"What do you mean, Roseye?" I asked. "How can she be my enemy? I've
never before set eyes upon the woman!"
"Ah! you don't know, dear--so you can't understand," was my love's
impatient reply.
"No. I want you to tell me," I said. "If danger really besets both of
us, is it not your duty to explain the facts to me, and leave me to take
steps to protect ourselves?"
"Yes. I would tell you, dear--only--only--"
"Only what?"
"Only--well--only I can't!" she answered evasively. Then, a second
later, she added: "I told you, Claude, long ago that I couldn't tell you
anything."
"You hold some secret; and yet you conceal it from me!" I remarked in a
tone of reproach.
"Because--because I am compelled. I--I am in fear--in deadly fear,
Claude!"
"In fear of what?" I asked, for I saw by her demeanour that such was
the nerve-strain that she was on the point of tears.
For a second she hesitated. Then she said:
"In fear of that woman--the one with the Leopard's Eyes."
I saw it was quite useless to argue further with her while driving, for
we were then travelling at a great pace, and had already passed the
four-ways at the Cross-in-Hand.
She lapsed into a long silence, seated immovably at my side, her gaze
was fixed blankly upon the muddy road that constantly opened out before
us.
On the previous night we had been flying over that very road.
I remarked upon it, in order to change the conversation, but she only
nodded. Truly her figure was a pathetic one, for she had turned back
her veil, so that the air might cool her troubled brain.
As a result that passing glimpse of the mysterious woman whom she held
in such fearsome terror, her whole attitude had again in become changed.
She looked wild and haggard, and in her great blue eyes, so clear and
trustful, there was a queer, uncanny look that caused me both wonderment
and apprehension.
On we went, through Hailsham and Polegate, until we ran over the steep
hill at Willingdon, and at last descended through Eastbourne Old Town,
until we reached the busy Terminus Road of the fashionable go-ahead
watering-place, the road which led to the fine sea-front so beloved by
the summer visitor.
Roseye having done her shopping in the Terminus Road, we ran along past
the Wish Tower to the Grand Hotel, where we took tea at one of the
little wicker tables in the glass-fronted lounge, and afterwards smoked
cigarettes.
Though it was winter, the hotel was filled by a smart crowd.
I met Tringham, who had learnt flying with me and who was now a naval
Flight-Commander. He was with his young wife and we four had a long
gossip, but of course I said nothing of our secret flight on the
previous night.
Naturally, our talk was of Zeppelins, and in the course of our chat
Tringham, who was in naval uniform, discussed with me what was necessary
to damage a Zeppelin sufficiently to bring her down.
"The question," he declared emphatically, "has several answers. If the
machine is hit fair and square by an explosive-incendiary projectile,
which ignites the gas as it escapes from the damaged gas-bags after
mixing with the air, it is certain it will crash to earth a blazing
wreck, as the one did behind the French lines the other day. But rifle
bullets will do little harm, as they only make small holes, which often
can be repaired by the crew whilst aloft."
"I quite agree that rifles against a Zeppelin are just about as
efficacious as firing with pea-shooters," I remarked.
"The public have not yet realised that a Zeppelin is a very difficult
thing to attack successfully," declared the Flight-Commander, who as one
of the best-known of our naval pilots, had done much heroic work, and
was now stationed somewhere on the East Coast. "Shells which don't hit
fair to the mark may badly damage one of the eighteen ballonets, but
this is not sufficient to bring her down. However, it may partially
cripple the machine by upsetting its stability, and it is then highly
dangerous to run the powerful engines at speed. To hit either of the
gondolas would, of course, do serious harm, but at six thousand feet
they are at night an almost invisible mark, and it is only by a lucky
chance they would be damaged."
"And what, in your opinion, is the best means of destroying Zeppelins?"
Roseye asked, with a sly glance at me.
"My dear Miss Lethmere," he replied, "guns and guns alone are at present
of any use against these air monsters. We must see to it that the
weapons we use are sighted to carry to 12,000 feet, and fire a shell
that will not only rip up casing and ballonet, but will at the same time
ignite the escaping gas."
"The newest super-Zeppelins have a sentry posted on top," remarked Mrs
Tringham, a smart little lady, well-known to Roseye, for she had often
flown with her husband. "He is separated from the crew far below, but
he is in telephonic communication with the commander, so that he can
warn him of any aeroplane ascending above for bomb-dropping. I quite
agree with Alfred," she went on, "well-equipped guns and good naval
gunners are the best defences against this new peril of the night."
"Moreover," Tringham remarked, "I give no credence whatever to the
reports that the Germans are circulating, namely, that they are
completing two new Zeppelins a week."
"I agree," I said. "That story has gone the round of the Press, but is
only a piece of clever propaganda sent out to neutral countries with the
object of being seized upon by their sensational newspapers. No!
Airships are big, unwieldy, as well as very vulnerable things. That the
enemy has a number of them is quite certain, but the policy of
frightfulness on paper is part of the Teuton plan. I admit that we are
behindhand with our air-defences; but I do not support the Press in its
shrieking clamours. We shall defeat the Huns one day--never fear.
England has never yet been beaten."
And again I glanced at my well-beloved, whom I saw had already read what
was passing in my mind. Our secret was our own.
But I was glad to have the views of such an air expert as my friend
Tringham, because he reflected what was just then uppermost in the
official mind.
Evidently the "nest of hornets" fallacy had been dismissed.
When the Flight-Commander and his wife left us--for he was on
forty-eight hours leave, and they were motoring back to town--Roseye and
I went for a stroll back into the town. There was nothing to do before
dinner, so we went into a cinema and sat watching the latest
picture-drama--a certain photo-play that was highly popular at that
moment and which, with transpontine vividness, showed a fuzzy-haired
heroine, bound and gagged by the cigarette-smoking villain, flung down
into a slimy sewer, and afterwards rescued by the muscular and, of
course, clean-shaven hero. I wonder why, to-day, no hero ever wears a
beard? Twenty years ago they were all blonde-bearded. But Mr Frank
Richardson having declared that whiskers and love are as oil and water,
the public have adopted that view.
After the "pictures" we returned to the hotel, where we dined and,
shortly after nine, left in the car for Holly Farm.
The night was again bright, clear and starlit, and the run home was very
pleasant, even though the prohibition of headlights necessitated the
greatest caution and a reduction of speed.
Roseye said little during the journey back. I saw she was unduly
thoughtful. No doubt she was reflecting upon that incident on the road.
While Tringham and his wife had sat with us and we were gossiping, she
had been quite her old self again, but I had noticed that as soon as
they had left she had lapsed into that strange attitude of nervous, even
terrified apprehension.
She seemed to be possessed of some presage of coming evil. And yet she
refused--blankly refused--to tell me the truth, and so place me upon my
guard against any plot or pitfall which the enemy might prepare for us.
We ran on. Noting her silence, I pushed forward with all haste until at
length we swung round from the lane into the farmyard, the gates of
which old Theed had left open for us.
The old fellow ran up to us from out of one of the sheds wherein he had
been seated awaiting us.
"Mr Munro!" he cried eagerly. "May I see you at once, sir. I want to
tell you something. There's some mystery here, sir."
"Mystery?" I echoed together with Roseye.
Then, noting his scared face beneath the light of my side-lamps, I
asked:
"Mystery? What mystery? Tell me."