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Chapter Five
The Raid on London
It was the night of the fourteenth of October, in the year 1915.
Sir Herbert and Lady Lethmere, with Roseye – who looked charming in pink – were dining en famille in Cadogan Gardens. The only two guests were Lionel Eastwell and myself.
“Terrible – is it not?” Lady Lethmere remarked to me, as I sat on her right. “We were at the Lyric Theatre when the Zeppelins came last night. We heard the guns firing. It was most alarming. They must have caused damage in London somewhere. Isn’t it too awful?”
“And at other places, I fear,” remarked Sir Herbert, a fine outspoken, grey-haired, rather portly man, who had crowned his career as a Sheffield steel manufacturer by receiving a knighthood. He spoke with the pleasant burr of the north country.
“Well, the noise of the guns was terrific,” his wife went on. “Fortunately there was no panic whatever in the theatre. The people were splendid. The manager at once came on the stage and urged us all to keep our seats – and most people did so. But it was most alarming – wasn’t it, Herbert?”
“Yes, dear, it really was,” replied her husband, who, turning to me, asked: “What were you doing at that time, Munro?”
“Well, Sir Herbert, to tell the truth I happened to be out at Hendon with my friend Ashton, preparing for a flight this morning. I got hold of a military biplane which had just been finished and had only had its last tests that afternoon, but as I had no bombs, and not even a rifle, I was unable to go up.”
“And if you had gone?” Eastwell chimed in. “I fear, Claude, that you would never have reached them in time. They flew far too high, and were, I understand, moving off before our men could get up. Our Flying Corps fellows were splendid, but the airships were at too great an altitude. They rose very high as they approached London – according to all reports.”
“And the reports are pretty meagre,” I remarked. “I only know that I was anxious and eager to go up, but as I had not the necessary defensive missiles it was utterly useless to make the attempt.”
“Nevertheless, I believe our anti-aircraft guns drove them off very quickly, didn’t they?” Lionel asked.
“Not before they’d done quite enough damage and killed innocent old persons and non-combatants. Then they went away, and bombed other defenceless towns as they passed – the brutes!” said Lady Lethmere.
“And writers in to-day’s papers declare that all this is really of no military significance,” remarked Sir Herbert, glancing fiercely across the table, a stout, red-faced man, full of fiery fight.
“Military significance is an extremely wide term,” I ventured to remark. “London heard the bombs last night. To-day we are no longer outside the war-zone. We used, in the good old Victorian days, to sing confidently of our ‘tight little island.’ But it is no longer tight. It seems to me that it is very leaky – and its leakage is towards those across the North Sea who have for so long declared themselves our friends. Friends! I remember, and not so very long ago, standing on the Embankment and watching the All-Highest Kaiser coming from the Mansion House with a huge London crowd cheering him as their friend.”
“Friend!” snorted Sir Herbert. “He has been far too clever for us. He has tricked us in every department of the State. Good King Edward knew; and Lord Roberts knew, but alas! our people were lulled to sleep by the Kaiser’s pretty speeches to his brave Brandenburgers and all the rest, and his pious protests that his only weapon was the olive branch of peace.”
“Yet Krupp’s and Ehrhardt’s worked on night and day,” I said. “Food, metals, money and war-materials were being collected each month and stored in order to prepare for the big blow for which the Emperor had been so long scheming and plotting.”
“Yes, truly the menace of the Zeppelin is most sinister,” said Roseye across the table. “How can we possibly fight it? We seem to be powerless! Our lawyers are busy making laws and fining people for not creeping about in the darkness at night, and asking us to save so as to pay ex-ministers their big pensions, but what can we do?”
“Rather ask whom can we trust?” I suggested.
“But, surely, Claude, there must arise very soon some real live man who will show us the way to win the war?” asked Roseye.
I drew a long breath. She knew our secret – the secret of that long dark shed out at Gunnersbury which was watched over at night by the sturdy old Theed, father of my mechanic, he being armed with a short length of solid rubber tyre from the wheel of an old disused brougham – about the best weapon of personal defence that could ever be adopted. A blow from that bit of flexible rubber would lay out a man senseless, far better than any iron bar.
“Well,” said Sir Herbert, re-entering our discussion. “The Zeppelin peril must be grappled with – but who can enter the lists? You airmen don’t seem to be able to combat it at all! Are aeroplanes too slow – or what?”
“No, Sir Herbert,” I replied. “That’s not the point. There are many weaknesses in the aeroplane, which do not exist in the big airship – the cruiser of the air. We are only the butterflies – or perhaps hornets, as the Cabinet Minister once termed us – but I fear we have not yet shown much sting.”
“We may, Claude!” interrupted Roseye with a gay laugh.
“Let’s hope we can,” I said. “But all these new by-laws are, surely, useless. Let’s hit the Hun in his home. That’s my point of view. We can do it – if only we are allowed.”
“I’m quite sure of that, Claude,” Roseye declared. “There are lots of flying-men who, if given bombs to-morrow, would go up and cross to the enemy aircraft centres in Belgium or Schleswig and drop them – even at risk of being shot down.”
“Well, Sir Herbert,” I ventured, laughing, “the situation is not without its humour. I don’t know whether it has ever occurred to you that, in order not to unduly alarm the public, we may yet have certain regulations posted upon our hoardings that may prohibit Zeppelin commanders from cruising over England without licences; that they must have red rear-lights; they must put silencers upon their engines, and must not throw orange peel, paper bags, bottle or other refuse within the meaning of the Act into the streets in such a manner as to cause any danger to foot-passengers or create litter such as would come beneath the powers relegated to inspectors of nuisances of Boroughs. Such regulations might, perhaps, make it a penal offence if Zeppelins did not keep to the left in traffic; if bombs were dropped in places other than those properly and purposely illuminated for the purpose, or if they did not travel at a rate faster than the British aircraft.”
“Really, Claude, that’s an awfully humorous idea,” remarked Sir Herbert as all at table laughed.
“In addition, it might be suggested that the heads of all dogs, ducks, cats, parrots, and the horns of gramophones might be encased in cotton-wool to conceal their whereabouts, that no smoking be permitted, and no artificial light between one hour before sunset and one hour after sunrise.”
“Exactly,” I laughed. “And an inter-departmental committee of the red-tabbed might be charged with the due execution of the regulations – all offenders to be shot at sunrise following the day whereon any breach of the Defence of the Zeppelin Act were committed.”
“Really you’re too bad!” declared Eastwell, laughing heartily as he held his glass poised in his hand.
“Well,” I protested. “Here we’ve had Zeppelins killing people. Surely something must be done! Either regulate the Zeppelin traffic, or else fight them.”
“I’m all for the latter,” declared Roseye.
“So am I,” was my remark.
“And I also,” declared Eastwell. “But how? – that’s the question!”
Roseye exchanged glances with me, and I wondered whether he noticed them.
Somehow I had just a faint suspicion that he did, for I detected a curious expression upon his lips – a look such as I had never seen there before.
He made no remark, but busied himself with the excellently-cooked snipe before him.
Fortunately Lionel Eastwell was not aware of our secret – the secret of that brown deal box which we were so rapidly perfecting.
Only on the previous day Roseye had been up in the air with me across Hampstead, Highgate, and out as far as Hatfield and home to the aerodrome, making a further test of the potent but unseen power which we had been able to create, and which must, if further developed, be our strong arm by which to strike a very deadly blow against enemy airships.
“Personally,” declared Sir Herbert, in his bluff, matter-of-fact way, “I think the whole idea of air-defence from below is utterly futile. A gun can never hit with accuracy a moving object so high in the air and in the dark. What target is there?”
“Exactly,” exclaimed Eastwell. “That has always been my argument. I’ve been interested in aviation for years, and I know the enormous difficulties which face the efforts of those who man our anti-aircraft guns. Searchlights and guns I contend are inadequate.”
“They’ve hardly been tried, have they?” queried Lady Lethmere. “And, moreover, I seem to recollect reading that both have done some excellent work on the French front.”
“But London is not the French front,” Eastwell protested. “The conditions are so very different.”
“Then what do you suggest as a really reliable air-defence?” Sir Herbert inquired.
“Fight them with fast aeroplanes and bombs,” Eastwell said.
“But you’ve just told Munro that had he gone up last night from Hendon his flight would have been quite useless, as he would never have been able to mount sufficiently high in the time.”
“Quite so. But we ought to have efficient air-patrols at night,” was his reply.
“Combined with properly illuminated landing-places,” Roseye added. “Otherwise more than half the airmen and observers must kill themselves through landing in the dark without any knowledge of the direction of the wind.”
“That could all be arranged – as it no doubt will be in due course,” I said. “The Government are not such fools as some people seem inclined to believe. I’m not one of those who blame the whole Government for a few mistakes of its subordinate departments, and the incompetency of men pitchforked, in the hurry of an unexpected war, into places for which they are entirely unfitted. We all know of glaring cases of that sort. No. Let’s take heart, and look on the best side of things. Britain is not vanquished yet, and the heart of the true Briton beats quicker and is fiercer than ever in its patriotism over the base enemy outrage of the kind that was committed upon innocent Londoners last night.”
“Only yesterday I was reading a popular book called Can Germany Win? written by an anonymous American,” remarked Sir Herbert. “The writer gaily informs the public that even well-directed rifle-fire can bring the vaunted Zeppelins down, and to secure any accuracy of aim themselves, the airships must descend to an altitude which brings them well within the range of modern guns.”
“I know!” I laughed. “The rubbish written about Zeppelins is simply ludicrous. I’ve read that book, which has no doubt been read by thousands of patriotic Britons. I remember quite well that, in it, we are gravely informed that as far as Zeppelins were concerned the British public may sleep comfortably in their beds. The great thing is, we are urged, to discount as far as possible, by reason supported by scepticism, the terrorising tales of the Zeppelin’s worth and doughty prowess which are so brilliantly ‘press-agented’ in Germany. The writer has further told us that talk never broke any bones, and the Germans are doing a good deal of talk at the present moment to hide the defects in their monster pets which have been detected as useless by the test of War. The Zeppelins, the writer told us, are comparatively negligible quantities. Last night’s raid is the commentary.”
“Yes,” said Roseye, “something must really be done to prevent such raids.”
“But how?” queried Lionel Eastwell across the table in that slow refined voice of his. “It’s all very well to talk like that – but you must act.”
Roseye and I again exchanged glances. She knew well what was passing in my mind.
And I remained silent.
Chapter Six
Theed’s Strange Story
The following morning while I was writing letters in my room Theed entered, saying that his father had called and wished to see me.
A moment later the sturdy old ex-police-sergeant came in, his felt hat in his hand, and when I had sat him beside the fire I saw an unusual expression upon his grey, furrowed countenance.
“I’ve come up, sir,” he said, “because something curious ’appened at the shed lars’ night.”
“Happened – what’s happened?” I asked, staring at him.
“Well – something I can’t quite make out, sir. But I thought I ought to report at once.”
“Tell me, by all means, Theed,” I said, instantly interested.
“Well, sir. There were strangers about lars’ night.”
“Strangers! Who?” I asked, recollecting Teddy’s allegations on the night of our successful test.
“Well – it was like this, Mr Munro,” the old fellow began. “I went on at nine o’clock as usual, and met Harry there. We talked together about half an hour, and then he left. I ’ad a pipe in front o’ the stove and sat readin’ the war news – as I always do. I expect I must ’ave dozed for a bit, but I woke up at eleven, ’ad another pipe and read a bit more of my paper. I heard Chiswick church-clock strike twelve, and then, after makin’ up the stove again, I ’ad another doze, as I generally do. Of a sudden I was woke up by hearin’ low whisperin’. My lamp was out – it ’ad gone out because I ’adn’t much oil. But I was on the alert in a moment, for I saw the light of an electric torch a movin’ about at the other end of the shed, and two figures were a gropin’ about and whisperin’. I’ll swear one was a woman!”
“A woman!” I gasped. “What did you do?”
“I took up my bit o’ rubber tyre, bent down, and crept noiselessly along. It seemed as if they were examining those three electric coils, and were perhaps a tryin’ to find the box what – ”
“Happily, I took the precaution to bring it away yesterday afternoon, and have it here, in the next room,” I interrupted.
“Good. Excellent, sir! My idea is that they were after that there box. I’m dead certain of it,” old Theed said. “Well, I bent well below the benches and nearly got up to ’em in order to flash my lamp, an’ so take ’em by surprise, when, of a sudden, somebody clipped me hard over the ’ead, and I knew nothing more till I awoke at daylight, and found this!” he added, pointing to a spot on the back of his head upon which was a big lump and a large piece of black sticking-plaster.
“Then there must have been a third person present – eh?”
“There must! He’d evidently been a watchin’ me, and struck me down, just as I was a comin’ up to the pair with the torch.”
“You say you saw a woman. Did you also see the man’s face?”
“No, I didn’t. And I only knew that there was a woman there by the black fur she wore around her throat. I was right at the opposite end of the shed, remember, and I only saw ’er just for a second – a biggish woman’s white face and the black fur.”
“You didn’t see the person who knocked you down?”
“No, I didn’t – the cursed blackguard,” was old Theed’s quick reply. “Had I seen him, I’d ’ave given ’im a taste of my bit o’ rubber – I tell yer. He wouldn’t ’ave been sensible yet – you bet!”
“But how did they get in?” I asked, amazed at his story.
“Get in? Why, they seem to ’ave ’ad a latch-key. At any rate they opened the door with a duplicate key that they’d got from somewhere. There’s no sign of ’em having broken in.”
For a few moments I stood in silence, then Theed’s son having called a taxi, I got in and took our faithful night-watchman down to Gunnersbury.
There, on the spot, he explained to me exactly what had occurred in the night, giving a dramatic demonstration of how he had crept up to the intruders, and pointing out the spot where he had fallen, and where, indeed, there were some palpable blood-spots from the wound in his head.
“While I lay ’ere, sir,” he added, “the three of ’em, of course, just pried into everything they wanted to see, and then went out, closin’ the door after them. It was just after eight this morning when I came to, and I tell you I felt quite dazed, and horrible bad!”
“What time do you think all this happened?” I inquired.
“In the middle of the night – between two and three o’clock – I should say.”
Careful investigation which I made of the whole apparatus disclosed that nothing whatever had been interfered with – except one thing. Two wires connecting the big induction coils had evidently been disconnected, for they had been wrongly connected up, thus showing that the strangers, whoever they had been, might have made certain experiments with our plant.
Happily, however, that big brown deal box had not been there, and I smiled within myself at the bitter disappointment which must have been theirs. In any case, our great secret was still safe.
“Well,” I said. “You certainly had a most exciting adventure, Theed. We’ll have to set a trap for these gentry in future. Just think out something, will you, and Mr Ashton and I will help you. If they come again we might put in a little electric ‘juice’ which will effectively stop them from meddling with our things in future. They might get a very nasty jar,” I added, laughing.
“But ’ow do you think they got hold of that duplicate key, sir?” asked the grey-haired old pensioner.
I hesitated. The whole affair was a most complete mystery, and only went to bear out Teddy’s declaration that, on the night of our test, somebody must have been about and expressed sudden surprise at its astounding result.
From the telephone call-box inside Hammersmith Broadway station I rang up Teddy at Hendon, and asked him to meet me there after lunch.
This he did, and as together we walked away from the hangars, so as not to be overheard, I related to him the strange story, as told by old Theed.
He stood astounded.
“Somebody knows, my dear Claude! Who can it be?”
“Who knows? Only ourselves, Roseye and the Theeds. Nobody else,” was my quick reply.
Then, suddenly, he said: “I suppose Roseye couldn’t have dropped any hint to her father? If so, the latter might have spoken to Eastwell – or somebody else!”
“Roseye made to me a solemn promise of secrecy, and I trust her, Teddy,” I said very quietly.
“So do I, my dear fellow. So do I,” he assured me.
“Well – I can’t fathom the mystery at all. Evidently they were on some desperate errand – or they wouldn’t have knocked poor old Theed senseless – eh? And the woman! Who could she have been?”
“Who knows?” I asked. “Nevertheless, we must make it our business to find out, my dear chap,” I added in earnestness. “We’ve got secret enemies somewhere – probably around us here. Indeed, that has been my firm conviction for some time.”
“And mine also. So let us keep open eyes everywhere. Where’s Roseye? Is she coming over this afternoon?”
“I expect her every minute. She’ll be astounded and excited.”
“You won’t tell her – shall you? It will only alarm her, Claude – and I never advocate alarming a woman.”
I paused. Instantly I realised the weight of such an argument, for Roseye was, after all, a dainty and highly-strung little person, who might worry herself over the mystery far too much.
“Yes, Teddy,” I said somewhat reluctantly. “I quite agree. At present we’d best leave matters as they are, and keep our own counsel.”
Hardly were those words out of my mouth when we saw my well-beloved, with face flushed in glad welcome, coming across to us. She had evidently arrived in her car, and already put on her air-kit, for, it being a fine afternoon, she intended to make a flight.
The Zeppelin raid upon London had set the whole aircraft world agog. Every one at Hendon and Brooklands was full of it, most men criticising the air-services, of course, and declaring vaguely that “something must really be done.”
It was so very easy to make such a declaration. Old men in their easy-chairs in the London club-windows were saying that very same thing, but nobody could, with truth, point out any real effective remedy against what certain Hide-the-Truth newspapers described as “the German gas-bags.”
A lot of people were about the aerodrome that afternoon, and Teddy went off to test his engine, while Roseye, drawing on her thick gloves, mounted into her machine which her mechanic had brought out for her.
“I shall run over to Aylesbury and back,” she told me. “I know the railway line. Shall you go up?”
“Probably,” I replied, as I stood beside her Duperdussin watching her man adjusting one of the stays which he seemed to think was not quite tight enough. Then, a few moments later, she shot from me with a fierce blast of the exhaust, and in a few seconds had left the ground, rapidly rising in the air.
I watched her for some minutes as she skimmed over the tree-tops and rose higher and higher, then satisfying myself that her engine was running well. I turned and crossed to the shed wherein stood my own bus, with the ever-patient Theed awaiting me.
The Breguet was brought out, and with a few idlers standing about me, as they always do at Hendon, I climbed into the pilot’s seat and began to test my big engine. It roared and spluttered at first, but gradually, with Theed’s aid – and he was a splendid mechanic by the way – I got it to run with perfect evenness and precision.
Why, I don’t know, but my bus usually attracted some onlookers. About the aerodrome we always have a number of idle persons with a sprinkling of the eternal feminine silk-stockinged hangers-on to the pilots and pupils who, not being able to fly, do the next best thing, become friends of flying-men. In that little knot of people gathered about my machine – probably on account of the Zeppelin sensation – I noted, in particular, one podgy fat-faced little man.
As I strapped myself into the pilot’s seat, after examining my altimeter, compass, etc, and adjusting my self-registering thermometer, I chanced to glance at the people around, and had noticed the man in question. His strange-looking bead-like eyes fascinated me. Upon his round white face was a look of intense interest, yet those eyes, rather narrowly set, struck me as queer-looking and uncanny – eyes such as I had never seen before.
Suddenly I wondered if their gaze upon me was some evil omen.
Next second I laughed within myself at such an absurd thought. It was the first time in all my life that such an idea had ever crossed my mind, therefore I at once dismissed it. Such thought was most foolish and utterly ridiculous.
Yet, again, I glanced at him, unable to withdraw my gaze entirely. Those dark, beady eyes of his, set slightly askew, were certainly most uncanny. Their gaze seemed cold and relentless, and yet at the same time exulting.
Sight of them sent through me a strange creepy feeling, but, with resolution, I turned away, busying myself in my preparations for starting.
Perhaps it was knowledge that strangers had been prying into our experimental plant out at Gunnersbury that had somewhat upset me, yet, after all, though they had cruelly assaulted poor old Theed, no very great success had been theirs.
Who were they? That was the vital question.
Just as I was on the point of starting I saw Lionel Eastwell coming from the hangar, walking behind his own machine, which was being pushed out by his man Barnes and two others.
I waved to him from my seat, and he waved a merry greeting back to me.
Then, all being ready, I motioned to Theed to let her go, and with a deafening rush I shot forward, leaving behind a pungent blue trail from the big exhaust.
I rose quickly and had begun the ascent, the engine running beautifully, when of a sudden, before I was aware of it, something went wrong.
A sharp crack, a harsh tearing sound, and one of my wings collapsed. Across the back I was struck a most violent blow just as she took a nose-dive, and then, next instant, all knowledge of what had happened became blotted out by a dark night of unconsciousness.
