EASTWARD HO!
Before the farmer reached the hospitable door of the Three Waggoners,
Smith had made his descent upon a broad open space in his father's
park near Cosham. There stood the large shed in which he housed the
aeroplane; adjoining it were a number of workshops. It was quite dark
now, and no one was about; but Smith clearly had no intention of
putting his machine up for the night. As soon as he came to the ground
he hurried off on foot in one direction, Rodier on a bicycle in
another, their purposeful movements betokening a course of action
arranged during the few minutes' conversation at the farm.
Smith walked rapidly through the park, and, entering the house, found
his mother placidly knitting on a settee in the large old-fashioned
hall.
"Ah, my dear boy," she said, as he appeared; "how late you are, and
how dirty! We have waited dinner for you."
"You shouldn't have done that, mother," he replied cheerfully; "though
it's very good of you."
"Well, you see, it's your last night with us for ever so long, and
with Tom and your father away--"
"Yes, I'm sorry I'm so late," Smith broke in hastily. "We were caught
in a mist. I shan't be ten minutes changing."
He ran up the stairs, and before going to his room put his head in at
the door of his sister's.
"You there, Kate? You didn't get my telegram, then? Come to my room in
ten minutes, will you? I want to see you particularly before dinner."
With a seaman's quickness he was bathed and dressed within the time he
had named.
"Come in," he said, as his sister tapped. "You've got a pretty cool
head, Sis; look at this, quickly."
He handed her the evening paper, pointing out the fateful paragraph.
Kate went a little pale as she read it; her bosom heaved, but she said
nothing.
"It must be kept from Mother," he said. "Get hold of to-morrow's
paper, and if the paragraph is there, cut it out or tear off the
page."
"But people will write, or call. They are sure to speak of it."
"That's your chance. Intercept 'em. You always read the Mater's
letters to her, don't you? Keep the servants' mouths shut. And I want
you to write for me to all those people and cry off; pressing
business--any excuse you like."
"But you, Charley?"
"I'm off to London, to-night; must see what can be done for the old
dad, you know."
"How shall we explain to Mother? She has been looking forward to your
spending your last night at home."
"Roddy will come up by and by with an urgent telephone message. The
Mater is so used to that sort of thing that she won't smell a rat."
"How you think of everything, Charley! But I'm afraid Mother will
notice something in our manner at dinner."
"Not if we're careful. You take your cue from me. Come along!"
No one would have guessed at that dinner table that anything was
amiss. Smith seemed to be in the highest spirits, talking incessantly,
describing his sudden descent on Firtop Farm and his interview with
the farmer so racily that his mother laughed gently, and even Kate,
for all her anxiety, smiled. In the middle of the meal the belated
telegram arrived, giving Smith an opportunity for poking fun at
official slowness.
Dinner was hardly over when a servant announced that Mr. Rodier was
below, asking to see Mr. Smith upon particular business. Smith slowly
lighted a cigarette before he left the room. He found Rodier in the
hall.
"Got it, Roddy?" he asked.
"Yes, I ask for globe: Mr. Dawkins give me first a pink paper. 'Sad
news this!' says he."
"I hope to goodness he'll hold his tongue about it."
"He must have it back to-morrow, he said. The inspector is coming."
"All right. Now cut off to the housekeeper and stroke as hard as you
can. I don't know when you'll get another meal."
Returning to the dining-room, Smith said--
"Sorry, Mater, I've got to go to London at once. Too bad, isn't it,
spoiling our last night. Ah well! it can't be helped."
"Is it Admiralty business, Charley?" asked his mother.
"Well, not exactly; something about a wreck, I think."
"I suppose I had better send on your things to the Leslies in the
morning?"
"I'll send you a wire. I mayn't go there, after all. Nuisance having
to change again, isn't it?"
He hastened from the room, got into his air-man suit, covered it with
an overall, emptied his cash-box into his pocket, and returned to say
good-bye. Kate accompanied him to the door.
"Buck up, old girl," he said, as he kissed her. "I'll let you know
what happens, if I can. By the way, there's a globe in the shed I want
you to send back to Dawkins, the school-master, first thing to-morrow.
Good-bye! Send Roddy after me as soon as he has finished his grub."
He hurried through the park, and coming to the shed, switched on the
electric light, which revealed a litter of all sorts of objects:
models, parts of machinery, including an aero-cycle on which he had
spent many fruitless hours, and, on a bench, a small geographical
globe of the world. Taking up a piece of string, he made certain
measurements on the globe, jotting down sundry names and rows of
figures on a piece of paper. Then he went to a telephone box in a
corner of the shed, and rang up a certain club in London, asking if
Mr. William Barracombe was there. After the interval usual in trunk
calls, he began--
"That you, Billy? Good! Thought I'd catch you. Can you give me an
hour or two?... What?... No: not this time. No time for explanations
just now.... Right!... Exactly: nothing ever surprises you."
(A smile flickered on his face.) "Well, I want you to wire to
Constantinople--Con-stant-i-no-ple--to some decent firm, and arrange
for them to have eighty gallons of petrol and sixteen of lubricating
oil ready first thing to-morrow.... Yes, to the order of Lieutenant
Smith.... Also means of transport, motor if possible: if not,
horses.--I say, Central, don't cut me off, please. Yes, I know my
time's up: I'll renew.--You there, Billy? That all right?... No,
that's not all. I want you to meet me on Epsom Downs about
midnight.... Yes, coming by 'plane.... Wait a bit. Bring with you four
bottles of bovril, couple of pounds meat lozenges, half-dozen tins
sardines, bottle of brandy--yes, _and_ soda, as you say; couple of
pounds chocolate, two tins coffee and milk.... No: I say, hold on....
Also orographical maps--maps ... o-ro-graph-i-cal maps ... of Asia
Minor, Southern Asia including India, Straits Settlements,
Polynesia.... I don't know: Stanford's will be shut, but I _must_ have
'em.... That's up to you. Bring 'em all down with you.... Well, you'd
better light a bonfire, so that I can tell where you are. You'll
manage it? Good man! See you about midnight then.... Yes: I saw it;
bad business. Hope they'll manage to hold out.... Tell you when I see
you. Goodbye!"
He replaced the receiver, and turned to find Rodier at his elbow.
"Now, Roddy," he said, "we've got two hours. Slip into it, man."
For the next two hours they worked with scarcely the exchange of a
word, overhauling every part of the engine quickly, but with
methodical care, cleaning, oiling, testing the exhaust and the
carburettor, filling the petrol tank and the reservoir of lubricating
oil, examining the turbines and the propeller--not a square inch of
the machinery escaped their attention. When their task was finished
they were as hot and dirty as engine-drivers. They washed at a sink,
filled two stone jars with water and placed them in the cage, adjusted
the wind screens, and then sat down to rest and talk over things
before starting on their night journey. Smith pencilled some
calculations on a piece of paper, referring more than once to the
globe. Then taking a clean piece, he drew up a schedule which had some
resemblance to a railway timetable.
"There! How does that strike you, Roddy?" he said, when he had
finished it.
"It strikes me hot," said the Frenchman. "What I mean, it will be hot
work. But that is what I like."
"So do I, so long as I can keep cool. At any rate we can start to the
second. Are you ready?"
The sky was brilliant with stars when, just after midnight, they took
their places in the aeroplane. Twenty-five minutes' easy run,
east-north-east, brought them within sight of the dull red glare
northward that betrayed London. Smith had so often made this journey
that, even if the stars had been invisible, he could almost have
directed his course by the lights of the villages and towns over which
he passed. He knew them as well as a sailor knows the lights of the
coast.
Just before half-past twelve, in a steep slope on his right, looming
up black against the sky, he recognized Box Hill. Passing this at a
moderate pace, which allowed them to take a good look-out, they saw in
a minute or two a small red flame flickering in the midst of a dark
expanse. Every second it grew larger as they approached; Smith did not
doubt it was the bonfire which he had asked his friend Barracombe to
kindle. Dropping to the ground within a few feet of the fire, which
turned out to be of considerable dimensions, he found a motor-car
standing near it, and Barracombe walking up and down.
"Well, old man," said Barracombe, as Smith alighted; "they call me a
hustler, but you've hustled me this time. What in the world are you
after?"
"Have you got the stuff?" returned Smith with the curtness of an old
friend.
"Yes; chocolate, bovril, the whole boiling; but--"
"And the maps?"
"_And_ the maps. A nice job I had to get them. All the shops were
shut, of course. I stole 'em."
"Played the burglar?"
"No. I went to the Royal Societies' Club, and pinched them out of the
library. Posted a cheque to pay for 'em, but there was nobody about
and I couldn't stop for red tape."
"Well, you're a big enough man to do such things with impunity. That's
why I 'phoned you: knew you'd do it somehow."
Although Barracombe was a potentate in the city, who controlled
immense organizations, and held the threads of multifarious interests,
he was very human at bottom, and Smith liked him all the better for
the glow of self-satisfaction that shone upon his face at this tribute
to his omnipotence.
"But now, what's it all mean, you beggar? Are you off to reorganize
the Turkish navy or something?"
"I'm off to the Solomon Islands."
"What!"
"That's it: going to have a shot at helping the poor old governor."
"But, my dear fellow, he'll either be relieved or done for long before
you can get there. The paper said they were practically unarmed."
"Exactly. I'm going to pick up some rifles and ammunition at one of
the Australian ports, and so help 'em to keep their end up until the
gunboat reaches them. I'll probably get there a day before the boat."
"But do you know how far it is? It's thirteen thousand miles or more."
"I know. I'm going to have a try. I've got seven days to get there and
back; then my leave's up. I can do it if the engine holds out, and if
you'll help."
"My dear chap, you know I'll do anything I can, but--well, upon my
soul, you take my breath away. I'm not often surprised, but--what are
you grinning at?"
"At having knocked the wind out of your sails for once, old man.
Seriously, we've thought it out, Roddy and I. We've more than once
done a speed of a hundred and ninety. Of course it's a different
matter to keep it up for days on end, but how long have you had your
motor-car?"
"Three months. Why?"
"And how often has it broken down?"
"Not at all; but I haven't done thirteen thousand miles at a go."
"You've done more, with stoppages. Well, I shall have stoppages--just
long enough to clean and take in petrol and oil, and that's where I
want your help. I want you to arrange for eighty gallons of petrol and
sixteen of oil, to be ready for me at three places besides
Constantinople. Here's the list; Karachi, Penang, and Port Darwin.
Could you cable me to the address in Constantinople the names of firms
at those places?"
"Of course. I'll look 'em up the first thing in the morning."
"Too late. It must be done to-night. If all goes well I shall be in
Constantinople soon after eight to-morrow--our time; and I must leave
there in a couple of hours if I'm to stick to my programme."
"Very well. I'll look out some names as soon as I get back to town.
You mean to keep me up all night. There you are, man; it's absurd; you
can't drive night and day for seven days without sleep."
"Roddy and I shall have to take watch and watch."
"But suppose you're caught in a storm; suppose the engine breaks down
when you're over the sea--"
"My dear chap, if we fall into the sea we shan't hurt ourselves so
much as if it were land. I've got a couple of lifebuoys. If a storm
comes on, too bad to sail through, we must come down and wait till
it's over. Of course any accident may stop us, even a speck of grit in
the engine; but you're the last man in the world to be put off a thing
by any bogey of what-might-be, and I'm going to look at the bright
side. It's time I was off, so I'll take the things you've
brought--oh, I see Roddy has already shipped them, so I'll get
aboard."
"Well, I wish you all the luck in the world. Send me a wire when you
land, will you, so that I may know how you are getting on."
"If I have time. Good-bye, old man; many thanks."
They shook hands, and Smith was just about to jump into his seat when
there came the sound of galloping horses, and the incessant clanging
of a bell. Smith laughed.
"Your blaze has roused the Epsom Fire Brigade," he said with a
chuckle.
"Well, I thought I'd better make a big one to make sure of you,"
replied Barracombe.
Smith waited with his hand on the lever until the fire-engine had
dashed up.
"What the blazes!" cried the captain, as he leapt from his seat,
looking from the motor-car to the aeroplane with mingled amazement and
indignation.
"Good-bye, Billy," cried Smith; "I'll leave you to explain."
The propeller whirled round, the machine flew forwards, and in a few
seconds was soaring with its booming hum into the air. Smith glanced
down and saw the fireman facing Barracombe, his annoyance being
evidently greater than his curiosity. He would have smiled if he
could have heard Barracombe's explanation.
"W-w-why yes," he said, affecting a distressing stutter; "this kind of
b-b-bonfire is a hobby of m-mine; it's about my only r-r-recreation.
M-m-my name? Certainly. My name's William bub-bub-Barracombe, and
you'll find me in, any day between t-ten and f-five, at 532
mum-mum-Mincing Lane."