Both, on listening intently, heard the low hum of a distant aeroplane in the darkness.
The light was signalling madly, and at the same time the machine, high in the vault of the night sky, was fast approaching. The pair watched, straining their eyes to discover it, but though the sound betrayed its presence, they could not discern its whereabouts until there appeared high over them a small, bright light, like a green star, which repeated the signal “N. F.,” “N. F.,” half-a-dozen times.
“This is most interesting!” whispered Ronald, “Look! Why, he’s planing down.”
Beryl watched, and saw how the aeroplane which had come out of the night was now making short spirals, and planing down as quickly as was practicable in that rather dangerous wind.
Every moment the low hum of the engine became more and more distinct as, time after time, signals were shown in response to those flashed by the mysterious man from Leeds. Then ten minutes later the machine, which proved to be a Fokker, came to earth only about fifty yards from where Beryl and Ronald were standing.
Aylesworth ran up breathlessly the moment the machine touched the grass, and with him the watchers crept swiftly up, in order to try to overhear the conversation.
It was in German. The aviator and his observer climbed out of the seats and stood with Mr. Aylesworth, chatting and laughing.
The pilot calmly lit a cigarette, and drawing something from his pocket, gave it to the man who had been awaiting his arrival. Thereupon, Aylesworth, on his part, handed the airman a letter, saying in English:
“That’s all to-night. Please tell Count von Stumnitz that the reply will not be given till Thursday next. By that time we shall have news from the North Sea.”
“Excellent,” replied the aviator, who spoke English perfectly, and who, if the truth were told, had before the war lived the life of a bachelor in Jermyn Street. “I shall be over again on Thursday at midnight punctually. I must run up from the south next time. The anti-aircraft found me on the coast and fired.”