“I saw Gortz at Number Three last night. He has news from Berlin that the big air raid is to be made on the fourteenth.”
“The fourteenth!” echoed his friend. Then, after a second’s reflection, he added: “That will be Friday week.”
“Exactly. There will be one or two small attempts before—probably one to-night—a reconnaissance over the Eastern Counties. At least it was said so last night at Number Three,” he added, referring to a secret meeting place of the Huns in London.
“Well,” laughed the photographic artist. “I always keep the light going and, thanks to the plans they sent me from Wilhelmsplatz a month before the war, there is no beam of light to betray it.”
“Rather thanks to the information we have when the British scouting airships leave their sheds.”
“Ah, yes, my dear friend. Then I at once cut it off, of course,” laughed the other. “But it is a weary job—up here alone each night killing time by reading their silly newspapers.”
“One of our greatest dangers, in my opinion, is that young fellow Ronald Pryor—the aeroplane-builder,” declared Knowles. “The man whom our friend Reichardt tried to put out of existence last week, and failed—eh?”
“The same. He has a new aeroplane called ‘The Hornet,’ which can be rendered quite silent. That is a very great danger to our airships.”
“We must, at all hazards, ascertain its secret,” said his host promptly. “What does Reichardt say?”
“They were discussing it last night at Number Three.”