The Zeppelin's Passenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Philippa, even for some moments after the departure of Captain Griffithsand his myrmidons, remained in a sort of nerveless trance. The crisis,with its bewildering denouement, had affected her curiously. Lessinghamrose presently to his feet.

  "I wonder," he asked, "if I could have a whisky and soda?"

  She stamped her foot at him in a little fit of hysterical passion.

  "You're not natural!" she cried. "Whisky and soda!"

  "Well, I don't know," he protested mildly, helping himself from thetable in the background. "I rather thought I was being particularlyBritish. When in doubt, take a drink. That is Richard all the worldover, you know."

  She broke into a little mirthless laugh.

  "I shall begin to think that you are a poseur!" she exclaimed.

  He crossed the room towards her.

  "Perhaps I am, dear," he confessed. "I want you just to sit up and losethat unnatural look. I am not really full of cheap bravado, but I am aphilosopher. Something has happened to postpone--the end. Good luck toit, I say!"

  He raised his tumbler to his lips and set it down empty. Philippa roseto her feet and walked restlessly to the window and back.

  "I'll try and be reasonable too," she promised, resuming her seat. "Iwas right, you see. Captain Griffiths has discovered everything. Canyou tell me what possible reason any one in London could have had forinterference?"

  "I seem to have got a friend up there without knowing it, don't I?" heobserved.

  "This is aging me terribly," Philippa declared, throwing herself backinto her seat. "All my life I have hated mysteries. Here I am face toface with two absolutely insoluble ones. Captain Griffiths has assuredme that there is here in Dreymarsh something of sufficient importance toaccount for the presence of a foreign spy. You have confirmed it. I havebeen torturing my brain about that for the last twenty-four hours. Nowthere happens something more inexplicable still. You are arrested, andyou are not arrested. Your identity is known, and Captain Griffiths isforbidden to do his duty."

  "It seems puzzling, does it not?" Lessingham agreed. "I shouldn't worryabout the first, but this last little episode takes some explaining."

  "If anything further happens this evening, I think I shall go mad,"Philippa sighed.

  "And something is going to happen," Lessingham declared, rising to hisfeet. "Did you hear that?"

  Above even the roar of the wind they heard the brazen report of a gunfrom almost underneath the window. The room was suddenly lightened by asingle vivid flash.

  "A mortar!" Lessingham exclaimed. "And that was a rocket, unless I'mmistaken."

  "The signal for the lifeboat!" Philippa announced. "I wonder if we cansee anything."

  She hastened towards the window, but paused at the abrupt opening of thedoor. Nora burst in, followed more sedately by Helen.

  "Mummy, there's a wreck!" the former cried in excitement. "I heardsomething an hour ago, and I got up, and I've been sitting by thewindow, watching. I saw the lifeboat go out, and they're signalling nowfor the other one."

  "It's quite true, Philippa," Helen declared. "We're going to try andfight our way down to the beach."

  "I'll go, too," Lessingham decided. "Perhaps I may be of use."

  "We'll all go," Philippa agreed. "Wait while I get my things on. Whatis it, Mills?" she added, as the door opened and the latter presentedhimself.

  "There is a trawler on the rocks just off the breakwater, yourladyship," he announced. "They have just sent up from the beach to knowif we can take some of the crew in. They are landing them as well asthey can on the line."

  "Of course we can," was the prompt reply. "Tell them to send as many asthey want to. We will find room for them, somehow. I'll go upstairs andsee about the fires. You'll all come back?" she added, turning around.

  "We will all come back," Lessingham promised.

  They fought their way down to the beach. At first the storm completelydeafened all sound. The lanterns, waved here and there by unseen hands,seemed part of some ghostly tableau, of which the only background wasthe raging of the storm. Then suddenly, with a startling hiss, anotherrocket clove its way through the darkness. They had an instantaneous butbrilliant view of all that was happening,--saw the trawler lying on itsside, apparently only a few yards from the shore, saw the line stretchedto the beach, on which, even at that moment, a man was being drawnashore, licked by the spray, his strained face and wind-tossed hairclearly visible. Then all was darkness again more complete than ever.They struggled down on to the shingle, where the little cluster offishermen were hard at work with the line. Almost the first personthey ran across was Jimmy Dumble. He was standing on the edge of thebreakwater with a great lantern in his hand, superintending the line,and, as they drew near, Lessingham, who was a little in advance, couldhear his voice above the storm. He was shouting towards the wreck, hishand to his mouth.

  "Send the master over next, you lubbers, or we'll cut the line. Do youhear?"

  There was no reply or, if there was, it was drowned in the wind.Lessingham gripped the fisherman by the arm.

  "Whom do you mean by 'master'?" he demanded. Dumble scarcely glanced athis interlocutor.

  "Why, Sir Henry Cranston, to be sure," was the agitated answer. "Theselubbers of sea hands are all coming off first, and the line won't standfor more than another one or two," he added, dropping his voice.

  Then the thrill of those few minutes' excitement unrolled itself into agreat drama before Lessingham's eyes. Sir Henry was on that ship as nearas any man might wish to be to death.

  "'Ere's the next," Jimmy muttered, as they turned the windlassvigorously. "Gosh, 'e's a heavy one, too!"

  Then came a cry which sounded like a moan and above it the shrillfearful yell of a man who feels himself dropping out of the world'shearing. Lessingham raised the lantern which stood on the beach byJimmy's side. The line had broken. The body of its suspended travellerhad disappeared! And just then, strangely enough, for the first time forover an hour, the heavens opened in one great sheet of lightning,and they could see the figure of one man left on the ship, clingingdesperately to the rigging.

  "Tie the line around me," Jimmy shouted. "Let her go. Get the other endon the windlass."

  They paid out the rope through their hands. Jimmy kicked off his bootsand plunged into the cauldron. He swam barely a dozen strokes before hewas caught on the top of an incoming wave, tossed about like a cork andflung back upon the beach, where he lay groaning. There was a littlemurmur amongst the fisherman, who rushed to lean over him.

  "Swimming ain't no more use than trying to walk on the water," one ofthem declared.

  Lessingham raised the lantern which he was carrying, and flashed itaround.

  "Where are the young ladies?" he asked.

  "Gone up to the house with two as we've just taken off the wreck," someone informed him.

  Lessingham stooped down. Willing hands helped him unfasten the cord fromJimmy's waist. He tore off his own coat and waistcoat and boots. Somehelped, other sought to dissuade him, as he secured the line around hisown waist.

  "We've sent for more rockets," one man shouted in his ear. "The man willbe back in half an hour."

  Lessingham pushed them on one side. He stood on the edge of the beachand, borrowing a lantern, watched for his opportunity. Then suddenlyhe vanished. They looked after him. They could see nothing but the ropeslipping past their feet, inch by inch. Sometimes it was stationary,sometimes it was drawn taut. The first great wave that came flung a yardor so of slack amongst them. Then, after the roar of its breaking haddied away, they saw the rope suddenly tighten, and pass rapidly out, andthe excitement began to thicken.

  "That 'un didn't get him, anyway," one of them muttered.

  "He'll go through the next, with luck," another declared hopefully.

  Lessingham, fighting for his consciousness, deafened and half stunnedby the roar of the waters about him, still felt the exhilaration ofthat great struggle. He looked once into seas which seemed
to touch theclouds, drew himself stiff, and plunged into the depths of a mountain offoaming waters, whose summit seemed to him like one of those grotesqueand nightmare-distorted efforts of the opium-eating brain. Then the roarsounded all behind him, and he knew that he was through the breakers.He swam to the side of the ship and clutched hold of a chain. It was SirHenry's out-stretched hand which pulled him on to the deck.

  "My God, that was a swim!" the latter declared, as he pulled his rescuerup, not in the least recognising him. "Let's have the end of that cord,quick! So!" he went on, paying it out through his fingers until the endof the rope appeared. "You'd better get your breath, young man, and thenover you go. I'll follow."

  "I'm damned if I do!" was the vigorous reply. "You start off while I getmy breath."

  They were suddenly half drowned with a shower of spray. Sir Henry heldLessingham in a grip of iron, or he would have been swept overboard.

  "Get one arm through the chains, man," he shouted. "My God!" he added,peering through the gloom. "Lessingham!"

  "Well, don't stop to worry about that," was the fierce reply. "Let's geton with our job."

  Sir Henry threw off his oilskins and his underneath coat.

  "Follow me when they wave the lantern twice," he directed. "If we eitherof us get the knock--well, thanks!"

  Lessingham felt the grip of Sir Henry's hand as he passed him and wentoverboard into the darkness. Then, with one arm through the chains,he drew towards him by means of his heel the coat which Sir Henry hadthrown upon the deck. Gradually it came within reach of his disengagedhand. He seized it, shook it out, and dived eagerly into the breastpocket. There were several small articles which he threw ruthlesslyaway, and then a square packet, wrapped in oilcloth, which bent to hisfingers. Another breaking wave threw him on his back. One arm was stillthrough the chain, the other gripped what some illuminating instincthad already convinced him was the chart! As soon as he had recoveredhis breath, a grim effort of humour parted his lips. He lay there for amoment and laughed till the spray, this time with a rush of green waterunderneath, very nearly swept him from his place.

  They were waving a lantern on the beach when he struggled again to hisfeet.

  He slipped the little packet down his clothes next to his skin, andgroped about to find the end of the line which Sir Henry and he hadfastened to a staple below the chains. Then he drew a long breath,gripped the rope and shouted. A second or two later he was back in thecauldron.

  As they pulled him on to the beach, he had but one idea. Whateverhappened, he must not lose consciousness. The packet was still thereagainst the calf of his leg. It must be his own hands which removed hisclothes. It seemed to him that those few bronzed faces, those half adozen rude lanterns, had become magnified and multiplied a hundredfold.It was an army of blue-jerseyed fishermen which patted him on the backand welcomed him, lanterns like the stars flashing everywhere around.He set his teeth and fought against the buzzing in his ears. He tried tospeak, and his voice sounded like a weak, far away whisper.

  "I am all right," he kept on saying.

  Then he felt himself leaning on two brawny arms. His feet followed themesmeric influence of their movement. Was he going into the clouds, hewondered? They stopped to open a gate, the gate leading to the gardensof Mainsail Haul. How did he get there? He had no idea. More movementsof his feet, and then unexpected warmth. He looked around him. Therewere voices. He listened. The one voice? The one face bending over his,her eyes wet with tears, her whispers an incoherent stream of brokenwords. Then the warmth seemed to come back to his veins. He sat up andfound himself on the couch in the library, the rain dripping from him inlittle pools, and he knew that he had succeeded. He had not fainted.

  "I am all right," he repeated. "What a mess I am making!"

  The voices around him were still a little tangled, but the hand whichheld a steaming tumbler to his lips was Philippa's.

  "Drink it all," she begged.

  He felt the tears come into his eyes, felt the warm blood streamingthrough his body, felt a little wet patch at the back of the calf of hisleg, and the hand which set down the empty tumbler was almost steady.

  "There's a hot bath ready," Philippa told him; "some dry clothes, and abedroom with a fire in. Do let Mills show you the way."

  He rose at once, prepared to follow her. His feet were not quite sosteady as he would have wished, but he made a very presentable show.Mills, with a little apology, held out his arm. Philippa walked by hisother side.

  "As soon as you have finished your bath and got into some dry clothes,"Philippa whispered, "please ring, or send Mills to let us know."

  He was even able to smile at her.

  "I am quite all right," he assured her once more.