However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. The Zeppelin's Passenger by E. Phillips Oppenheim (ereader ebook .txt) 📖
- Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
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“Swimming ain’t no more use than trying to walk on the water,” one of them declared.
Lessingham raised the lantern which he was carrying, and flashed it around.
“Where are the young ladies ?” he asked.
“Gone up to the house with two as we’ve just taken off the wreck,” some one informed him.
Lessingham stooped down. Willing hands helped him unfasten the cord from Jimmy’s waist. He tore off his own coat and waistcoat and boots. Some helped, other sought to dissuade him, as he secured the line around his own waist.
“We’ve sent for more rockets,” one man shouted in his ear. “The man will be back in half an hour.”
Lessingham pushed them on one side. He stood on the edge of the beach and, borrowing a lantern, watched for his opportunity. Then suddenly he vanished. They looked after him. They could see nothing but the rope slipping past their feet, inch by inch. Sometimes it was stationary,=20sometimes it was drawn taut. The first great wave that came flung a yard or so of slack amongst them. Then, after the roar of its breaking had died away, they saw the rope suddenly tighten, and pass rapidly out, and the excitement began to thicken.
“That ‘un didn’t get him, anyway,” one of them muttered.
“He’ll go through the next, with luck,” another declared hopefully.
Lessingham, fighting for his consciousness, deafened and half stunned by the roar of the waters about him, still felt the exhilaration of that great struggle. He looked once into seas which seemed to touch the clouds, drew himself stiff, and plunged into the depths of a mountain of foaming waters, whose summit seemed to him like one of those grotesque and nightmare-distorted efforts of the opium-eating brain. Then the roar sounded all behind him, and he knew that he was through the breakers. He swam to the side of the ship and clutched hold of a chain. It was Sir Henry’s outstretched hand which pulled him on to the deck.
“My God, that was a swim!” the latter declared, as he pulled his rescuer up, not in the least recognising him. “Let’s have the end of that cord, quick! So!” he went on, paying it out through his fingers until the end of the rope appeared. “You’d better get your breath, young man, and then over you go. I’ll follow.”
“I’m damned if I do!” was the vigorous reply. “You start off while I get my breath.”
They were suddenly half drowned with a shower of spray. Sir Henry held Lessingham in a grip of iron, or he would have been swept overboard.
“Get one arm through the chains, man,” he shouted. “My God!” he added, peering through the gloom. “Lessingham!”
“Well, don’t stop to worry about that,” was the fierce reply. “Let’s get on with our job.”
Sir Henry threw off his oilskins and his underneath coat.
“Follow me when they wave the lantern twice,” he directed. “If we either of us get the knock - well, thanks!”
Lessingham felt the grip of Sir Henry’s hand as he passed him and went overboard into the darkness. Then, with one arm through the chains, he drew towards him by means of his heel the coat which Sir Henry had thrown upon the deck. Gradually it came within reach of his disengaged hand. He seized it, shook it out, and dived eagerly into the breast pocket. There were several small articles which he threw ruthlessly away, and then a square packet, wrapped in oilcloth, which bent to his fingers. Another breaking wave threw him on his back. One arm was still through the chain, the other gripped what some illuminating instinct had already convinced him was the chart! As soon as he had recovered his breath, a grim effort of humour parted his lips. He lay there for a moment and laughed till the spray, this time with a rush of green water underneath, very nearly swept him from his place.
They were waving a lantern on the beach when he struggled again to his feet.
He slipped the little packet down his clothes next to his skin, and groped about to find the end of the line which Sir Henry and he had fastened to a staple below the chains. Then he drew a long breath, gripped the rope and shouted. A second or two later he was back in the cauldron.
As they pulled him on to the beach, he had but one idea. Whatever happened, he must not lose consciousness. The packet was still there against the calf of his leg. It must be his own hands which removed his clothes. It seemed to him that those few bronzed faces, those half a dozen rude lanterns, had become magnified and multiplied a hundredfold. It was an army of blue-jerseyed fishermen which patted him on the back and welcomed him, lanterns like the stars flashing everywhere around. He set his teeth and fought against the buzzing in his ears. He tried to speak, and his voice sounded like a weak, far away whisper.
“I am all right,” he kept on saying.
Then he felt himself leaning on two brawny arms. His feet followed the mesmeric influence of their movement. Was he going into the clouds, he wondered? They stopped to open a gate, the gate leading to the gardens of Mainsail Haul. How did he get there? He had no idea. More movements of his feet, and then unexpected warmth. He looked around him. There were voices. He listened. The one voice? The one face bending over his, her eyes wet with tears, her whispers an incoherent stream of broken words. Then the warmth seemed to come back to his veins. He sat up and found himself on the couch in the library, the rain dripping from him in little pools, and he knew that he had succeeded. He had not fainted.
“I am all right,” he repeated. “What a mess I am making!”
The voices around him were still a little tangled, but the hand which held a steaming tumbler to his lips was Philippa’s.
“Drink it all,” she begged.
He felt the tears come into his eyes, felt the warm blood streaming through his body, felt a little wet patch at the back of the calf of his leg, and the hand which set down the empty tumbler was almost steady.
“There’s a hot bath ready,” Philippa told him; “some dry clothes, and a bedroom with a fire in. Do let Mills show you the way.”
He rose at once, prepared to follow her. His feet were not quite so steady as he would have wished, but be made a very presentable show. Mills, with a little apology, held out his arm. Philippa walked by his other side.
“As soon as you have finished your bath and got into some dry clothes,” Philippa whispered, “please ring, or send Mills to let us know.”
He was even able to smile at her.
“I am quite all right,” he assured her once more.
Philippa, unusually early on the following morning, glanced at the empty breakfast table with a little air of disappointment, and rang the bell.
“Mills,” she enquired, “is no one down?”
“Sir Henry is, I believe, on the beach, your ladyship,” the man answered, “and Miss Helen and Miss Nora are with him.”
“And Mr. Lessingham?”
“Mr. Lessingham, your ladyship,” Mills continued, looking carefully behind him as though to be sure that the door was closed, “has disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Philippa repeated. “What do you mean, Mills?”
“I left Mr. Lessingham last night, your ladyship,” Mills explained, “in a suit of the master’s clothes and apparently preparing for bed - I should say this morning, as it was probably about two o’clock. I called him at half past eight, as desired, and found the room empty. The bed had not been slept in.”
“Was there no note or message?” Philippa asked incredulously.
“Nothing, your ladyship. One of the maid servants believes that she heard the front door open at five o’clock this morning.”
“Ring up the hotel,” Philippa instructed,” and see if he is there.”
Mills departed to execute his commission. Philippa stood looking out of the window, across the lawn and shrubbery and down on to the beach. There was still a heavy sea, but it was merely the swell from the day before. The wind had dropped, and the sun was shining brilliantly. Sir Henry, Helen, and Nora were strolling about the beach as though searching for something. About fifty yards out, the wrecked trawler was lying completely on its side, with the end of one funnel visible. Scattered groups of the villagers were examining it from the sands. In due course Mills returned.
“The hotel people know nothing of Mr. Lessingham, your ladyship, beyond the fact that he did not return last night. They received a message from Hill’s Garage, however, about half an hour ago, to say that their mechanic had driven Mr. Lessingham early this morning to Norwich, where he had caught the mail train to London, The boy was to say that Mr. Lessingham would be back in a day or so.”
Philippa pushed open the windows and made her way down towards the beach. She leaned over the rail of the promenade and waved her hand to the others, who clambered up the shingle to meet her.
“Scarcely seen you yet, my dear, have I?” Sir Henry observed.
He stooped and kissed her forehead, a salute which she suffered without response. Helen pointed to the wreck.
“It doesn’t seem possible, does it,” she said, ” that men’s lives should have been lost in that little space. Two men were drowned, they say, through the breaking of the rope. They recovered the bodies this morning.”
“Everything else seems to have been washed on shore except my coat,” Sir Henry grumbled. “I was down here at daylight, looking for it.”
“Your coat!” Philippa repeated scornfully. “Fancy thinking of that, when you only just escaped with your life!”
“But to tell you the truth, my dear,” Sir Henry explained, “my pocketbook and papers of some value were in the pocket of that coat. I can’t think how I came to forget them. I think it was the surprise of seeing that fellow Lessingham crawl on to the wreck looking like a drowned rat. Jove, what a pluck he must have!”
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“The fishermen can talk of nothing else,” Nora put in excitedly. “Mummy, it was simply splendid! Helen and I had gone up with two of the rescued men, but I got back just in time to see them fasten the rope round his waist and watch him plunge in.”
“How is he this morning? ” Helen asked.
“Gone,” Philippa replied.
They all looked at her in surprise.
“Gone?” Sir Henry repeated. “What, back to the hotel, do you mean?”
“His bed has not been slept in,” Philippa told them. “He must have slipped away early this morning, gone to Hill’s Garage, hired a car, and motored to Norwich. From there he went on to London. He has sent word that he will be back in a few days.”
“I hope to God he won’t!” Sir Henry muttered.
Philippa swung round upon him.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded. “Don’t you want to thank him for saving your life?”
“My dear, I certainly do,” Sir Henry replied, “but just now - well, I am a little taken aback. Gone to London, eh? Tore away without warning
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