The Air Pirate

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  _The Air Pirate_

  Some Ranger Gull Books

  _HIS GRACE'S GRACE__BACK TO LILAC LAND__THE CIGARETTE SMOKER__PORTALONE__THE SERF_ } _Historical__THE HOUSE OF TORMENT_ } _Novels__WHEN SATAN RULED_ }_THE HARVEST OF LOVE__A STORY OF THE STAGE__THE PRICE OF PITY_

  _THE AIR PIRATE_

  _By Ranger Gull, Author of "The Serf,""Back to Lilac Land," "The Snare of the Fowler," etc._

  Decoration]

  _LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, LTD.PATERNOSTER HOUSE, E.C._

  Dedication

  TO PERCY BURTON, Esq.

  In memory of a certain celebrated walk from Great Holland to Frinton-on-Sea, and the salmon we met at the end of it. With all good wishes from the Author.

  CONTENTS

  CHAP. PAGE I.--THE COMMISSIONER OF AIR POLICE FOR GREAT BRITAIN RIDES TO PLYMOUTH IN GOOD COMPANY 9

  II.--FATE OF THE TRANSATLANTIC AIR-LINER "ALBATROS" 24

  III.--"COLD-BLOODED PIRACY IN THE HIGH AIR" 39

  IV.--THE NEWSPAPERS IN FULL CRY 55

  V.--THE FAMILIAR SPIRIT OF MR. VAN ADAMS 67

  VI.--MR. DANJURO, THINKING MACHINE, EXPLAINS HIMSELF 83

  VII.--THE CURIOUS FIGHT IN THE RESTAURANT 99

  VIII.--THE HUNTING INSTINCT IS STIMULATED BY A PROCESSION 111

  IX.--THE MAN WITH THE WICKED FACE 128

  X.--SIR JOHN CUSTANCE COMES UPON THE HOUSE OF HELZEPHRON 138

  XI.--"THE AIR WOLVES ARE HUNTING TO-NIGHT!" 150

  XII.--THE KILLING OF MICHAEL FEDDON 165

  XIII.--THE SECRET THAT PUZZLED TWO CONTINENTS 176

  XIV.--THE AIR PIRATE AT LAST 187

  XV.--LED OUT TO DIE 203

  XVI.--THE HOUNDS FROM THIBET AND MR. VARGUS; WITH A DISCOVERY ON BOARD THE PIRATE 216

  XVII.--THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH 236

  XVIII.--THE GOLDEN DREAM 253

  XIX.--LAST FLIGHT OF THE PIRATE AIRSHIP 266

  EPILOGUE 277

  THE AIR PIRATE

  CHAPTER I

  THE COMMISSIONER OF AIR POLICE FOR GREAT BRITAIN RIDES TO PLYMOUTH INGOOD COMPANY

  Nearly two years ago a leading London daily newspaper said: "TheGovernment have assured us that all danger from present and future airpiracies is now over, and that the recent events which so startled andhorrified both this country and the United States of America can neverrecur. For our own part we accept that assurance, and we do not thinkthat the Commissioner of Air Police for the British Government will becaught napping again.

  "In saying this we do not in the least mean to imply that Sir JohnCustance could either have foreseen or prevented the astoundingmid-Atlantic tragedies. Sir John, though barely thirty years of age, isan official in every way worthy of his high position, an organizer ofexceptional ability and a pilot of practical experience. Press andpublic are perfectly well aware that it is owing to his personalexertions that our magnificent Transatlantic air-liners are no longerstricken down by the Night Terror of the immediate past. And in sayingthis much, we have both a suggestion and a request to make.

  "The inner history of the piracies is only fully known to one man. It isa story, we understand, that puts the imagination of the boldest writerof fiction to shame. Such parts of it as have been made public hint at astory of absorbing interest behind. The bad old days of censorship andsecrecy have vanished with the occasions that made them necessary. Wesuggest that a full and detailed 'story' of the first--and we trust thelast--Air Pirate should be written, and given to the world. And we callupon that most popular public man, Sir John Custance, to do this for us.He alone knows everything."

  At the time that it appeared I read the above to Charles Thumbwood, mylittle valet, as I finished breakfast, in my Half Moon Street chambers.

  "Not _quite_ correct, Charles. You know almost as much about it as I do.To say nothing of a certain friend ..."

  "I wouldn't say that, Sir John," said Charles, brushing my lightovercoat. "Though I rode part of the course alongside of you; to saynothing of Mr. Danjuro." Thumbwood was a jockey before I took him intomy service. "Are you going to write it all down, Sir John?"

  "That depends on several things, and on one person especially. I mustthink it all over."

  Think it over I did as I drove to my offices in Whitehall--the ScotlandYard of the Air--and I discussed it afterwards with a certain lady....

  Which is how the following narrative came to be written, though I didnot complete it until the best part of two years had elapsed.

  II

  I never did any flying during the Great War. I was too young, being onlyfifteen and at Eton when Peace was signed. But from the very earliestdays that I can remember aviation fascinated me as nothing else could.My father, the first baronet, left me a moderate fortune. He died when Iwas eighteen, and instead of going to Oxford, I entered as a cadet inthe R.F.C. It is not necessary to detail how, when I had earned mywings, I joined the civil side of flying and became a pilot-commander inthe Transatlantic Service. I had a good deal of influence behind me,and, to cut a long story short, at twenty-eight I was Assistant, and atthirty Chief Commissioner of the British Air Police. I was answerableto Government alone, and, within its limits, my powers were absolute.

  It was on a morning in late June, the 25th to be exact, when the wheelsbegan to move. I date the start of everything from that morning. Aboutone o'clock on the preceding night Thumbwood had waked me fromrefreshing sleep. A wireless message, in code, had been received atWhitehall. It was addressed to me personally, and was from theController of the White Star Air Line at Plymouth. My people atWhitehall, on night duty, thought it of sufficient importance to send oneven at this hour.

  As soon as I was thoroughly awake, and had done cursing Thumbwood, Iread the message. It only said that a matter of the gravest importancerequired my personal presence at Plymouth, and would I come down atonce.

  Now considerable experience of the fussy great men who controlled theair-liner companies, which linked up England with all parts of theworld, had made me somewhat sceptical of these urgent demands for mypresence. More than once I had to explain that I was not at the beck andcall of any commercial magnate, and if I had made myself disliked incertain quarters I had, at least, made my office respected.

  Accordingly I scribbled instructions to the chief inspector on duty thathe should send a wireless to Plymouth requesting further details. ThenI went to sleep again.

  As a matter of fact, I _was_ going to Plymouth the next morning in anycase, though on private business. Sir Joshua Johnson, Controller of theWhite Star Line, did not, of course, know that. His midnight message wasa coincidence.

  I could have flown down from Whitehall in my fast police yacht in anhour, but, as it happened, I was going to train from Paddington. SirJoshua could wait until I turned up some time after lunch.

  How well I remember the morning of my departure from town. The longdeparture platform at Paddington was crowded with well-dressed,happy-looking people, as I stood by the door of my reserved carriage inthe Riviera Express--that superb train, with its curved roof, which runsto Plymouth without a stop.

  Thumbwood, invaluable little man, filled the carriage with
flowers,great bunches of white lilac and June roses, and the station-master, whocame up for a chat, looked curiously at the bower my valet had made. TheChief Commissioner of Air Police was not wont to travel like that!

  For my part, I was wildly exhilarated, and at the same time, as nervousas a boy making his first flight. To-day might prove one of the happiestor quite the most miserable of my life. I was going to put it to thetest. Confound it, why didn't Connie come?

  On this morning Miss Constance Shepherd, the young light-comedy actress,adored of London, and to me the rose of all the roses, was travellingdown to Plymouth to catch the air-liner starting from that port to NewYork at eight-thirty this evening. And she had promised to travel withme!

  Would she have done so, I kept on asking myself, if she didn't knowquite well what I meant to say to her? Or was it just friendliness? Iknew she liked me.

  ... Why didn't she come? Here it was, only eight minutes before thetrain started. As I searched the platform, with an eye that strove toappear calm and unconcerned, I saw faces that I knew--faces oftheatrical celebrities, two or three of the prettiest girls in England,a handsome, hook-nosed young man, who was, perhaps, the best knowntheatrical manager in London, two eminent comedians carrying bouquets.And the Press photographers were beginning to arrange their cameras....

  I had completely forgotten what a tremendous celebrity dear littleConnie was. I might have known they'd have given her a send-off on herway to the States. All the same, it annoyed me, as it seemed to beannoying a tall, hatchet-faced man in Donegal tweeds, who scowled atthe little crowd. Was he a friend, too, I wondered?

  She came at last, very late of course, and after a brief smile at me,underwent the public ceremonies of the occasion, while I--I ownit--retired into the carriage for a minute or two. But I saw the camerasclick, and the girls embrace, and the crowd of sightseers trying to pushinto the charmed circle, and then Connie was in the corridor, leaningout of the window, waving and smiling as the train began to move to anaccompaniment of loud cheers.

  "My dear Connie, royalty isn't in it!" I said, as she stepped laughinglyinto the carriage, and I pushed the sliding door home.

  "Oh, they're dears!" she said, "and they do really mean well, despitethe fact that we shall all be in the picture papers to-morrow morning,and that's good for business."

  "I thought you were never coming."

  "It is an impression I convey," she answered; "but I'm very careful,really. My maid was here with the luggage half an hour ago. What lovelyflowers you have got for me, John!"

  She lay back in her seat as the train gathered speed and Ealing flashedby with a roar, and I feasted my eyes on the fairest picture in theworld.

  She wore a simple travelling coat and skirt of white pique, and thewhite lilac was all about her, framing her face as she held up a branchto inhale its fragrance. All England knew that face in the days whenlittle Connie sang and danced herself into the heart of the public, butnone knew it as well as I.

  How can I describe that marvellous hair of dark chestnut, those deepamethyst eyes, and the perfect bow of lips which were truer to the exactcolour of coral than any I have ever seen? It only makes a catalogueafter all. It's the expression--the soul, if you like--that makes thetrue face; and here was one so frank and kind and sweet that when onelooked it seemed as if hands were placed beneath the heart, lifting itup!

  On one other day only did I see her more lovely than she was now.

  Well, it was too early to say what I wanted to say, and, besides, I wasnervous as yet. We hadn't settled down. As I expected, her breakfast hadconsisted of tea and a macaroon, so I produced a basket--lunch was tocome later--in which a silver box of caviare sandwiches was surroundedby crushed ice in a larger box of zinc. There was also iced hock andseltzer water. We both felt more at home in a few minutes.

  We had lit our cigarettes, and I was thinking hard, when someone passingalong the corridor looked in upon us for a moment. I had an impressionof a brown face and a scowl. It was the man in tweeds that I had noticedat Paddington.

  "That _beast_!" said Connie suddenly.

  I turned and looked at her. She was frowning adorably, and I thought shelooked 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 isHenry Helzephron, a big man in your way once."

  I _did_ know the name as that of a pilot of extraordinary courage andability during the Great War. He had gained the Victoria Cross when alad of twenty, and his exploits during two wonderful years formed partof the history of aviation. He had not flown for years now, and dividedhis time between the more dissipated haunts of the West End and anestate he had somewhere in Devon or Cornwall, a "has-been" with asinister reputation, a lounger of thirty-six.

  "I know. 'Hawk Helzephron' he used to be called. Gone all to pieces, Iunderstand. But how do _you_ know him, dear?"

  "He did me the honour to ask me to marry him about two months ago," sheanswered, "and since then he is always putting himself in my way. Hedoes not speak, but he comes to the theatre and glares. I am alwaysmeeting 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 beunprotected from Helzephrons and all the tribe who haunt the stage doorany more!

  A successful aviator takes instantaneous decisions. He must. If hehesitates he's lost.

  What I said, as the Riviera Express hurled itself through the summernoon, is not part of this narrative. I daresay I was no more originalthan most men, but the results were eminently satisfactory for, as weran past the towers and winding river of Exeter, Connie and I wereengaged.

  I remember that I lugged the ring out of my waistcoat pocket--sapphiresand diamonds, a top-shelf ring!--precisely as we glided through ExeterStation.

  "O-oh!" said Connie, as the thing winked and shone in the sunlight; andthen: "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 putit on, and gave her several other things of no particular importancewhile she was doing it.

  For the rest of the journey, past the red cliffs and blue seas ofTeignmouth and Paignton, we had a long and happy talk, finding out--ofcourse--all sorts of delightful things about each other which we hadonly suspected before.

  Perhaps there is nothing fresher and more delightful in life than thosefirst few hours of revelation, when a man and a girl who love each otherhave, at last, become engaged. It is like coming into harbour after ananxious voyage, and yet, all the time there is the splendid knowledgethat there are new and marvellous seas waiting to be explored, thistime--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, nowthat Plymouth was barely thirty hours from New York, there was nothingto prevent me from popping over once or twice to see her. I wasresponsible to no one for my time, and half a dozen quite real mattersin connection with my job would provide a valid excuse. After the sixweeks 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 thisside you shall be Lady Custance, darling!"

  So it was settled, lightly and happily enough, and when we left thetrain at Plymouth Station there was not a cloud in the sky or in ourhearts.

  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 andwell-looking maiden to collect luggage, who turned out to be Connie'smaid, Wilson.

  We left them to it and drove to the Royal Hotel, not before I had seenthe train start again on its j
ourney to Cornwall, with Mr.Helzephron--whom I had quite forgotten--standing in the corridor andregarding us with a malignant scowl upon his hawk-like, dissipatedcountenance. But Mr. Helzephron, and all other men alive, were about sixa penny to me just then.

  Connie was to leave the sea-drome at eight-thirty in that fineflying-liner _Atlantis_. She was a Royal Mail ship, and about thefastest and finest flyer in the Transatlantic service, with a carryingcapacity of three hundred and fifty passengers, and a thousand tons deadweight of cargo. Her crew numbered forty, and she was commanded byCaptain 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 thinkit all over!" she said, so she went up to her room in the hotel atonce. I arranged to call for her at five, when we would go for a strolland afterwards have an early dinner. Then I washed my hands and strolledinto the famous long bar of the hotel for a sandwich and a whisky andsoda, before proceeding to the offices of the White Star Line on theHoe.

  As I munched my sandwich, I wondered what the affair was that had madeSir Joshua Johnson send me a wireless message in the middle of thenight--a time when obese old gentlemen should be fast asleep in bed. Ihad told my people at Whitehall to ask for further particulars, but Ihad not the least intention of being bothered with them--or any policebusiness whatever--until I had settled my own personal affairs withConnie. Accordingly, when I left my chambers in the morning to go toPaddington, I sent a message to Whitehall to say that I was proceedingto Plymouth during the day, and would wait till my arrival to hear whatthe business was. Muir Lockhart, my assistant, would perfectlyunderstand, and was quite capable of dealing with anything that mightcome along.

  The long bar was, as usual, full of naval officers, with a sprinkling ofAir Merchant Service men in their uniform of grey, silver and lightblue. I saw no one that I knew, until the swing-doors leading into thehotel were flung open, and a wiry little man in the black and silveruniform of my own corps came hurriedly in. His peaked cap, with thesilver wings and sword badge, was pushed back on his head, and he was ina state of unenviable heat and perspiration. He was Pilot SuperintendentLashmar, chief of the Ocean Patrol stationed at Plymouth, with equalrank to a lieutenant-commander in the Navy, and one of my most trustedofficers 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. Hewheeled round in a second, and when he saw who it was his face changedfrom anxiety to relief.

  "Thank Heaven you're come, sir," he said, as he saluted. "We've beensignalling to Whitehall all the morning, and all we could get was thatyou 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 instantthat there really _was_ something important afoot, and that by bad luckI was behind time. Sir Joshua Johnson was all very well, but when my ownpeople began to send out signals--that was quite another matter.

  "We thought you'd fly down in the yacht, sir, and we've been sendingwireless 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 goround to Sir Joshua Johnson at once," was all I said.

  "That will be best, sir, and then every detail can be put before you insequence. I have my report with me, written up to date. I think I'vetaken all possible measures up to the present, but, of course, we'vebeen waiting for you. Sir Joshua, as you may imagine, is half out of hiswits."

  "He's not had very far to travel, then," I said to gain time. All thiswas so much Greek to me, and I had to walk warily.

  In a minute more Lashmar and I were on the Hoe and approaching thestately offices of the Line, which stood in the very centre of thatfamous promenade above the blue waters of the Sound.