“Well, we know that something is leaving us on Thursday—some important information.”
“Just so. And is it up to us to see that Aylesworth does not send it across the sea successfully—eh?”
“Let’s get away now,” urged Beryl. “He may discover us.”
Ronald stood, his arm linked in that of his well-beloved. He made no remark as he watched the dark silhouette of the man Aylesworth disappear over the brow of the hill.
Presently he said:
“Well, dear, he hasn’t discovered us. But if all goes well we shall be back here on Thursday.”
Half-an-hour later they met Collins awaiting them near the car. The mechanic became greatly interested when his master described briefly what they had seen.
Then all three mounted into their seats, the lights were switched on, and they turned back to Kirkby Stephen, where they spent the remainder of the night at the old “King’s Arms,” giving a fictitious story of a breakdown.
Two days later, Pryor having made a long written report to the Anti-Aircraft Headquarters, took the train from Liverpool Street Station down to Harbury Court, there to await instructions. Beryl, who was already down there with Iris, was greatly excited, for only she, Ronald, and Collins knew of the intended coup next Thursday. Zeppelins had sailed over the East Coast, and had paid the penalty for so doing. “Uncle”—the pet name for Count Zeppelin at the Potsdam Court—was, it was reported, in tears of rage. He had promised the Kaiser that he would appal Great Britain, but the British refused even to be alarmed. The Zeppelin menace, thought by the world to be so serious, had “fizzled out,” and it now seemed that the more mobile aeroplane—often with the British tri-colour rings upon its wings—had taken its place. And it was one of those which Ronnie and Beryl knew would be due over that Yorkshire moor next Thursday at midnight.