Biggles - Secret Agent

by W E Johns

  Von Stalhein continued drumming on his desk with his pencil, and thus the situation remained for two or three minutes, which seemed like an eternity to Ginger, who was terrified that von Stalhein might decide at any moment to close the safe, in which case they would meet face to face.

  Heavy footsteps outside the door sent him huddling closer against the wall behind him.

  The door was flung open. Two storm-troopers entered. Between them was Algy. All three took up a position in front of von Stalhein’s desk.

  ‘Lacey, I have decided to send you away,’ said von Stalhein harshly.

  ‘Why, what’s the matter – lost your nerve?’ asked Algy coolly.

  Von Stalhein fixed his monocle in his eye and regarded Algy with a hostile glare. ‘You would be wise to remember where you are,’ he said frigidly.

  Algy smiled. ‘Von Stalhein, you’re a liar,’ he said evenly. ‘You haven’t got my friends or you wouldn’t behave like this.’

  ‘Silence!’ Von Stalhein brought his fist down with a bang on the desk.

  Ginger shuddered, and this time his fears were justified. The panel fell with a crash into the room.

  There was dead silence as all eyes switched to it.

  Ginger knew that for better or worse the end had come. He left his hiding-place, and with Indian-like tread advanced swiftly to the desk. As he took the last step a board creaked, and all eyes flashed to him.

  Ginger’s automatic was up. ‘Keep still, everybody,’ he jerked out. ‘Von Stalhein, tell your men to—’

  He got no farther. One of the storm-troopers reached for his revolver. Ginger’s automatic spat. The man stared at him foolishly for a moment and then sank to the floor.

  ‘The door, Algy — lock the door!’ cried Ginger shrilly, knowing that the shot would be heard all over the castle. ‘Keep still, von Stalhein, or you’ll get yours,’ he went on crisply, his face as white as death.

  The second storm-trooper started to reach for his revolver holster, but the muzzle of Ginger’s weapon swung round on him and he remained motionless, his hand poised in mid-air.

  Algy had dashed to the door. He locked it an instant before the handle was turned and a weight thrown against it. There was a sound of hammering and many voices. He hurried back to the motionless group at the desk.

  ‘Get that fellow’s gun,’ ordered Ginger.

  Algy took the storm-trooper’s revolver from its holster. ‘Now von Stalhein’s.’

  Algy complied.

  ‘That’s the second pistol of mine you’ve taken tonight,’ said von Stalhein whimsically.

  ‘I think it’s as many as we shall need,’ Ginger told him smoothly. ‘Come on, Algy, it’s time we went.’

  ‘Which way?’ asked Algy, as there came a thunder of blows on the door.

  ‘Through the hole where the panel fell out. Get a move on. When you get there, keep these fellows covered until I can join you.’

  Algy ran to the corridor and turned about, a weapon in each hand. ‘Come on!’ he shouted above the clamour outside the door.

  Ginger dashed to the hole and ducked into it just as the door crashed inwards. ‘This way!’ he shouted, and set off down the corridor.

  Now until this moment he had completely forgotten the bottle which he still clutched in his left hand. In the other he held his automatic, leaving no hand free to hold the torch. In the darkness he was fearful of dropping the bottle, so as a last resort he put it into his pocket rather than take the risk. His left hand was now free to hold the torch, and with the fast-expiring beam making only a feeble glow in front of them, they hurried on.

  As they reached the fallen brickwork there were shouts behind them. Ignoring them, they squirmed through into the main tunnel, Algy turning on the top to fire three quick shots down the passage behind them. ‘That ought to discourage ‘em,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Buck up!’ cried Ginger, in a panic, for he heard the lock turning in the big door, which he realized, of course, that Algy knew nothing about.

  Algy ran — or rather skidded on the slippery floor — after Ginger, who was making the best speed he could up the tunnel. And it was not until then, when the door was flung open, that he perceived the danger. The tunnel was filled with a medley of sounds.

  ‘Is it all clear at the hotel?’ shouted Algy.

  ‘We’re not going to the hotel,’ Ginger told him.

  ‘This tunnel goes to the hotel; I know that because they brought me up it not long ago.’

  ‘Keep going, I’ll show you another way,’ panted Ginger, as a shot zipped along the wall.

  He reached the side turning, and with a gasp of relief ducked through it as several more shots whizzed down the tunnel, the reports nearly deafening them. Algy followed.

  With Ginger still leading they ran on, their pursuers never far behind them. Fortunately the tunnel was on a slight bend, which kept them just out of sight of the men who came storming along; what was more important, it prevented any direct shooting. Nevertheless, Ginger was more than a little worried, for a glance at his watch showed him that the time was a quarter to twelve, which left him in doubt as to whether the Beklinders had started for the rendezvous.

  They might have started, or, on the other hand, they might only be on the point of leaving; either way, he was leading a red-hot trail to their hiding-place, which was bad, for the escape of the Beklinders was more important than their own. Had it been possible he would have laid a false trail, but there was no alternative route, so he could only go on, well aware that if the Beklinders were still in the vault, the precipitate arrival of pursued and pursuers would be bound to cause a panic and perhaps jeopardize all Biggles’s work.

  ‘How much farther?’ panted Algy.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ answered Ginger, stumbling, and breaking into a cold perspiration as he remembered the bottle, and thought of what might happen if he fell.

  ‘Here’s the end,’ he gasped, as the opening into the vault came into view.

  ‘Is Biggles here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where—?’

  ‘He’s gone on. We’ve got to meet him. But the Professor may be here.’ Ginger realized that as Algy knew nothing about what had happened during the last few hours this was an inadequate explanation, but there was no time for details.

  They reached the entrance to the vault and scrambled through. One glance showed Ginger that the Beklinders had left, for which he was thankful, but as they knew nothing of the hue and cry, if he failed to overtake them and warn them of it, it was likely that they would be recaptured. A desperate expedient occurred to him and he resolved to take the chance. ‘Get outside,’ he told Algy frantically. ‘There are the steps — get outside and lie down — hurry.’

  He dashed back to the entrance to the tunnel ‘Help yourselves to that,’ he yelled, and hurled the bottle with all his might. The instant it had left his hand he whirled about and made a dash for the churchyard, hoping to reach it before the explosion occurred. He almost succeeded. He managed to get to the top step when a blast of air, almost solid in its force, shot him out like a champagne cork. Following the blast came a streak of electric blue flame. For a split second it spurted through the vault entrance like a blow-lamp; then the earth shook with an explosion so violent that to Ginger it felt like the end of the world. Half dazed, a smell of scorching in his nostrils, he staggered to his feet, and saw Algy doing the same thing close at hand.

  ‘What was that?’ gasped Algy.

  ‘One of the Professor’s little squibs,’ answered Ginger. ‘Let’s keep going; we’ve a long way to go.’ He set off at a run across the churchyard in the direction of the rendezvous.

  Vaulting over the wall they went on without stopping to look behind, and as they ran Ginger gave Algy a sporadic account of what had happened and the situation as it now existed.

  ‘The Beklinders shouldn’t be far — in front of us — then?’ puffed Algy.

  ‘We ought to overtake them before they get to the fi
eld,’ Ginger told him.

  ‘Can’t we — slow down — for a bit? I don’t think — anyone is —following us.’

  ‘Von Stalhein would hear the explosion, and he would probably guess what caused it,’ answered Ginger, easing the pace to a fast walk. ‘He might even see the flash from the castle, and that would give him our position. His entire pack will be after us by this time. It’s going to be touch and go.’

  They both swerved violently as a figure stepped suddenly from behind a clump of bushes which they were at that moment passing.

  ‘It’s all right; it’s only me,’ said Gustav. ‘We heard somebody coming and hid until we saw who it was.’

  The Professor also emerged from his hiding-place. ‘What was that explosion?’ he asked.

  ‘It was that little bottle of syrup which you mixed to blow von Stalhein up with,’ Ginger told him. ‘He took it away from you and put it in his safe, you remember? A mob of his greyshirts were on our trail so I tossed it back for them to play with. By the way, this is Algy Lacey — he’s one of us; but postpone the “How-d’ye-do” stuff until later on. We’re all right for time, I think, but the farther we get away from this locality, the better. Professor, you know the way, so will you please take the lead?’

  In single file they resumed their journey. They saw no one, but more than once they heard sounds which told them that a hue and cry was in progress — shouts, whistles, and the honking of motor-car horns.

  ‘They’ll have a job to find us,’ declared Algy confidently; ‘in country like this, with so much timber about, looking for anybody would be worse than trying to find a pin in a cornfield.’

  ‘I’d agree with you except for one thing,’ muttered Ginger anxiously.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘They’ve got dogs.’

  ‘Phew! I didn’t know that.’

  ‘I should feel easier in my mind if I didn’t know. They’re not ordinary animals; they’re trained for the job; I’ve seen them at work.’

  ‘I don’t think we need worry, we are nearly there,’ put in the Professor. ‘The field is just beyond the belt of trees in front of us.’

  They trudged on, and had just reached the trees when, from far away in the direction whence they had come, one of the most sinister of all sounds floated to their ears on the still night air. It was the deep-throated bay of a hound.

  ‘It sounds as if they’ve got the dogs on the job,’ murmured Algy.

  ‘They’ll have to travel fast to catch us,’ said Ginger confidently, looking at his watch. ‘It’s twelve-fifteen. We have only five minutes to wait.’

  They went on again through the trees.

  ‘This should be the place,’ announced the Professor, as they forced their way through the undergrowth and emerged into the open country beyond.

  ‘You’re quite sure about that?’ said Ginger. ‘I’ve left it to you.’

  ‘Yes, this is it.’

  Ginger looked round the boundaries of the big field in front of him. ‘Yes, it must be,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s big enough to get a machine in, and there can’t be many fields of this size about here.’ He whistled quietly and listened for a reply; but there was none. ‘I was hoping that Biggles might be here a bit early,’ he explained. ‘But apparently he isn’t here yet,’ he added, looking again at his watch. ‘Twelve-eighteen,’ he announced. ‘Two minutes to go.’

  The sudden shrill of a whistle sent them all facing the way they had come. A dog barked furiously. There was another whistle, followed by a shout.

  ‘I should say they are within half a mile of us,’ murmured Algy.

  ‘Well, if they arrive before Biggles there is only one thing we can do,’ declared Ginger, holding up his pistol and stepping backward a few paces so that he could see the top of a slight rise in the ground behind the belt of trees. ‘The result will depend on how many there are of them. We’ll do our best to make things warm for them, however many there are.’

  ‘It is twenty past twelve,’ announced the Professor. He may have tried not to show it, but his voice was heavy with disappointment.

  ‘Your watch is probably a minute fast,’ Algy told him cheerfully.

  ‘I’m afraid your friend isn’t coming.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t know him as well as we do,’ said Ginger. ‘Look – here come the greyshirts over the hill.’ He started to count as figures, silhouetted against the sky, began to appear. ‘That seems to be the lot,’ he said, when he had counted up to ten. ‘Ten and two couple of hounds. “Ten little greyshirts standing in a line, a bad boy plugged one and then there were nine,”’ he misquoted glibly.

  ‘This is no time for joking,’ said the Professor severely.

  ‘Personally, that’s where I think you are wrong, Professor. We—’

  ‘Would it not be better if we ran on?’ broke in Gustav.

  ‘I’m not doing any more running,’ stated Ginger emphatically. ‘Biggles said meet him here, so here I stay. I’m tired, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll bet you are,’ said Algy quietly, looking at Ginger, whose eyes were heavy for want of sleep.

  The figures could no longer be seen on the ridge. The rustle of bushes on the far side of the trees indicated plainly where they were.

  ‘It looks as if we shall have to fight for it,’ said Algy calmly. ‘Keep together, everybody, or we shall be plugging each other in the dark.’

  There was a soft pattering among the dry leaves under the trees. It stopped abruptly. A dog growled.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Biggles Goes to Prenzel

  When Biggles had left the others after seeing Algy’s machine take off, he knew what he was going to do — or, rather, what he was going to try to do.

  Searching his brains for another means of escape, it was only natural that he should dwell first on the chances of getting an aeroplane. There was, he knew, an air force in Lucrania, but, never having been concerned with it, he could not recall where the military aerodromes were located; nor had he any means of finding out. Then, suddenly, he remembered that there was a regular service operated by Planet Airways, running between Prenzel and Croydon, via Hamburg. A passenger machine left each terminus at nine in the morning, and a mail plane at twelve midnight. As soon as this thought occurred to him his mind was made up. Somehow — he did not know how — he would use the mail plane. There was just a chance that he might recognize the pilot, in which case he would endeavour to enlist his services by telling him frankly what the position was; but whatever happened he would use the mail plane, even if he had to purloin it.

  Prenzel was about forty miles away, which meant that he would have to return to the car which they had abandoned in the wood. There was no other way of getting to Prenzel before the machine left.

  It was with the project still fluid in his mind that Biggles told Ginger of his intention of leaving the party. The revelation of his plan would, he knew, involve lengthy explanations, possibly a long debate, and as every minute was precious it was for this reason that he departed hurriedly without divulging the details.

  Stopping occasionally to listen, he got back without incident to the place where the car had been left. It was still there. The road, or as much as he could see of it, was deserted.

  Before getting into the car he kicked off the ‘G.B.’ plate with his heel, and picking up a handful of moist earth rubbed it over the number-plate so as almost to obliterate the registration letters. Then he started the car, and backed, not without difficulty, to the road. Putting his pistol on the seat beside him, he sped down the road in the direction of the capital city of Lucrania.

  He had not gone many miles before he was provided with proof of how far he had been right when he had said that the police would be on the look-out for the Morris. Going through the village of Garenwald a red lamp was waved in front of him He could just discern two uniformed figures behind it. He did not stop. On the contrary he slammed the palm of his hand on the electric horn, and at the same time pressed
his foot on the accelerator. He smiled grimly as the red light fell into the road and the two figures flung themselves aside. He felt his mudguard graze one. Instinctively he bent low over the steering-wheel; and it was a good thing that he did, for a bullet ripped through the coachwork behind him and bored a neat round hole through the windscreen just over his head.

  He did not turn, but went straight down on the main road that led to Prenzel. He was tempted to leave it and take to secondary roads, and he would have done so had he known the country better; but he dared not run the risk of losing his way. So he raced on, glancing behind him at frequent intervals to see if there were any signs of pursuit.

  Five minutes later, on a long straight piece of road, he saw behind him the blazing headlights of another car, following at a speed which told him that he was the object of it, for the needle of his own speedometer was over the sixty mark.

  For the next two or three minutes he had to concentrate on the road, for there were several bends, but when he looked behind again he saw to his annoyance that the following car had lessened the gap between them. It was obvious that it must presently overtake him if he did nothing to prevent it. Ahead were the lights of a small town, and his common sense told him that he could not hope to get through it without trouble, for the police at Garenwald would have telephoned to their colleagues along the road the news that the ‘wanted’ car was coming in their direction.

  A knowledge of continental road signs now stood him in good stead. His headlights flashed on one. It was a small black locomotive against a white background; below, a number of red lines had been drawn round the upright post. The sign warned him that he was approaching a level crossing; four red lines told him that it was two hundred metres ahead. Knowing that the chances were that it would be closed against him, he switched off his lights and swung down a side turning to the left; he groped his way along it until he came to a turning on the right, which once more took him in the direction of the town.