The Dreadnought of the Air Page 6

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHALLENGED.

  REFERRING to the back of an envelope on which he had jotted down thetimes of the trains, Dacres found upon alighting at Brockenhurstjunction that he had three-quarters of an hour to wait. Since he didnot feel inclined to cool his heels on the station platform he madeup his mind to take a stroll through the village, have tea, and thusturn the interval of waiting to good account.

  The air was cool, the dense foliage afforded a pleasant shelter fromthe slanting though powerful rays of the sun, and Dacres began tofeel quite easy in his mind.

  "By George!" he ejaculated. "That airship seems to interest me farmore than my forthcoming interview with the governor. I wonder if shehas been sighted again. I'll get an evening paper at the bookstallwhen I return to the station. How jolly fine the forest scenery is.Now I am not surprised that the pater came down to this part of thecountry if the scenery around Cranbury House is anything like this."

  A plain but substantial tea filled Dacres' cup of contentment to thebrim. English bread, fresh country butter, and watercress, after thefare obtainable on board the "Royal Oak" in the Tropics, combined tomake the most appetizing meal he had tasted for months past. Itreminded him of the saying of an old chief boatswain on returning toEngland after a two years' arduous commission mostly in the PersianGulf.

  "Bless you, sir," said the warrant officer emphatically. "Directly Iset foot ashore at Portsmouth I'll order a prime beefsteak and atankard--not a glass, mind you--of ale."

  Two months later the chief bo's'un retired with the rank oflieutenant, and forthwith settled down in the country. One of hisfirst acts was to hire a man to stand outside his bedroom windowevery evening from ten to eleven, his duty being to throw buckets ofwater against the panes.

  "Couldn't get to sleep unless I heard the sea breaking against thescuttles," he explained.

  Dacres wondered whether the call of the sea would come back to himwith such vividness. Perhaps; but up to the present he felt no suchoverwhelming desire. It was just possible that he had not yet hadtime to realize his position.

  In the midst of his meditation the traveller remembered that he hadto catch a train.

  Pulling out his watch he found that he had fifteen minutes to get tothe station and, since he did the outward journey in ten minutes, itwas an easy jaunt back to the junction.

  "Where are you for?" asked a porter as Dacres arrived on thepractically deserted platform.

  "Holmsley."

  "Your train's just gone, sir," announced the railway employee withthe air of a man who has imparted a joyful surprise.

  "But----" Dacres pulled out the envelope. "I thought it went atseven-four."

  "Did till this month, sir," was the unconcerned reply. "Now it leaveshere at six-fifty-six. Next train at eight-two."

  "They must have had an old time-table in that restaurant," mutteredDacres disgustedly. "I was a bit of an ass not to make sure, and adoubly confounded idiot not to have asked when I arrived here.However, can't be helped. 'What's done can't be undone,' as thelandlubber remarked when he tied a slippery hitch in his hammocklashing and found himself sprawling on the mess-deck ten secondslater. This time I keep watch here, I don't mean to be let down asecond time."

  When a fast train bringing the evening papers from London stopped atthe station Dacres hurried to buy a copy. The news as far as theairship was concerned was woefully disappointing. She had not beensighted anywhere in Great Britain or Ireland.

  There was one item of news that interested him, however. It was awireless message from Cape Columbia, announcing that LieutenantCardyke and four men of the British Arctic Expedition had started ontheir dash for the North Pole.

  "Plucky chap!" ejaculated Dacres. "I hope he'll pull it off allright. It's a jolly risky business, though. Never fancied that kindof job myself, but Cardyke was always keen on Polar work. I rememberhow he used to devour Scott's and Shackleton's works when he was atOsborne. All the same, I wonder they don't make a dash for the Polein an up-to-date dirigible, instead of tramping all those hundreds ofmiles. I'd volunteer for a Polar airship expedition like a shot."

  The loud ringing of an electric bell warned Dacres that his train wassignalled. Folding the paper and placing it in his pocket he rosefrom his seat and waited for the train to run into the station.

  The last stage of his journey was a short one and he chided himselffor not having walked. The sun had just dipped behind theheather-clad hills as Dacres alighted, while already the eveningmists were rising from the shallow valleys.

  A typical country porter took the tickets of the three passengers wholeft the train, and in response to Dacres' inquiry as to thedirection of Cranbury House, scratched his head in obviousperplexity.

  "Garge, du 'ee knaw whur be Cranbury 'Ouse?" he sung out to ashock-headed youth who was struggling with a truck on the oppositeplatform.

  "Yes," was the reply. "A matter of a couple o' mile t'other side o'Wilverley Post."

  After a lengthy and complex explanation of how to reach WilverleyPost, Dacres found himself almost as much enlightened as before.

  "Can I get a motor or a cab?" he asked.

  "Naw, zur; not onless you'm ordered 'em. There be a bus, only itdoaent meet this train."

  Dacres was not a man to be daunted by difficulties. Emerging from thestation he swung along the road, breathing in the pure moorland air,determined by hook or by crook to reach his destination with theleast possible delay.

  The road was quite deserted. Not even a motorist passed, otherwise hewould have boldly asked the favour of a lift. Overhead a deep buzzingcaused him to look upwards. Two aviators, making towards Bournemouth,glided swiftly through the gathering gloom. In this part of thecountry, Dacres reflected, there were more men in the air than on thehighway.

  Presently he reached a signpost at the junction of four cross roads.By this time there was just sufficient light for him to decipher thedirections. Lyndhurst--he did not want to go there; Ringwood--equallyundesirable, as were the other places mentioned.

  "I suppose this is Wilverley Post," he thought. "Here I must bring upand wait till some one comes along. That ought to be fairly soon.What a deserted-looking spot, though. However," he addedoptimistically, "it might be a jolly sight worse. For instance, itmight be raining hard and blowing half a gale. Ha! Here's a cartcoming along."

  In response to a hail the driver pulled up, but he was quite at aloss to give the desired information. He had lived at Ringwood allhis life, and had never heard of Cranbury House.

  Ten minutes later a large motor-car came swinging along. Thechauffeur obligingly stopped, but was likewise unable to state thelocality of Colonel Dacres' property.

  "If it were this way, sir, I would give you a lift with pleasure,"added the man, "but ten chances to one it would only be taking youfarther out of your way. If you like, though, I'll run you down toChristchurch and you can put up there for the night, sir."

  "Thanks all the same, I want particularly to get to Cranbury Houseto-night," said Dacres.

  With a civil good-night the chauffeur sped on his way, while Dacresprepared to resume his vigil by the gaunt signpost.

  Presently his ready ear detected the sounds of footsteps ploddingmethodically along the hard tarred road. Out of the darkness loomedthe shape of a powerfully-built man, bending under a load of faggots.

  "Cranbury House, zur? Sure I knaws 'ut well. If 'tweer light enow oicould show you the chimbleys, over yonder. Du 'ee taaek this path an''twill bring ee right agin the gates of t'ouse. It'll be a matter ofa couple o' miles. If ye like, zur, I'll come along wi' ee," said theman, setting his load down by the roadside.

  "I won't trouble you, thanks," replied Dacres, bestowing a shillingupon the man. "It's a fairly easy path, I hope?"

  "Yes, zur, 's long as you keep to un. There be some bad bogs close onhand. Why, only t'other evenin' old Bill Jarvis as lives downGoatspen Plain wur a-comin'----"

  But Dacres was not at all anxious to hear of the nocturnal adventuresof
the said Bill Jarvis.

  "I'll keep to the path all right," he said. "About two miles, eh?Thank you and good night."

  The path, showing grey in the misty starlight, was barely wide enoughfor two persons to walk abreast. On either hand were clumps of furzeand heather, that at places encroached to such an extent that thesharp spikes tingled the pedestrian's calves. Here and there thefootway, worn by the action of rain and the passing of cattle, wasseveral feet below the surface of the surrounding ground. It was farfrom level, for all around the country seemed composed of a series ofhillocks, all divided by wreaths of mist.

  For ten minutes Dacres walked on at a rapid rate till he was suddenlybrought up by the bifurcation of the path. So acute was the anglebetween the two ways and so alike in width that he stood stock stillin deep perplexity. His informant had made no mention of the forkedpaths.

  "Perhaps they reunite farther on," muttered Dacres. "It looks like acase of pay your money and take your choice. Why not toss for it?Heads the right hand, tails the left."

  He spun the coin. He missed it and it fell dully upon the sandyground. Three matches he struck before he discovered it standingupright in the soft earth.

  "Ah! That bears out my theory. The ways meet again. Anyway, I'll takethe right hand one."

  He had not gone very far when, with a rush and a swish amidst theheather, four black objects darted across his path, within an ace ofcapsizing him altogether.

  "Pigs," he exclaimed. "Fancy those beasts roaming about in thisdeserted spot. I wonder if there's a cottage handy?"

  A hundred yards further on the path was joined on the left hand byanother, which apparently confirmed his suggestion that it was thereunion of the two forked routes. With this reassuring discovery heredoubled his efforts until he found that the path was growingnarrower and eventually broke off in three fairly divergingdirections.

  Taking his bearings by means of the Pole Star Dacres chose the paththat followed the direction he had hitherto pursued. Down and downinto a wide yet shallow valley it plunged, till once more it splitinto two ways. To add to the perplexity of the situation both of thembore away to the right and in quite a different direction from thatwhich he supposed to be the proper one.

  Dacres brought "all standing." Not a sound disturbed the stillness ofthe night. He could easily imagine himself to be "bushed" in theAustralian wilds as far as the presence of human beings wasconcerned.

  Again he glanced upwards to ascertain his bearings, but in the hollowthe mists were considerably denser and rose high above the ground.The stars were completely blotted out.

  "I'll take the left hand path this time," he muttered impatiently,for his peace of mind was now considerably ruffled by the vexatiousdelays that he had experienced. "It's bound to lead somewhere, sohere goes."

  But before he had covered a hundred paces he found that his progresswas impeded by a brook that trickled over the now ill-defined track.On either hand the ground was marshy and, bearing in mind theincompleted narrative of Bill Jarvis's experience, he acted warily.

  "It won't be the first time that I've entered the paternal dwellingwith muddy boots," he reflected as he waded through the shallowstream, prodding the bed of the brook with his stick at each step.

  When, at length, he negotiated the twenty feet of water he found tohis intense disgust that there were no signs of the path beingresumed. Evidently that track was made by cattle for the purpose ofgoing to the stream to drink.

  Away on the left rose a rounded hill crowned with a gaunt tree, theoutlines of which were curiously distorted by the layers of mist.

  "Here goes!" he exclaimed desperately. "I'll make for that hill.Perhaps it will be clearer up there, and I may be able to strike afresh path."

  Forcing his way through the heather, dodging aggressive clumps ofgorse, and slipping on the loose sandy soil, Dacres reached thesummit of the knoll. Here he was no better off, for the sky was stillovercast, while as far as he could see in the dim light thesurrounding country was enshrouded in mist. In vain he attempted toretrace his steps, till sinking ankle deep in marshy ground warnedhim that he was not only lost but in danger of being trapped in abog.

  "Ahoy!" he shouted in stentorian tones.

  His hail was quickly answered by another "ahoy."

  "That's good," he exclaimed. "There's a sailor somewhere about. I'veheard that pensioners frequently settle down in these out of the waywilds."

  "Ahoy! Where are you?" he hailed again.

  "Where are you?" came the voice.

  "Hang it all," said Dacres dejectedly. "It's only an echo. I ammerely wasting precious breath. If only there were a breeze I couldkeep a fairly straight course. Luck's quite out this trip."

  Striking a match and glancing at his watch Dacres discovered that itwas a quarter to ten.

  "No use stopping here," he decided. "I'll plug away and trust to findanother path. Wish I'd accepted that fellow's offer and got him topilot me through this wilderness. That's the result of being sobeastly independent."

  On and on he went, dodging between the thick masses of furze. An hourlater he had a shrewd suspicion that he was describing a largecircle, for one peculiar-shaped tree struck him as being familiar;yet no longed-for path rewarded his perseverance.

  "Hurrah!" he exclaimed as a tiny speck of light leapt up at somedistance ahead of him. "Now there's a chance of finding out where Iam."

  Recklessly he plunged through the undergrowth, his eyes fixed uponthe friendly gleam that came from the midst of a deep shadow.Suddenly the light vanished, but the shadow resolved itself into adense clump of trees extending right and left like a huge wall tilllost in the night mist.

  Now he could hear voices: men talking rapidly and earnestly, whilethe clatter of a metal object falling upon hard ground raised a sharpreproof.

  "Midnight motor repairs," thought Dacres. "A broken-down car,perhaps. Then, these trees are by the side of the high road. Ha!"

  Further progress was impeded by a barbed wire fence upon which heblundered with disastrous results to his trousers and coat sleeves.The pain caused by one of the spikes cutting his wrist made him utteran exclamation of annoyance.

  Simultaneously a bell began to tinkle faintly. The men's voicesceased.

  Dacres paid scant heed to these ominous warnings. His one desire wasto get into touch with human beings once more. Standing upon thelowermost wire and holding upon the one above, he wriggled adroitlythrough the fence, then hurried through the wood, half expecting tofind himself upon the road.

  But no highway rewarded his efforts. Pine trunk after pine trunk hepassed until it began to occur to him that he was in danger of beinglost in a wood, which was as undesirable as being adrift in the midstof a foggy moorland.

  He paused. All was quiet.

  "I'll give a shout," he thought, but before he could raise his voicethere was a sudden scuffling to the right and left of him and a deepvoice exclaimed:--

  "Collar him, lads. He's one of them."