Old Theed, however, kept a good look out and, as twice he had reported suspicious persons in the vicinity at night, he always carried his Browning pistol.
A fortnight had passed and my newly-arranged monoplane was nearing completion. Daily I went out to Willesden to superintend, and make certain alterations which had occurred to me since I had adopted my new design.
That more Zeppelin raids were expected everybody knew, and none better than myself.
The weather in the last fortnight of January 1916 was bad, and many people were declaring that the German airships would not dare to venture out except in calm conditions.
Some of the boys were discussing that point at Hendon one afternoon.
Teddy was inclined to argue as the public argued, that Zeppelins were affected by weather conditions, and advanced many theories of fogs, clouds, rain, snow, and the barometer.
“Then you don’t think inclement weather any protection, Claude?” asked my friend, while the others all listened in silence.
“No,” I said. “I quite agree with the arguments put forward on a basis of fact by many writers in the press. Of course Zeppelins, like every other craft not independent of the weather, prefer to sally forth in calms or light winds. But the utmost one can say is, first, that the calmer the weather the likelier a raid is to occur; and, secondly, that raids are less likely to occur in broad moonlight than on dark nights.”
“Then, my dear fellow,” whispered Teddy into my ear, in a tone so low that the others could not hear, “it is on one of the dark nights that we must make our trial flight—eh?”
“Well, according to the latest yarns,” remarked a fellow named Ainley, “the newest Zeppelins are armoured, and these very large craft have a gross lift of over thirty tons.”