DACRES' PROMOTION.
WHEN Reno Durango recovered from the stupifying effects of the
sulphur he found himself in a cabin destitute of furniture and
securely locked and barred. He knew by the peculiar undulating motion
that he was on board an airship. Then the truth flashed across his
mind: he was in the hands of his rivals.
Rage and despair filled his heart. At one moment he thought of
dashing his head against the metal bulkhead of the cabin; at another
he contemplated putting an end to his existence and evading
well-merited punishment by strangling himself. But his nerve failed
him. Never backward in delighting to cause pain to the unfortunate
wretches who had fallen into his hands at various times, he shrank
from inflicting the slightest injury upon himself.
His frenzied thoughts were interrupted by the entry of Captain
Whittinghame, Dacres, and Dr. Hambrough.
The Englishmen had not come to gloat over their captive; the doctor
was there in his official capacity of surgeon of the "Meteor," while
the others were there in case the Mexican should become violent.
"Well, my man, how do you feel now?" asked the doctor in a
matter-of-fact tone, as if he were addressing a hospital patient.
Durango's reply was to roll his yellow eyes and thrust out his
leathery under lip. He wanted to curse his captors, but blind rage
held him speechless.
Deftly Dr. Hambrough took hold of his wrist. The Mexican, snarling
like a wild beast, shook him off.
"I cannot do anything more for the patient at present," said the
doctor suavely, and the three men turned to leave the prisoner to his
own devices.
Just as Whittinghame, who was the last to leave, was backing out of
the door--for he gave Durango no chance of making a sudden dash--the
Mexican found his tongue.
"Curse you, Whittinghame!" he shouted with a torrent of oaths. "If I
had thrown those plans overboard instead of stowing them in under the
boat's fore-deck, I'd have the laugh of you yet."
Vaughan Whittinghame made no reply, but pushing Dacres across the
threshold he closed and relocked the door.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Durango's let the cat out of
the bag. He imagines that we have already found the plans."
"Let's hope it won't be long before we do," rejoined the sub, and the
three men hastened to search the hull of the flying-boat.
The "Meteor's" speed was materially reduced to enable the searchers
to go on deck, where the boat was made fast to four strong
ring-bolts.
Leaping over her coamings Dacres dived under the fore-deck. The place
had already been cleared out, but on each side a skirting had been
fastened to the ribs to within a foot of the deck-beams.
The sub thrust his hand into one of the spaces thus formed. He could
feel nothing. The second gave no better result, but in the third his
fingers came in contact with some moist paper.
Carefully withdrawing his band the sub found that he had recovered a
bundle of documents tied with red tape. Although damp they were
little the worse for their adventures in sea and air.
"Hurrah!" shouted Dacres. "We've discovered the object of our search,
sir. Here are the submarine plans."
* * * * *
The great Naval Review at Spithead was over. On board H.M.S.
"Foudroyant," the flagship of the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Hardy
Staplers, a grand dinner was being held. The flag-officers and
captains of the various divisions and ships, the principal military
officers of the garrison of Portsmouth, and the heads of the Dockyard
establishments were present.
After the customary loyal toast had been proposed and duly honoured,
Sir Hardy rose to reply to the toast of The Navy.
The Commander-in-Chief was by no means a fluent speaker, but when he
"warmed up" to his subject he lost all sense of time. His speech was
practically a résumé of the vast strides that the British Navy had
made during his lengthy career. At last he spoke of the Flying
Wing:--
"Gentlemen, I need say but little more (the majority of his listeners
heaved an inward sigh of relief). We now know of the sterling work
performed by the subsidized airship 'Meteor.' When the time comes for
that noble craft to be taken over by H.M. Government--and I venture
to assert that the day is not far distant--our Flying Wing will have
a unit that is second to none.
"It is a matter of regret that the 'Meteor' was not present at the
memorable display at Spithead to-day. As all of you are no doubt
aware the latest dispatches from Zandovar stated that the airship
left in pursuit of the outlaw, Durango. A week has elapsed and no
further news of her has been forthcoming. Personally, I do not think
we need labour under any misapprehension as to her safety; but at the
same time the silence--especially in this age of wireless--is
somewhat inexplicable. An airship that could with safety undertake at
short notice a successful dash to the North Pole (hear, hear!) can be
relied upon to take care of herself. Therefore, I feel confident in
expressing my opinion that before many hours have elapsed news will
be received from the Senior Officers at Zandovar announcing the
return of the Dreadnought of the Air from yet another successful
mission.
"One more point I should like to mention, and that is the great
changes in the near future in in engineering. I refer to the cordite
motors as carried in the 'Meteor.' It is, of course, too early to
predict with certainty that cordite will be the fuel used on our
great battleships in place of oil, but to a great extent the era of
the coal and oil-fed furnace is doomed."
Now, it so happened that amongst the guests was Engineer-Captain
Camshaft, an engineering officer of the old school, who swore by
triple-expansion engines, took ungraciously to turbine machinery, and
scoffed at internal combustion engines. He was particularly scathing
in his opinion of cordite as fuel for propulsion, and had offered to
bet any of his brother-officers that the "Meteor" would never return
to England under her own power. Perhaps he had had more champagne
than was good for him; at anyrate, at this point of Sir Hardy's
speech, he exclaimed in a "stage aside," "Question."
A deadly silence prevailed in the crowded ward-room. The protest was
plainly audible, yet save for Camshaft's immediate neighbour, no one
knew who had had the temerity to contradict the Commander-in-Chief.
"Did I hear some one say 'Question'?" asked Sir Hardy with his
customary urbanity.
The culprit recognized that he had overstepped the bounds. It meant
that his future career was in jeopardy, especially as it was freely
mooted that Sir Hardy Staplers was shortly to be made First Sea Lord
of the Admiralty.
Fortunately the engineer-captain was a man of resource in such
matters.
"Beg pardon, Sir Hardy," he exclaimed thickly, "I said
unquestionably--unquestionably."
A badly suppressed titter ran round the table. The situation was
saved.
"Yes, of course," agreed the Commander-in-Chief blandly. "Now I quite
understand; you said 'unquestionably', Captain Camshaft."
Before Sir Hardy could resume the thread of his lengthy discourse a
voice on deck was heard hailing "Boat ahoy!"
Loud and clear came the reply that electrified every member of that
convivial dinner-party:--
"Meteor!"
The Commander-in-Chief's speech was never finished. Following Sir
Hardy's example the officers and their guests rushed upon the
quarter-deck and crowded to the starboard guard-rails.
They were just in time to see a motor-boat of unusual design run
alongside the accommodation-ladder. The glare of the electric lamps
fell upon the bronzed features of Captain Vaughan Whittinghame and
Sub-lieutenant Basil Dacres.
"How in the name of wonder!" exclaimed the astonished
Commander-in-Chief.
"We've brought two-fifths of the original 'Meteor' back, sir,"
reported Whittinghame. "She's lying off the Warner Lightship. Our
wireless is out of gear, or we would have reported our progress.
Durango is a prisoner on board; and here, sir, are the plans of the
'M' class of submarines."
* * * * *
Shortly before lunch-time on the following morning Basil
Dacres--specially promoted by virtue of an Order-in-Council to the
rank of commander (Flying Squadron, Naval Wing) of His Majesty's
Fleet--arrived at his father's country residence, Cranbury House.
"Governor in, Sparkes?" he asked as the footman opened the door and
stared with amazement at the "young master." Years of training had
steeled Sparkes to most shocks, but this time he was completely taken
aback.
"Yes, Mr. Basil, Colonel Dacres has just come in. He's been out
rabbit-shooting, sir."
"Then don't tell him who I am," cautioned Dacres. "Take in this card
and say that someone wishes to see him."
Sparkes took the pasteboard and vanished. Half way up the stairs he
paused to look at the card.
"Mr. Basil's up to some of his pranks, I'll be bound," he said to
himself. "Hope to goodness the master doesn't jaw me for it."
"Gentleman to see you, sir," he announced.
Colonel Dacres took the card and read,
"Commander Basil Dacres, R.N."
"Commander Basil Dacres, R.N.," he repeated. "Wonder who the deuce he
is? Some distant relation, I suppose, after something or the other.
Sparkes, where's the Navy List?"
"You lent it to Admiral Padbury the morning before last, sir,"
replied the footman smartly.
"So I did, Sparkes, so I did. Never mind. I'll see this gentleman.
Where is he, Sparkes?"
"In the green room, sir."
"What sort of a man is he?"
The footman coughed to clear his throat, and nearly broke a
blood-vessel in striving to suppress a grin.
"Cannot say as how I took particular stock of him, sir; but he's a
smartish-looking gentleman, sir."
"Then he must belong to our branch of the family," thought the
colonel complacently. "But dash it all, what does he want to come
just before tiffin for?"
Colonel Dacres waited to put a few finishing touches, then hastened
downstairs to conceal, under a guise of cordiality, any traces of his
annoyance at being disturbed before lunch.
To his unbounded astonishment he found himself confronted by his son,
whom he supposed to be still on board H.M.S. "Royal Oak" off
Zandovar. He could only come to one conclusion--a hastily formed
one--on the situation: Basil had been in trouble, and had turned up,
in spite of his parent's fiat, like a bad halfpenny.
"What's the meaning of this, sir?" he demanded, holding up the card.
"Are there no limits to your senseless pranks? I had hoped when that
Valderian business took place that you might have proved yourself
worthy of the name of Dacres. Instead of that you turn up with a
handle to your name to which you have no right. Explain yourself,
sir."
"It's all right, dad," said the youthful commander coolly.
"But it isn't all right. I----"
"Steady on, pater! You've asked me a lot of questions; give me a
chance to reply. In the first place there is a limit to my pranks,
and I don't mean to exceed it. Secondly, I was in the Valderian
affair; thirdly, I came home because the 'Meteor' brought me home;
fourthly and lastly, I am really a commander in His Majesty's Fleet,
my appointment being dated at the Admiralty yesterday."
"'Meteor?'" repeated the colonel. "You were on the 'Meteor'? I knew
nothing of this."
"Naturally, sir. Our mission was a confidential one. Even
Rear-Admiral Maynebrace was in ignorance of who formed her crew until
we pulled him out of the Cavarale."
"Were you the officer who was reported to have distinguished himself
in rescuing the Admiral, then?" asked Colonel Dacres amazedly.
"Yes, sir; but the newspaper reports may have been exaggerated. They
often are," declared Dacres modestly. "But the fact remains that I am
specially promoted, for which I have to thank Captain Whittinghame,
who has been made Commandant of the Airship Section; the 'Meteor' is
to undergo a hasty refit and reconstruction--we left three-fifths of
her in different places, you know--and after that--well, we must hope
for something fairly exciting to turn up. For the present I have
three weeks' leave."
"Leave!" echoed the colonel. "Won't you have to give evidence at the
trial of Durango?"
"Yes, I suppose so," replied the young commander. "He is to be
indicted on a list of charges as long as my arm. However, I am not at
all keen on that part of the business. Hunting him down was exciting
enough, but now the rascal is laid by the heels I wish I could regard
the incident as closed. After a turn at active service in the air a
fellow doesn't want to descend to the stuffy atmosphere of the Law
Courts. I want to be up and doing, in a double sense, pater; I feel
as keen as mustard."
"Basil, my boy, I'm afraid I've misjudged you."
"I don't think so, pater; I believe that once or twice you've blamed
me for practical jokes I didn't play, but that's a mere detail. The
mater's teapot, for example."
"I don't mean in that way," continued the colonel. "I thought that
you might let your chances slip through your fingers, but, by Jove!
you're a true Dacres after all."
"Thank you, pater," said the young commander simply.
THE END
THE LONDON AND NORWICH PRESS LIMITED, LONDON AND NORWICH, ENGLAND
[Transcriber's note:
The original text contained a number of obvious spelling and
typographic errors. They have been corrected without note.
Inconsistent spellings and typographical errors have been preserved
as printed.
These are:
- "Chili" and "Chile" both occur
- "Equadorean" instead of "Equadorian"]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Dreadnought of the Air, by Percy F. Westerman