towards them. Then they heard the engine shut off, and opened out again. That happened three times. Then the machine seemed to stop coming towards them and apparently turned towards the coast, travelling in a northerly direction till they lost it. None of our own aircraft were in the vicinity at the time.
“Apart from that,” he said, “we have definite evidence that the machine turned inland.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“We had a bit of real good luck. A sergeant fitter from the Gosport squadron was on leave that night, and was cycling with his girl between Chichester and Arundel. He’s a Chichester man. He heard this aeroplane come over him, and he saw it. There was a moon behind some clouds—thin clouds, so that there was a light patch in the sky. He got off his bicycle when he heard the machine, and as he was looking round he saw it cross this patch of light.”
I moistened my lips. “That’s a bit of luck,” I said.
He nodded. “Just one chance in a hundred—but he saw it. The machine was flying due north, and by his account it was climbing to gain height rapidly. He says it was a large single-engined biplane, possibly with extensions to the upper wing. As an Air Force sergeant, he could tell a good deal from the noise of the machine. He was of the opinion that the engine was a twelve-cylinder, water-cooled, broad-arrow type—three banks of four—of about four or five hundred horse-power, fitted with a large, slow-running propeller, driven through an epicyclic gear with a reduction of at least two to one, and with a double exhaust-manifold that carried the gases well down the fuselage.”
Lord Arner laid down his cigar and drew one hand across his eyes. “Now that, to me,” he said, “is one of the most curious features of Commander Dermott’s story. I find it most remarkable that this man should be able to give full details of the engine in an aeroplane merely from the sound as it flew over him. Most remarkable, and most extraordinary.”
He relapsed into silence.
Dermott paused for a minute, and then continued: “He only saw the machine for a few seconds, but he continued to hear it for several minutes. When it crossed the moon from him he judged it to be at a height of about three thousand feet, and climbing rapidly. He heard its engine for two or three minutes longer, by which time it was a considerable distance to the north of him. The engine was then shut off, and he heard nothing more.”
I nodded slowly. “The machine landed?”
“Apparently.”
“Did the sergeant make any effort to find the machine?”
“No. When he heard the engine shut off he judged the machine to be four or five miles to the north of him. It was a quiet night, you see. To look for the machine in those circumstances was hopeless for one man—and besides, he was on leave and he’d got a girl with him. He thought he’d seen a forced landing by one of our own night-flying aircraft on a practice flight. So he cycled on to Chichester and parked his girl, and rang up his commanding officer at Gosport to give him the information.”
He was silent.
“That is all the evidence?” I asked…
“That’s all.”
I laid down my cigar and leaned forward on the table. “And from a study of the map you think he put down in the area Lord Arner mentioned? Pithurst, Leventer, Courton Down, and Under?”
“We think so.”
I thought about it for a minute. “There are a great number of places in that area where an aeroplane could land, even at night,” I said. “But surely, it’s a bit premature to assume that she landed at all. She may only have started to fly silently. If she could do that once she could do it again.”
He shook his head. “That has been suggested. But against that we’ve got what happened at the Nab. You know what happens when a pilot finds his engine flagging—a stoppage in the petrol supply, perhaps. He throttles his engine down, and then opens out again to try and clear it. You do it on a
“Apart from that,” he said, “we have definite evidence that the machine turned inland.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“We had a bit of real good luck. A sergeant fitter from the Gosport squadron was on leave that night, and was cycling with his girl between Chichester and Arundel. He’s a Chichester man. He heard this aeroplane come over him, and he saw it. There was a moon behind some clouds—thin clouds, so that there was a light patch in the sky. He got off his bicycle when he heard the machine, and as he was looking round he saw it cross this patch of light.”
I moistened my lips. “That’s a bit of luck,” I said.
He nodded. “Just one chance in a hundred—but he saw it. The machine was flying due north, and by his account it was climbing to gain height rapidly. He says it was a large single-engined biplane, possibly with extensions to the upper wing. As an Air Force sergeant, he could tell a good deal from the noise of the machine. He was of the opinion that the engine was a twelve-cylinder, water-cooled, broad-arrow type—three banks of four—of about four or five hundred horse-power, fitted with a large, slow-running propeller, driven through an epicyclic gear with a reduction of at least two to one, and with a double exhaust-manifold that carried the gases well down the fuselage.”
Lord Arner laid down his cigar and drew one hand across his eyes. “Now that, to me,” he said, “is one of the most curious features of Commander Dermott’s story. I find it most remarkable that this man should be able to give full details of the engine in an aeroplane merely from the sound as it flew over him. Most remarkable, and most extraordinary.”
He relapsed into silence.
Dermott paused for a minute, and then continued: “He only saw the machine for a few seconds, but he continued to hear it for several minutes. When it crossed the moon from him he judged it to be at a height of about three thousand feet, and climbing rapidly. He heard its engine for two or three minutes longer, by which time it was a considerable distance to the north of him. The engine was then shut off, and he heard nothing more.”
I nodded slowly. “The machine landed?”
“Apparently.”
“Did the sergeant make any effort to find the machine?”
“No. When he heard the engine shut off he judged the machine to be four or five miles to the north of him. It was a quiet night, you see. To look for the machine in those circumstances was hopeless for one man—and besides, he was on leave and he’d got a girl with him. He thought he’d seen a forced landing by one of our own night-flying aircraft on a practice flight. So he cycled on to Chichester and parked his girl, and rang up his commanding officer at Gosport to give him the information.”
He was silent.
“That is all the evidence?” I asked…
“That’s all.”
I laid down my cigar and leaned forward on the table. “And from a study of the map you think he put down in the area Lord Arner mentioned? Pithurst, Leventer, Courton Down, and Under?”
“We think so.”
I thought about it for a minute. “There are a great number of places in that area where an aeroplane could land, even at night,” I said. “But surely, it’s a bit premature to assume that she landed at all. She may only have started to fly silently. If she could do that once she could do it again.”
He shook his head. “That has been suggested. But against that we’ve got what happened at the Nab. You know what happens when a pilot finds his engine flagging—a stoppage in the petrol supply, perhaps. He throttles his engine down, and then opens out again to try and clear it. You do it on a
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