EASTWARD HO!
Before the farmer reached the hospitable door of the Three Waggoners, Smith had made his descent upon a broad open space in his father's park near Cosham. There stood the large shed in which he housed the aeroplane; adjoining it were a number of workshops. It was quite dark now, and no one was about; but Smith clearly had no intention of putting his machine up for the night. As soon as he came to the ground he hurried off on foot in one direction, Rodier on a bicycle in another, their purposeful movements betokening a course of action arranged during the few minutes' conversation at the farm.
Smith walked rapidly through the park, and, entering the house, found his mother placidly knitting on a settee in the large old-fashioned hall.
"Ah, my dear boy," she said, as he appeared; "how late you are, and how dirty! We have waited dinner for you."
"You shouldn't have done that, mother," he replied cheerfully; "though it's very good of you."
"Well, you see, it's your last night with us for ever so long, and with Tom and your father away—"
"Yes, I'm sorry I'm so late," Smith broke in hastily. "We were caught in a mist. I shan't be ten minutes changing."
He ran up the stairs, and before going to his room put his head in at the door of his sister's.
"You there, Kate? You didn't get my telegram, then? Come to my room in ten minutes, will you? I want to see you particularly before dinner."
With a seaman's quickness he was bathed and dressed within the time he had named.
"Come in," he said, as his sister tapped. "You've got a pretty cool head, Sis; look at this, quickly."
He handed her the evening paper, pointing out the fateful paragraph. Kate went a little pale as she read it; her bosom heaved, but she said nothing.
"It must be kept from Mother," he said. "Get hold of to-morrow's paper, and if the paragraph is there, cut it out or tear off the page."
"But people will write, or call. They are sure to speak of it."
"That's your chance. Intercept 'em. You always read the Mater's letters to her, don't you? Keep the servants' mouths shut. And I want you to write for me to all those people and cry off; pressing business—any excuse you like."
"But you, Charley?"
"I'm off to London, to-night; must see what can be done for the old dad, you know."
"How shall we explain to Mother? She has been looking forward to your spending your last night at home."
"Roddy will come up by and by with an urgent telephone message. The Mater is so used to that sort of thing that she won't smell a rat."
"How you think of everything, Charley! But I'm afraid Mother will notice something in our manner at dinner."
"Not if we're careful. You take your cue from me. Come along!"
No one would have guessed at that dinner table that anything was amiss. Smith seemed to be in the highest spirits, talking incessantly, describing his sudden descent on Firtop Farm and his interview with the farmer so racily that his mother laughed gently, and even Kate, for all her anxiety, smiled. In the middle of the meal the belated telegram arrived, giving Smith an opportunity for poking fun at official slowness.
Dinner was hardly over when a servant announced that Mr. Rodier was below, asking to see Mr. Smith upon particular business. Smith slowly lighted a cigarette before he left the room. He found Rodier in the hall.
"Got it, Roddy?" he asked.
"Yes, I ask for globe: Mr. Dawkins give me first a pink paper. 'Sad news this!' says he."
"I hope to goodness he'll hold his tongue about it."
"He must have it back to-morrow, he said. The inspector is coming."
"All right. Now cut off to the housekeeper and stroke as hard as you can. I don't know when you'll get another meal."
Returning to the dining-room, Smith said—
"Sorry, Mater, I've got to go to London at once. Too bad, isn't it, spoiling our last night. Ah well! it can't be helped."
"Is it Admiralty business, Charley?" asked his mother.
"Well, not exactly; something about a wreck, I think."
"I suppose I had better send on your things to the Leslies in the morning?"
"I'll send you a wire. I mayn't go there, after all. Nuisance having to change again, isn't it?"
He hastened from the room, got into his air-man suit, covered it with an overall, emptied his cash-box into his pocket, and returned to say good-bye. Kate accompanied him to the door.
"Buck up, old girl," he said, as he kissed her. "I'll let you know what happens, if I can. By the way, there's a globe in the shed I want you to send back to Dawkins, the school-master, first thing to-morrow. Good-bye! Send Roddy after me as soon as he has finished his grub."
He hurried through the park, and coming to the shed, switched on the electric light, which revealed a litter of all sorts of objects: models, parts of machinery, including an aero-cycle on which he had spent many fruitless hours, and, on a bench, a small geographical globe of the world. Taking up a piece of string, he made certain measurements on the globe, jotting down sundry names and rows of figures on a piece of paper. Then he went to a telephone box in a corner of the shed, and rang up a certain club in London, asking if Mr. William Barracombe was there. After the interval usual in trunk calls, he began—
"That you, Billy? Good! Thought I'd catch you. Can you give me an hour or two?... What?... No: not this time. No time for explanations just now.... Right!... Exactly: nothing ever surprises you." (A smile flickered on his face.) "Well, I want you to wire to Constantinople—Con-stant-i-no-ple—to some decent firm, and arrange for them to have eighty gallons of petrol and sixteen of lubricating oil ready first thing to-morrow.... Yes, to the order of Lieutenant Smith.... Also means of transport, motor if possible: if not, horses.—I say, Central, don't cut me off, please. Yes, I know my time's up: I'll renew.—You there, Billy? That all right?... No, that's not all. I want you to meet me on Epsom Downs about midnight.... Yes, coming by 'plane.... Wait a bit. Bring with you four bottles of bovril, couple of pounds meat lozenges, half-dozen tins sardines, bottle of brandy—yes, and soda, as you say; couple of pounds chocolate, two tins coffee and milk.... No: I say, hold on.... Also orographical maps—maps ... o-ro-graph-i-cal maps ... of Asia Minor, Southern Asia including India, Straits Settlements, Polynesia.... I don't know: Stanford's will be shut, but I must have 'em.... That's up to you. Bring 'em all down with you.... Well, you'd better light a bonfire, so that I can tell where you are. You'll manage it? Good man! See you about midnight then.... Yes: I saw it; bad business. Hope they'll manage to hold out.... Tell you when I see you. Goodbye!"
He replaced the receiver, and turned to find Rodier at his elbow.
"Now, Roddy," he said, "we've got two hours. Slip into it, man."
For the next two hours they worked with scarcely the exchange of a word, overhauling every part of the engine quickly, but with methodical care, cleaning, oiling, testing the exhaust and the carburettor, filling the petrol tank and the reservoir of lubricating oil, examining the turbines and the propeller—not a square inch of the machinery escaped their attention. When their task was finished they were as hot and dirty as engine-drivers. They washed at a sink, filled two stone jars with water and placed them in the cage, adjusted the wind screens, and then sat down to rest and talk over things before starting on their night journey. Smith pencilled some calculations on a piece of paper, referring more than once to the globe. Then taking a clean piece, he drew up a schedule which had some resemblance to a railway timetable.
"There! How does that strike you, Roddy?" he said, when he had finished it.
"It strikes me hot," said the Frenchman. "What I mean, it will be hot work. But that is what I like."
"So do I, so long as I can keep cool. At any rate we can start to the second. Are you ready?"
The sky was brilliant with stars when, just after midnight, they took their places in the aeroplane. Twenty-five minutes' easy run, east-north-east, brought them within sight of the dull red glare northward that betrayed London. Smith had so often made this journey that, even if the stars had been invisible, he could almost have directed his course by the lights of the villages and towns over which he passed. He knew them as well as a sailor knows the lights of the coast.
Just before half-past twelve, in a steep slope on his right, looming up black against the sky, he recognized Box Hill. Passing this at a moderate pace, which allowed them to take a good look-out, they saw in a minute or two a small red flame flickering in the midst of a dark expanse. Every second it grew larger as they approached; Smith did not doubt it was the bonfire which he had asked his friend Barracombe to kindle. Dropping to the ground within a few feet of the fire, which turned out to be of considerable dimensions, he found a motor-car standing near it, and Barracombe walking up and down.
"Well, old man," said Barracombe, as Smith alighted; "they call me a hustler, but you've hustled me this time. What in the world are you after?"
"Have you got the stuff?" returned Smith with the curtness of an old friend.
"Yes; chocolate, bovril, the whole boiling; but—"
"And the maps?"
"And the maps. A nice job I had to get them. All the shops were shut, of course. I stole 'em."
"Played the burglar?"
"No. I went to the Royal Societies' Club, and pinched them out of the library. Posted a cheque to pay for 'em, but there was nobody about and I couldn't stop for red tape."
"Well, you're a big enough man to do such things with impunity. That's why I 'phoned you: knew you'd do it somehow."
Although Barracombe was a potentate in the city, who controlled immense organizations, and held the threads of multifarious interests, he was very human at bottom, and Smith liked him all the better for the glow of self-satisfaction that shone upon his face at this tribute to his omnipotence.
"But now, what's it all mean, you beggar? Are you off to reorganize the Turkish navy or something?"
"I'm off to the Solomon Islands."
"What!"
"That's it: going to have a shot at helping the poor old governor."
"But, my dear fellow, he'll either be relieved or done for long before you can get there. The paper said they were practically unarmed."
"Exactly. I'm going to pick up some rifles and ammunition at one of the Australian ports, and so help 'em to keep their end up until the gunboat reaches them. I'll probably get there a day before the boat."
"But do you know how far it is? It's thirteen thousand miles or more."
"I know. I'm going to have a try. I've got seven days to get there and back; then my leave's up. I can do it if the engine holds out, and if you'll help."
"My dear chap, you know I'll do anything I can, but—well, upon my soul, you take my breath away. I'm not often surprised, but—what are you grinning at?"
"At having knocked the wind out of your sails for once, old man. Seriously, we've thought it out, Roddy and I. We've more than once done a speed of a hundred and ninety. Of course it's a different matter to keep it up for days on end, but how long have you had your motor-car?"
"Three months. Why?"
"And how often has it broken down?"
"Not at all; but I haven't done thirteen thousand miles at a go."
"You've done more, with stoppages. Well, I shall have stoppages—just long enough to clean and take in petrol and oil, and that's where I want your help. I want you to arrange for eighty gallons of petrol and sixteen of oil, to be ready for me at three places besides Constantinople. Here's the list; Karachi, Penang, and Port Darwin. Could you cable me to the address in Constantinople the names of firms at those places?"
"Of course. I'll look 'em up the first thing in the morning."
"Too late. It must be done to-night. If all goes well I shall be in Constantinople soon after eight to-morrow—our time; and I must leave there in a couple of hours if I'm to stick to my programme."
"Very well. I'll look out some names as soon as I get back to town. You mean to keep me up all night. There you are, man; it's absurd; you can't drive night and day for seven days without sleep."
"Roddy and I shall have to take watch and watch."
"But suppose you're caught in a storm; suppose the engine breaks down when you're over the sea—"
"My dear chap, if we fall into the sea we shan't hurt ourselves so much as if it were land. I've got a couple of lifebuoys. If a storm comes on, too bad to sail through, we must come down and wait till it's over. Of course any accident may stop us, even a speck of grit in the engine; but you're the last man in the world to be put off a thing by any bogey of what-might-be, and I'm going to look at the bright side. It's time I was off, so I'll take the things you've brought—oh, I see Roddy has already shipped them, so I'll get aboard."
"Well, I wish you all the luck in the world. Send me a wire when you land, will you, so that I may know how you are getting on."
"If I have time. Good-bye, old man; many thanks."
They shook hands, and Smith was just about to jump into his seat when there came the sound of galloping horses, and the incessant clanging of a bell. Smith laughed.
"Your blaze has roused the Epsom Fire Brigade," he said with a chuckle.
"Well, I thought I'd better make a big one to make sure of you," replied Barracombe.
Smith waited with his hand on the lever until the fire-engine had dashed up.
"What the blazes!" cried the captain, as he leapt from his seat, looking from the motor-car to the aeroplane with mingled amazement and indignation.
"Good-bye, Billy," cried Smith; "I'll leave you to explain."
The propeller whirled round, the machine flew forwards, and in a few seconds was soaring with its booming hum into the air. Smith glanced down and saw the fireman facing Barracombe, his annoyance being evidently greater than his curiosity. He would have smiled if he could have heard Barracombe's explanation.
"W-w-why yes," he said, affecting a distressing stutter; "this kind of b-b-bonfire is a hobby of m-mine; it's about my only r-r-recreation. M-m-my name? Certainly. My name's William bub-bub-Barracombe, and you'll find me in, any day between t-ten and f-five, at 532 mum-mum-Mincing Lane."