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

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

      “I’m all for the latter,” declared Roseye.

      “So am I,” was my remark.

      “And I also,” declared Eastwell. “But how? – that’s the question!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Fight them with fast aeroplanes and bombs,” Eastwell said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “But how?” queried Lionel Eastwell across the table in that slow refined voice of his. “It’s all very well to talk like that – but you must act.”

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

      And I remained silent.

      Chapter Six

      Theed’s Strange Story

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

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

      “I’ve come up, sir,” he said, “because something curious ’appened at the shed lars’ night.”

      “Happened – what’s happened?” I asked, staring at him.

      “Well – something I can’t quite make out, sir. But I thought I ought to report at once.”

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

      “Well, sir. There were strangers about lars’ night.”

      “Strangers! Who?” I asked, recollecting Teddy’s allegations on the night of our successful test.

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

      “A woman!” I gasped. “What did you do?”

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

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

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

      “Then there must have been a third person present – eh?”

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

      “You say you saw a woman. Did you also see the man’s face?”

      “No, I didn’t.