The Air Pirate
by crushed ice in a larger box of zinc. There was also iced hock and
seltzer water. We both felt more at home in a few minutes.
We had lit our cigarettes, and I was thinking hard, when someone passing
along the corridor looked in upon us for a moment. I had an impression
of a brown face and a scowl. It was the man in tweeds that I had noticed
at Paddington.
"That _beast_!" said Connie suddenly.
I turned and looked at her. She was frowning adorably, and I thought she
looked rather pale.
"D'you know him, then?"
"I did, and I simply hate him."
"Who is he?"
"I expect you've heard his name, John. Most people have in town. He is
Henry Helzephron, a big man in your way once."
I _did_ know the name as that of a pilot of extraordinary courage and
ability during the Great War. He had gained the Victoria Cross when a
lad of twenty, and his exploits during two wonderful years formed part
of the history of aviation. He had not flown for years now, and divided
his time between the more dissipated haunts of the West End and an
estate he had somewhere in Devon or Cornwall, a "has-been" with a
sinister reputation, a lounger of thirty-six.
"I know. 'Hawk Helzephron' he used to be called. Gone all to pieces, I
understand. But how do _you_ know him, dear?"
"He did me the honour to ask me to marry him about two months ago," she
answered, "and since then he is always putting himself in my way. He
does not speak, but he comes to the theatre and glares. I am always
meeting him, and I hate the sight of him. He makes me afraid...."
Here was my chance and I took it like a shot. She should never be
unprotected from Helzephrons and all the tribe who haunt the stage door
any more!
A successful aviator takes instantaneous decisions. He must. If he
hesitates he's lost.
What I said, as the Riviera Express hurled itself through the summer
noon, is not part of this narrative. I daresay I was no more original
than most men, but the results were eminently satisfactory for, as we
ran past the towers and winding river of Exeter, Connie and I were
engaged.
I remember that I lugged the ring out of my waistcoat pocket--sapphires
and diamonds, a top-shelf ring!--precisely as we glided through Exeter
Station.
"O-oh!" said Connie, as the thing winked and shone in the sunlight; and
then: "You _wretch_! I'll never forgive you--never!"
I wondered what was the matter. In fact, I asked her.
"You made so sure of me that you actually bought this beforehand!"
"It doesn't do to leave anything to chance," I said, and I made her put
it on, and gave her several other things of no particular importance
while she was doing it.
For the rest of the journey, past the red cliffs and blue seas of
Teignmouth and Paignton, we had a long and happy talk, finding out--of
course--all sorts of delightful things about each other which we had
only suspected before.
Perhaps there is nothing fresher and more delightful in life than those
first few hours of revelation, when a man and a girl who love each other
have, at last, become engaged. It is like coming into harbour after an
anxious voyage, and yet, all the time there is the splendid knowledge
that there are new and marvellous seas waiting to be explored, this
time--together!
Connie was to act in New York for a month and in Boston for a fortnight.
It was a 'star' engagement, and six weeks would soon pass. Besides, now
that Plymouth was barely thirty hours from New York, there was nothing
to prevent me from popping over once or twice to see her. I was
responsible to no one for my time, and half a dozen quite real matters
in connection with my job would provide a valid excuse. After the six
weeks were over, why, then, we would be married!
"There is absolutely no reason on earth why we should wait," I told her,
in sublime ignorance of what the Fates had in store for both of us.
"I'll have a special licence ready, and the day you land again on this
side you shall be Lady Custance, darling!"
So it was settled, lightly and happily enough, and when we left the
train at Plymouth Station there was not a cloud in the sky or in our
hearts.
I found that Mr. Thumbwood had been making excellent use of his time,
even as his master had, for the little man was assisting a demure and
well-looking maiden to collect luggage, who turned out to be Connie's
maid, Wilson.
We left them to it and drove to the Royal Hotel, not before I had seen
the train start again on its journey to Cornwall, with Mr.
Helzephron--whom I had quite forgotten--standing in the corridor and
regarding us with a malignant scowl upon his hawk-like, dissipated
countenance. But Mr. Helzephron, and all other men alive, were about six
a penny to me just then.
Connie was to leave the sea-drome at eight-thirty in that fine
flying-liner _Atlantis_. She was a Royal Mail ship, and about the
fastest and finest flyer in the Transatlantic service, with a carrying
capacity of three hundred and fifty passengers, and a thousand tons dead
weight of cargo. Her crew numbered forty, and she was commanded by
Captain Swainson, one of the most reliable pilot commanders in the air.
He was a man I both knew and liked.
Connie wanted a rest and a sleep. "At least, I want to be alone to think
it all over!" she said, so she went up to her room in the hotel at
once. I arranged to call for her at five, when we would go for a stroll
and afterwards have an early dinner. Then I washed my hands and strolled
into the famous long bar of the hotel for a sandwich and a whisky and
soda, before proceeding to the offices of the White Star Line on the
Hoe.
As I munched my sandwich, I wondered what the affair was that had made
Sir Joshua Johnson send me a wireless message in the middle of the
night--a time when obese old gentlemen should be fast asleep in bed. I
had told my people at Whitehall to ask for further particulars, but I
had not the least intention of being bothered with them--or any police
business whatever--until I had settled my own personal affairs with
Connie. Accordingly, when I left my chambers in the morning to go to
Paddington, I sent a message to Whitehall to say that I was proceeding
to Plymouth during the day, and would wait till my arrival to hear what
the business was. Muir Lockhart, my assistant, would perfectly
understand, and was quite capable of dealing with anything that might
come along.
The long bar was, as usual, full of naval officers, with a sprinkling of
Air Merchant Service men in their uniform of grey, silver and light
blue. I saw no one that I knew, until the swing-doors leading into the
hotel were flung open, and a wiry little man in the black and silver
uniform of my own corps came hurriedly in. His peaked cap, with the
silver wings and sword badge, was pushed back on his head, and he was in
a state of unenviable heat and perspiration. He was Pilot Superintendent
Lashmar, chief of the Ocean Patrol stationed at Plymouth, with equal
rank to a lieutenant-commander in the Navy, and one of my most trusted
officers in the West.
He went up to the bar and ordered a "long glass of iced ginger-beer,
with a dash of gin in it," and then I clapped him on the shoulder. He
wheeled round in a second, and when he saw who it was his face changed
from anxiety to relief.
"Thank Heaven you're come, sir," he said, as he saluted. "We've been
signalling to Whitehall all the morning, and all we could get was that
you were on your way. I've been backwards and forwards from the A.P.
Headquarters to the White Star Office a dozen times."
"I came down by train, Mr. Lashmar," I said, realizing in an instant
that there really _was_ something important afoot, and that by bad luck
I was behind time. Sir Joshua Johnson was all very well, but when my own
people began to send out signals--that was quite another matter.
"We thought you'd fly down in the yacht, sir, and we've been sending
wireless trying to pick you up."
"I couldn't. I have had some most important business to attend to.
Anyhow, I'm here now. What's it all about?"
"You haven't heard _anything_, sir?" he asked in amazement.
Again I cursed my luck, but I wasn't going to give it away. "We'll go
round to Sir Joshua Johnson at once," was all I said.
"That will be best, sir, and then every detail can be put before you in
sequence. I have my report with me, written up to date. I think I've
taken all possible measures up to the present, but, of course, we've
been waiting for you. Sir Joshua, as you may imagine, is half out of his
wits."
"He's not had very far to travel, then," I said to gain time. All this
was so much Greek to me, and I had to walk warily.
In a minute more Lashmar and I were on the Hoe and approaching the
stately offices of the Line, which stood in the very centre of that
famous promenade above the blue waters of the Sound.
CHAPTER II
FATE OF THE TRANS-ATLANTIC AIR-LINER "ALBATROS"
There were a good many people in both the ante-room and the secretaries'
room as I was led to Sir Joshua. I was immediately aware of an unusual
stir and excitement, and people nodded and whispered as I
passed--"That's Sir John Custance, the Police Commissioner." "I expect
there's some news," were two of the _sotto voce_ remarks I heard.
Sir Joshua sat in his own magnificent apartment, with the great window
looking out over Drake's Island and Mount Edgcombe to the horizon. A
tray and a decanter showed that he had lunched there, and there was a
good deal of cigar smoke in the air.
Sir Joshua was a tall and corpulent man of nearly seventy, with a red
face with little purple veins in the cheeks, a thatch of snow-white hair
and close whiskers. He had been an early pioneer of commercial flying,
and had reaped his reward in the control of the finest air fleet in the
world and the Lord knows how many millions of money. He was distinctly
an able and upright man, and his only faults were a slight pomposity and
a mistaken idea that the Commissioner of A.P. for Great Britain was a
sort of unpaid official of The White Star Line! A good many of the great
air-shipping magnates had tried to take that line in the past--and been
snubbed for their pains!
Sir Joshua was not pompous this afternoon, and his face was twitching as
he shook hands.
"Thank God you're come, Sir John," he said, "I am almost out of my mind
with worry and anxiety. You will agree with me that this affair is as
grave as it well can be?"
To that I was diplomatically silent. What I said was: "I have seen
Superintendent Pilot Lashmar. What I want now, Sir Joshua, as a
preliminary, is a brief and exact account from your own lips."
"Sit down," he said, pushing a padded chair towards me and handing a box
of cigars. "You shall have it in a nutshell." He sat down opposite to
me, pulled some papers towards him with a hand that shook a little, and
began to read.
... "Our liner _Albatros_, carrying the mails, left New York yesterday
morning about seven a.m., American time. She was consequently due here
at Plymouth about six-thirty this afternoon--Greenwich. The weather
conditions at the ten thousand feet mail-ship level were perfect. In
addition to the mails there were about two hundred passengers, and she
carried, though this was known only to a few officials, a parcel of
particularly fine Brazilian diamonds, consigned from Tiffany's of New
York to Aaron and Harris, the dealers in precious stones, of Hatton
Garden. The jewels were in the ship's safe, in charge of the purser.
Various ships--I have the full list--sighted the _Albatros_ during the
day and exchanged signals, while she duly reported herself by wireless
as she passed each lightship, as soon as dusk fell. The lightships, as
you know, are a hundred miles apart from the Fastnet to Long Island, and