



Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer





THE ZEPPELIN'S PASSENGER

By E. Phillips Oppenheim




CHAPTER I


"Never heard a sound," the younger of the afternoon callers admitted,
getting rid of his empty cup and leaning forward in his low chair. "No
more tea, thank you, Miss Fairclough. Done splendidly, thanks. No, I
went to bed last night soon after eleven--the Colonel had been route
marching us all off our legs--and I never awoke until reveille this
morning. Sleep of the just, and all that sort of thing, but a jolly
sell, all the same! You hear anything of it, sir?" he asked, turning to
his companion, who was seated a few feet away.

Captain Griffiths shook his head. He was a man considerably older than
his questioner, with long, nervous face, and thick black hair streaked
with grey. His fingers were bony, his complexion, for a soldier,
curiously sallow, and notwithstanding his height, which was
considerable, he was awkward, at times almost uncouth. His voice was
hard and unsympathetic, and his contributions to the tea-table talk had
been almost negligible.

"I was up until two o'clock, as it happened," he replied, "but I knew
nothing about the matter until it was brought to my notice officially."

Helen Fairclough, who was doing the honours for Lady Cranston, her
absent hostess, assumed the slight air of superiority to which the
circumstances of the case entitled her.

"I heard it distinctly," she declared; "in fact it woke me up. I hung
out of the window, and I could hear the engine just as plainly as though
it were over the golf links."

The young subaltern sighed.

"Rotten luck I have with these things," he confided. "That's three times
they've been over, and I've neither heard nor seen one. This time they
say that it had the narrowest shave on earth of coming down. Of course,
you've heard of the observation car found on Dutchman's Common this
morning?"

The girl assented.

"Did you see it?" she enquired.

"Not a chance," was the gloomy reply. "It was put on two covered trucks
and sent up to London by the first train. Captain Griffiths can tell you
what it was like, I dare say. You were down there, weren't you, sir?"

"I superintended its removal," the latter informed them. "It was a very
uninteresting affair."

"Any bombs in it?" Helen asked.

"Not a sign of one. Just a hard seat, two sets of field-glasses and a
telephone. It seems to have got caught in some trees and been dragged
off."

"How exciting!" the girl murmured. "I suppose there wasn't any one in
it?"

Griffiths shook his head.

"I believe," he explained, "that these observation cars, although they
are attached to most of the Zeppelins, are seldom used in night raids."

"I should like to have seen it, all the same," Helen confessed.

"You would have been disappointed," her informant assured her.
"By-the-by," he added, a little awkwardly, "are you not expecting Lady
Cranston back this evening?"

"I am expecting her every moment. The car has gone down to the station
to meet her."

Captain Griffiths appeared to receive the news with a certain
undemonstrative satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair with the air
of one who is content to wait.

"Have you heard, Miss Fairclough," his younger companion enquired, a
little diffidently, "whether Lady Cranston had any luck in town?"

Helen Fairclough looked away. There was a slight mist before her eyes.

"I had a letter this morning," she replied. "She seems to have heard
nothing at all encouraging so far."

"And you haven't heard from Major Felstead himself, I suppose?"

The girl shook her head.

"Not a line," she sighed. "It's two months now since we last had a
letter."

"Jolly bad luck to get nipped just as he was doing so well," the young
man observed sympathetically.

"It all seems very cruel," Helen agreed. "He wasn't really fit to go
back, but the Board passed him because they were so short of officers
and he kept worrying them. He was so afraid he'd get moved to another
battalion. Then he was taken prisoner in that horrible Pervais affair,
and sent to the worst camp in Germany. Since then, of course, Philippa
and I have had a wretched time, worrying."

"Major Felstead is Lady Cranston's only brother, is he not?" Griffiths
enquired.

"And my only fiance," she replied, with a little grimace. "However,
don't let us talk about our troubles any more," she continued, with an
effort at a lighter tone. "You'll find some cigarettes on that table,
Mr. Harrison. I can't think where Nora is. I expect she has persuaded
some one to take her out trophy-hunting to Dutchman's Common."

"The road all the way is like a circus," the young soldier observed,
"and there isn't a thing to be seen when you get there. The naval airmen
were all over the place at daybreak, and Captain Griffiths wasn't
far behind them. You didn't leave much for the sightseers, sir," he
concluded, turning to his neighbour.

"As Commandant of the place," Captain Griffiths replied, "I naturally
had to have the Common searched. With the exception of the observation
car, however, I think that I am betraying no confidences in telling you
that we discovered nothing of interest."

"Do you suppose that the Zeppelin was in difficulties, as she was flying
so low?" Helen enquired.

"It is a perfectly reasonable hypothesis," the Commandant assented. "Two
patrol boats were sent out early this morning, in search of her. An old
man whom I saw at Waburne declares that she passed like a long, black
cloud, just over his head, and that he was almost deafened by the noise
of the engines. Personally, I cannot believe that they would come down
so low unless she was in some trouble."

The door of the comfortable library in which they were seated was
suddenly thrown open. An exceedingly alert-looking young lady, very
much befreckled, and as yet unemancipated from the long plaits of the
schoolroom, came in like a whirlwind. In her hand she carried a man's
Homburg hat, which she waved aloft in triumph.

"Come in, Arthur," she shouted to a young subaltern who was hovering
in the background. "Look what I've got, Helen! A trophy! Just look, Mr.
Harrison and Captain Griffiths! I found it in a bush, not twenty yards
from where the observation car came down."

Helen turned the hat around in amused bewilderment.

"But, my dear child," she exclaimed, "this is nothing but an ordinary
hat! People who travel in Zeppelins don't wear things like that. How
do you do, Mr. Somerfield?" she added, smiling at the young man who had
followed Nora into the room.

"Don't they!" the latter retorted, with an air of superior knowledge.
"Just look here!"

She turned down the lining and showed it to them. "What do you make of
that?" she asked triumphantly.

Helen gazed at the gold-printed letters a little incredulously.

"Read it out," Nora insisted.

Helen obeyed:

               "Schmidt,
                    Berlin,
                         Unter den Linden, 127."

"That sounds German," she admitted.

"It's a trophy, all right," Nora declared. "One of the crew--probably
the Commander--must have come on board in a hurry and changed into
uniform after they had started."

"It is my painful duty, Miss Nora," Harrison announced solemnly,
"to inform you, on behalf of Captain Griffiths, that all articles of
whatsoever description, found in the vicinity of Dutchman's Common,
which might possibly have belonged to any one in the Zeppelin, must be
sent at once to the War Office."

"Rubbish!" Nora scoffed. "The War Office aren't going to have my hat."

"Duty," the young man began--

"You can go back to the Depot and do your duty, then, Mr. Harrison,"
Nora interrupted, "but you're not going to have my hat. I'd throw it
into the fire sooner than give it up."

"Military regulations must be obeyed, Miss Nora," Captain Griffiths
ventured thoughtfully.

"Nothing so important as hats," Harrison put in. "You see they
fit--somebody."

The girl's gesture was irreverent but convincing. "I'd listen to
anything Captain Griffiths had to say," she declared, "but you boys who
are learning to be soldiers are simply eaten up with conceit. There's
nothing in your textbook about hats. If you're going to make yourselves
disagreeable about this, I shall simply ignore the regiment."

The two young men fell into attitudes of mock dismay. Nora took a
chocolate from a box.

"Be merciful, Miss Nora!" Harrison pleaded tearfully.

"Don't break the regiment up altogether," Somerfield begged, with a
little catch in his voice.

"All very well for you two to be funny," Nora went on, revisiting the
chocolate box, "but you've heard about the Seaforths coming, haven't
you? I adore kilts, and so does Helen; don't you, Helen?"

"Every woman does," Helen admitted, smiling. "I suppose the child really
can keep the hat, can't she?" she added, turning to the Commandant.

"Officially the matter is outside my cognizance," he declared. "I shall
have nothing to say."

The two young men exchanged glances.

"A hat," Somerfield ruminated, "especially a Homburg hat, is scarcely an
appurtenance of warfare."

His brother officer stood for a moment looking gravely at the object in
question. Then he winked at Somerfield and sighed.

"I shall take the whole responsibility," he decided magnanimously, "of
saying nothing about the matter. We can't afford to quarrel with Miss
Nora, can we, Somerfield?"

"Not on your life," that young man agreed.

"Sensible boys!" Nora pronounced graciously.

"Thank you very much, Captain Griffiths, for not encouraging them in
their folly. You can take me as far as the post-office when you go,
Arthur," she continued, turning to the fortunate possessor of the
side-car, "and we'll have some golf to-morrow afternoon, if you like."

"Won't Mr. Somerfield have some tea?" Helen invited.

"Thank you very much, Miss Fairclough," the man replied; "we had tea
some time ago at Watson's, where I found Miss Nora."

Nora suddenly held up her finger. "Isn't that the car?" she asked. "Why,
it must be mummy, here already. Yes, I can hear her voice!"

Griffiths, who had moved eagerly towards the window, looked back.

"It is Lady Cranston," he announced solemnly.



CHAPTER II


The woman who paused for a moment upon the threshold of the library,
looking in upon the little company, was undeniably beautiful. She
had masses of red-gold hair, a little disordered by her long railway
journey, deep-set hazel eyes, a delicate, almost porcelain-like
complexion, and a sensitive, delightfully shaped mouth. Her figure
was small and dainty, and just at that moment she had an appearance of
helplessness which was almost childlike. Nora, after a vigorous embrace,
led her stepmother towards a chair.

"Come and sit by the fire, Mummy," she begged. "You look tired and
cold."

Philippa exchanged a general salutation with her guests. She was still
wearing her travelling coat, and her air of fatigue was unmistakable.
Griffiths, who had not taken his eyes off her since her entrance,
wheeled an easy-chair towards the hearth-rug, into which she sank with a
murmured word of thanks.

"You'll have some tea, won't you, dear?" Helen enquired.

Philippa shook her head. Her eyes met her friend's for a moment--it was
only a very brief glance, but the tragedy of some mutual sorrow seemed
curiously revealed in that unspoken question and answer. The two young
subalterns prepared to take their leave. Nora, kneeling down, stroked
her stepmother's hand.

"No news at all, then?" Helen faltered.

"None," was the weary reply.

"Any amount of news here, Mummy," Nora intervened cheerfully, "and heaps
of excitement. We had a Zeppelin over Dutchman's Common last night,
and she lost her observation car. Mr. Somerfield took me up there this
afternoon, and I found a German hat. No one else got a thing, and, would
you believe it, those children over there tried to take it away from
me."

Her stepmother smiled faintly.

"I expect you are keeping the hat, dear," she observed.

"I should say so!" Nora assented.

Philippa held out her hand to the two young men who had been waiting to
take their leave.

"You must come and dine one night this week, both of you," she said. "My
husband will be home by the later train this evening, and I'm sure he
will be glad to have you."

"Very kind of you, Lady Cranston, we shall be delighted," Harrison
declared.

"Rather!" his companion echoed.

Nora led them away, and Helen, with a word of excuse, followed them.
Griffiths, who had also risen to his feet, came a little nearer to
Philippa's chair.

"And you, too, of course, Captain Griffiths," she said, smiling
pleasantly up at him. "Must you hurry away?"

"I will stay, if I may, until Miss Fairclough returns," he answered,
resuming his seat.

"Do!" Philippa begged him. "I have had such a miserable time in town.
You can't think how restful it is to be back here."

"I am afraid," he observed, "that your journey has not been successful."

Philippa shook her head.

"It has been completely unsuccessful," she sighed. "I have not been able
to hear a word about my brother. I am so sorry for poor Helen, too. They
were only engaged, you know, a few days before he left for the front
this last time."

Captain Griffiths nodded sympathetically.

"I never met Major Felstead," he remarked, "but every one who has
seems to like him very much. He was doing so well, too, up to that last
unfortunate affair, wasn't he?"

"Dick is a dear," Philippa declared. "I never knew any one with so many
friends. He would have been commanding his battalion now, if only he
were free. His colonel wrote and told me so himself."

"I wish there were something I could do," Griffiths murmured, a little
awkwardly. "It hurts me, Lady Cranston, to see you so upset."

She looked at him for a moment in faint surprise.

"Nobody can do anything," she bemoaned. "That is the unfortunate part of
it all."

He rose to his feet and was immediately conscious, as he always was when
he stood up, that there was a foot or two of his figure which he had no
idea what to do with.

"You wouldn't feel like a ride to-morrow morning, Lady Cranston?" he
asked, with a wistfulness which seemed somehow stifled in his rather
unpleasant voice. She shook her head.

"Perhaps one morning later," she replied, a little vaguely. "I haven't
any heart for anything just now."

He took a sombre but agitated leave of his hostess, and went out into
the twilight, cursing his lack of ease, remembering the things which
he had meant to say, and hating himself for having forgotten them.
Philippa, to whom his departure had been, as it always was, a relief,
was already leaning forward in her chair with her arm around Helen's
neck.

"I thought that extraordinary man would never go," she exclaimed, "and
I was longing to send for you, Helen. London has been such a dreary
chapter of disappointments."

"What a sickening time you must have had, dear!"

"It was horrid," Philippa assented sadly, "but you know Henry is no use
at all, and I should have felt miserable unless I had gone. I have been
to every friend at the War Office, and every friend who has friends
there. I have made every sort of enquiry, and I know just as much now
as I did when I left here--that Richard was a prisoner at Wittenberg
the last time they heard, and that they have received no notification
whatever concerning him for the last two months."

Helen glanced at the calendar.

"It is just two months to-day," she said mournfully, "since we heard."

"And then," Philippa sighed, "he hadn't received a single one of our
parcels."

Helen rose suddenly to her feet. She was a tall, fair girl of the best
Saxon type, slim but not in the least angular, with every promise,
indeed, of a fuller and more gracious development in the years to come.
She was barely twenty-two years old, and, as is common with girls of her
complexion, seemed younger. Her bright, intelligent face was, above
all, good-humoured. Just at that moment, however, there was a flush of
passionate anger in her cheeks.

"It makes me feel almost beside myself," she exclaimed, "this hideous
incapacity for doing anything! Here we are living in luxury, without a
single privation, whilst Dick, the dearest thing on earth to both of us,
is being starved and goaded to death in a foul German prison!"

"We mustn't believe that it's quite so bad as that, dear," Philippa
remonstrated. "What is it, Mills?"

The elderly man-servant who had entered with a tray in his band, bowed
as he arranged it upon a side table.

"I have taken the liberty of bringing in a little fresh tea, your
ladyship," he announced, "and some hot buttered toast. Cook has sent
some of the sandwiches, too, which your ladyship generally fancies."

"It is very kind of you, Mills," Philippa said, with rather a wan little
smile. "I had some tea at South Lynn, but it was very bad. You might
take my coat, please."

She stood up, and the heavy fur coat slipped easily away from her slim,
elegant little body.

"Shall I light up, your ladyship?" Mills enquired.

"You might light a lamp," Philippa directed, "but don't draw the blinds
until lighting-up time. After the noise of London," she went on,
turning to Helen, "I always think that the faint sound of the sea is so
restful."

The man moved noiselessly about the room and returned once more to his
mistress.

"We should be glad to hear, your ladyship," he said, "if there is any
news of Major Felstead?" Philippa shook her head.

"None at all, I am sorry to say, Mills! Still, we must hope for the
best. I dare say that some of these camps are not so bad as we imagine."

"We must hope not, your ladyship," was the somewhat dismal reply. "Shall
I fasten the windows?"

"You can leave them until you draw the blinds, Mills," Philippa
directed. "I am not at home, if any one should call. See that we are
undisturbed for a little time."

"Very good, your ladyship."

The door was closed, and the two women were once more alone. Philippa
held out her arms.

"Helen, darling, come and be nice to me," she begged. "Let us both
pretend that no news is good news. Oh, I know what you are suffering,
but remember that even if Dick is your lover, he is my dear, only
brother--my twin brother, too. We have been so much to each other all
our lives. He'll stick it out, dear, if any human being can. We shall
have him back with us some day."

"But he is hungry," Helen sobbed. "I can't bear to think of his being
hungry. Every time I sit down to eat, it almost chokes me."

"I suppose he has forgotten what a whisky and soda is like," Philippa
murmured, with a little catch in her own throat.

"He always used to love one about this time," Helen faltered, glancing
at