Winged Victory/Chapter 15

“Quite a romance,” the war-office representative remarked genially to a colleague. “The inventor went down in Submarine D at the beginning of the war—you remember? And now his friend has carried out his work and given him all the glory—if. there is any. A highly honorable proceeding, eh?”

“Distinctly! He might have pocketed the invention as well as his friend's wife.”

“Ah, yes, the wife! I had forgotten. The romance deepens. Isn't that the lady near the stand?”

“I believe so.”

“A beautiful woman. Well, if the Villiers' monoplane is all that is  claimed, she will have cause to rejoice. I have instructions to close with Captain Delisle—at my discretion.”

“At all costs?”

The expert smiled condescendingly.

“By no means. We don't do that sort of thing in our department. All things in moderation, my friend.”

“And if Delisle should get a better offer—elsewhere?”

“Delisle is an English officer. He will be prepared to make the sacrifice for England.”

The last words fell on Delisle's ears as he passed. He hesitated for an instant and then went on slowly toward the little group that had gathered around the great birdlike machine, standing in readiness for its trial flight. A man who had been loitering on the outskirts came to meet him. He was poorly dressed and there was something at once insolent and despairing in his white face.

“You won't forget, Captain Delisle?”

Oscar drew up sharply.

“I have not forgotten, but I can do nothing more. Rogers has his suspicions. I was forced to let him take the helm. My God, I don't know that I'm not glad! It was a foul game to play.”

Rochefort laughed.

“No doubt. Are you prepared to pay the price?”

“I will give you a thousand pounds”

“It's not only money I want. I want place and honor in my own country. You can't give me that. If the English government buys the secret, my chance has gone—and your name.” He caught a glimpse of Delisle's face, and laughed again. “You think I won't keep my word—that it won't be worth my while? But when you are ruined, you may be useful to me, captain. An English officer in foreign service—how does that appeal to you? And there's your wife—how will it appeal to her? How glad will she be to know that she bears the name of a traitor's son?”

Delisle stifled an exclamation. Then he was once more palely composed.

“I will do my best.”

“I felt sure that you would when I had explained.”

A group of eager spectators came forward to greet Delisle, and Rochefort dropped away like a shadow, leaving Delisle to respond absently to the good wishes that were showered upon him. But his eyes sought the woman standing alone on the outskirts of the expectant throng, and suddenly he turned and crossed over to her. She did not see him until he was almost at her side, and then she started and the faint color died from her cheeks.

“Eileen!” he said gently. “Eileen!”

He held out his hand, but almost before her gesture of refusal he let it drop quietly to his side. “I know—I haven't the right to ask anything. I have done you great wrong—greater than you know. But we are going on a dangerous enterprise. There may be no return. I want you to believe that I love you, Eileen—that if I could, I would atone for what has been. I want to ask you to try—one day—to forgive.” He waited, his sunken eyes fixed hungrily on her face. “Fenton has forgiven,” he added, scarcely above his breath.

“Fenton! How do you know?”

“Perhaps—I have had a message from the dead,” he answered.

He could not read the change that passed over her half-averted face. But suddenly she turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were blind with tears.

“Then I, too, forgive!” she said.

“God bless you!”

He took the hand she gave him and kissed it. Then without a word he turned from her and strode unsteadily across the field. Those who knew him nodded significantly at one another as he passed. There were whispered comments, snatches of gossip. “Since his friend's death poor Delisle has gone to the devil!” “It's a good thing that he isn't flying the machine!” He heard them with ears grown suddenly acutely conscious of the faintest sound, but he made no sign. And there was no trace of unsteadiness in his movements as he clambered into his place behind Rogers. From thence he leaned forward and touched the airman on the shoulder.

“You were Fenton's friend?” he said. “For the last time—will you let me go alone?”

“No!”

“You accept the risk?”

“There is none—now.”

Delisle sank back into his place. He saw Rogers glance for an instant in the direction of the lonely watcher, and his hand slipped to his pocket and clasped something hidden there with a jealous strength.

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

A whir of propellers, a burst of cheering that was lost in the rush of the wind as they raced forward over the sandy plain. Within a hundred yards of their starting point, Rogers depressed the lever and they rose instantly, sweeping birdlike over the first bank of trees, and from there straight upward with an intoxicating, delirious swiftness. It was the moment of triumph. Thousands of feet beneath them was the world they had left—faint patches of darkness where were miles of forest, a glistening speck that was some deep lake, a spot of haze marking some great city. Rogers banked steeply, and they swung around, again and again, in mad, daring circles such as had never before been attempted. And then on once more—sixty miles an hour in the teeth of a rising wind. Delisle bent forward. He spoke quietly at first, but his voice was drowned in the rush of sound.

“I gave you your chance to escape,” he shouted. “You wouldn't take it. The main supports are cut through. I cut them through—ten minutes ago”

The man in front of him shifted his position. He turned slowly, so that his profile stood out sharply against the gray background of racing clouds.

“Why?”

“Rochefort drove me I had to make an end—of myself—of you—of everything In a few minutes it will be all over—it won't bear the two of us in this wind—and you won't live to tell her that I cheated her” He burst into a fit of insane laughter that ended in a sudden, terrible silence. And then, with a cry of anguish: “Fenton! Fenton!”

The black, disguising beard was gone. The man in front of him had turned almost completely, so that they faced each other.

“Fenton!”

The name fell repeatedly from Delisle's quivering lips, dropping at last to a moan of pain which the wind swept back. Villiers pressed the descending lever. There was a grind, a crack as of a pistol. The great wings quivered from end to end.

“You're right—we can't last out a thousand feet. I can keep her up for a minute or two Good God, and they'll say she failed!”

He bit his teeth together in bitter humiliation, and for a moment no voice answered him. They were descending in a swift, the engines silent, every warning crack of the straining wires sounding loud in the silence.

“Fenton—you'll go back to her?”

“Man, don't humbug in the face of death! You know it's over with both of us”

“But if it wasn't—if my chance were given me to—to make good—you'd go back?”

“We've said our good-by, Oscar. I'm dead—honorably dead. For the child's sake, it's better so.”

“If—if she were free—she could marry you—John Rogers. The world would never know.”

There was no answer. Villiers was waiting, counting the seconds that might remain.

“Fenton—it was true what you've said? You've forgiven—even this?”

“Everything.”

“You love her—you'll understand how one can be tempted Tell her how it was.”

“Oscar—what are you doing?”

“Nothing. Steady, old man. Hold her up—she'll stand it now. God keep you!”

“Oscar!”

No answer. Villiers felt a tremor pass through the whole length of the machine—a sudden decrease in the pressure. He turned his head. The place behind was empty, and beneath, through a sickening void, a something less than a speck flashed into nothingness.

The romance of that first flight occupied the minds of men for the proverbial nine days, and no more. Speculation was rife, but those who knew Delisle shrugged their shoulders. He was a physical wreck, they declared, and no doubt had lost his nerve. The explanation was simple and satisfactory, and they turned their attention to the triumph of the invention.

But the woman who a year later became John Rogers' wife knew the truth, and thanked God that she had forgiven.