Chapter I.—“By the Dark North Sea”-3

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“But let us know exactly what happened,” said Mitter with some irritation, “and we can judge then what this plane means.” He looked towards Dr. Gottlieb. “Don't forget the doctor took his degree in physics and chemistry, and he'll tell at once if there's any practical value in the discovery.” “Oh! I'm not exaggerating,” said Von Rieben sharply. “This aeroplane is a stroke of genius and gives Britain the complete mastery of the air. They could drop their bombs anywhere without any interference and everyone would be completely helpless.” He paused a moment. “Well, what exactly happened was this. Last week Lord Rodney himself rang up and asked me to keep this afternoon free, and today after lunch that Colonel Lendon, of the Air Service, called for me in a car and I was driven down to Newmarket. Then, as I say, I was taken up to the Royal box on the grandstand, and within a few minutes, to our mutual astonishment, the representatives of nine of the great Powers found ourselves assembled there. On the lawn in front were nearly all the members of the British Cabinet, along with the chief departmental officers of the army, navy, and air services. As we were ushered into the box we were all handed a pair of powerful Zeiss glasses.” He scowled angrily. “Yes, and all the time with all their extreme politeness, the damned Britishers were grinning as if they were on to some good joke. We could see they could hardly contain themselves in their amusement. Then the Prime Minister made the preliminary remarks I have told you, and pointing to a long wide stretch of scarlet canvas, spread on the racecourse before us and extending for about two hundred yards, looked at his watch and announced that the first plane would arrive in four and a half minutes and land in front of us.” Von Rieben mimicked a deep base voice. “It is now passing over Huntingdon, gentlemen, twenty-five miles away, but as its speed is upwards of three hundred miles an hour, I promise you it will be here to time. It will sound a syren and circle round us before landing.” The Ambassador stopped speaking and it was obvious he was struggling with some emotion. After a few moments, however, he went on: “Well, there we stood in a strained and uncomfortable silence. I felt suffocating, and suddenly realised that I was holding my breath. We were all affected, and I saw old Ahsberg had bitten his lip until the blood had come. Then far away we heard a syren sounding, and Lord Rodney called out excitedly. ‘Up with your glasses, gentlemen; it's coming from over there,’ and he pointed across the heath.” Von Rieben cursed deeply. “But we could see nothing except the blue sky and some wisps of cloud that were trailing across. The sound of the syren, however, became louder and louder, and then it seemed to be screeching all round us. Then there was one final tremendous wailing blast, and, my God!”—he spoke with an effort—“down upon the scarlet canvas streaked a long, grey shadow. It stopped in less than a hundred yards, and there before our very eyes was a huge and almost transparent aeroplane. We could just very faintly discern the outline of its fuselage and wings.” He struck his fist angrily upon the table. “Then out of it jumped four men. Three of them stood rigidly to the salute, while the fourth played the first bar of the British National Anthem upon a bugle.” He sneered “It was intended to be most dramatic.” “But what was the plane made of?” asked Dr. Gottlieb, hoarsely. Von Rieben shrugged his shoulders. “Heaven knows! Some kind of glasseous substance, of course, but it was more transparent than glass, and even the propellers were made of it. The fittings also were nearly transparent, and Ahsberg, who once ran some armor plate works in Vienna, was of opinion they had been fused on. He said, too, he was sure that the fuselage had not been cast in one piece, but was built of a series of plates fused together, and that he could discern the shadowy lines where they had been joined.” “Did you go close up to it?” asked Mitter. Von Rieben scoffed. “They didn't give us the chance. We were prisoners in that Royal box, with thirty yards of the Royal enclosure separating us from the racecourse rails.” “But the men!” exclaimed Mitter “You must have seen them through the fuselage before they jumped out! They couldn't have been transparent!” “Oh! we saw them right enough when the plane was slowing up,” replied von Rieben sourly, “but by some means even their forms were partly obscured.” He looked scornful again. “But a lot of chance you'd have of picking up grey figures in a machine travelling at 300 miles an hour.” “What type of plane was it?” asked Dr. Gottlieb. “I don't know. I'm not an expert,” snapped von Rieben. “All I could see was that it was a large bomber.” He went on—“Then Lord Rodney looked at his watch again and announced that more planes were upon their way, and within five minutes three others had dropped down and taken their places behind the first one. The same shadows, swooping down like ghosts and practically without a sound. We were allowed to stare at them for a little while, then enormous Union Jacks were attached to their under-carriages, the bugle was blown again, and off went the four planes all together. They hardly made any noise, left the ground within 70 or 80 yards, and then we lost sight of everything, except for the trailing flags that seemed to rise almost vertically into the sky. Then for five minutes those flags were whirling about above us—with the dragging planes, however, quite invisible to our glasses—until finally they were dropped exactly in front of us, almost one on top of the others.” He shook his head savagely. “The execution of everything was faultless, and I can conceive of a no more masterly exhibition.” “And that finished everything?” asked Mitter. Von Rieben was stirred instantly to renewed animation. “No, no, our mortification was not over yet. A sheet of the material used was held up close to us. It was about three feet square and certainly not more than half an inch thick. Then it was laid upon the grass just below, and a big burly mechanic struck at it a score of times with a huge sledge hammer. Nothing happened, however, and he might have been striking at a sheet of the strongest steel. Then the glassy sheet was propped up ten yards away, and from a hundred and more cartridges upon a tray any one of us was invited to pick out which ones we liked and fill the magazine of a heavy service rifle that was handed up. Then I emptied the magazine, firing point blank at the damned sheet. Then the sheet was handed up again for our inspection.” He gritted his teeth together. “Not a sign of a mark or crack anywhere!” “Faked cartridges!” suggested Dr Gottlieb with a frown. “Faked fiddle-di-dee!” scoffed Von Rieben, “for the show was not over yet. A sheet of steel was next passed up to us—we were allowed to handle that and try to scratch it with a file. The sheet was about the same size as the other sheet but so heavy that it took two of us to lift it comfortably, for it was a good inch thick. Then it was propped up where the other sheet had been and Ahsberg choosing the cartridges this time, I emptied the magazine again.” He spoke in an awed whisper. “Every bullet drilled a hole through.” A long silence followed and then Dr. Gottlieb asked thoughtfully, “Was the glass-like sheet heavy?” “No,” snarled Von Rieben. “Lord Roding lifted it up and waved it about in one hand.” “But what was it like to look at?” asked Mitter. “Almost as if he'd got nothing in his hand,” replied the ambassador, “glass of very poor quality and very thin.” He shook his head angrily. “There's no getting away from the fact that they've got hold of something no one's ever heard of before, a glass as transparent as air and tougher and harder than anything we know.” “And what happened next?” asked Dr. Gottlieb. Van Rieben laughed mockingly. “Congratulations all round, champagne and sandwiches of caviar, and then good-byes as if we were all the best of friends.” Herr Mitter turned to Dr. Gottlieb. “But in your opinion, Doctor,” he asked quietly, “except for what his excellency has just been telling us, as a onetime professor of physics, can you conceive it possible that an almost invisible material of such hardness as that sheet he has described can exist?” Dr. Gottlieb hesitated. “It is just a matter,” he said slowly, “of finding some substance whose refractive index can be made the same as that of air; something that will absorb hardly any light, and refract and reflect very little either.” He nodded. “Remember, a sheet of white glass vanishes altogether when it is placed in water.” He hesitated again and shook his head. “But, no, I could never quite imagine any hard substance being invisible in air.” “Well, you'll have to imagine it now,” commented Von Rieben sharply, “for it exists and I have seen it with my own eyes.” “Still, whatever you gentlemen saw today,” went on the doctor drily, and as if nettled by the curtness of Von Rieben's tones, “you will have great difficulty in convincing others that such a thing as an invisible aeroplane can really exist. The world will remain sceptical and——” “Oh! will it?” interrupted Von Rieben unpleasantly. “Then it won't remain for so long, for three weeks today another demonstration will be given, and this time everyone can go who likes. An invitation is being broadcast to all the Governments of the world, inviting them to send their scientific men and the leading representatives of their press. I tell you there is going to be no secrecy as to the discovery, and the widest possible publicity is to be given.” “But where's the next demonstration going to take place?” asked Mitter quickly. “At Newmarket, where it did today,” replied Von Rieben, “and special trains are to be run for all who don't go down in cars.” He sneered. “Britain is determined we shall be all shown how helpless we are.” “Well, we shall be helpless only,” scowled Dr. Gottlieb, “until we get hold of a piece of the material they use, and then”—he snapped his fingers—“the secret will speedily be no secret at all.” “And how are we going to get hold of a piece?” asked Von Rieben derisively. “They are not going to pass round bits as souvenirs.” He turned suddenly and looked with great sternness at Mitter. “But now then, my friend, your department has been costing us a huge sum every year, and so you just tell me straight away where those aeroplanes are being built. Quick now, for you must have——” “But you can't expect Herr Mitter to learn everything that is going on,” broke in Dr. Gottlieb, still in annoyance at the ambassador's truculent tone. “The British can hide a lot of what they're doing in exactly the same way that we can, and——” “Damnation!” exploded Mitter with great suddenness. “I have it. They're making the stuff on Foulness Island, just off the Essex Coast!” He nodded violently. “Yes, that's it, and for all these months they've been blinding us into believing they were experimenting with explosives there. There have been explosions going on day after day.” He smiled triumphantly at Von Rieben. “Yes, your excellency, I can tell you what you want to know. They are assembling these aeroplanes either in Cardiganshire or Caithness, on the prohibited Government areas there, but, as I say, the material they are using is being manufactured upon Foulness Island.” “But how do you know that?” asked Von Rieben, looking very astonished. “Because of the extraordinary precautions that have been taken for the best part of a year now that no one should approach the island,” replied Mitter excitedly. He tugged open a drawer in his desk and producing a large ordnance map spread it out upon the table. “See, this is Foulness Island and it has been one of my special objectives for a long time now, indeed so much so, that I have a man stationed permanently at Burnham-on-Crouch to try to find out what is going on.” He calmed down all at once and continued in quiet and business-like tones. “Now listen to what I can tell you. This Foulness Island had always been a dreadful place to get to because the only approach to it is by a road over the Maplin Sands, only available at low water. The island, as you see, is five miles north-east of Shoeburyness and is cut off from the mainland by the river Roach and a wide deep creek. On the seaside, the tide recedes for more than five miles to the Maplin Light.” “Well, a little less than a year ago, the whole of this island was forcibly acquired by the Government, the land owners being compensated and the entire population turned off. After then no persons, except Government workmen were allowed anywhere near. Deep stretches of barbed wire were thrown all round the island, flanked by embankments about twelve feet high. Then in a few weeks a big factory had sprung up, but in such a position that no one on the mainland can get within two miles of it. Also a huge, and partly underground aerodrome was constructed.” He nodded significantly. “Everything was done at express speed and we reckoned that at one time more than a thousand men were being employed. Every day at low tide there was an almost endless procession of huge lorries along the road over the sands. Then suddenly, with the factory and the aerodrome completed, this road was closed with more barbed wire entanglements, the island was completely isolated, and for many months now there has been no communication except by plane.” “But have they no kind of dock there?” asked Von Rieben. “No, and not even a landing stage. The seaside of the island is as deeply wired as the land side, and as far as we can make out with the most powerful glasses, there is only one single opening leading on to the sands. I tell you every scrap of material for the factory and every scrap of food for the workmen is now being carried on to the island by planes.” “But don't any of the workmen ever leave the island?” asked Von Rieben. “Undoubtedly, I should say!” replied Mitter. “But it's all done at night in tremendously fast planes and we have never been able to find out where they land. We wanted, of course, to try to get in touch with one of the men.” He turned to Dr. Gottlieb. “But look here, Doctor! Could they make glass out of that sand by the island?” “Certainly,” replied the doctor, “if they got the salt out of it, first.” Mitter threw out his hands. “Well, there you are. They've got the material they want on the very spot.” In low voices they talked on for a long time, with Von Rieben irritable and restless, Dr. Gottlieb very thoughtful and only Mitter, apparently, easy in his mind. “Well, never mind,” said the last, confidently, “it can be only a matter of a little time before we've got hold of a piece of that glass and are making it ourselves.” He nodded. “With all the amount of material they must be manufacturing now and with the hourly increasing number of hands it must be passing through, we shall soon find someone to give them away.” “You must find that someone quickly,” scowled Von Rieben, “for when we are ready, we can't go on keeping everything up to concert pitch indefinitely.” He shook his head angrily. “I had hoped that within twelve months we should have been over here.” He turned to Dr. Gottlieb. “Well, it's gone 1 o'clock a long time ago now, and you'd better follow back behind me. We will find out then if anyone is attempting to trail us. We'll go by way of Bishop's Stortford, so that if anyone has been given the office to pick us up as we enter town by the main road, we'll be able to give them the slip.” Ten minutes later and the house was all in darkness save for the one shaded light over Herr Mitter. He was deep in the pages of the London Directory and feverishly jotting down the names of those firms in the city who were makers of plate glass.
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