One afternoon a week later, when out at Hendon, I heard accidentally
from a man I knew--one of the instructors at the Grahame-White Aviation
School--that Eastwell was very queer, and in bed.
The weather proved bad for flying, therefore I sent Theed off and
returned to town. Teddy had gone down to the naval air-station at
Yarmouth to see the test of a new seaplane, so I went along to look up
Lionel at his rooms in Albemarle Street.
His man, a thin-faced, dark-haired fellow named Edwards, who admitted
me, said that his master had had a bad attack of something, the true
import of which the doctor had failed to diagnose.
I found him lying in bed in his narrow but artistic bachelor bedroom,
looking very wan and pale.
"Hulloa, Claude!" he cried with sudden joy, as I entered. "Awfully good
of you to come in, old chap! I've been horribly queer these last three
days, but I'll be fit again in a day or two, the doctor says. Well--
what's the news? How are the boys out at Hendon?"
"All right. I was there this morning. Harrington had rather a bad
smash yesterday afternoon, I hear. Came down outside Ruislip, and made
an unholy mess."
"Not hurt, I hope?"
"Tore his face and hands a bit--that's all. But his biplane is in
scraps, they say."
He pointed to the box of cigarettes, and I took one. Then, when I had
seated myself at his bedside, I saw that he had newspapers scattered
everywhere, including the Paris _Matin_, the _Journal_, and the Rome
_Tribuna_. That was the first time I had known that our friend was a
linguist.
"Well," he asked. "What about the Zeppelin raids? Any more news?"
He had returned to the subject by which he seemed obsessed. Yet, after
all, this was not surprising, for many people talked air-raids
incessantly. One section of the public, as usual, blamed the
authorities, while the other supported them.
"Well," I said cheerily, "there's a new invention they are all talking
of at Hendon to-day. Somebody has claimed to be able to construct a
biplane which will rise from the ground without running, and can attain
any speed from ten to two hundred miles an hour."
"Phew! That's interesting," exclaimed Lionel, raising himself upon his
elbow, and taking a sip of a glass of barley-water at his side. "And
who is this wonderful man who has such a wonderful scheme?"
"Oh, I forget his name," I said. "But the theory, as far as I can
gather, is rather a good one. He can rise so quickly."
"How?"
"Well," I replied. "From what I can hear, there is a kind of rotary
wing--not a propeller and not a thing which can be classed as a
helicoptic."
Lionel Eastwell grew intensely interested in the new invention which
everybody at the aerodrome was discussing.
"Yes," he said. "I follow. Go on, Claude. Tell me all you've heard
about it. The whole thing sounds most weird and wonderful."
"Well," I said, "from what I can find out, the machine is not designed
to screw itself through the air in the direction of its axis, or, by
pushing the air downwards, to impart upward motion to the structure, as
a screw propeller in water imparts a forward motion to the vessel by
pushing the water backwards. The biplane is designed to obtain by a
rotary motion the same upward thrust in opposition to the downward pull
of gravity as the flapping wings, and the passive outspread wings of
birds, and to obtain it by the blades being projected through the air in
such a manner as to extract and utilise the practically constant energy
of the expansive force of the air."
"By Jove!" my friend exclaimed, stirring himself in his bed. "That
theory is very sound indeed--the soundest I've ever heard. Who's
invented it?"
"As I've told you, I've forgotten," I replied. "But what does it
matter? There are hosts of new inventions every month, and the poor
misguided public who put their money into them generally lose it. But I
quite agree that the general idea of this is splendid. The
war-inventions authorities ought at once to take it up hot and strong.
The inventor is, no doubt, an ingenious man of thought and knowledge--
whoever he may be. But alas! nobody ever meets with very much
encouragement in aeronautics."
"No," he said, pillowing his head comfortably. "It is all so
mysterious. We take on a wild-cat idea one day and manufacture machines
that are declared to work miracles. Then, next week, we abandon the
type altogether, and woo some other smooth-tongued inventor."
"That's just it," I laughed. "If the authorities could only adopt some
really reliable type to fight Zeppelins. But alas! it seems that they
can't," I added.
For a few seconds he remained silent. I saw that he was reflecting
deeply.
"Well," he said. "We've established listening-posts all round London
for its protection."
"A real benefit they are!" I laughed. "We have officers and men
listening all night, it is true. Of course as a picturesque fiction in
order to allay public curiosity they publish photographs of men
listening to things like gramophone-trumpets."
"Exactly. The theory of that new invention is extremely sound. That's
my opinion."
"And mine also," I said. "I hear that the inventor has told the
authorities that if they will assist him to complete his machine--which
I expect is a costly affair--he will be able to carry out daily raids on
Cuxhaven, Essen, Dusseldorf, and even as far as Berlin; carrying several
tons of explosives."
"How many?" asked my friend.
"Oh! four or five it is said."
"Phew!" remarked Lionel, again stirring in his bed. "That sounds really
healthy--doesn't it?"
"Yes--the realisation of the dream of every flying-man to-day," I said.
Then our conversation drifted into another channel, and, half an hour
later, I left him.
During the past few days Teddy and I had been very busy with our own
invention, and had made a number of further experiments down at
Gunnersbury.
We could easily direct the electric current upon those insulated steel
guys around our distant wireless-pole, but our difficulty was how to
increase our power without increasing the bulk of the apparatus which we
should be compelled to take up in the monoplane for purposes of
attacking a Zeppelin.
There was a limit to the weight which my Breguet with its 200
horse-power engines would carry, and though, of course, we believed it
would be unnecessary to use bombs, yet some should be carried for
purposes of defence, as well as a Lewis gun.
Therefore we were faced by a very difficult problem, that of weight.
The next day was Sunday, and Teddy having returned from Yarmouth, we
spent the whole afternoon and evening down at the workshop, making
further experiments. I had not seen Roseye since Friday evening, which
I had spent at Lady Lethmere's, Sir Herbert being absent in Liverpool.
Therefore, as we had carried out an alteration of the apparatus and
intended to try sparking upon the pole again after dark, I rang Roseye
up on the telephone shortly after five o'clock.
Mulliner, Lady Lethmere's maid, replied, and a few minutes later Lady
Lethmere herself spoke to me.
"Oh, I've rung you up at your rooms half a dozen times to-day, Mr
Munro--but could get no answer!" she said.
"Being Sunday, my man is out," I exclaimed. "I'm down here at
Gunnersbury."
"Can you take a taxi at once, and come over and see me?" she urged. "I
want to speak to you immediately."
"What about?" I asked anxiously.
"I can't say anything over the telephone," she answered in a distressed
voice. "Do come at once, Mr Munro. I am in such trouble."
I promised. And after briefly relating the curious conversation to
Teddy, I found a taxi, and at once drove to Cadogan Gardens.
"Mr Munro!" exclaimed Lady Lethmere, looking at me with a pale, anxious
expression as I entered the morning-room. "Something has happened!"
"Happened--what?" I gasped.
"Roseye! She went out yesterday morning to go over to Hendon to meet
you--she told me--_and she's not come back_!"
"Not back!" I cried, staring at her. "Where can she be?"
"Ah! That's exactly what I want to know," replied the mother of my
well-beloved. "I thought perhaps she might have flown somewhere and had
a breakdown, and was therefore unable to return, or to let me know last
night. That happened, you recollect, when she came to grief while
flying over the Norfolk Broads."
"But she never arrived at Hendon yesterday," I exclaimed. "I was there
all the morning."
"So I understand from Mr Carrington of the Grahame-White School, to
whom I telephoned this morning. It was after learning this curious fact
that I began to try and get into communication with you."
"Well--where can she possibly be?" I asked in blank dismay.
"The only thing I can think of is that she altered her mind at the last
moment, and went to see some friends. She may have given a servant a
telegram to send to me, and the servant forgot to dispatch it. Such
things have happened, you know."
I shook my head dubiously. Knowing Roseye as I did, I knew that she
always sent important messages herself.
"One thing is certain, that she has not met with an accident while
flying, for her machine is still locked up in the hangar."
"Yes. It is a consolation to know that she has not gone up and
disappeared."
"No," I said. "She seems to have intended to meet me. But we had no
appointment to meet. My intention yesterday morning was to go over to
Gunnersbury, and I only changed my mind five minutes before I left my
rooms. I spent part of the afternoon with Eastwell, who is queer in
bed."
"I heard that he was not well. Roseye told me so yesterday morning
before she went out."
"I wonder how she knew?" I exclaimed.
"I believe he spoke to her on the telephone on Friday night."
"You overheard some of their conversation, I suppose?"
"None. She was shut up in the telephone-box, and when she came out I
asked her who had rung up. She replied, `Oh! only Lionel!' Next
morning, while we were at breakfast, she remarked that Mr Eastwell was
ill and in bed. He must have told her so on the previous night."
I remained silent. This disappearance of Roseye, following so closely
upon the dastardly attempt upon my life, caused me to pause. It was
more than curious. It was distinctly suspicious.
Was the Invisible Hand--the claw-grip of which had laid such a heavy
grasp upon Great Britain ever since August 1914--again at work? Was the
clutch of that hand, which had so cunningly protected the enemy alien
and fed the Germans, again upon myself and the woman I loved?
"Lady Lethmere, this is all too amazing. I had no idea that Roseye was
missing," I said. "Sir Herbert has not returned, I suppose?"
"No. I expect him to-morrow. I have not yet sent him word. But I must
say I am now getting most anxious."
"Of course," I said. "We have to remember that to-day is Sunday, and
that few telegraph offices are open."
"Yet there is always the telephone," Lady Lethmere said.
I argued that, in many country places, the telephone service was not
available on Sundays and, though I felt intensely anxious, I endeavoured
to regard the matter with cheerful optimism. I saw, however, that Lady
Lethmere, a good, kindly and most charming woman, who had ever been
genuinely friendly towards me, was greatly perturbed regarding her
daughter's whereabouts.
And surely not without cause. Roseye had left that house at eleven
o'clock on the previous morning--dressed as usual in a navy-blue
gaberdine coat and skirt, with her skunk boa and muff, intending to
change later on into her Burberry flying-suit which she kept at Hendon.
From the moment when she had closed the front door behind her, she had
vanished into space.
Such was the enigma with which I--her lover--was at that moment faced.
I ask you, my reader, to place yourself for a moment in my position, and
to put to yourself the problem.
How would you have acted?
Would you have suspected, as I suspected, the sinister and deadly touch
of the Invisible Hand?