"Certain?" asked Entwistle anxiously.
"Rather—and it's coming this way."
In silence the two pedestrians waited. Nearer and nearer came the now increasing buzzing of the engines of the immense gas-bag. Vainly they attempted to detect the elongated airship. With heads thrown back they strove to pierce the black vault above. The "thing" was there, but it was invisible from where they stood. Only by the sinister sounds did they know of its presence. Then with the same rapidity as the unseen had approached the whirr grew fainter and fainter until it was heard no longer.
"Phew!" ejaculated Entwistle, mopping his forehead. "I'm not of a funky nature, but, by Jove! I'm glad that beastly thing's gone. It gives a fellow a peculiar sensation somewhere in the region of the stomach. What's the time?"
"About eleven, I should imagine," replied Barcroft. "I won't strike a match. Well, I suppose the Zep. has missed Barborough by this time—unless she's slowed down and circling over the town," he added in an undertone.
They were descending into one of the numerous valleys that lay betwixt them and Tarleigh. The effluvium of a neighbouring bleaching works was wafted to their nostrils.
"Rufford's Works," explained Entwistle. "Lucky that Zep didn't drop a bomb. There are hundreds of gallons of benzine stored there.... Yes, I fancy it's all right as far as Barborough is concerned. Wish a car would overtake us. Notwithstanding the fine night I don't feel particularly keen for a long tramp."
"Let me give you a shakedown at Ladybird Fold," suggested Peter. "You can telephone through to Barborough and let your wife know where you are."
"No, no, my dear fellow," protested Entwistle. "It's imposing on your good nature. Besides, you mentioned that your son was coming home on leave."
"Yes," said Mr. Barcroft. "Wonder if he's arrived yet, or is held up at some out-of-the-way railway station or in a tunnel. That won't make any difference. If it did I shouldn't have mentioned the matter. I can be as confoundedly blunt as you Lancashire people when I want."
"So I believe," rejoined Entwistle tersely. "Well, I'll accept your offer with pleasure. Now for the next hill. It's a regular brute, even for this part of the world. When a fellow is past forty he's not so good at this sort of work as he was. One has to admit the fact however much one tries to stifle the discovery. I used to pride myself on being a runner, and it came as a nasty shock when my fifteen-year-old son beat me in a 440 sprint—not by so very much, though," he added in defence of his bygone prowess.
"The third milestone," announced Peter pointing to a weatherbeaten slab just visible in the gloom.
"Yes, and the highest part of the road," added Entwistle. "It is about——".
He stopped abruptly. Away to the southward a vivid flash illuminated the sky, followed by three more in quick succession. Summer lightning would pale into insignificance compared with the intensity of those momentary sheets of lurid light.
"Good heavens—Barborough!" ejaculated the vet.
Barcroft made no remark. Failing his inability to read the face of his watch he placed the fingers of his right hand on his left wrist and carefully counted the pulse beats.
"Forty-five!" he announced calmly as the first of four loud detonations rent the air.
Crash—crash—crash—crash. It was as if he had been inside a tin bath and some one was belabouring it with a wooden mallet. Even allowing for the distance of the source of the sound the din was terrible.
A minute later came two more flashes, almost simultaneously, with forty-eight beats before the reports. Then one solitary flash followed by an even greater interval ere the detonation was heard.
"The brutes!" muttered Entwistle.
Again Peter made no audible comment. He was making a rapid mental calculation. Seventy pulsations to a minute: sound travels at roughly 365 yards to a second. Yes, that placed the scene of the raid at a distance of nine miles, and judging by the direction it was that populous town that had been the target for the missiles of the Zeppelin.
"She's gone, at any rate," he said.
"Yes, but goodness only knows what damage she's done in that minute and a half," added Entwistle. "What's more we're between her and that cursed Germany. Come on, man, let's hasten."
It was half-past twelve as the two pedestrians made their way through the village of Scatterbeck. Almost the whole of the population was astir, discussing in the shrill rapid Lancashire dialect the totally unexpected visit of the aerial raider. Thrice enquiries on the part of Barcroft and his companion brought the disconcerting information that no vehicle of any description was available. There was nothing for it but to continue their long tramp.
At length the summit of Tarleigh Hill was surmounted. Here they encountered a belated wayfarer—a watchman from the neighbouring works.
"Eh, maäster," he replied to an anxious question. "I'm thinkin' 'tes Barborough right enow. Seed 'em drop mysen, an' agen ower Percombe way. Eh, but there'll be a rush to t' recruitin' office after this. Lancashire's done main well in sojerin', but this'll cap everythin'. This night's work'll cost that there Kayser summat when the Barborough lads in t' trenches get to know o' it."
"That fellow's right," commented Mr. Barcroft after the watchman had taken a by-road. "These Zeps, do very little military damage. They don't intimidate or terrify the people, except, perhaps, those in the actual district raided. The German bombs are like the dragon's teeth of mythology; sown, they spring up as British soldiers, eager to avenge themselves upon the Kaiser's troops. If I had my way I'd run cheap excursions to the raided areas from Bristol, Exeter and other towns as yet not troubled with the Zeps. to let the people see the damage done to British homes. That would stir their imaginations and let 'em think strongly. Instead, all details of raids are kept, or are endeavoured to be kept, a profound secret by our wiseacres in authority. The report of the damage done is minimised—not that I would suggest making the news public as far as buildings of military importance are concerned—and the result is that the phlegmatic Briton who is not directly affected by the raid merely reads the bald newspaper account, mentally consigns the Government to perdition and forgets all about it."
"According to that American lecturer, Curtin, they do things better in France," added Entwistle. "The French allow full descriptions of the Zeppelin raids in their country to be published, and the result is discouraging to the Huns. At the time we were referring to these raids taking place in the 'eastern counties,' when the Germans knew exactly where they had been. I shouldn't wonder if this night's affair is described as taking place on the East Coast or the South Midlands instead of within sight of the Irish Sea."
"And yet nothing did more to depress the Germans than the humorous and true accounts of the Zep, raids that were eventually allowed to appear in the British newspapers."
"Except when we do bag half a dozen of them at one swoop," added the vet. "Mark my words, we'll get our own back with interest."
"What's the matter?" asked Peter, noticing that his companion had reduced his pace and was limping slightly.
"Galled heel, worse luck," replied the vet. Even in the darkness Barcroft could discern his face twitching. "But it's nothing. I'll stick it."
"Look here," declared Barcroft authoritatively. There were times when the easy-going Peter could make himself obeyed. "It's all jolly rot your carrying on. You'll be lame in another mile. You must stick to the original programme, and stop at my place. What's happened at Barborough has happened, and your presence there to-night won't mend matters. Besides, there's the telephone."
Entwistle capitulated. In fact he was in great pain. The injury to his foot was more than he cared to admit. Not only was his heel badly chafed, but he had twisted his ankle on a loose stone.