CHAPTER IX.
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON.
WHITTINGHAME sprang to his feet, the muscles of his face working withexcitement.
"That's serious--decidedly serious," he exclaimed. "We can't affordto underrate that fellow. Look here, Dacres, there's a job for youthe first thing to-morrow. Your formal introduction to the 'Meteor'can wait."
"Very good; what is it?"
"You told me you knew Commander Hythe; go up to town to-morrowmorning and warn him. Don't give him the name of your informant,merely say that Reno Durango is in England, and was seen in aPortsmouth train. That will be enough--he knows the character of therogue. If we can nab the fellow on English soil that will save a lotof complications, for otherwise it won't end only in a rupturebetween Great Britain and Valderia. Valderia is only a pawn in thegame as far as Durango is concerned. If he succeeds in obtaining thesecret specifications and getting back to Zandovar he will, ofcourse, apply his knowledge to the improvement of the Valderiansubmarines."
Whittinghame paused to wipe his face. The perspiration was slowlytrickling down his forehead. He was labouring under intense mentalstrain. Dacres made no remark. He allowed his companion to take histime. Presently Whittinghame resumed.
"No, Valderia hardly counts in Durango's estimation. He is playingfor higher stakes. Once he has succeeded in working thespecifications what is there to prevent him from negotiating withsome of the Great Powers? Should the secret pass into the hands ofour avowed rivals, in a very short space of time they would possess afleet of submarines of the 'Aphrodite' type, and our presentunquestionable superiority would become a thing of the past."
"I see the drift of your argument," said Dacres. "In a way, Durangoindirectly gains you the sympathy of the government, and your plansto rescue your brother will be facilitated."
"You've hit the right nail on the head, Dacres," observedWhittinghame. "Now let's see about turning in. It is half-past one."
Dacres was shown into a small but well-furnished bedroom. He noticed,with considerable surprise, that his small handbag for immediate usewas placed on a chair by, the side of his bed.
"Hang it!" he exclaimed, as soon as he was left alone. "I cleanforgot all about that bag. I must have dropped it when Callaghan andCo. tracked me in the wood. Well, I'm in luck--by Jove, I am! Here Iam signed on for service in the mysterious airship--and alreadyentrusted with an important mission. By the by, I wonder what thatfellow Callaghan meant by saying, 'He's one of them!' I'll askWhittinghame in the morning."
Even the momentous events of the day did not keep Dacres fromsleeping. In less than ten minutes he was lost to the world in asound, dreamless slumber.
At seven o'clock Dacres was awakened by a knock on the door, and inreply to his "All right" the man Williamson, who had acted as butleron the preceding evening, entered.
"Your bath is ready, sir," he announced, "and Mr. Whittinghamepresents his compliments and would you care to make use of this suitof clothes until you can get your luggage?"
Half an hour later Dacres, rigged out in a suit of his host's--whichfitted him fairly well considering the slight difference inheight--entered the diningroom, where breakfast was already served.
"Hope it's not too early for you," remarked Whittinghame after thecustomary morning greetings, "but the matter is urgent. One of mymonoplanes will be ready for you at half-past eight. With luck youought to be at the Admiralty soon after ten--that, I believe, is theusual hour at which the officials arrive preparatory to duty. Allbeing well you should be back by noon. If, for any unforeseen cause,you are detained you might communicate with me."
"How?" asked Dacres; "by telegraph?"
Whittinghame shook his head.
"Too risky, in spite of the vaunted 'official reticence' of thePostmaster-General. No, there is another way--by wireless."
"By wireless?" echoed Dacres.
"Why not? The monoplane is fitted with an installation of the latesttype, and Callaghan, who is to pilot you, is a skilled operator. Yougive him any message and he will transmit it in code."
"There was one thing I meant to ask you," said Dacres, in the courseof the meal. "Have any persons attempted to trespass upon yourproperty?"
"Yes, several," was the reply. "At first I had a lot of trouble withpoachers, until I effectually scared them off. After that I had todeal with one or two members of Durango's gang."
"Then, Durango knows of the existence of the 'Meteor' and of herplace of concealment?"
"Oh, no. He knows through his spies that I have taken a house in theNew Forest, but I do not for one moment think he suspects that the'Meteor' is hidden here. To conceal an airship of over a thousandfeet in length in a comparatively small plantation seems illogical.That is the beauty of the whole scheme. He knows right enough who theowner of the 'Meteor' is--he has good reasons for so doing--but it isto his own interests to keep that a secret."
"Why do his agents prowl about here?"
"Under his orders. I don't believe that they even know who or what heis, but money will work wonders. If these fellows had the opportunityI don't suppose they would hesitate to kidnap or even murder me; butI don't give them the chance. You may recollect that when you madeyour way through the fence a bell rang?"
"Now you mention it, I do."
"That is for the purpose of raising an alarm. Also two of the wiresof that fence are electrically charged. By a thousand to one chancesyou missed them. Had you touched them you would have been heldpowerless till my men released you. Again, had you made a dash forliberty last night, you would have found the drive barred by a gate.Naturally you would either open it, or vault over the top. In eithercase you would have been stopped by the live wire and become ashelpless as a fly stuck to a fly paper."
"Then, perhaps it's as well I didn't attempt it," remarked Dacreswith a smile. "I'm jolly glad I didn't for other reasons. But whathappens when tradesmen and _bona fide_ visitors call?"
"They are few and far between," replied Whittinghame. "We make dueallowance for them. Fifty yards beyond the electrically-charged gateis another gate. The lodge-keeper has to open that, and if he iscertain that the callers are above suspicion, he switches off thecurrent and telephones up to the house."
"Then, where is the generating station?"
"Underground. In fact, all the gas-producing plant and workshops areunderground. I'll show them to you when you return. By a rare sliceof luck the house is built on the site of an old royal hunting-lodge,and the extensive cellars still remain, although long forgotten untilwe discovered them by pure accident. Otherwise, had the workshops tobe above ground, the risk of detection would be infinitely great. Butit's close on the half-hour. Are you ready for your journey?"
On a lawn in front of the house was a two-seated monoplane, one ofthe standard "Velox" design that had recently become popular in GreatBritain. Aviation as a means of making a journey had become quitecommon, and an aeroplane in flight attracted no more attention than ataxi in the Strand.
Callaghan, a burly, good-natured Irishman, was already in the pilot'sseat. On his left was the wireless installation which, since themonoplane was automatically steered when once in the air, could beworked without detriment to Callaghan's other duties. The passenger'sseat, in the rear and slightly higher than the pilot's, was protectedfrom the wind and rain by an enclosed structure resembling the bodyof the now defunct hansom-cab. To view the country beneath him thepassenger could make use of the two sponson-like windows on eitherside, through which the traveller, leaning sideways, could seeimmediately below.
There was no necessity for half a dozen men to hang on to themonoplane's tail. As soon as Dacres had taken his seat, Callaghanthrust forward a short lever and the propeller began to revolve. Thepassenger was made aware that the flight had begun by reason of hishead coming into contact with the padded back of the cab, and by asinking sensation in the region of his waist like the experience whenbeing suddenly jerked up in a lift.
Beyond that there was nothing to give an impression
of flight. Theglass protected him from the wind and silenced the buzz of thepowerful rotary motor, and it was not until Dacres looked over theside and saw the moorland and forest slipping away beneath him thathe realized that he was being borne through the air at one hundredand twenty miles an hour.
Even at that terrific speed the light westerly wind caused anappreciable drift. In eight minutes the monoplane was over andslightly to the west of Southampton. Here Callaghan altered thecourse to counteract the cross air-current, and three minutes laterWinchester, nestling between the downs, glided underneath like apanoramic effect. Then Alton and Aldershot were left behind in quicksuccession, and forty minutes after leaving the ground Dacresdiscerned the Thames looking like a silvery thread amidst the meadowsand woods of Middlesex and Surrey.
With the rapid progress and popularity of aviation many of therestrictions that had been placed upon the pioneers of this branch ofaeronautics had been abolished. It was no longer forbidden to flyover towns, and the metropolis was no exception. In fact, a portionof Hyde Park had, with part of other open spaces, been allotted tothe use of airmen.
It was to the Hyde Park alighting station that Callaghan steered. Hadhe been a stranger to London he could easily have found his way byreason of hundreds of aeroplanes making for or returning from themost central aviation ground in the metropolis.
Speed was reduced to a safe forty miles an hour, which, after therapid rush, seemed to Dacres more like a painful crawl in a motor-busthrough Cheapside.
Almost immediately beneath them was Hyde Park. The monoplane wascircling now in company with ten more, spread out at regularintervals like a flock of wood-pigeons in flight.
Presently Callaghan's practised eye caught sight of the signal he waswaiting for: a huge red and white disk rotated till its face wasvisible from above. It was to signify that the ground was clear toreceive the next batch of waiting 'planes. Fascinated, Dacres watchedthe sward apparently rising to meet him. The volplane was so steepthat it seemed that nothing could prevent the monoplane from beingdashed to bits upon the earth. So acute was the angle that he had toplant his feet firmly against the front of the cab to prevent himselffrom slipping from his seat.
Suddenly the whole fabric tilted upwards, then with a barelyperceptible jar and a strange sensation in the back of his neck,Dacres found himself on terra firma in the heart of the metropolis.
"We would have done it in forty-eight minutes, sir, if it hadn't beenfor that block," remarked Callaghan apologetically, as he opened thedoor. "You'll find me over by that pylon, sir. We are not allowed towait here."
"Very good," replied Dacres, and feeling rather stiff in his lowerlimbs, hurried to the exit, called a taxi, and was soon bowling alongtowards Whitehall.
"I wish to see Commander Hythe," he announced to the petty-officermessenger on duty at the Admiralty.
The man consulted a register.
"I'm sorry, sir," he replied, "but Commander Hythe is not in thebuilding. Mr. Wells is doing duty for him. Would you wish to see Mr.Wells sir?"
"I don't know the man," thought Dacres, "and I don't suppose he'llknow me. In any case, he can tell me where Hythe is with morecertainty than the messenger. Very well," he said. "I'll see Mr.Wells."
Much to his disgust Dacres had to cool his heels in a waiting-roomfor full twenty minutes until the official was at liberty to receivehim.
Commander Hythe was on duty at Portsmouth, Dacres was informed. Itwas quite uncertain when he would return: it might be a matter of afew hours or it might be a couple of days.
"We've got to run down to Portsmouth, Callaghan," announced Dacres ashe rejoined the monoplane. "Send a message to Mr. Whittinghame andexplain that Commander Hythe is away on duty and that I am going toget in touch with him."
"Very good, sir. I'll send off a wireless when we are clear of thisplace. I'll land you on the Officers' Recreation Ground."
"That will do nicely," agreed Dacres as he took his seat.
Thirty-nine minutes after leaving Hyde Park the monoplane shaved pastthe tower of Portsmouth Town Hall and alighted at the spot theIrishman had suggested.
From a police inspector at the Dockyard gate Dacres elicited theinformation that Commander Hythe was engaged with theCommander-in-Chief, and that it was very doubtful whether he could beseen.
"But I must see him," declared Dacres peremptorily, "theCommander-in-Chief notwithstanding. This is official and not privatebusiness. Would you mind letting me have paper and envelope? I'llwrite a note and one of your men can take it to Commander Hythe."
Five minutes later a telephone message was received at the gate tothe effect that Commander Hythe would receive Mr. Dacres at once.
"Hulloa, old man!" exclaimed the youthful commander as Dacres wasshown into the office.
"You've come at a very busy time. I can give you five minutes only.What can I do for you?"
Hythe's usually cheerful face looked drawn and haggard. It seemed asif he had aged ten years since yesterday, when Dacres met him inNorthumberland Avenue.
"I've been sent to warn you that the plans of the 'M' class ofsubmarines are in danger."
"To warn me," echoed Hythe grimly. "My dear fellow, you're too late.The plans and specifications were stolen from the manager'sconfidential record room between six last evening and this morning.That's why I'm here."