by W E Johns
Von Stalhein pursed his lips. ‘That is a hard word, but we will call it that if you like. At any rate, the boy escaped, and by disguising himself as a girl, with an ingenuity I should not have believed possible, succeeded in reaching this place, presumably in the hope of carrying out investigations on his own account —although why he should question the coroner’s verdict is more than I can understand.’ Von Stalhein shrugged his shoulders.
‘Remarkable.’ There was the faintest suspicion of a sneer in Biggles’s voice.
‘As you say, remarkable,’ murmured von Stalhein imperturbably.
‘Possibly the boy had arranged to meet his father, and was disappointed that he did not see him before the accident?’ suggested Biggles.
‘Naturally.’
‘Had the boy arranged to meet his father?’
Von Stalhein hesitated for a moment. ‘There is no secret about the affair,’ he went on casually. ‘There is reason to believe that the unfortunate Professor, who often stayed here in his young days, arranged to meet the boy in this very hotel; he was on his way here, and had, in fact, nearly reached his destination when he was killed.’
‘Very sad. Very, very sad,’ said Biggles, in a melancholy voice.
‘Do you intend to stay long?’ inquired von Stalhein, suddenly twisting the trend of the conversation.
‘No, there does not appear to be anything of particular interest here,’ murmured Biggles. ‘Still, I am glad we came this way or we should have missed seeing you.’
Von Stalhein nodded. ‘It would be wise, I think, if you moved on,’ he said. ‘In some curious way this seems to be an ill-fated place for visitors — particularly English visitors. There have been two or three accidents lately.’
‘Accidents?’
‘Yes, not long ago — since the Professor was killed — an English tourist — actually an employee of your Foreign Office on holiday, I believe — was climbing about on the rocks near the castle when he fell and fractured his skull.’
‘Do you live at the castle, by any chance?’ inquired Biggles blandly.
Von Stalhein almost smiled. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have had a wing made habitable and use it as a shooting-box,’ he admitted, with disarming frankness. ‘You may have time to come up and see me before you leave. You may be sure I will do my best to make you welcome.’
‘I am sure you will,’ nodded Biggles pleasantly.
Von Stalhein finished his cognac and glanced at his wrist watch. ‘I must be getting along,’ he said rising. ‘There are some urgent matters that need my attention.’ He bowed stiffly from the waist. But instead of going he appeared to hesitate, regarding Biggles quizzically. ‘You know, Bigglesworth,’ he said, in a curious voice, ‘there are moments when I could wish that you were on my staff.’
‘Coming from you, von Stalhein, I appreciate the compliment.’
Von Stalhein nodded slowly, almost sadly. ‘I even find myself regretting that you came to Lucrania.’
‘Come, come,’ protested Biggles. ‘Surely it is a little early to talk of regrets?’
‘You have a saying, “The pitcher that goes most often to the water in the end gets broken.”’
Biggles smiled. ‘We have another which says, “Don’t count your chickens before they are hatched.”’
Von Stalhein smiled, but there was no humour in his eyes. He bowed again. His heels clicked together. ‘Good-bye — for the time being,’ he said, and turned towards the door.
Reaching it, he turned again. ‘You won’t forget that I am looking forward to seeing you again?’ he called.
‘Whatever else I may forget you may be sure that it won’t be that,’ answered Biggles.
The German went out, and an instant later his car could be heard speeding up the road.
Biggles moved swiftly. ‘We’ve got about five minutes to get clear,’ he said crisply.
‘Why didn’t he arrest us then?’ asked Ginger, who had not for an instant been deceived by the casual cross-talk.
‘He daren’t risk it single-handed. He knew that we’d be armed. He’s gone off to get his gang of greyshirts. We’ve got to move quickly.’
‘It means bolting for it?’
‘Yes – but not into the country. Von Stalhein could call up a regiment if he wanted to – or a whole blessed army corps if it became necessary. He’s not going to let us get out of the country if human power can stop us. We’ve only one chance now that I can see.’
‘What is it?’
‘The castle.’
‘The castle?’
‘That’s it. Von Stalhein lacks one quality and that’s imagination. Though he searches the whole country – and he will – there is one place in which he will not expect to find us, and that is in the castle.’
‘But how—?’
‘We’ve no time to stand talking,’ snapped Biggles. ‘I’ll show you. Come on.’
Four swift paces took him to the key rack. He unhooked the key of number seventeen and sped up the stairs; but he did not immediately use the key that he held in his hand.
Instead, he went into their own room and filled his pockets with the most vital articles of their equipment, including the rope which he took from under the bed. Then he opened the window wide. This done, he went back into the corridor and locked the door of the room on the outside, after which he unlocked the door of number seventeen. He turned to Ginger. ‘Listen carefully,’ he said. ‘This is what you’ve got to do. Lock me in here. Go down and hang the key in its proper place. Then go out of the front door and come round into the courtyard. I shall be waiting at the window with the rope to pull you up into number seventeen. Hurry! Every second counts.’
Ginger did not question the orders. Biggles had already gone into the forbidden room.
Ginger locked the door and hurried downstairs. The proprietor had not returned. It was the work of a moment to replace the key on its hook, after which he went quietly out of the front door and walked swiftly round into the courtyard. Biggles was already waiting for him at the open window of number seventeen. ‘Lay hold,’ he said, dropping an end of the rope. Ginger seized the rope and was hauled up into the room.
‘Good!’ muttered Biggles, closing the window. ‘I think that gives us a good start. If my calculations are right this will be the last room they will search. Hark! Here they come.’
From the road leading to the castle came the sound of a motorcar being driven at high speed.
Biggles took his screwdriver from his pocket and prised up the trap-door. ‘This is the way we go,’ he said cheerfully.
CHAPTER IX
A Grim Discovery
Ginger stared at the inviting hole, while Biggles, dropping on his hands and knees, turned the beam of the torch into it. The light revealed a flight of stone steps leading downwards. Ginger almost fell into the hole as there came a rush of heavy footsteps along the corridor.
‘It’s all right. We’ve plenty of time now,’ said Biggles calmly. ‘They’ll make for our own room first, and the door being locked will probably hold them up for a minute or two. Then, when they find the window open, they’ll think we’ve bolted into the country. Even if they ransack the hotel for us this is the last room they will search.’
As he finished speaking there was a splintering crash which seemed so close that for a dreadful moment Ginger thought that it was the door of the room they were in that was being forced.
‘There goes the door,’ remarked Biggles. ‘We had better get along. You go first — I’ll close the trap after us. If my guess is right, the last thing that von Stalhein would imagine is that we know about this bolt-hole,’ he added reassuringly.
Taking the torch Ginger went slowly down the steps, peering fearfully in front of him in case there was a sudden drop. He waited until Biggles had closed the trap door, and then handed the torch back to him. Biggles took the lead and went on down. It was not very far. About twenty steps and the descent came to an end, finishing in a gloomy cave, which, from its bricked a
rches, was obviously artificial. It was damp; in places it was wet, for the moisture had seeped through the roof to fall on a slimy green floor, or into patches of grotesque fungus that clung to the walls.
Biggles examined the floor closely. ‘Hm, as I thought,’ he said. ‘This tunnel has been used recently.’
‘You’re pretty sure that it goes to the castle?’ asked Ginger.
‘I can’t imagine anywhere else that it would be likely to end.’
‘There was mention of a monastery in the book, don’t forget.’
‘I haven’t forgotten that, but if this tunnel goes to the monastery then it is unlikely that the site of the monastery would have been lost. Apparently nobody knows now where the monastery stood. However, we shall soon know where the tunnel ends. Let’s go on. Keep close to me and be careful you don’t slip on this stuff on the floor. It’s like grease. And don’t touch the walls; they look pretty rotten to me; we don’t want to bring the roof down on us.’ Picking his way carefully, Biggles began to walk along the tunnel.
‘That was a bit of bad luck, von Stalhein barging in when he did,’ observed Ginger, as they proceeded on their way, for the recent events were still running through his mind.
‘I don’t think it made much difference,’ answered Biggles. ‘I was an optimist to suppose that we should get a clear week to work in. I should have known von Stalhein better than that. You heard what he said — he has a list of visitors sent up to him every night. He would have known about us before but for the fact that he had to go to Prenzel — at least, so he said, and I fancy he was telling the truth. No doubt our names were sent up, but as von Stalhein was away the names did not convey anything particular to whoever received them. By jove! Did you see him start when the hotel proprietor told him who was staying in the hotel? That gave him a shock. He was certainly speaking the truth when he said he had no idea that we were here. Maybe it’s as well things happened as they did; at least it gave us a chance to get away. Had he gone to his office and found our names on his desk we shouldn’t have got such a chance, you may be sure.’
‘I suppose Algy will be on his way by now?’ was Ginger’s next remark. ‘After what has happened it seems a pity that we can’t get in touch with him.’
‘There’s a chance that we may. We’ll see how things go, although I imagine that von Stalhein’s telephone is buzzing by now.’
‘What are the chances of the Professor being at the castle, do you think?’
‘Very good. I can’t think of any other reason for von Stalhein and his gang being here. You can be pretty certain that he would not be down here if he was not handling something very important in the district, and what could be more likely than the Professor?’
‘They’ll probably take the son up to the castle, too.’
‘For the time being, at any rate. It is a great pity we didn’t know who he was before, or we might have compared notes. Another few hours and I should have spoken to him — but there, it’s no use thinking of that now.’
‘Didn’t it strike you as odd that von Stalhein should tell us as much as he did?’
‘The fact that he did so is pretty conclusive proof that he was certain that we could not get away. Otherwise he would not have been so frank — that is, if it was frankness, and not a cock-and-bull story to mislead us. But somehow I don’t think it was.’
They continued on down the tunnel, the only sound being the soft squelch of the slime underfoot, or the sinister drip of water from the roof. In more than one place the brickwork had caved in, leaving the bare earth exposed, and such places they passed with extreme caution, for it seemed not unlikely that a touch, or even the vibration of their footsteps, might cause a collapse with results not pleasant to contemplate.
To Ginger the tunnel seemed interminable, but at long last, after rising steeply for a short distance, it came to an abrupt end at a point where there had been a more than usually heavy subsidence, beyond which was a massive looking door, barred with iron.
Biggles examined the door closely in the light of the torch, but there was no handle or other means of opening it. Further examination revealed that it opened inwards; that is to say, towards them, but it was prevented from doing so by a heavy lock on the other side, the bolt of which was home. ‘I’m afraid there’s no getting past that,’ he said slowly, still looking at the door.
‘We must have arrived at the castle,’ suggested Ginger.
‘I don’t think there is any doubt about that,’ replied Biggles. ‘I suspected that we were nearing the end when the floor started to slope upwards.’
‘What are we going to do?’
Biggles shrugged his shoulders. ‘Obviously, since we can’t go on we shall have to go back the way we came.’
‘We could wait here for a while. If the tunnel is being used somebody might unlock the door.’
‘Even so, the door would be locked again, so that wouldn’t help us much. Apart from that, we might have to wait here for days, and that is something I don’t feel inclined to do.’
‘There’s absolutely no way of getting the door open?’
‘None. I’ve satisfied myself on that point. If we tried to batter it down we should merely bring everybody in the castle to the spot, so that won’t do. I’m afraid it means going back. There’s no particular hurry. In fact, I think our best plan would be to wait for a time to allow the storm-troopers time to search the hotel, and clear off. I think I’ll have a cigarette and think things over.’ Biggles took out his cigarette case and sat down on a broad piece of fallen masonry.
Ginger flicked out the torch to save the battery and sat down beside Biggles. Silence fell, utter silence except for the persistent drip — drip — drip of water. And there they sat, while Biggles, his chin cupped in his right hand, and his elbow on his knee, smoked his cigarette. When it was finished he tossed the butt on the floor and ground it into the slime with his heel. But still he did not get up. Another ten minutes passed and he drew a deep breath.
‘Yes, it’s all very difficult,’ he murmured in a low voice, as if to himself.
Ginger stiffened as a slight sound echoed down the tunnel ‘Did you hear that?’ he breathed.
‘I did,’ answered Biggles. ‘What did it sound like to you?’
‘It sounded to me like the trap-door in the bedroom being allowed to drop back into place.’
‘And to me. Hark!’
Faintly, so faintly as to be little more than a distant echo, from the direction of the hotel came the low murmur of voices.
‘By thunder! Would you believe that?’ grated Biggles. ‘Somebody is coming down the tunnel — and certainly more than one person.’
‘They’ll find us.’
‘Inevitably.’
‘We can’t go on, and we can’t go back without meeting them.’
‘Just a minute. Give me the torch.’ Biggles took the torch and sprang to his feet. The beam cut a wedge of bright light through the darkness and moved slowly over the highest point of the fallen masonry at the base of which they had been sitting. ‘I may be mistaken, but there seems to be some sort of cavity up there,’ he went on, tersely.
‘You mean on top of the bricks?’
‘Yes — but whether it is big enough to conceal us, I don’t know. You are lighter than I am; climb up and have a look, but for heaven’s sake be careful; don’t start a landslide — and don’t make any noise or we shall be heard.’
Ginger took the torch, and with infinite care, on hands and feet, felt his way to the top of the sloping pile of bricks and mortar. Reaching the top he turned the light of the torch into the recess. His voice came down to Biggles in a sibilant hiss. `There’s plenty of room. I believe there’s another tunnel at the back.’
Biggles crept up the treacherous pile and joined him.
By lying flat they found that they could worm their way through a low cavity that existed between the top of the masonry and the earth above, beyond which there was a recess, the extremities of which the torc
h failed to reach. Ginger held his breath as he squirmed through, for he had an uneasy feeling that the roof might cave in at any moment and crush him. However, nothing of the sort happened, and Biggles joined him on the other side.
‘You’re right,’ grated Biggles. ‘There’s another tunnel along there. Ssh, keep still.’
The warning was necessary, because it was clear from the sounds on the far side of the barricade of debris that the other users of the tunnel were nearing the spot. Actually, the sounds were amplified by the silence, and the narrow confines of the tunnel, and it was some time before the newcomers drew level, and halted while a sharp double knock was made on the door. Of whom the party consisted neither Biggles nor Ginger knew, for the masonry obstructed the view and neither dared risk climbing up to look for fear of the movement betraying them. That there were at least two or three people, however, was obvious from the low mutter of voices which echoed weirdly along the tunnel. A bright light gleamed on the roof. They heard the lock turn and the door open. The party moved on again and the door closed with a dull clang. The lock turned. Again silence fell. Water dripped slowly from the roof, like a clock ticking in a bedroom at night.
‘Well, they’ve gone,’ breathed Biggles at last. ‘Before we think about returning to the hotel I think we’ll have a look to see where this tunnel goes, because it may alter the whole situation. I don’t know how long it is since that brickwork caved in, but I shouldn’t think any one has used this tunnel since. With luck it might take us to another exit. They made regular labyrinths under these old castles; it was all a part of the stratagem in medieval times.’ As he spoke he began to grope his way forward.
The tunnel in which they now found themselves was a good deal narrower than the previous one; indeed, it could more correctly be called a corridor than a tunnel. Presently a short flight of steps led upward, and Ginger noted that the walls were no longer of brick, but of stone. Further, the floor and roof were dry. Shortly afterwards, to his surprise, the stone wall on the left-hand side, along which he had been groping with his hand, gave way to wood. Biggles had apparently noticed this, too, for he had stopped, and was examining it, section by section, in the light of the torch.
