The Zeppelin's Passenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim




CHAPTER I


"Never heard a sound," the younger of the afternoon callers
admitted, getting rid of his empty cup and leaning forward in his
low chair. "No more tea, thank you, Miss Fairclough. Done
splendidly, thanks. No, I went to bed last night soon after
eleven--the Colonel had been route marching us all off our legs
--and I never awoke until reveille this morning. Sleep of the
just, and all that sort of thing, but a jolly sell, all the same!
You hear anything of it, sir?" he asked, turning to his companion,
who was seated a few feet away.

Captain Griffiths shook his head. He was a man considerably older
than his questioner, with long, nervous face, and thick black hair
streaked with grey. His fingers were bony, his complexion, for a
soldier, curiously sallow, and notwithstanding his height, which
was considerable, he was awkward, at times almost uncouth. His
voice was hard and unsympathetic, and his contributions to the
tea-table talk had been almost negligible.

"I was up until two o'clock, as it happened," he replied, "but I
knew nothing about the matter until it was brought to my notice