Man From the Clouds

Storer Clouston J.

Description

Due to a series of mishaps, Royal Navy reserve officer Roger Merton finds himself making an emergency landing on a small island off the coast of Scotland. He is astonished to discover that the island has been infiltrated by German spies, and in an attempt to gauge the true extent of the threat, he decides to pose as a foreign agent. Will this risky gambit pay off?

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776595556
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE MAN FROM THE CLOUDS
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J. STORER CLOUSTON
 
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The Man From the Clouds First published in 1918 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-555-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-556-3 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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PART I I - In the Clouds II - The Man on the Shore III - Alone Again IV - The Suspicious Stranger V - The Doctor's House VI - A Petticoat VII - At the Mansion House VIII - Sunday IX - An Ally X - The Coast Patrol XI - A Near Thing XII - The Key Turned XIII - On the Drifter XIV - My Cousin's Letter PART II I - An Idea II - A Little Dinner III - The Alcoholic Patient IV - The Test V - Waiting VI - The Spectacled Man VII - A Reminiscence VIII - H.M.S. Uruguay IX - Bolton on the Teack X - Where the Clue Led XI - An Eye-Opener XII - The Confidant XIII - Jean's Guesses XIV - The Pocket Book XV - Part of the Truth XVI - Tracked Down XVII - The Rest of the Truth XVIII - The Frosty Road XIX - Our Morning Call
PART I
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I - In the Clouds
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"My God," said Rutherford, "the cable has broken!"
In an instant I was craning over the side of the basket. Five hundredfeet, 700 feet, 1000 feet, 2000 feet below us, the cruiser that had beenour only link with the world of man was diminishing so swiftly that, asfar as I remember, she had shrunk to the smallness of a tug and thenvanished into the haze before I even answered him.
"Anything to be done?" I asked.
"Nothing," said he.
It had been growing steadily more misty even down near the water, and nowas the released balloon shot up into an altitude of five, ten, andpresently twelve thousand feet, everything in Heaven and earthdisappeared except that white and clammy fog. By a simultaneous impulsehe lit a cigarette and I a pipe, and I remember very plainly wonderingwhether he felt any touch of that self-conscious defiance of fate anddeliberate intention to do the coolest thing possible, which I am free toconfess I felt myself. Probably not; Rutherford was the real Navy and Ibut a zig-zag ringed R.N.V.R. amateur. Still, the spirit of the Navy isinfectious and I made a fair attempt to keep his stout heart company.
"What ought to happen to a thing like this?" I enquired.
"If this wind holds we might conceivably make a landing somewhere—withextraordinary luck."
"On the other side?"
He nodded and I reflected.
It was towards the end of August, 1914. We were somewhere about themiddle of the North Sea when the observation balloon was sent up, and Ihad persuaded Rutherford to take me up with him in the basket. Fiveminutes ago I had been telling myself I was the luckiest R.N.V.R.Sub-Lieutenant in the Navy; and then suddenly the appalling thinghappened. I may not give away any naval secrets, but everybody knows, Ipresume, that towed balloons are sometimes used at sea, and it is prettyobvious that certain accidents are liable to happen to them. In this casethe most obvious of all accidents happened; the cable snapped, and therewe were heading, as far as I could judge, for the stars that twinkle overthe German coast. At least, our aneroid showed that we were going upwardsfaster than any bird could rise, and the west wind was blowing straightfor the mouth of the Elbe when we last felt it—for, of course, in a freeballoon one ceases to feel wind altogether.
Neither of us spoke for some time, and then a thought struck me suddenlyand I asked:—
"Did you notice what o'clock it was when we broke loose?"
Rutherford nodded.
"I'm taking the time," said he, "and assuming the twenty knot breezeholds, we might risk a drop about six o'clock."
"A drop" meant jumping into space and trusting one's parachute to do itsbusiness properly. I felt a sudden tightening inside me as I thought ofthat dive into the void, but I asked calmly enough:
"And assuming the breeze doesn't hold?"
"Oh, it will hold all right; it will rise if anything," said he.
We had only been shipmates for a week (that being the extent of mynautical experience), but I had learned enough about Rutherford in thattime to know that he was one of the most positive and self-confident menbreathing. One had to make allowance for this; still, that is the kind ofcompany one wants in an involuntary balloon expedition across the NorthSea through a dense fog.
"And where are we likely to come down?" I enquired.
"We might make the German coast as far south as Borkum or one of theother islands, or we might land somewhere as far north as Holstein."
"Not Holland or Denmark?"
He shook his head positively, "No such luck."
Though this was a trifle depressing, it was comforting to feel that onewas with a man who knew his way about the air so thoroughly. I looked atour map, judged the wind, and decided that he was probably right. Thechances of fetching a neutral country seemed very slender. Curiouslyenough the chances of never reaching any country at all had passed out ofmy calculations for the moment. Rutherford was so perfectly assured.
"And what's the programme when we do land?" I asked.
"Well, we've got to get out of the place as quickly as possible. That'spretty evident."
"How?"
"You know the lingo, don't you?"
"Pretty well."
"Well enough not to be spotted as a foreigner?"
"I almost think so."
"First thing I ever heard to the credit of the diplomatic service!" helaughed. "Well, you'll have to pitch a yarn of some kind if we fall inwith any of the natives. Of course we'll try and avoid 'em if we can, andwork across country either for Denmark or Holland by compass."
"Have you got a compass?" I asked.
"Damn!" he exclaimed, and for a few moments a frown settled on his bulldog face. Then it cleared again and he said, "After all we'll have tomove about by night and the stars will do just as well."
He was never much of a talker and after this he fell absolutely silentand I was left to my thoughts. Though I had fortunately put on plenty ofextra clothes for the ascent, I began to feel chilly up at that altitudeenshrouded in that cold white mist, and I don't mind admitting that mythoughts gradually became a little more serious than (to be quite honest)they usually are. I hardly think Rutherford, with all his virtues, hadmuch imagination. I have a good deal—a little too much at times—andseveral other possible endings to our voyage besides a safe landing andtriumphant escape began to present themselves. Two especially I had tosteel my thoughts against continually—a descent with a parachute thatdeclined to open, whether on to German or any other soil, or else asplash and then a brief struggle in the cold North Sea. I am no greatswimmer and it would be soon over.
And so the hours slowly passed; always the same mist and generally thesame silence. Occasionally we talked a little, and then for a long spaceour voices would cease and there would be utter and absolute quiet,—notthe smallest sound of any sort or kind. We had been silent for a long,long time and I had done quite as much thinking as was good for mynerves, when Rutherford suddenly exclaimed,
"We are over land!"
He was looking over the edge of the basket, and instantly I was staringinto space on my side. There was certainly nothing to see but mist.
"I can smell land," said he, "and I heard something just now."
"At this height!" I exclaimed.
"We are down to well under six thousand feet," said he.
I wanted to be convinced, but this was more than I could believe.
"The smell must be devilish strong," I observed. "And I'm afraid I musthave a cold in my head. Besides, it's only five-thirty."
As I have said, poor Rutherford was the most positive fellow in theworld. He stuck to it that we were over land, but I managed to persuadehim to wait a little longer to make sure. He waited half an hour andwhen he spoke then I could see that his mind was made up.
"We are falling pretty rapidly," said he, "and personally I'd sooner takemy chance in a parachute than stick in this basket till we bump. If oneis going to try a drop, the great thing is to see that it's a long drop.Parachutes don't always open as quick as they're intended to. At anymoment we may begin to fall suddenly, so I'm going overboard now."
My own career has hitherto failed to convince my friends that prudence ismy besetting virtue, but whether it was the sobering effect of those longhours of chilly thinking, or whether my good angel came to my rescue, Iknow not; anyhow I shook my head as firmly as he nodded his.
"We have only been going the minimum time you allowed for making land," Iargued, "and quite possibly the breeze may have dropped a bit. Honestly Ihaven't heard a sound or smelt a smell that faintly suggested landunderneath, and we can still drop a lot more and have room to take to theparachutes. Let's wait till we get down to one thousand feet."
"You do as you please," said he. "I'm going over."
"And I'm not going yet," said I.
We looked at one another in silence for a moment, and then he heldout his hand.
"Well, good-bye and good luck!" said he.
"Wait a little bit longer!" I implored him.
"My dear Merton," he said, "I feel it in my bones that we've been going alot faster than we calculated. In fact I know we have! One gets aninstinct for that sort of thing, and also one gets a sort of general ideawhen to cut the basket and jump. I tell you we've been over land for thelast half hour. Come on, old chap, I honestly advise you to jump too."
I almost yielded, but some instinct seemed to hold me back. The thoughtthat he might think I was deserting