The Zeppelin's Passenger

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Lessingham stood for a moment by the side of the car from which he hadjust descended, glanced at the huge tyres and the tins of petrol lashedon behind.

  "Nothing more you want, chauffeur?" he asked.

  "Nothing, sir," was the almost inaudible reply.

  "You have the route map?"

  "Yes, sir, and enough petrol for three hundred miles."

  Lessingham turned away, pushed open the gate, and walked up the driveof Mainsail Haul. Decidedly it was the moment of his life. He washard-pressed, as he knew, by others besides Griffiths. A few hours nowwas all the start he could reasonably expect. He was face to face with avery real and serious danger, which he could no longer ignore, and fromwhich escape was all the time becoming more difficult. And yet allthe emotionalism of this climax was centred elsewhere. It was fromPhilippa's lips that he would hear his real sentence; it was her answerwhich would fill him once more with the lust for life, or send him on inhis rush through the night for safety, callous, almost indifferent as toits result.

  He walked up the drive, curiously at his ease, in a state of suspendedanimation, which knew no hope and feared no disappointment. Just beforehe reached the front door, the postern gate in the wall on his left-handside opened, and Philippa stood there, muffled up in her fur coat,framed in the faint and shadowy moonlight against the background ofseabounded space. He moved eagerly towards her.

  "I heard the car," she whispered. "Come and sit down for a moment. Itisn't in the least cold, and the moon is just coming up over the sea.I came out," she went on, as he walked obediently by her side, "becausethe house somehow stifled me."

  She led him to a seat. Below, the long waves were breaking through uponthe rocks, throwing little fountains of spray into the air. The villagewhich lay at their feet was silent and lifeless--there was, indeed, acurious absence of sound, except when the incoming waves broke upon therocks and ground the pebbles together in their long, backward swish.Very soon the sleeping country, now wrapped in shadows, would take formand outline in the light of the rising moon; hedges would divide thesquare fields, the black woods would take shape and the hills theirmystic solemnity. But those few minutes were minutes of suspense.Lessingham was to some extent conscious of their queer, allegoricalsignificance.

  "I have come," he reminded her quite steadily, "for my answer."

  She showed him the small bag by her side upon the seat, and touched hercloak. She was indeed prepared for a journey.

  "You see," she told him, "here I am."

  His face was suddenly transformed. She was almost afraid of the effectof her words. She found herself struggling in his arms.

  "Not yet," she begged. "Please remember where we are."

  He released her reluctantly. A few yards away, they could hear the softpurring of the six-cylinder engine, inexorable reminder of the passingmoments. He caught her by the hand.

  "Come," he whispered passionately. "Every moment is precious."

  She hesitated no longer. The open postern gate seemed to him suddenly tolead down the great thoroughfare of a new and splendid life. He was tobe one of those favoured few to whom was given the divine prize. Andthen he stopped short, even while she walked willingly by his side. Heknew so well the need for haste. The gentle murmur of that engine wasinviting him all the while. Yet he knew there was one thing more whichmust be said.

  "Philippa," he began, "you know what we are doing? We can escape, Ibelieve. My flight is all wonderfully arranged. But there will be nocoming back. It will be all over when our car passes over the hillsthere. You will not regret? You care enough even for this supremesacrifice?"

  "I shall never reproach you as long as I live," she promised. "I havemade up my mind to come, and I am ready."

  "But it is because you care?" he pleaded anxiously.

  "It is because I care, for one reason."

  "In the great way?" he persisted. "In the only way?"

  She hesitated. He suddenly felt her hand grow colder in his. He saw herframe shiver beneath its weight of furs.

  "Don't ask me quite that," she begged breathlessly. "Be content to knowthat I have counted the cost, and that I am willing to come."

  He felt the chill of impending disaster. He closed the little gatethrough which they had been about to pass, and stood with his back toit. In that faint light which seemed to creep over the world before themoon itself was revealed, she seemed to him at that moment the fairest,the most desirable thing on earth. Her face was upturned towards his,half pathetic, half protesting against the revelation which he wasforcing from her.

  "Listen, Philippa," he said, "Miss Fairclough warned me of one thing. Iput it on one side. It did not seem to be possible. Now I must ask you aquestion. You have some other motive, have you not, for choosing to comeaway with me? It is not only because you love me better than any oneelse in the world, as I do you, and therefore that we belong to oneanother and it is right and good that we should spend our lives in oneanother's company? There is something else, is there not, at the root ofyour determination? Some ally?"

  It was a strange moment for Philippa. Nothing had altered within her,and yet a wonderful pity was glowing in her heart, tearing at heremotions, bringing a sob into her throat.

  "You mean--Henry?" she faltered.

  "I mean your husband," he assented.

  She was suddenly passionately angry with herself. It seemed to her thatthe days of childishness were back. She was behaving like an imbecilewhilst he played the great game.

  "You see," he went on, his own voice a little unsteady, "this is oneof those moments in both our lives when anything except the exact truthwould mean shipwreck. You still love your husband?"

  "I am such a fool!" she sobbed, clutching at his arm.

  "You were willing to go away with me," he continued mercilessly, "partlybecause of the anger you felt towards him, and partly out of revenge,and just a little because you liked me. Is that not so?"

  Her head pressed upon his arm. She nodded. It was just that convulsivemovement of her head, with its wealth of wonderful hair and its plainblack motoring hat, which dealt the death-blow to his hopes. She wasjust a child once more--and she trusted him.

  "Very well, then," he said, "just let me think--for a moment."

  She understood enough not to raise her head. Lessingham was gazing outthrough the chaotic shadows of the distant banks of clouds from whichthe moon was rising. Already the pain had begun, and yet with it wasthat queer sense of exaltation which comes with sacrifice.

  "We have been very nearly foolish," he told her, with grave kindliness."It is well, perhaps, that we were in time. Those windows which leadinto your library,--through which I first came to you, by-the-by,--" headded, with a strange, reminiscent little sigh, "are they open?"

  "Yes!" she whispered.

  "Come, then," he invited. "Before I leave there is something I want tomake clear to you."

  They made their way rather like two conspirators along the littleterraced walk. Philippa opened the window and closed it again behindthem. The room was empty. Lessingham, watching her closely, almostgroaned as he saw the wonderful relief in her face. She threw off thecloak, and he groaned again as he remembered how nearly it had been histask to remove it. In her plain travelling dress, she turned and lookedat him very pathetically.

  "You have, perhaps, a morning paper here?" he enquired.

  "A newspaper? Why, yes, the Times," she answered, a little surprised.

  He took it from the table towards which she pointed, and held it underthe lamplight. Presently he called to her. His forefinger rested upon acertain column.

  "Read this," he directed.

  She read it out in a tone which passed from surprise to blank wonder:

  Commander Sir Henry Cranston, Baronet, to receive the D.S.O. for specialservices, and to be promoted to the rank of Acting Rear-Admiral.

  "What does it mean?" she asked feverishly. "Henry? A D.S.O. for Henryfor special services?"

  "It me
ans," he told her, with a forced smile, "that your husband is, asyou put it in your expressive language, a fraud."