



Produced by R. G. P. M. van Giesen




[Illustration: cover]




THE GREAT ADVENTURE SERIES

Percy F. Westerman:
  THE AIRSHIP "GOLDEN HIND"
  TO THE FORE WITH THE TANKS
  THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
  WILMSHURST OF THE FRONTIER FORCE

Rowland Walker:
  THE PHANTOM AIRMAN
  DASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPS
  DEVILLE MCKEENE:
    THE EXPLOITS OF THE MYSTERY AIRMAN
  BLAKE OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE
  BUCKLE OF SUBMARINE V 2
  OSCAR DANBY, V.C.

S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1.




THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE




[Illustration: "Blake released his grip of the rough-and-ready dart."
--_Page_ 65.]




THE
SECRET BATTLEPLANE



BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN



AUTHOR OF
"THE RIVAL SUBMARINES," "A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.," ETC., ETC.



[Illustration: logo]



S. W. PARTRIDGE & Co.
4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1




MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN
_First Published 1916_
_Frequently reprinted_




          CONTENTS
    CHAPTER                               PAGE
       I. SNOWED UP
      II. A MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTOR
     III. THE WONDERS OF THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
      IV. A TRIAL TRIP
       V. SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR
      VI. THE INTERRUPTED VIGIL
     VII. THE BATTLEPLANE'S OFFICIAL DEBUT
    VIII. A CROSS-CHANNEL FLIGHT
      IX. A FIGHT TO A FINISH
       X. TRICKED
      XI. THE FATE OF A SPY
     XII. SERGEANT O'RAFFERTY'S LUCKY BOMB
    XIII. THE FRONTIER
     XIV. ATHOL TACKLES VON SECKER
      XV. GAME TO THE LAST
     XVI. _À BERLIN_
    XVII. DISABLED
   XVIII. TURNING THE TABLES
     XIX. A DUEL WITH A ZEPPELIN
      XX. LIBERATED
     XXI. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER
    XXII. ALL GOES WELL WITH ENGLAND




CHAPTER I

SNOWED UP


"THAT rotter of a garage fellow!" exclaimed Athol Hawke explosively.
"He hasn't done a thing to the wheel; and, what is more, he rushed
me sixpence for garaging the bike, the young swindler."

"Didn't you go for him?" enquired his chum, Dick Tracey.

"He wasn't there to go for," replied Athol. "He was away on some
job, and left the explanations to a youngster. But, my word, it is
snowing! Think she'll stick it with that groggy wheel?"

The scene was the Market Square, Shrewsbury. The time, nine o'clock
on a Saturday morning, March, 1916. It was, as Athol remarked,
snowing. A week or more of intermittent blizzards had culminated in a
steady fall of large, crisp flakes, and judging by the direction of
the wind, the heavy, dull-grey clouds and an erratic barometer, the
worst was yet to come.

Athol Hawke was a lad of seventeen, although he looked several years
older. He was tall, lightly yet firmly built, of bronzed complexion,
grey eyes and with dark hair. The fact that he was wearing waterproof
overalls, leggings and fur gloves tended to conceal his build.

His companion, who was similarly attired, was Athol's junior by the
short space of three days. In height he was five feet seven--four
inches less than that of his chum; build, thick-set; complexion might
have been fair but exposure to wintry conditions had resulted in his
face being burnt to a reddish colour. His hair was light brown, with
a tendency to crispness; his eyes blue. By disposition he was
remarkably bright and cheerful, characteristics that served as a foil
to Hawke's almost invariable staidness.

The two chums were riding a motor-bicycle and side-car. They had
"been on the road" nearly a week. What possessed them to select a
time of blizzard and equinoctial