The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (62 page)

D’Arcey lay quietly staring up at the cabin’s ceiling.

“Jules, I am asking you to stop a madman from absconding with an innocent woman. This is not a war between England and France Sir, but a matter of right and wrong. I also ask this of you for Tash. She considered you a friend.”

“Oui Captain, she
is
my friend and as I said I will do all to have her back. I think you misunderstand my quiet. I was thinking of what to write for you! Your plan is a good one, I am thinking that you understand Major Gaspe more than I ever could. Gaspe, he is no soldier, just a common criminal, not fit to serve the Second empire.” D’Arcey struggled to sit up. “We do this now, oui?”

“If I may, Sir.” Mac put in. “You're in no shape to write anything Mr. D’Arcey.” Moving to the speaking grill he toggled it on. “Mr. Jones to cabin 4b. And Annie, bring a pen with you sharpish!”

Jones arrived promptly shooting a dark look at Mac as he squeezed into the now crowded cabin. “Sir?” He addressed Philips.

“Mr. D’Arcey is going to dictate a telegram to you.”

Jones nodded and readied his pen and paper.

D’Arcey closed his eyes for a moment then began to speak.

“Marquise. Le commerçant est mort. Le pouvoir discrétionnaire est mis en fourrière. L'or est en prison et j'ai échappé à tous! Je voyage par train express pour le rendez-vous avec Amerie au moment où vous lisez ces lignes. J'ai aussi appris quelque chose de très intéressant sur les Allemands. Ruby. "

“I zink that this will do Captain. It should 'old his interest enough, at least for ze hour that you require to catch 'im.”

Phillips looked sharply at Jones, his schoolboy French was not up to the task of translating the message in detail. “What does it read in English Mr. Jones”

Aneurin Jones cleared his throat and read back the note translating as he did so:

“Marquise. The shopkeeper is dead. The Discretion is impounded. Gold is in prison and I have eluded them all! I am travelling by express train to rendezvous with the Amerie by the time you read this. I
have also learned something very interesting about the Germans. Ruby.”

“Accurate enough for you Mr. D’Arcey?” Jones asked.

D’Arcey nodded.

“
Marquise
is Gaspe I assume Mr. D’Arcey?” Phillips queried.

“Oui captain we had code words for ourselves as well as most of you here. The last line is to make sure he does not risk abandoning ‘Ruby’. He is ruthless and might do so even if he thinks Renaurd is alive. But the thought of gathering even more intelligence about the Germans will hold 'im in place even if he must welcome Renaurd back. They really did not get along.”

“Good enough Mr. D’Arcey, if it works we can overtake this villain at long last.”

“Please save Mademoiselle Tash. I cannot die with that upon my conscience!” D’Arcey with a supreme effort forced himself to lean forward and grab Jerard’s sleeve with a desperate grip. Mac swept in to press the fevered man back into the soft blankets but D’Arcey held on silently pleading with Jerard for absolution.

Folding his own hand over the other man’s Phillips said. “Rest now old man, we’ll do the rest. I do not think you will be allowed to die just yet Mr. D’Arcey. I think our Tash will be most cross with you if you do. And you wouldn’t want to to disappoint a lady now would you?”

D’Arcey finally collapsed back on the bed. “Non Captain, never that,
je ne pouvais pas supporter que pas maintenant...
”

“See to him Mac.” Phillips urged as he turned to Mr. Jones. “I’ve got a ship to fly and you’ve got to get that message to Maribo, now!”

Jones bolted for the door and and towards the bridge.

“Incompetence!” Gaspe muttered in disgust as the entire workforce assigned to the Hared gasworks station stood gawking at his airship.

“I am sorry Monsieur I did not hear you.” Corbin replied politely.

“Look at them!” Gaspe gestured. “You might think they have never seen an airship before. They stand about idle and useless instead of fueling my ship!”

Corbin shrugged. “Maybe not Major. This is a very provincial town.”

Gaspe huffed and turned to go back inside the Amerie. Over his shoulder he said to Corbin. “Get those hoses connected, now. We are not here for the amusement of the locals!”

A lad broke from the crowd and shouted, “Marquis! Marquis!”

Gaspe turned in surprise but his expression quickly changed to cold indifference. When the lad got closer he replied, “What do you want?”

“I am Njord from the telegraph office in Maribo.” The boy said proudly.

“So?” Gaspe snarled.

The lad blanched and took a step back. He wordlessly held out a slip of paper.

The major snatched it from his hand saying, “I am not expecting a telegram. How do you know this is for me?”

“You are not the Marquis?” The boy asked, confused.

“Of course I am!”

Njord shrugged. “Then it is for you. It is addressed to the Marquis of the French airship Amerie located at the Hared gasworks.” He held out his hand palm up.

Gaspe glared at the boy. But Corbin understanding what the boy wanted stepped forward and dropped a few coins into his hand and murmured, “Thank you.” Corbin and Gaspe watched the youngster run across the adjacent field and leap onto a pony that had been grazing there. With the grace of youth the lad kicked the pony into a canter and moved off in the direction that was probably the town of Maribo.

“Why did you pay him?” Gaspe snapped. “He is just a peasant, it is his duty to serve.”

Corbin shrugged. He knew there was no answer that would please the Major so he did not offer one. Instead he readied himself for the slap that was sure to come. It was one of the many things he did not like about Gaspe; his penchant for hitting people was probably at the top of the list. But to Corbin’s surprise Gaspe did not slap him nor even pay any further attention to him. Instead he read the telegram. Corbin watched his face darken with fury and then suddenly the Major erupted in laughter.

“Major?” Corbin queried. His curiosity overcame his fear of impertinence.

“Ah Corbin!” Gaspe answered still laughing. “This is not to be believed! It is from our fool Renaud!”

Corbin was shocked but held his face to neutral. He was hoping the Major would give him a bit more information. It had all been carefully set up, the Danish police had been alerted to the duel and if Renaud survived he would have surely been arrested for murder. How was he able to send a telegram?

Gaspe thrust the telegram at Corbin. “Here, go to the train station and wait for Renaud, bring him back immediately! If he has not made the train leave a message for him to carry on to Paris. It looks like I will have to do a great deal more to be rid of him.”

Gaspe turned on his heel leaving Corbin standing on the grass holding the telegram. Corbin read the typed message and chuckled. He knew the only reason Gaspe was sending him to collect the man was because Renaud was clever enough to dangle the promise of further information in front of Gaspe’s nose. Well done Renaud he thought as he headed towards the main building of the gasworks. Corbin had no idea of how he was to get to the train station of Maribo nor even where it was, but he would figure it out. Providing conveyance for a thorn in Gaspe’s side had its own rewards.

It took somewhat longer than Corbin would have liked but he finally secured a ride with the milkman who had spotted the airship and came to have a look. Corbin sat on the front seat of the wagon and politely listened as the man chatted away about the wonders of Maribo. Apparently the train station was new and the pride of the town. The man also told Corbin his life’s story about how he was an Englishman who had come to Denmark to buy a certain type of milk cow. In the market he had apparently met the love of his life and decided to stay here with her. It was a lovely story. It was so easy for Corbin to just sit back and enjoy the ride, after all it was a beautiful sunny day. The smell of fresh mown hay filled the air as wild flowers nodded their heads in the breeze. I could get used to this he thought.

A few minutes later the houses of the village began to appear and soon they were driving down the main street. The milkman had been right it was more than just a village, in fact he would call it more of a very picturesque little town. There seemed to be people everywhere and they all seemed to be nodding and smiling at the milkman. Corbin was actually disappointed when they pulled up at the train station. He jumped down off the wagon and offered to pay the milkman who, to Corbin’s surprise, politely refused. Corbin thanked him warmly and waved as the milkman drove away.

Standing outside of the charming train station; he thought about his father. He had been a man of contentment and a farmer. For the first time he understood him. I have a great deal of money saved, he thought. Perhaps I will retire from the army and come here, this is a good place. He took a deep breath of the peace of the town and purposely leaving it behind he turned to enter the train station.

It was a bit odd that the station was so empty. In his experience they were usually very crowded, noisy and uncomfortable places. It is no matter he thought Renaud’s train would probably not be here for another hour. Still it was best to check if it was on time. He walked to the clerk’s window and not seeing anyone rapped on the counter. When no one appeared he leaned over the counter to read the chalk boards.

Even though they were written in Danish it was easy to tell that there was no train arriving from Copenhagen or departing to Copenhagen today. Alarmed he rapped on the counter harder.

A sleepy looking clerk came through one of the doors behind the counter. “Ya?” he inquired politely.

“Copenhagen! The express train from Copenhagen! When does it arrive?” Corbin shouted.

The man frowned at him. “No Copenhagen train today. Tomorrow.”

Corbin turned on his heel and dashed for the door. He had to find a cab and warn Gaspe! It was a trick! He had been right to wonder how Renaud could have sent a telegram...

“By god we’ve got her Captain!” Fred exulted from the forward observation bubble.

Phillips started out of his seat, he had been, for the first time since he was a boy, chewing his nails. He realized he was doing it more out of frustration than nerves. Never the less it was not a habit we wanted to renew.

He grabbed the proffered binoculars from the navigator and peered down on the small town. There on its south western edge was the unmistakable cigar shape of a tethered airship right next to what Fred’s map had as the Hared gasworks station.

“Wallace what's our height!” Jerard demanded.

“Two thousand sixty five Captain.”

It was a touch higher than he had wanted but Jerard couldn’t blame the younger man for over estimating. His only instructions had been to keep them high enough to muffle their engine noise from the ground. “Very well Mr. Wallace down angle 20 degrees, throttle back to cruise then level us out right above that French devil."

"Mr. Jones!” Jerard stalked over to the second navigator's desk. “Give me a ship wide broadcast Sir.”

Wordlessly Jones passed him the microphone.

“Now hear this! This is the Captain speaking! We will be diving at a steep angle onto our adversary any moment now. Hold on tight then report to the security locker where Mr. Landover will issue weapons. I expect every man to give their utmost. Phillips out.” He snapped off the speaking button and handed the microphone back to Jones.

Nichols looked up with a face full of concern. “We’re not going in shooting are we Captain?” The senior officer queried soberly. “Tash could be anywhere aboard that ship.”

“I hope just a show of force will do it Lance” Phillips replied evenly. “But I have met this man before, and as you have seen, he is utterly ruthless. When it comes down to it, we must expect the worst.”

Nichols clearly wasn’t happy at the thought but all he said was, “Understood Sir.”

The throbbing of the engines changed its note as Wallace expertly throttled them back. He then angled the nose of the ship downward. The Discretion seemed to leap forward, faster through the air as gravity beckoned them downwards to the unsuspecting French airship.

Philips held tight to Mr. Jones' desk as the deck tilted noticeably. When he regained a measure of balance he reached over and toggled the switch of the speaking grill that would connect him with the nose cone compartment. “Mr. Landover, as soon as we level out, I want you to stitch a line of fire into the ground 500 yards in
 front of the Amerie.”

“As ordered Sir!” Jeremy Landover replied crisply toggling off the speaking grill.

With the light of battle in his eyes Jeremy Landover moved to the Maxim machine gun and checked the A-K powered loader mechanism.  He opened the saftey valves on the outer door then strapped himself into the gantry's chair behind the massive gun.  The fingers of his right hand gently caressed the trigger of the machine gun.  His left hand hovered over the release switch that would propel the brass and steel engine of destruction outside the ship's hull into its firing position.

“What is that..?” The faint thrumming of combustion engines reached Gaspe over the strains of Bizet coming softly from the gramophone in his cramped cabin. Tumbling out of his chair he wrenched open the door and dashed to the hatchway. Staring up he saw the dagger like shape of a rapidly descending silver airship. Her bold Pegasus painted on the dark green tail fins glittered in the morning sun.

“
Ce bâtard
Phillips!
Comment at-il s'en tirer à nouveau
!” he snarled in his native tongue.

Diving into the control gondola he screamed at his crew to cast off immediately! They had enough fuel for the mission and the British dog has made a mistake. He was coming in too high to stop the Amerie regaining the air. Phillips had the luck of the very devil himself but not his timing it seemed!