The Zeppelin's PassengerOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Zeppelin's Passenger
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Historical fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
“Number three, please,” she began. “Are you the hotel? The manager?
Good! I am speaking for Lady Cranston. She wishes a sitting-room,
bedroom and bath-room reserved for a friend of ours who is arriving
to-day--a Mr. Hamar Lessingham. You have his luggage already, I believe.
Please do the best you can for him.--Certainly.--Thank you very much.”
She set down the receiver. The door was quickly opened and shut.
Philippa reappeared, carrying an armful of clothes.
“Why, you've brought his grey suit,” Helen cried in dismay, “the one he
looks so well in!”
“Don't be an idiot,” Philippa scoffed. “I had to bring the first I could
find. Take them in to Mr. Lessingham, and for heaven's sake see that he
hurries! Henry's train is due, and he may be here at any moment.”
“I'll tell him,” Helen promised. “I'll smuggle him out of the back way,
if you like.”
Philippa laughed a little drearily.
“A nice start that would be, if any one ever traced his arrival!” she
observed. “No, we must try and get him away before Henry comes, but, if
the worst comes to the worst, we'll have him in and introduce him. Henry
isn't likely to notice anything,” she added, a little bitterly.
Helen disappeared with the clothes and returned almost immediately,
Philippa was sitting in her old position by the fire.
“You're not worrying about this, dear, are you?” the former asked
anxiously.
“I don't know,” Philippa replied, without turning her head. “I don't
know what may come of it, Helen. I have a queer sort of feeling about
that man.”
Helen sighed. “I suppose,” she confessed, “I am the narrowest person on
earth. I can think of one thing, and one thing only. If Mr. Lessingham
keeps his word, Dick will be here perhaps in a month, perhaps six
weeks--certainly soon!”
“He will keep his word,” Philippa said quietly. “He is that sort of
man.”
The door on the other side of the room was softly opened. Lessingham's
head appeared.
“Could I have a necktie?” he asked diffidently. Philippa stretched out
her hand and took one from the basket by her side.
“Better give him this,” she said, handing it over to Helen. “It is one
of Henry's which I was mending.--Stop!”
She put up her finger. They all listened.
“The car!” Philippa exclaimed, rising hastily to her feet. “That is
Henry! Go out with Mr. Lessingham, Helen,” she continued, “and wait
until he is ready. Don't forget that he is an ordinary caller, and bring
him in presently.”
Helen nodded understandingly and hurried out.
Philippa moved a few steps towards the other door. In a moment it was
thrown open. Nora appeared, with her arm through her father's.
“I went to meet him, Mummy,” she explained. “No uniform--isn't it a
shame!”
Sir Henry patted her cheek and turned to greet his wife. There was
a shadow upon his bronzed, handsome face as he watched her rather
hesitating approach.
“Sorry I couldn't catch your train, Phil,” he told her. “I had to make a
call in the city so I came down from Liverpool Street. Any luck?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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