“I understand.”
“Should you need aid in removing me from this airship, rely only upon your trusted lieutenant; but give him no word as to my identity. A great work is at stake, Von Werndorff. Secrecy is paramount.”
“I shall never speak.”
The interview was ended.
ALONE, Baron Hugo von Tollsburg breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel the draft of cool air coming through the ventilator that connected with the opened closet.
He was a stowaway aboard the Munchen. To-morrow, the great airship would be crowded with passengers for the transatlantic flight — and with them, hidden beyond all chance of discovery, would be a mysterious stowaway, hiding in a secret chamber cunningly contrived for his reception.
Von Tollsburg drew a large envelope from the pocket of his coat. The man’s firm face, impassive even to the pointed tips of his military mustache, showed plainly as it came close to the light. From the envelope, Von Tollsburg removed a stack of American currency and a sheaf of folded papers.
A stern smile flickered over Von Tollsburg’s well-formed lips. The baron’s cold, gray eyes made a careful inspection of the articles from the envelope. With satisfaction, Von Tollsburg pocketed his possessions. He closed the door of the hidden closet, and stood in the center of the secret room.
Completely isolated from the world without; protected by sound-proof walls, Baron Hugo von Tollsburg was ready for the long and secret flight that would carry him, unheralded, halfway across the American continent. Smuggled here by the captain of the Zeppelin, he was confident that he had reached the safety zone in the mission that he had undertaken.
He did not dread the journey. Calm and unperturbed, he planned for sleep. He found the crevice that indicated the berth in the wall, and inserted the pick. Catches clicked; the berth swung downward on noiseless hinges, to reveal the blackened space that received its air from the ventilator shaft.
As Von Tollsburg leaned forward toward the berth, a low, guttural gasp came from his lips. His hands shot upward in a mad effort to ward off unexpected danger. His body writhed furiously, casting long, twisting shadows in the dim light of the secret cabin.
The gasp had ended unheard; in its place came a choking gargle that slowly toned away to a harsh rattle.
Half drawn into the blackness of the berth, Von Tollsburg’s body became motionless. It moved backward, as though impelled by an unseen force. It stood grotesquely, supported by a hidden grasp. Then, released, it toppled and crumpled upon the floor.
Buried within the secret cabin, the form of Baron Hugo von Tollsburg lay inert and lifeless. The stowaway aboard the dirigible Munchen had met with a cruel and unexpected fate. His mission had ended before the flight had begun!
CHAPTER II
THE SHADOW OBSERVES
THE dirigible Munchen was nearing the last leg of its westward flight. Its huge bulk gliding onward, the mammoth airship rode with marvelous stability. Purring motors kept up their constant rhythm. The passengers in the forward salon smiled and chatted as the Zeppelin whirred through the night.
Dawn would arrive within a few hours. Gleaming rays of sunlight would show the silver queen of the air entering the fringe of the Middle West. The Atlantic had been conquered; the rest of the voyage offered no obstacles.
Captain Heinrich von Werndorff entered the salon. His arrival brought words of commendation from the group of men who saw him. The commander bowed at the congratulations.
“We are experiencing great success,” he declared. “This voyage, gentlemen, is a triumph for the dirigible as a means of transportation. With our destination an inland city, instead of a seaport, we are proving the advantages of air liners over ocean liners.”
He caught the eye of a gentleman seated in a corner of the salon, and smiled as though in mutual congratulation.
“You were fortunate, Herr Arnaud,” said the captain. “Your last-minute arrival at Friedrichshafen enabled you to join us on this memorable voyage. You came as a good omen.”
All turned toward the man to whom the commander had spoken. Henry Arnaud had been regarded as an unusual passenger on this flight. He had made reservation by wire from Moscow, and had reached the Friedrichshafen hangar just as the Munchen was about to sail.
There was something about Henry Arnaud’s appearance that commanded both respect and interest. Although an American, he spoke fluently in French, German, and Russian, and had thus made an acquaintance with passengers of those nationalities.
Captain von Werndorff was speaking in German as he addressed Arnaud; and the American replied in the same language.
“The good omen on the Munchen,” he said, in a quiet tone, “is the presence of our commander, Captain von Werndorff.”
A buzz of approval was the response to the compliment. Henry Arnaud, calm-faced and impassive in demeanor, was a man who spoke with profound sincerity. His eyes, sharp and piercing, were gazing toward Von Werndorff, and the commander noted the strange sparkle that came from them. Somehow, he felt that those eyes had stared at him before.
THE passengers, now that the United States had been reached, were preparing to retire. They were leaving the salon one by one; and Henry Arnaud was among the last to go. His eyes gave a parting glance toward Von Werndorff; the commander, acting under impulse, reached forward and plucked the American’s sleeve.
“Herr Arnaud,” he said, in German, “I do not recall having met you in the past; yet there is something in your manner that indicates you have seen me before.”
A slight smile played upon Arnaud’s thin lips. The man’s expression was sphinxlike. His burning eyes gleamed upon Von Werndorff. The commander was amazed when Arnaud spoke.
“This is not my first voyage with you, captain,” he said in a low voice. “I have seen you before; and then, as now, I was aboard a ship of yours.”
“You mean—”
“During the War, Herr Captain. You will recall” — Arnaud’s eyes were sparkling — “a dirigible flight across the North Sea, when a storm drove you back to Germany. That storm proved fortunate, Herr Captain; fortunate for both of us. My mission was to see that the Zeppelin did not reach England.”
“You were aboard the L-43!”
“Yes.”
“As a member of the crew?”
“As a stowaway.”
“As a stowaway!”
When he repeated Arnaud’s words, Captain von Werndorff’s face became momentarily pale. Perhaps it was the memory of that eventful war flight over the North Sea; or was there another reason for the commander’s loss of color?
Henry Arnaud noted the captain’s change of expression, and added a brief statement that might have ordinarily been a simple explanation. As chance had it, the words brought a new and more singular turn to Von Werndorff’s complexion.
“Your superior came aboard the L-43,” reminded Arnaud. “An aid accompanied him. The aid did not leave. He became a stowaway. A simple ruse, Herr Captain, but it worked. It deceived both you and your superior — Baron Hugo von Tollsburg.”
It was the mention of this name that made Von Werndorff repress a gasp. Out of the past had come a series of coincidences. This man had been a stowaway on the L-43. He had come aboard that ship with Von Tollsburg.
Now, by a curious reversal of circumstances, Baron von Tollsburg was a stowaway on the Munchen, while Henry Arnaud was the passenger!
Was there a connection here? Was Henry Arnaud a man whom Baron von Tollsburg sought to avoid? Perplexities swept through the commander’s brain; then he regained his poise as Henry Arnaud made a quiet parting remark.
“I am glad to travel with you again, Herr Captain,” said the American. “It is a pleasure to be a passenger aboard your dirigible. Stowaways aboard Zeppelins once could have expected death if discovered. In these times of peace, they receive reasonable treatment. It is preferable, however, to be a listed passenger.”