welfare of the expedition could be communicated to the base.

Favoured by fine weather Cardyke and his companions made rapid
progress compared with the distance covered by previous Arctic
explorers. They reported that the hummocks gave considerable trouble,
but there was no sign of open water.

Then with startling suddenness all wireless communication was broken
off. A rescue party immediately set off, only to find that at a point
150 miles north of Cape Columbia their progress was checked by an
expanse of open, agitated sea that had been formed by the separation
of the ice-fields since Cardyke had traversed them. Reluctantly the
second party had to turn back, and were almost hourly expected by the
"New Resolute."

The "Meteor" did not wait long at Cape Columbia. Having secured the
services of two junior lieutenants to assist in the navigation of the
airship, Whittinghame started on the 500 mile journey to the North
Pole.

Greatly to the relief of all on board, the motors began to work
without the faintest hitch. The cordite fired at once. Had petrol
been the fuel it was quite possible that the low temperature would
have greatly diminished its efficacy. Parsons was most enthusiastic
over the matter. Although at first dubious about substituting cordite
for petrol he was now firmly convinced that a perfect ignition charge
had been found.

Within half an hour after leaving Cape Columbia the "Meteor" passed
over the relief party, who were dejectedly making their way back to
the ship. A greater contrast would be difficult to find: the airship
cutting rapidly and evenly through the air at three miles a minute;
and half a dozen men, looking more like bundles of fur, plodding
painfully along, glad to be able to cover two miles an hour. Even the
dogs seemed to share their masters' dejection. Yet failure of the
rescue party did not prevent them from waving their arms to the
fleeting airship, a compliment that the "Meteor," by reason of her
speed, was unable to return.

When at length Dacres awoke he knew by the motion of the airship that
the "Meteor" was again under way. Quickly he made his way for'ard, to
find two strangers in charge of the navigation room.

"It's all right," said Whittinghame genially. "There's no slur upon
your prowess as a navigation officer, Dacres. We've obtained reliefs
for you. Allow me to introduce Mr. Quinton and Mr. Baskett to you."

Armed with powerful binoculars Whittinghame and his assistants swept
the snow-field. According to the opinion of the "New Resolute's"
officers the airship was now fairly close to the spot where Cardyke
was last heard of. There was nothing to indicate the tracks of the
sledges; a recent fall of snow had accounted for that. All they could
hope to do was to pick out some outstanding object, such as a tent or
a snow hut, where the young officer and his four men might be
sheltering.

Speed had been reduced to fifty miles an hour, while frequently the
"Meteor" made a deviation in order to give the look-out an
opportunity to examine a dark patch upon the white waste. Invariably
the patch turned out to be the shadow of a hammock cast by the
slanting rays of the ever-present sun, till Dr. Hambrough called his
companions' attention to a dark speck away on the starboard bow.

Round swung the "Meteor," the eyes of the watchers riveted on a
fluttering object that rapidly resolved itself into a flag. More, the
flag was a Union Jack. Close to it, and hitherto invisible, was a
rounded hut made of blocks of ice, and half-buried in the snow.

"There they are!" exclaimed Setchell excitedly.

"I'm afraid not," said Lieutenant Baskett. "I can see no signs of
their skis or of the sledges. But we're on their track, that's one
blessing."

Again the "Meteor" descended. Whittinghame would not run the risk of
detaching one of the compartments, especially as there was abundant
room for the whole length of the airship to settle evenly. Her
anchors held admirably in the rough ice, and with hardly a tremor she
brought up on terra firma.

Quickly the entry port was opened and the rope-ladder dropped.
Whittinghame was the first to land, quickly followed by Dacres and
the two naval lieutenants.

With beating hearts they made their way over the ice and snow till
they gained the hut, the four men gravely saluting the national flag
as they passed by.

The doorway of the ice-hut had been blocked up--not by drifting snow
but by human hands. Whether this had been done from the inside or
from without could not at present be determined. The ice was as hard
as iron.

In response to a signal to the "Meteor," three of the crew came up
with ice-axes and shovels, and began a fierce attack upon the door.
When the obstruction was removed the Captain entered.

His fears were realized. The hut was empty.

"Here's a tin containing some documents," he announced. "By Jove!
Cardyke claims that this is the North Pole."

"He can't be so very far out," said Lieutenant Quinton. "Does he say
anything about the route?"

"No, only that he is returning after verifying his position, and asks
that the finder of the document should transmit it, if possible, to
the Admiralty."

"Run and fetch my sextant, Williamson," said Dacres.

"And mine," added Baskett.

Before the men could return Whittinghame pointed to a staff
projecting a few inches from the ground. Attached to it were the
fragments of a flag, and by dint of removing a couple of feet of snow
the nationality of the flag became obvious. It had been the Stars and
Stripes.

"Peary's flag, by Jove!" ejaculated Whittinghame. "All honour,
gentlemen, to that intrepid American. Even if an Englishman were not
the first to plant his country's flag at the North Pole there is no
little consolation to be derived from the fact that an Anglo-Saxon
established the priority."

When Williamson returned with the instruments the two officers made
careful separate observations, afterwards checking each other's
figures. There was no mistake. The rescue party was standing on the
northern extremity of the Earth's axis.

"Well, this won't find Cardyke, gentlemen," said Whittinghame
sharply, breaking in upon the reveries of his companions. "What do
you propose to do? Return by a slightly different route?"

"Supposing Cardyke and his party are incapable of finding their way.
They might be partially exhausted by their exertions and have
blundered in a totally different direction," suggested Baskett.

"Such an instance is not unknown," added Quinton.

"Then I propose to make several ever-widening circles. We ought to
command a field extending twenty-five miles from the Pole. Let us
return to the 'Meteor.'"

Rising to a height of five hundred feet the airship began to circle.
In five minutes she had passed through every one of the three hundred
and sixty degrees of longitude.

Miles of dreary waste lay beneath them. There was nothing to mark the
position of the North Pole save the almost invisible hut and two
flags, and nothing to break the horizon where the white plain merged
into the pale blue of the Arctic sky.

Presently Dacres discovered signs of open water. A broad sea, its
coast-line extending through a hundred and eighty degrees of
longitude, proved conclusively that Cardyke could not have blundered
far in that direction. It was fairly evident the five men had
retraced their steps. The question that puzzled Whittinghame was, how
could the "Meteor" have missed the party on its flight to the Pole?

"We'll make our way back," he announced. "By keeping a zig-zag course
we ought to come across some traces of them. Fifteen miles to the
right and left of their supposed route ought to be ample."

To this the two naval officers agreed; but as the vertical rudders
were being put hard over, Dacres called the Captain's attention to a
dark object in a hollow at less than two miles off.

"It's far too large for a tent, Dacres," said Whittinghame. "But we
may as well investigate. To me it looks like a----yes, by George, it
is! It's a derelict balloon."

"André!" exclaimed Baskett.

"I think you are right," said Whittinghame.

"Yes, it has been a balloon. There is the car, half-buried in snow.
Evidently in strong winds the snow-drifts are uncovered, or otherwise
in twenty years the remains would be buried fathoms deep."

"Are you going to investigate, sir?" asked Dr. Hambrough.

"Much as I should like to," replied Whittinghame gravely, "I must
decline. The claims of those who may yet be living are more pressing
than those of the gallant dead. Perhaps, another time----"

He broke off abruptly to conceal his emotion, then having steadied
the "Meteor" on her course, he relinquished the navigation into the
hands of his able assistants.

For a long time no word was spoken. The memories of that mournful
wreck deeply affected the spirits of the intrepid rescuers. They felt
the irony of the situation, for had the gallant Frenchman delayed his
ill-fated aerial voyage but a few years he might have been able to
have made good use of a dirigible instead of drifting helplessly to
his doom amid the awful solitudes of the Arctic.

Zig-zagging against the wind after the manner of a sailing-ship
tacking, the "Meteor" resumed her quest. Two hours passed without
result. The airship was now almost within sight of the newly-opened
sea caused by the breaking up of the ice-floes.

The crew were almost despairing of success, for twice the supposed
route of Cardyke's party had been examined. The Lieutenant and his
men had left the Pole: they could not cross the barrier formed by the
open sea. Where had they gone? Had they been buried beneath an almost
irresistible blizzard? To add to the difficulties of the look-out,
the sun was shining almost into the men's eyes, while an enormous
tract of snow was covered by the reflected glare.

"We'll carry on till we are above the end of the pack-ice," said
Whittinghame. "Then, if we haven't sighted them, we'll turn again and
go back to the Pole. It is just possible----"

"What's that, sir?" interrupted Hambrough, his usually quiet manner
giving place to intense excitability. "See! almost beneath us!"

In another fifteen seconds the "Meteor" would have overshot the mark.
Signalling full speed astern, Whittinghame kept the spot indicated by
the doctor under observation.

Five hundred feet below was a small black patch. It seemed so
insignificant that it resembled a fur cap accidently dropped upon
that trackless waste.

Under the retarding influence of the propellors the airship trembled
so violently that it was almost an impossibility to bring glasses to
bear upon the desired object, but when the "Meteor" lost way and
orders had been given to the engineers to stop the motors, the
occupants of the navigation-room were able to examine the solitary
relic.

"By Jove!" ejaculated Dacres. "It's a tent. Look. There are the skis
sticking up in the snow. Seven, eight, nine, ten of them. Then, the
five men are there."

"Hurrah!" shouted Baskett. "Are you going to let off a rocket, or
hail them, sir?"

"Neither," replied Whittinghame shortly. He was tremendously excited,
only he knew that there was a chance that even now they might be too
late.

Quickly the powerful pumps were set to work, and as the required
number of ballonettes were exhausted the "Meteor" sank gently to the
snow-clad ground. Thanks to the almost total absence of wind her
anchors held without difficulty, although she had grounded nearly
eight hundred yards to leeward of the tent.

Leaving Setchell in charge, the rest of the officers lost no time in
descending the rope-ladder and making for the resting-place of the
explorers. Somehow the rescuing party felt strained. They could
hardly understand why, in almost perfect weather as far as the Polar
climate went, the five men were not resuming their homeward march.
The utter solitude of the black fur tent seemed ominous.

Although presenting the appearance of a level plain when viewed from
above, the ground was rough, and encumbered with hummocks, while here
and there deep but narrow fissures required care and skill on the
part of the rescue party. Occasionally a deep groaning sound
betokened the appalling fact that the ground was one vast ice-floe in
momentary danger of breaking up.

If the five men were still alive, how could they be indifferent to
the danger that now threatened them?

Whittinghame was the first to gain the tent. With numbed fingers he
cut the lashings that secured the flaps of the outer and inner
coverings and peered within.

Five fur-clad forms lay upon a pile of skins, their heads buried in
their arms. Whether they were sleeping the long last sleep that knows
no awakening in this world, Whittinghame could not tell. Nervelessly
he backed out and signed to Dacres to enter.

"Dead?" asked Dacres laconically.




CHAPTER XVI.

IN THE NICK OF TIME.


"CAN'T say," replied the Captain. "It is more----See what you make of
it, Dacres."

For a moment, like a swimmer contemplating a "header" into icy cold
water, Dacres hesitated; then with a swift determined movement he
disappeared within the tent.

Grasping the nearmost man he turned him over on his back. His face
was as black as that of a seaman engaged in a coaling ship; but to
Dacres' great relief he opened his eyes and stared wonderingly at his
rescuer.

"So you've come, old mate?" he muttered, like one in a dream.
"Thought you would, somehow. We got there all right--no kidding, we
did."

"Get up and turn out," said Dacres authoritatively.

The seaman, disciplined to obey orders implicitly, attempted to rise.
He realized that he was addressed by some one having authority; but
to arise was beyond the power of his numbed limbs and exhausted body.

"We'll have to unship the tent," declared Dacres as he rejoined his
comrades. "There's one of them alive, if not more; but he cannot
move."

"Is there a lamp burning?" asked Dr. Hambrough.

"No; there is one but it's gone out," replied Whittinghame. "I
noticed that."

Quickly the foot of the tent was freed from the wall of snow that had
been built around it, and the flimsy structure thrown aside.

The man whom Dacres had roused was asleep once more.

One by one the doctor examined the five men. "They are all alive," he
said; "but we are only just in time. We must get them on board as
quickly as we can."

It was impossible to distinguish Cardyke from the rest of the party.
The men's faces were encrusted with soot and grease, while they had
allowed their beards to grow and these were clogged with the same
uncongenial mixture.

"We'll have to hurry up," said Whittinghame anxiously, as an extra
loud groan gave warning that the ice around them was ready to part
company with the rest of the pack. "It will take two of us to assist
each man to the 'Meteor'."

"That will help their blood to circulate," agreed the doctor, "but
will this rotten ice stand the strain? It's pretty shaky between us
and the 'Meteor,' if you'll remember."

"Then the 'Meteor' must come to us," rejoined the Captain.

In spite of the distance--nearly half a mile--the airship was within
hail. In the rarefied atmosphere sound travels with the utmost
facility, and instances have been recorded of men engaging in
conversation at distances of two miles apart.

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Setchell, and without delay the airship's
anchors were broken out and the propellers began to revolve.

Almost touching the ice the "Meteor" again brought up, this time so
close that, as she swung to the light breeze, the men on the ground
had to give a united heave and pass her immense bulk over their
heads.

Already the alert Setchell had seen what was required and had rigged
up a bos'n's chair from the entry port. In ten minutes rescuers and
rescued were safely on board the airship.

Cardyke and his four men slept throughout the embarkation process;
they slept during the run of the "Meteor" to Cape Columbia; they
still slept when they were taken on board the "New Resolute," only
awakening when they were being washed with slightly chilled water.
And, strange to relate, Cardyke's first words were those of reproach
at not being allowed to complete the journey by his own efforts.

He remembered resting in his tent; realized that he was back on the
"New Resolute," and consequently came to the conclusion that a rescue
party from the ship had taken a mean advantage by finding him and his
comrades asleep and had hauled them on sledges for the rest of the
way.

He was, in fact, light-headed. He could give no coherent account of
what had occurred. It was Bates, the petty-officer, who was the first
to relate their hazardous adventures.

Beyond the loss of two days, Cardyke's party reached the
eighty-seventh parallel without mishap. Then accidents happened with
alarming frequency. The portable wireless apparatus was irreparably
damaged through the sledge capsizing on rough ice. Then two complete
dog teams were lost in crevasses, leaving only six dogs to haul the
remaining sledge.


Fortunately the weather remained exceptionally fine, and the party
were able to make good progress. There still remained plenty of food,
while a reserved store had been cached some days before the accident
to the two sledges.

Cardyke, therefore, resolved to push on. The freshly fallen snow
afforded easy travelling, for in the absence of wind there was very
little "drift."

He reached the Pole. The making of certain important observations
that had been entrusted to him he carried out, carefully and
methodically, yet without undue loss of time; then setting their
faces southward the five began their homeward journey.

It was a record of one continued struggle between grit and personal
exertion on the one hand, and the relentlessness of the elements on
the other. A blizzard impeded their progress; they lost their way and
missed their store of spare provisions. The supplies they took with
them were running short; the remaining dog had to be killed for food.

They began to realize that it was to be a race against time, unless
they were met by a rescue party. Resting as little as possible, badly
attacked by frostbite, and at times partially blinded by the glare of
the snow, they toiled on, till hope was all but dead. And,
fortunately unknown to them, a broad sea had opened out between them
and their comrades at Cape Columbia.

At length they regained their proper course. It was during the time
that they were making the detour that the "Meteor" must have passed
them, about ten miles to the eastward. Human endurance could hold out
no longer. They pitched their tent, filled their lamp with the last
remaining oil, and resolved to rest for six hours--six hours when for
days they had halted for two periods of two hours in every
twenty-four.

It was a case of the triumph of matter over mind. Utterly done up,
their intellects dimmed by their vicissitudes, the men fell asleep,
and with the exception of a partial rousing in the case of the seaman
Dacres had spoken to, they knew nothing till they found themselves
back on board the "New Resolute."

The written results of Lieutenant Cardyke's observations were found
in his possession, and so complete was the data that there was no
longer any need for the Arctic Expedition ship to remain at Cape
Columbia. The channel was still open, and eagerly her officers and
crew prepared for the homeward voyage.

By the time Cardyke had recovered sufficiently to be told of the
manner of his rescue, the "Meteor" was no longer in the Arctic.
Returning by Davis Strait she reached England in thirty-four hours
from the time of parting company with the "New Resolute."

The tidings of his achievement had preceded her, for even her
prodigious speed could not outstrip the magical wireless. Had Captain
Whittinghame felt so inclined he would have been fêted until further
orders. But he had no such desire. His avowed mission was not yet
accomplished. It was not in the dreary and desolate Arctic that his
ambitions were centred, but upon the aggressive little Republic of
Valderia. His dash for the Pole was humanity's call which could not
be denied, also, it served the purpose as a means to put Reno Durango
off his guard; but the publicity given to his return had undone all
the good that Whittinghame had hoped for in that direction.

"We'll return to the New Forest base, Dacres," said he. "A rest after
being half-frozen for the last few days will do us good. By that time
the 'Maranhao' will be nearing Pernambuco, and we shall then be able
to start in pursuit of our friend Señor Durango. By the by, aren't
you anxious to interview your father?"

Dacres hardly knew what to reply. He was anxious to explain matters
to the Colonel, but, although a full-grown man, he had a strange
dread of his father's temper. It was, he knew, only putting off th

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