"There have been so many fables told us about aircraft," declared the erect old man, "that one does not really know what to believe." "There have been a good many improvements recently in aircraft of all sorts, so that most of the pre-war types have been already scrapped," I said. "Yes, yes, I know," exclaimed our host. "But what I object is to the fairy-tales that we've been told in the past--how we've been reassured." "But does the past really affect the present very much?" I queried. "I contend that it does. We should have been told the truth," he declared emphatically and, rising, he took from beneath a table a large scrap-book. Then, returning to his chair, he said: "I have here a cutting from _The Times_ of March 20, 1913. I came across it only the other day. Listen--and I'll read it to you, because it is most illuminating to you airmen." And then he read to us as follows:-- "Colonel Seeley, Secretary of State for War, said yesterday: We have decided that the Army should have small _dirigibles_ which could be packed up in _boxes_, put in motor-lorries or in ships, and sent wherever they are required. These we have got. These dirigibles, I say without hesitation--and all who understand the matter will agree-- are superior to any other kind of portable airship. They have various mechanical advantages, which I do not wish to dwell upon, because those concerned believe the secret is our own, enabling them to rise more rapidly in the air, and enabling them, above all, to avoid having to part with hydrogen when they rise, and therefore there is no need for reinforcing the hydrogen when they fall. They have these advantages, which we believe are _superior to those of any other nation_." Then, pausing, the colonel raised his eyes to mine, and, with a merry laugh, asked: "Now. What do you think of that for a Ministerial statement eh?" "Perhaps, instead of putting them in boxes, we might have had them put into paper bags, and distributed with pounds of tea?" suggested Teddy. "Why not?" "But I don't see how it affects the present situation at all," I argued. "We are surely much wiser now than we were three years ago." "Well--let's hope so," laughed the colonel. "But that speech is full of grim humour--is it not?" And with that we were compelled to agree. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE "L39." Having taken Colonel and Mrs Cator into our confidence, and they having invited Roseye to stay with them, we were all, on the following day, duly installed at Swalecliffe Park. Without delay I called upon the officer in charge of the listening-post--the whereabouts of which I do not intend to disclose-- and, to my joy, found that he was a man named Moncrieff whom I had met many times at Hendon, and also at the club.