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It
was
very
clear
that
my
conjecture
was
right
,
and
that
these
vast
,
clear
bladders
were
distended
with
some
lifting
gas
,
for
in
an
instant
the
huge
,
cloud
-
like
body
turned
sideways
,
writhing
desperately
to
find
its
balance
,
while
the
white
beak
snapped
and
gaped
in
horrible
fury
.
But
already
I
had
shot
away
on
the
steepest
glide
that
I
dared
to
attempt
,
my
engine
still
full
on
,
the
flying
propeller
and
the
force
of
gravity
shooting
me
downwards
like
an
aerolite
.
Far
behind
me
I
saw
a
dull
,
purplish
smudge
growing
swiftly
smaller
and
merging
into
the
blue
sky
behind
it
.
I
was
safe
out
of
the
deadly
jungle
of
the
outer
air
.
"
Once
out
of
danger
I
throttled
my
engine
,
for
nothing
tears
a
machine
to
pieces
quicker
than
running
on
full
power
from
a
height
.
It
was
a
glorious
,
spiral
vol
-
plane
from
nearly
eight
miles
of
altitude
—
first
,
to
the
level
of
the
silver
cloud
-
bank
,
then
to
that
of
the
storm
-
cloud
beneath
it
,
and
finally
,
in
beating
rain
,
to
the
surface
of
the
earth
.
I
saw
the
Bristol
Channel
beneath
me
as
I
broke
from
the
clouds
,
but
,
having
still
some
petrol
in
my
tank
,
I
got
twenty
miles
inland
before
I
found
myself
stranded
in
a
field
half
a
mile
from
the
village
of
Ashcombe
.
There
I
got
three
tins
of
petrol
from
a
passing
motor
-
car
,
and
at
ten
minutes
past
six
that
evening
I
alighted
gently
in
my
own
home
meadow
at
Devizes
,
after
such
a
journey
as
no
mortal
upon
earth
has
ever
yet
taken
and
lived
to
tell
the
tale
.
I
have
seen
the
beauty
and
I
have
seen
the
horror
of
the
heights
—
and
greater
beauty
or
greater
horror
than
that
is
not
within
the
ken
of
man
.
"
And
now
it
is
my
plan
to
go
once
again
before
I
give
my
results
to
the
world
.
My
reason
for
this
is
that
I
must
surely
have
something
to
show
by
way
of
proof
before
I
lay
such
a
tale
before
my
fellow
-
men
.
It
is
true
that
others
will
soon
follow
and
will
confirm
what
I
have
said
,
and
yet
I
should
wish
to
carry
conviction
from
the
first
.
Those
lovely
iridescent
bubbles
of
the
air
should
not
be
hard
to
capture
.
They
drift
slowly
upon
their
way
,
and
the
swift
monoplane
could
intercept
their
leisurely
course
.
It
is
likely
enough
that
they
would
dissolve
in
the
heavier
layers
of
the
atmosphere
,
and
that
some
small
heap
of
amorphous
jelly
might
be
all
that
I
should
bring
to
earth
with
me
.
And
yet
something
there
would
surely
be
by
which
I
could
substantiate
my
story
.
Yes
,
I
will
go
,
even
if
I
run
a
risk
by
doing
so
.
These
purple
horrors
would
not
seem
to
be
numerous
.
It
is
probable
that
I
shall
not
see
one
.
If
I
do
I
shall
dive
at
once
.
At
the
worst
there
is
always
the
shot
-
gun
and
my
knowledge
of
.
.
.
"
Here
a
page
of
the
manuscript
is
unfortunately
missing
.
On
the
next
page
is
written
,
in
large
,
straggling
writing
:
"
Forty
-
three
thousand
feet
.
I
shall
never
see
earth
again
.
They
are
beneath
me
,
three
of
them
.
God
help
me
;
it
is
a
dreadful
death
to
die
!
"
Such
in
its
entirety
is
the
Joyce
-
Armstrong
Statement
.
Of
the
man
nothing
has
since
been
seen
.
Pieces
of
his
shattered
monoplane
have
been
picked
up
in
the
preserves
of
Mr
.
Budd
-
Lushington
upon
the
borders
of
Kent
and
Sussex
,
within
a
few
miles
of
the
spot
where
the
note
-
book
was
discovered
If
the
unfortunate
aviator
’
s
theory
is
correct
that
this
air
-
jungle
,
as
he
called
it
,
existed
only
over
the
south
-
west
of
England
,
then
it
would
seem
that
he
had
fled
from
it
at
the
full
speed
of
his
monoplane
,
but
had
been
overtaken
and
devoured
by
these
horrible
creatures
at
some
spot
in
the
outer
atmosphere
above
the
place
where
the
grim
relics
were
found
.
The
picture
of
that
monoplane
skimming
down
the
sky
,
with
the
nameless
terrors
flying
as
swiftly
beneath
it
and
cutting
it
off
always
from
the
earth
while
they
gradually
closed
in
upon
their
victim
,
is
one
upon
which
a
man
who
valued
his
sanity
would
prefer
not
to
dwell
.
There
are
many
,
as
I
am
aware
,
who
still
jeer
at
the
facts
which
I
have
here
set
down
,
but
even
they
must
admit
that
Joyce
-
Armstrong
has
disappeared
,
and
I
would
commend
to
them
his
own
words
:
"
This
note
-
book
may
explain
what
I
am
trying
to
do
,
and
how
I
lost
my
life
in
doing
it
.
But
no
drivel
about
accidents
or
mysteries
,
if
YOU
please
.
"
My
friend
,
Lionel
Dacre
,
lived
in
the
Avenue
de
Wagram
,
Paris
.
His
house
was
that
small
one
,
with
the
iron
railings
and
grass
plot
in
front
of
it
,
on
the
left
-
hand
side
as
you
pass
down
from
the
Arc
de
Triomphe
.
I
fancy
that
it
had
been
there
long
before
the
avenue
was
constructed
,
for
the
grey
tiles
were
stained
with
lichens
,
and
the
walls
were
mildewed
and
discoloured
with
age
.
It
looked
a
small
house
from
the
street
,
five
windows
in
front
,
if
I
remember
right
,
but
it
deepened
into
a
single
long
chamber
at
the
back
.
It
was
here
that
Dacre
had
that
singular
library
of
occult
literature
,
and
the
fantastic
curiosities
which
served
as
a
hobby
for
himself
,
and
an
amusement
for
his
friends
.
A
wealthy
man
of
refined
and
eccentric
tastes
,
he
had
spent
much
of
his
life
and
fortune
in
gathering
together
what
was
said
to
be
a
unique
private
collection
of
Talmudic
,
cabalistic
,
and
magical
works
,
many
of
them
of
great
rarity
and
value
.
His
tastes
leaned
toward
the
marvellous
and
the
monstrous
,
and
I
have
heard
that
his
experiments
in
the
direction
of
the
unknown
have
passed
all
the
bounds
of
civilization
and
of
decorum
.
To
his
English
friends
he
never
alluded
to
such
matters
,
and
took
the
tone
of
the
student
and
virtuoso
;
but
a
Frenchman
whose
tastes
were
of
the
same
nature
has
assured
me
that
the
worst
excesses
of
the
black
mass
have
been
perpetrated
in
that
large
and
lofty
hall
,
which
is
lined
with
the
shelves
of
his
books
,
and
the
cases
of
his
museum
.
Dacre
’
s
appearance
was
enough
to
show
that
his
deep
interest
in
these
psychic
matters
was
intellectual
rather
than
spiritual
.
There
was
no
trace
of
asceticism
upon
his
heavy
face
,
but
there
was
much
mental
force
in
his
huge
,
dome
-
like
skull
,
which
curved
upward
from
amongst
his
thinning
locks
,
like
a
snowpeak
above
its
fringe
of
fir
trees
.
His
knowledge
was
greater
than
his
wisdom
,
and
his
powers
were
far
superior
to
his
character
.
The
small
bright
eyes
,
buried
deeply
in
his
fleshy
face
,
twinkled
with
intelligence
and
an
unabated
curiosity
of
life
,
but
they
were
the
eyes
of
a
sensualist
and
an
egotist
.
Enough
of
the
man
,
for
he
is
dead
now
,
poor
devil
,
dead
at
the
very
time
that
he
had
made
sure
that
he
had
at
last
discovered
the
elixir
of
life
.
It
is
not
with
his
complex
character
that
I
have
to
deal
,
but
with
the
very
strange
and
inexplicable
incident
which
had
its
rise
in
my
visit
to
him
in
the
early
spring
of
the
year
’
82
.
