by W E Johns
“With thousands of miles of Atlantic and Pacific coasts how can we hope to locate and block the port of entry?” muttered Eddie.
“It wouldn’t do you much good if you did grab a consignment,” said Biggles. “Stop one hole and the rats will soon make another. No, the thing is to find out where the stuff starts from and tackle it at that end, although, let us not fool ourselves, that’s likely to be a formidable proposition. That is assuming the stuff isn’t actually being manufactured in the States.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” asked Eddie, sharply.
Biggles thought for a moment. “Possible but unlikely, unless someone in one of your southern states is growing the opium poppy. Heroin is derived from the opium poppy, which used to be an important crop in China, but I believe most of that has been stopped. According to my information opium is coming now from Burma and Thailand. It’s quite impossible to prevent the poppy from being grown so you can wash that out. It’s cropped by thousands of small farmers over a wide area and collected from them by agents. But the point is, to produce heroin on a big scale a lot of opium would be required, and as far as America is concerned to import the stuff in its crude form, in bulk, would be more difficult than smuggling the finished product. Opium, in quantity, stinks, and there’s no mistaking it. That’s why I’d say, Eddie, you’re getting heroin direct. You have an anti-narcotic service. Haven’t they been able to do anything?”
“No. That’s why I’m here.” In his exasperation Eddie allowed his voice to rise.
“Ssh. Take it easy,” warned Biggles, frowning. “I’ve told you before to keep the soft pedal on. After your outburst at the conference if this racket is as big as you say there’ll be a thousand pairs of eyes watching you and as many ears listening for a chance remark. And, take it from me, not far from the eyes and ears there’ll be knives and pistols. Did you tell anyone in America why you were coming here?”
“Wa’ll, I guess there was no secret about it.”
Biggles looked shocked. “Do you mean the newspapers knew?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t tell me they got the story about the doped chocolates.”
“That couldn’t be kept quiet.”
Biggles drew a deep breath. “This is worse than I imagined. The racketeers will switch to a new line now they know their chocolate-drop approach has been rumbled. That makes it harder for you to get to grips. Now I’ll stick my neck out by giving you another spot of advice. While you’re in Europe keep out of back streets and shady corners. There are plenty. Confidence may be all right, but don’t delude yourself by supposing that an American passport is a suit of armour.”
Eddie looked at Biggles with a puzzled, amused expression. “Say, you sure do get worried. All this eyes and ears talk. What are we on—a film set?”
“It would be healthier for you if we were,” retorted Biggles. “It’s time you got wise to yourself, my lad. You’ve done too much bleating already.”
“Aw shucks!” scoffed Eddie. “Forget it.”
“Not me. And that’s the last thing you should do. In fact, I doubt if you’ll be allowed to forget it.”
“How come?”
“You’re a marked man.”
“You think someone may follow me around?”
“I don’t think. I know. You’re being watched right now.”
“Are you kiddin’?”
“This isn’t a kid’s game. You were being shadowed when you joined us. Don’t move.”
Eddie’s hands closed on the arms of his chair. “Where—”
“Sit still,” rasped Biggles. “How many times do you want telling?”
* * *
1 Narcotic drugs are classified in the trade as black and white. The black (although not actually black) are opium and hashish, the opium being derived from an oriental poppy and hashish from hemp. The white drugs (the most injurious) are cocaine, morphine and heroin.
CHAPTER II
BIGGLES SHOWS HOW
EDDIE’S expression of nonchalance had changed.
“You go on talking naturally,” requested Biggles. “You don’t want him to see we’ve spotted him.”
“How did you know?”
“I was expecting it.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you. After your outburst this morning it was inevitable. You may remember, or more likely you won’t, that when you first spoke to me up the street I stopped and glanced up and down. Another man stopped too, to look in a window. That could have been coincidence. I stopped again on the way here, twice, and the same thing happened. That was why I told you to keep your voice down.”
“You didn’t tell me—”
“Because I wanted you to go on behaving normally. It was really in the hope of getting a good look at your friend that I sat here, knowing he’d do the same.”
“And he did?”
“Of course. He’s the man with a newspaper in front of his face six chairs along. He started at the far end, but has twice moved nearer, hoping, I fancy, to hear what we were nattering about.”
Eddie discarded the stump of his cigar. “He’s got his back to us.”
“There’s a mirror carrying an advertisement for beer at the far end of the bar. He can see us without turning. He’s never taken his eyes off us. From the colour of his skin I’d say he’s from Eastern Europe—probably a Greek.”
After a short silence Eddie muttered: “Are you always on the look out for people watching you?”
Biggles smiled. “It depends on what I’m doing—and who I’m with.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Eddie, after another pause.
“Me? I wasn’t thinking of doing anything,” returned Biggles. “It’s rather a question of what you’re going to do. You were the hunter. Now it looks as if you’re the quarry. I’m afraid you’ve left a trail wide open for anyone to follow.”
“I see what you mean,” murmured Eddie. “I’ve been a fool. I’ll be more careful in future.”
“We all make mistakes,” consoled Biggles. “I made plenty at your age.” He got up.
“Where are you going?”
“When you joined the party I was on the way to my hotel. I reckoned on being at Scotland Yard in the morning—not that I have anything urgent on at the moment. But I happen to be short of one of my staff pilots.”
“Which one?” asked Marcel.
“Algy. He’s in Canada. We had an invitation to send someone to lecture the Mounties on certain aspects of modern crime in London and Algy volunteered to go. Said it would make a change from routine work. He won’t be back for a month. No matter. I have an aircraft at the airport should an emergency arise. Tell me this, Eddie. Do you want to go on working solo or would you like some help? We’re all against this dirty racket because it can affect each one of us. Or would you rather we combined forces and put our heads together?”
“That sounds more like it to me,” returned Eddie, promptly.
“All right. What do you feel like doing?”
“What would you do if you were in my position? You know the ropes over this side. I don’t. In the States I know where I am and what I’m doing, but here I’m a stranger as well as being new to this game. But I’m willing to learn.”
Biggles nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Okay. With every capital in Europe and the Middle East to search where should I start looking for this nest of thugs? Put it this way. Where would you start, if you were on your own?”
“Just a minute, Eddie, before we go any further,” said Biggles. “There’s one angle to this set-up you appear to have overlooked. We can’t go barging about here just as we like. You’re not in the States now and I’m not in England. This is France. We’re on Marcel’s home pitch so it’s up to him to call the tune. We’ve no authority to interfere. In fact, we’ve no right to do anything on our own account. I came over to attend the Conference and after that go home. So, unless Marcel and his chief are content for us to muscle in on thei
r domain this is where I leave things to them.”
Marcel raised his hands in a typical French gesture. “Forget that, my old cabbage. For myself, and I can speak for Captain Joudrier, my commandant, you are at liberty to do anything you like provided it is kept—how do you say? under the hats—so that if there should be an émeute the politicians do not ask silly questions. Why do we call ourselves international if we quibble on points of nationality? We all kick the ball for the same goals, is it not?”
“Thanks, Marcel,” acknowledged Biggles. “That’s a nice broadminded view to take, and it suits me if it suits you. Naturally, if matters here should come to a showdown I’d leave it to you to do the tidying up, although unless I’ve missed my guess the goal in this dope business won’t be found in France.”
“I call that mighty generous of Marcel,” came back Eddie. “Maybe I’ll be able to return the compliment in the States some time. We seem to be the chief sufferers from this dope disease right now. What would you say is my best play, Biggles? Where do I go from here? You tell me, before I get out of my depth.”
“Poking about haphazard isn’t likely to get you anywhere,” declared Biggles. “Let’s face it; now you’ve shown your hand you’ve even less chance of striking lucky. Your only hope is to get a line and follow it to the source of this stream of dope.”
“Where do I start looking for a line?”
“You don’t have to look. You’ve got one under your nose.”
“You mean the guy behind the newspaper?”
“Of course.” Biggles sat down again. “You might try leading him up the garden path.”
“Give him the slip?”
“Good lor’ no. That’s the last thing I’d do. Keep him in sight and turn the tables on him.”
“How? I don’t get it.”
“Let him carry on. I have to go back to my hotel because I have one of my assistants there and he’ll be wondering what I’m doing. If you like you may come with me and we’ll take this friend of yours along with us.”
“Take him?”
“Surely. He’s following you. Sooner or later he’ll have to report to someone. He thinks he’s tailing you whereas you’ll be tailing him. But first of all we’d better confirm I’m not barking up the wrong tree. Marcel, what are you going to do?”
“I have some work at the office.”
“Fine. Off you go. If he doesn’t follow you it must be Eddie our newspaper friend is following. He doesn’t know me. There’s a little job you can do when you go. Brush past that fellow, knock his paper and apologize. That’ll give you a chance to have a good look at him. You may recognize him. If you do, ring me at the Pont-Royal Hotel in about half an hour.”
“Bon,” agreed Marcel. With a smile and a wave he strode off, carelessly, as if by accident, colliding with the newspaper. He apologized profusely and walked on.
The man behind the paper remained in his seat.
“It must be you he’s after,” Biggles told Eddie. “Let’s get along to my hotel. We might as well walk. It’s less than half a mile—just through the Tuileries Gardens and over the bridge.”
“And then what?” asked Eddie, as they got up.
“One thing at a time,” replied Biggles. “We’ll decide on the next move when we see how things go.”
Eddie paid the bill and they moved off at a brisk pace.
Three minutes later, crossing the well-known gardens, Biggles stopped for a moment apparently to admire a flower-bed. A sidelong glance told him what he really wanted to know. “Here he comes,” he said quietly.
“I can see you’re an old hand at this game,” observed Eddie.
“It isn’t the first time I’ve played it,” confessed Biggles, lightly. “Whatever you do don’t look round. Once he realizes we’ve spotted him the game’s finished.”
They crossed the bridge, and walking on down the Rue du Bac entered the Pont-Royal hotel by the main entrance.
As they walked through the swing doors into the lounge Ginger rose from the chair in which he had been waiting and strolled to meet them.
“You must have had a long session,” he greeted them. “I thought you were never coming.”
“Any news from the office?” inquired Biggles.
“No.”
“Good. Let’s go up to my room. I may have a job for vou. By the way, this is Eddie Ross, from the Air Interpol Section, U.S.A. He’s over for the Conference—among other things. We may be involved in a combined operation. Eddie, meet Ginger Hebblethwaite, one of my staff pilots.”
Ginger and Eddie shook hands.
“Glad to know you,” said Eddie.
The lift took them up to the second floor where Biggles had one of the front rooms. He went straight to the window that overlooked the street—the Rue du Bac.
“There he is, Eddie,” he said. “Outside the bar-tabac.”
“He’s going in.”
“Probably gone in to telephone someone, to say you’re here. He’ll watch the hotel, now.”
“What’s all this about?” asked Ginger.
“Eddie’s being shadowed. He took a strong line this morning on the dope racket so it didn’t surprise me to see someone taking an interest in him. Ah! There he is, coming out now. The chap in the black beret, flashy tie and natty brown and white shoes. I’d say they were bought in the States. It wouldn’t astonish me, Eddie, if, as a result of the publicity you got in America, he followed you over from there. That’s it. He’s taken a seat. Going to make himself comfortable. From there he can see everyone who leaves the hotel.”
“I’ve got him,” said Ginger, gazing through the window.
“I want you to go down and keep an eye on him,” ordered Biggles. “If he leaves, tail him. Check where he goes and who he speaks to. I don’t think he knows we’ve spotted him, and as he can never have seen you there should be no trouble about it.”
“Okay.” Ginger was on his way to the door when the phone rang.
“Just a minute,” said Biggles quickly, reaching for the receiver. “That will probably be Marcel. Hello! Yes, Biggles here.... Fine.... Good work. Thanks a lot. I’ll call you back if we need help.... Yes, he’s in the street below, watching the hotel entrance. Me? I may stay on here for a bit to see how things go. Au revoir.”
Biggles hung up and turned to the others. “You heard that. Marcel didn’t know our friend below but in going through the photo records he’s identified him as a knife-slinging apache named Georges Macula, said to be a Rumanian, who hangs out in the Latin Quarter and spends a lot of time with another sewer rat known as Del Grikko, who runs a night club near the Place Pigalle in the Montmartre district. Both have criminal records.”
“That’s a good start,” said Eddie.
Biggles looked at Ginger. “Well, there you are. That’s the gen. Get on with it. I shall be here if you want me, but if I should have to go out I’ll leave a message with the hall porter. That girl who operates the hotel telephone switchboard speaks good English, anyway.”
“Suppose someone contacts Macula? Who do I follow, Macula or the contact man?”
“Follow the contact. It’s unlikely that Macula will leave his pitch while Eddie’s here in the hotel so at a pinch we could watch him.”
“Okay.” Ginger went off.
Presently, Biggles and Eddie, still looking out of the window, saw Ginger cross the road and enter the bar, to emerge tearing the wrapper off a packet of cigarettes.
“That was only to have a close look at him,” observed Biggles. “He can be relied on not to lose him. Well, that’s it. There’s nothing more we can do for the moment beyond keeping an eye on things from this window.” He pulled up a chair.
“What does this guy Macula hope to gain by watching me?” asked Eddie, presently.
“There could be two reasons for that,” answered Biggles. “First, the gang may simply want to know where you are and what you intend to do next. Or they may be waiting for an opportunity to slide an inch or two of steel between your
ribs.”
Eddie frowned. “Do you seriously think they’d go as far as that?”
“Without a shadow of doubt. I’ve told you these people have their own murder agents. Maybe at the moment you’re not considered dangerous, but the moment you are, watch your step. A little while ago I mentioned Jack Diamond. He was a gangster and a gunman, and one would have thought he could take care of himself. Oh no. From the day he touched dope he’d had it. He bolted to Europe and did a circular tour trying to throw them off his trail. Not a hope. They riddled him with bullets in broad daylight. I don’t want to harp on it, but you can take it from me that of all the hot jobs a man can undertake, to try to break up a big dope gang is the hottest. A bomb-disposal squad has a cushy job in comparison.”
“What about you?”
“As soon as it’s realized I’ve joined forces with you, and that won’t take long if we’re seen together, I’m on the same spot as you. So what? Someone has to do the job, and as to me dope is like a red rag to a bull I have a more than ordinary interest, as you might say. Hello! What’s going on below?”
A taxi had pulled up outside the bar. From it stepped a man. Macula rose to meet him.
“The new man isn’t staying,” murmured Biggles.
“How do you know?”
“He hasn’t paid off the taxi so the driver has obviously been told to wait. Ah, there’s Ginger.”
While the two men were talking Ginger walked to an island in the middle of the street, where, at a rank, some taxis were waiting for fares from the hotel. After a word with the driver he got into the one at the head of the rank.
Biggles snatched up the telephone. “Mademoiselle, this is urgent,” he told the hotel operator tersely. “Send a page to take the number of the taxi at the head of the station by the island. Quickly. If he gets it send him up to me. Merci.” He replaced the receiver, and glancing at his watch made a note of the time on the phone pad. By the time he had done this the taxi outside the bar was moving off, to be followed, just as a uniformed hotel page ran out, by the one Ginger had taken. Macula returned to his chair. The page darted back to the hotel.
