CHAPTER VII
THE BATTLEPLANE'S OFFICIAL DEBUT
Without speaking a word Desmond Blake approached his prisoner and regarded him intently. For a full minute he kept his eyes fixed upon the German, who at first seemed indifferent to the attention paid him.
Presently the spy began to shift uneasily under the searching scrutiny. Try as he would to avoid the penetrating look he found himself unable to withstand the seemingly mesmeric influence. His whole attitude was that of a dog cowed solely by the severity of its master's gaze.
"What is your name?" demanded Blake, breaking the strained silence.
"Sigismund Selighoffer," replied the spy in a strangely subdued voice.
"A native of Germany?"
"Of Halle."
"A spy?"
"Yes." The answer was given with considerable hesitation. It was the man speaking in spite of his inclination to maintain silence and discretion.
"You stole my plans. Where are they?"
"It was my employer, Karl von Secker, who took the plans. We were here last night. He went away yesterday, taking the plans with him; but before he went he gave me orders to destroy this machine."
"You know where he is?"
"On my honour, no. He could not tell me. Perhaps he will make his way back to Germany. It is easy for him to do so."
Blake asked several more questions, not once shifting his eyes from the thoroughly cowed Hun.
"Very good," he concluded. "In a few hours' time you will be handed over to the authorities for trial. If it be any satisfaction to you I might add that you will be the first German—and I hope the last—to set foot on this battleplane."
He turned and went for'ard. Directly his back was turned the spy broke into a torrent of oaths, defying his captors and reviling himself for having given away so much information.
Blake merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Simply the triumph of a strong mind over a weak one," he explained to the lads. "Herr Selighoffer is merely a pawn in the game—a tool of the more dangerous von Secker. Had we no other and more urgent work in hand it would be a delightful task to run von Secker to earth. Man-hunting is, from my personal knowledge, one of the greatest thrills a criminologist can experience. Once I had to track a Brazilian desperado across miles of country—but that story can wait. We must trust the recovery of the plans to the authorities. Now, lads, the pair of you had better turn in again. I'll keep watch, although I don't anticipate any further trouble from prowling Huns. It would be just as well to keep an eye upon that slippery customer, Sigismund."
The rest of the night passed without interruption. At seven the lads arose, bathed and had breakfast; by eight-thirty the battleplane was ready for her flight to London.
"Better thirty minutes too early than thirty seconds too late," remarked Dick.
"H'm! perhaps in this case," rejoined Athol. "Do you remember that morning in the trenches facing the Menin road? We were both a little tardy in turning out to breakfast."
"And what happened?" asked Blake.
"Nothing as far as we were concerned," replied Dick. "Except that we had no breakfast that morning. A shell had landed close to the stew pot and the men with their rations were blown to bits. It was a case of Nah Pooh with them."
Without a hitch the battleplane was brought from the hangar, her wings extended and the motors set running. It had now ceased snowing, and although the ground was still covered with a mantle of white, there seemed every prospect of a fine day.
Making a splendid ascent the machine quickly attained an altitude of twelve thousand feet, and a compass course was shaped to due east. Blake had a definite object in flying high. The air was sufficiently clear to distinguish prominent landmarks, but at that altitude there was hardly any possibility of the battleplane being seen from the earth. He wanted to make his arrival as dramatic and sudden as possible.
"We're touching one hundred and eighty miles an hour now," announced the inventor. "Could do another twenty with ease if we wished. We'll romp there hands down."
"Why this easterly course?" asked Dick, who, having for the time being finished with the motors, had taken his place close to the pilot. "This will land us somewhere in Norfolk if we carry on."
"Only till we pick up the North-Western main line," replied Blake. "There's nothing like a railway to help you to fix a position. In conjunction with a good map a railway lets you know where you are almost to a mile."
Forty-seven minutes from the time the battleplane left the ground a dull haze upon the horizon indicated that the metropolis was in sight. Quickly the intervening distance was covered, until at a height of two thousand feet the airmen were immediately over the Thames.
"Good enough!" declared Blake, at the same time locking the wings. Although the motors were still running they were acting merely as "free engines," ready to be coupled up to the wings in a case of emergency. For the rest of the distance the battleplane was to glide under the attraction of gravity.
Unerringly Blake brought the battleplane towards the gravelled expanse of the Horse Guards Parade. Save for a few persons hurrying across the place was almost deserted. Evidently there was no sign that the aviators were expected. Either the telegram had been delayed or the War Office officials had considered it a hoax.
Suddenly Blake coupled up the wing-mechanism. The beating of the wings caused several of the pedestrians to look skywards. For a second or so they seemed hardly able to credit their senses. Aeroplanes they knew, but the huge mechanical bird astonished them. Right and left they scattered, leaving the parade as deserted as a Siberian plain.
Making a faultless landing the battleplane came to rest. Blake, throwing back the wind screen, awaited developments.
In less than five minutes the machine was surrounded by thousands of curious spectators. It took all the efforts of a strong force of police and soldiers to keep the crowd back.
A way having been cleared through the press a group of military staff officers came up. Amongst them Blake recognised a tall, alert figure in the uniform of a major-general.
"Good morning, Sir Henry!" he exclaimed. "You see I have carried out my promise. Come on board, if you please."
Agilely Sir Henry swarmed up the ladder.
"A top-hole fellow," said Blake to his companions during the officer's progress. "One of the few who were at least sympathetic when I first submitted my plans."
"By Jove, Blake!" exclaimed the newcomer, as, slightly breathless, he gained the interior of the fuselage. "This is rather unexpected."
"I warned you," replied the inventor.
"You did, but, pardon my saying so, I was sceptical."
"But not to the extent of some of your colleagues," added Blake with a tinge of irony. "However, that's done with. Here is the battleplane. I formally offer her to the Government. But before we go farther. Do you know that there is a German spy here—actually within the precincts of the War Office?"
"Good heavens, no!" replied Sir Henry in astonishment. "How do you know that?"
"Optical proof," replied Blake. "If you'll come aft I'll show you."
Briefly the circumstances under which Sigismund Selighoffer was captured were stated, and in a very few minutes the spy was taken from the battleplane and marched off under escort.
"Now as far as I am concerned I hope I'll hear no more about that fellow," commented Blake. "My time is too precious to waste in attending courts-martial. All the same I should be particularly pleased to hear that von Secker, the spy's accomplice—or rather, employer—is run to earth. These fellows pay considerably more attention to outside inventions than does the British Government, I'm sorry to say. But let me show you round. Oh, yes, there's room for a few more," he added as three or four staff officers shouted out for permission to come on board.
With them was one of the civil staff of the War Office. Blake eyed him with a grim smile, for he was the man who had been so prominent in cold-shouldering the inventor but a few months previously.
"Yes, we should like to witness a flight," replied Sir Henry in answer to Blake's proposition. "This ability to ascend almost perpendicularly must be a unique, I might say, rather ingenious property. No, I don't think I will accompany you this trip... another time, perhaps."
One by one the staff officers filed through the aperture in the floor of the fuselage and descended to the ground, amidst the plaudits of the crowd. The civilian official was the last to leave, when Blake touched him on the shoulder.
"You remember me?" he asked.
"Of course, of course I do," replied the man pompously. "I never forget faces. You will doubtless recollect that during our former interview I expressed my opinion——"
"That an ounce of fact is worth a pound of theory," rejoined Blake. "In the circumstances the remark was uncalled for."
"But in my position one has to look for results," stammered the man nervously, for Blake had fixed him with that disconcerting look that had so effectually cowed the spy.
"The result is here," declared the inventor. "You are now going to accompany us for a spin. You are not afraid?"
If he were afraid the official was doubly afraid to admit it. He nodded his head.
"Good!" exclaimed Blake approvingly, as he closed the hatchway at his feet. "Start her up, Dick. Open the exhaust full out. A little noise will shift the crowd."
Dick obeyed, using the "cut-out." Instead of the engines purring almost noiselessly they roared like the concentrated discharge of a battery of mitrailleuses. Then, with a mighty sweep of her wings the battleplane appeared to stand on end. The next instant she was soaring swiftly above the dirty grey stone work of the buildings of the Horse Guards.
The passenger seated in the balanced chair, and seeing the body of the machine turning apparently around a fixed axis, was too astonished even to ejaculate. At length, encouraged by the cool demeanour of Dick and his chum, the official plucked up courage, and, the battleplane having settled down to a steady position, peered over the edge of the coaming.
It was his first sight of London from a height of three thousand feet. He was beginning to enjoy the sensation.
Up and down, describing erratic curves, nose-diving, volplaning and side-slipping with deliberate intent, Desmond Blake carried out his spectacular and demonstrative programme. At one moment it seemed as if the battleplane was diving under the Admiralty Arch; at almost the next it was skimming the aerials on the twin domes of the headquarters of the British Navy. Spinning round, almost on the tip of one wing, the tractable machine circled Nelson's Monument, as if to pay homage to the memory of the one-armed little man whose traditions the Navy of to-day so gallantly uphold. Then, at a rate equal to double that of an express train, the battleplane disappeared from view, to circle over the Nore at a height far beyond the range of the most efficient anti-aircraft guns that the Medway Defences possessed.
Fifteen minutes later the battleplane again came to rest on the Horse Guards Parade. Her passenger, almost speechless with unbounded admiration, did not hesitate to make his amends.
Nor was Sir Henry less enthusiastic.
Gripping Blake's hand as the inventor descended from the battleplane he exclaimed, "Bravo! my dear sir; your aeroplane is simply great. But why the deuce did you make such a show with it? By to-night all the world will know about it."
Desmond Blake shrugged his shoulders.
"It was the only way," he replied. "Nothing else would have attracted the attention of the War Office."
"You certainly have now," said Sir Henry with a smile. "Suppose we adjourn to my office. I'll summon my colleagues and we can discuss terms."
"There are no terms to discuss," objected the inventor. "The battleplane belongs to the Empire unconditionally."