Soon Jim’s attention was directed elsewhere. One of his engines had begun to miss and he suspected water was in the cylinder. Still, he might keep the machine going for awhile. A direction was roared in his ear, and he bore a little more west. It seemed that the engine difficulty had been overcome, for she was running sweetly. Again he glanced back. The pistol was tucked in the breast of Villa’s leather jacket, and probably would remain there till the end of the journey. To wait any longer would be madness.
Eunice, watching the scene below in a whirl of wonder, suddenly felt the nose of the aeroplane dive down, as though it were aiming directly for earth. She experienced no sense of fear, only a startled wonder, for as suddenly the nose of the aeroplane came up again with a rush and the sky seemed to turn topsy-turvy. There was a tremendous strain at the leather belt about her waist, and looking “down” she found she was staring at the sky! Then she was dimly conscious of some commotion on her right and shut her eyes in instinctive apprehension. When she opened them again Villa was gone! Jim had looped the loop, and, unprepared for this form of attack, Villa, who was not secured to the machine, had lost his balance and fallen. Down, down, the tiny fly shape twirled and rolled with outstretched arms and legs, tragically comic in its grotesqueness. …
Jim turned his head away and this time swung completely round to the girl, and she saw his lips move and his eyes glance at the telephone which the man had left.
She picked up the mouthpiece with trembling hands. Something dreadful had happened. She dare not look down: she would have fainted if she had made the attempt.
“What has happened?” she asked in a quavering voice.
“Villa has parachuted to the ground,” lied Jim soothingly. “Don’t worry about him. He’s not in any danger—in this world,” he added under his breath.
“But, Jim, how did you come here?”
“I’ll have to explain that later,” he shouted back, “my engine is misbehaving.”
This time the trouble was much more serious, and he knew that the journey to London he had contemplated would be too dangerous to attempt. He was not at sufficient height to command any ground he might choose, and he began to search the countryside for a likely landing. Ahead of him, fifteen miles away, was a broad expanse of green, and a pinpoint flicker of white caught his eye. It must be an aerodrome, he thought, and the white was the ground signal showing the direction of the winds. He must reach that haven, though, had he been alone, he would not have hesitated to land on one of the small fields beneath him.
Here the country is cut up into smaller pastures than in any other part of England, and to land on one of those fields with its high hedges, stiff and stout stone walls, would mean the risk of a crash, and that was a risk he did not care to take.
As he grew nearer to the green expanse he saw that he had not been mistaken. The sheet was obviously planted for the purpose of signalling, and a rough attempt had been made to form an arrow. He shut off his engines and began to glide down, and the wheels touched the earth so lightly that Eunice did not realize that the flight was ended.
“Oh, it was wonderful, Jim,” she cried as soon as she could make herself heard, “but what happened to that poor man? Did you—”
There was a flippant reply on Jim’s lips, but when he saw the white face and the sorrowful eyes he decided it was not a moment for flippancy. He, who had seen so many better men than Villa die in the high execution of their duty, was not distressed by the passing of a blackguard who would have killed him and the girl without mercy.
He lifted Eunice and felt her shaking under the coat she wore. And so they met again in these strange circumstances, after the parting which she had thought was final. They spoke no word to one another. He did not kiss her, nor did she want that evidence of his love. His very presence, the grip of his hands, each was a dear caress which the meeting of lips could not enhance.
“There’s a house here,” said Jim, recovering his breath. “I must take you there and then go and telegraph dear old Salter.”
He put his arm about her shoulder, and slowly they walked across the grasses gemmed with wild flowers. Knee-deep they paced through the wondrous meadowland, and the scent of the red earth was incense to the benediction which had fallen on them.
“This house doesn’t seem to be occupied,” said Jim, “and it is a big one, too.”
He led the way along a broad terrace, and they came to the front of the building. The door stood open, and there the invitation ended. Jim looked into a big dreary barn of a hall, uncarpeted and neglected.
“I wonder what place this is,” said Jim, puzzled.
He opened a door that led from the hall to the left. The room into which he walked was unfurnished and bore the same evidence of decay as the hall had shown. He crossed the floor and entered a second room, with no other result. Then he found a passageway.
“Is anybody here?” he called, and turned immediately. He thought he heard a cry from Eunice, whom he had left outside on the terrace admiring the beauty of the Somerset landscape. “Was that you, Eunice?” he shouted, and his voice reverberated through the silent house.
There was no reply. He returned quickly by the way he had come, but when he reached the terrace Eunice was gone! He
