Next day dawned wild and wet, with a sixty-mile-an-hour wind.
During the morning Teddy and I, assisted by Theed, made some little
adjustments to the machine which, though reposing in the barn, was ready
at any instant for another flight.
All three of us were, naturally, full of glee that our invention was a
proved success. It only remained for us to rise and attack the next
Zeppelin that came over.
This idea, however, was all very well, of course, but enemy airships had
a sly knack of coming over the sea at unexpected moments, dropping
bombs, and returning before our aeroplanes could rise sufficiently high
to drop incendiary bombs upon them. The exploits of poor young
Warneford, and of the French gunners behind the lines at Brabant-le-Roi,
had been hailed with delight by the Allies, and naturally so, yet no
enemy aircraft had been brought down on British soil. That was a feat
which I intended, even at the risk of my own life, to achieve.
The power to destroy a Zeppelin had been placed within my hand, and I
intended to use it, though at present I had not matured any actual plan.
After our frugal luncheon that day, a meal of boiled bacon and beans,
the weather cleared up, so Roseye expressed a wish to go down to
Eastbourne to buy something she required. So I took her in the ear. A
nip was in the air, so she wore a veil, and on starting away I told
Teddy that, in all probability, we should have dinner in Eastbourne
before returning.
"Right ho! old man," he replied. "Perhaps I shall run up to town. We
want those two new nuts and the sparking-plugs you know, so I can get
them. If I go, I shan't be down till the last train, so send Theed over
to Nutley to meet me, won't you?"
"Right," I said, and a moment later, with Roseye beside me, I started
off down the long narrow wooded lane which led round by a place called
Oldlands, and down into Maresfield.
The winter landscape was dull and dispiriting.
We had passed through the little town, and out again upon the Lewes road
when, having gone about four miles, we suddenly saw a big dark green
limousine standing at the roadside. The chauffeur, whose coat was off,
had evidently got tyre-trouble, and, the road at that bend being very
narrow, I was compelled to slow down in order to pass.
Beside the car, watching the chauffeur as he worked, was a middle-aged
man in a thick drab motor-coat and cap of shepherd's plaid, while beside
him stood a tall, erect woman in furs. The man was idly smoking a cigar
end and laughing with the woman, and as we passed the latter turned to
gaze at us. In the passing glance I obtained of her I saw that hers was
a hard, thin face, with high cheek-bones, an unusually pointed chin, and
a curious expression in her eyes.
Somehow--why I cannot tell--I thought she regarded us a little
inquisitively.
Next instant Roseye, in breathless fear, clutched at my arm, gasping:
"Quick, Claude! For Heaven's sake let's get away!"
"Why?" I asked, much surprised at the sudden terror she had evinced.
"That woman!" cried my love, in a voice of alarm. "Did she see me--do
you think she saw me?" she asked, her trembling hand still upon my arm.
"How could she, through that veil?" I asked. "It was impossible."
"Is my veil really thick enough to conceal my face entirely?" she asked
eagerly.
"Not absolutely to conceal it, but to render identification extremely
difficult at such a distance," I replied. "But--tell me, why are you
trembling like this, Roseye?"
"Oh, drive on," she cried. "Drive quickly. Do! She saw you--she will
know you from those photographs in the newspapers. I saw by her look
that she recognised you. Don't glance round. Keep on, keep on! Go as
fast as ever you can. Save me from her--oh! do save me, Claude!" she
implored.
I saw, with much apprehension, that her unaccountable mental agitation
was returning.
"But who is the woman?" I demanded eagerly. "She's a perfect stranger
to me."
"Ah! but not to me, Claude! That woman!" she gasped, as her gloved
hands lying upon her knees clutched convulsively. "That woman is--she's
the Woman with the Leopard's Eyes!"
"That woman!" I ejaculated, amazed. "Was that really the woman?"
"Yes. But--why is she about here? She means mischief, Claude. She
means to do us both harm!"
"And the man?" I asked, bending to her without glancing into her face,
for I was driving at increased pace in obedience to her command. "Who
is he?"
"I couldn't see his face--only hers--the fiend!"
"Shall we turn back and watch their movements?" I suggested.
"No, no! A thousand times no!" she shrieked, apparently terrified at
such a suggestion. "Don't go near her. Save me from her--won't you,
Claude? If you love me, don't let her approach me. Will you?"
"Trust in me, darling," I said reassuringly, yet greatly puzzled at the
unexpected encounter, and in fear also that sudden sight of the hated
woman might bring on another nerve attack.
She drew aside her veil and lifted her close-fitting little motor-hat
from her brow, as though its weight oppressed her. Then I noticed how
pale and terrified was her face. She had blanched to the very lips.
"Don't trouble about the matter any more," I urged, yet I knew well that
sight of the mysterious woman had recalled to her memory some evil and
terrible recollection that she had been striving to put from her for
ever.
"But I do trouble about it, Claude," she said in a harsh, apprehensive
voice. "I fear for you more than I fear for myself. She is your enemy,
as well as mine. Against her we are, both of us, powerless."