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 asking us to save so as to pay ex-ministers their big pensions, but what can we do?'

'Rather ask whom can we trust?' I suggested.

'But, surely, Claude, there must arise very soon some real live man who will show us the way to win the war?' asked Roseye.

I drew a long breath. She knew our secret—the secret of that long dark shed out at Gunnersbury which was watched over at night by the sturdy old Theed, father of my mechanic, he being armed with a short length of solid rubber tyre from the wheel of an old disused brougham—about the best weapon of personal defence that could ever be adopted. A blow from that bit of flexible rubber would lay out a man senseless, far better than any iron bar.

'Well,' said Sir Herbert, re-entering our discussion. 'The Zeppelin peril must be grappled with—but who can enter the lists? You airmen don't seem to be able to combat it at all! Are aeroplanes too slow—or what?'

'No, Sir Herbert,' I replied. 'That's not the point. There are many weaknesses in the aeroplane, which do not exist in the big airship—the cruiser of the air. We are only the butterflies—or perhaps hornets, as the Cabinet Minister once termed us—but I fear we have not yet shown much sting.'

'We may, Claude!' interrupted Roseye with a gay laugh.

'Let's hope we can,' I said. 'But all these new by-laws are, surely, useless. Let's hit the Hun in his home. That's my point of view. We can do it—if only we are allowed.'