by W E Johns
Biggles and Bertie turned back like two schoolboys caught in an orchard.
They did not stop until they reached the main road, where Biggles sat on the fallen pillar and lit a cigarette. “We’ll rest here for a minute or two to check if we’re being watched,” he decided.
“So the castle is guarded,” said Bertie, sitting beside him.
“Apparently, although not by the sort of men I had imagined. The fellow who stopped us was neither a soldier nor a policeman. He looked more like a forester or a gamekeeper. Maybe they’re using civil guards, drawn from people who know the ground. Anyway, he seemed a decent type. After all, we were trespassing, so he was only doing his job. All the same, I don’t think he was telling the truth when he said there was no one living in the castle.”
‘What gives you that idea?”
“Why should they put a guard on a place that’s unoccupied? When I asked him about it what he actually said was nicht mehr, which strikes me as odd, because it implies that no one is ever likely to live there again. Yet if you look at the track you’ll see where the ground is soft there are wheel marks.”
“Could be a vehicle taking rations to the guards.”
“Why guards, in the plural, if there’s no one there to guard? A truck load of food would hardly be necessary for one person — the man who stopped us.” Biggles shook his head. “No, he isn’t here alone. Well, we know what we came to find out so let’s move on.”
“You’re going the wrong way,” Bertie pointed out.
“I’m going back along the road for a bit to have another look at the castle.”
“Why?”
“It’s unlikely we’d get to it by going up the drive. We’d be stopped every time we tried. It might be possible to reach it straight up through the forest from the road.”
“Up that cliff.”
“I wouldn’t call it a cliff. It would be a steep climb, I admit, but if trees can find a foothold so should we. I doubt if guards would be posted on this side.”
They walked back to the bend from which the castle could be seen. Biggles studied it, and the intervening bank for some minutes. Then, turning away he said: “That’s all I wanted to see. Let’s get back home. At least we shall have something to tell Erich when we see him tonight.”
They set off on the return journey and reached their hotel without interference.
* * *
1 German: “Where are you going?”
2 German: “No more.”
CHAPTER VII
TROUBLE AT THE CAFE WAGNER
IT was a little before eleven p.m. when Biggles and Bertie sauntered into the Cafe Wagner, to pass the time until midnight, and threaded their way through the general bustle to a table for two.
The first thing they noticed was that Von Stalhein was not in his usual place in the small orchestra. In fact, although the band was playing there was no violinist. They saw nothing remarkable in this. Biggles was certainly not alarmed, or even perturbed.
“He’s had to go out for something,” he said inconsequentially, as they sat down. “No doubt he’ll be back in a minute or two.”
Von Stalhein was not back in a minute or two, or even several minutes. It was only when at the end of half an hour he had not put in an appearance that Biggles began to look concerned. “What can he be doing?” he muttered.
“Maybe it’s his day off,” suggested Bertie.
“No. That isn’t it. He would have told us.”
“Could he have been taken ill — eaten something that disagreed with him?”
“I hope it’s nothing more serious that’s keeping him away.”
“How about asking the head waiter why he isn’t here?”
“I’d rather not do anything that would associate us with him. That might start something.”
Another quarter of an hour passed. “He isn’t coming,” declared Biggles, now looking really worried. “Something’s happened. I don’t like it.”
“There’s a chance he may be in his room.”
“We can soon settle that. Stroll round to the yard and see if his light is on. If he’s in it should be. Take your time. Don’t go near his quarters if you have reason to suspect someone is watching the place, or you.”
“Okay. That shouldn’t take long.” Bertie went out.
He was away about five minutes. “Nothing doing,” he reported as he resumed his seat. “There’s no light at the window. The downstairs door is locked.”
“That means he isn’t there. He told us he only locked the door when he went out. It looks bad. Did you see anybody in the yard?”
“Not a soul. There’s a chap selling papers near the archway. I saw no one else.”
Biggles shook his head. “He’s in trouble. We might as well face it.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
Biggles thought for a few moments. “There’s only one thing we can do and that’s keep our appointment with him in the hope that he’ll show up. If he doesn’t — but let’s not jump our fences until we come to them. It’s nearly time.”
They waited, finishing their wine, until the stroke of midnight when the orchestra played its final piece and withdrew.
“That’s it. Let’s go round,” said Biggles, getting up.
Without haste they went out and made their way to the yard. The paper seller was still standing near the entrance arch. “He keeps late hours,” observed Biggles suspiciously, after they had passed him. Inside the yard he stopped to look back. “He doesn’t appear to be following us,” he said, and went on.
There was no light at Von Stalhein’s window. The door at the foot of the stairs was still locked.
“We’re still a minute or two on the early side,” he went on. “We’ll give him time. Let’s wait over here.”
They moved quietly to the position they had occupied the previous night.
Except for the one inadequate electric light bulb under the arch the courtyard was in darkness. Headlights flashed as a man came in to fetch a parked car. The blaze of light disappeared with the car leaving a darkness even more profound. One or two other men came in and went out again after using the convenience. The paper man came in and did the same thing, but took some time over it, staring into the yard before going out.
“I have a feeling that fellow is watching for somebody,” said Biggles softly. “I wonder if it’s us or Von Stalhein.”
Minutes passed.
“Bad show,” breathed Bertie. “He isn’t coming.”
Hardly had he said the words than a shadowy figure loomed furtively beside them. It was Von Stalhein. “Follow me,” he whispered. “No noise.” Keeping close against the wall he moved off towards the inner end of the courtyard, the direction from which he must have come, because had he entered through the archway they must have seen him.
The yard ended at a high wall, but Von Stalhein opened a small wooden door the purpose of which was revealed when they joined him on the other side. A short footpath led to a church. They were in the churchyard, as crowding tombstones made evident.
“What’s happened?” asked Biggles crisply, as Von Stalhein closed the door.
“Sorry about this, but it was the only way I could get into the yard without being seen. I’ve no longer any reason for using the yard.”
“Why not? What’s the trouble?”
“I’ve been sacked. I no longer have the room.”
“Sacked! What the devil for?”
“No reason — that I can believe — was given. This morning when I turned up for work the manager gave me my wages up to date and said he was sorry.”
“Did he give no reason?”
“When I asked him why he simply said I wasn’t suitable. He had found another violinist.”
“That was a lie,” asserted Biggles. “There was no violin in the orchestra tonight.”
“I didn’t believe him. I realized he was acting under orders. I was tempted to go into the cafe as a customer, to tip you off, but decided it would be
better not to go near you.”
“Quite right. So somebody’s turning the heat on you.”
“That, I’m afraid, is what it looks like. Let’s get over here out of the way in case someone comes through the door.” Von Stalhein led the way into the inky background of an ancient yew that spread its funereal branches over an equally ancient tomb. They sat on the ivy-covered stone.
“Where are you living now?” asked Biggles.
“I’ve gone back to the Schmon gasthaus.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to go somewhere else?”
“There would have been no point in it. For the moment I think I’ve given them the slip; but no matter where I lived it wouldn’t take them long to find me. Did anyone see you enter the yard?”
“The only person there was a fellow selling papers.”
“Ah! I I’ve seen him so often that I think he’s one of them. I imagined he’d be about, which is why I got into the yard this way.”
“What beats me is, if they’re so suspicious of you why don’t they arrest you and have done with it?”
“As I believe I said once before, I can think of only one reason. They’re anxious to know what I’m doing in Rodnitz. By leaving me free to move about they hope to find out. Or it could be the local security chief may be waiting for a report on me from Moscow or East Berlin.”
“Could they possibly associate you with Marie Janis?”
“Reinhardt might. He knew I was very friendly with Marie when we were all working together in the Intelligence Service.”
“Why do you think you were sacked?”
“To limit my activities.”
“How?”
“I’ve no money and no doubt they know that. I shall have to find another job, although I’m afraid if I did it wouldn’t last long.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” said Biggles. “I can let you have some money.”
“If they see me spending it they’ll get busy finding out how I’m getting it. That’s the danger of us being seen together. They’d put two and two together and you’d find yourselves on the same spot as I am.”
“Has your room in the guest house been searched again?”
“Not to my knowledge. Of course, it may be, any day. Has anyone been to your room in the Steinhof?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Be careful. I wouldn’t leave money there. If they take yours you’ll find yourself stuck here as I am.”
“How far do you think Reinhardt is in this, if at all?”
“I still don’t know. But it’s pretty obvious now that someone has spotted me. How about you?”
“I think we’re in the clear so far. This morning we went to the glass factory and bought some samples. We found the people there most friendly.”
“They would be. But they may change their tune if inquiries are made about you. Never forget the sort of country you’re in. The secret police run everything. They’re everywhere, and everyone lives in fear of them. If people disappear, and they do, no one would dare to ask questions. What else have you done today?”
“We’ve seen the castle.”
“That’s more than I dare do. How did you manage it?”
“We’ve only seen it from the road, but it was enough to give us an idea of the size of the place. One of the directors of the glass factory was kind enough to put his car and chauffeur at our disposal for the afternoon so that we could see something of the country. Naturally we chose the river road. We saw quite a lot. We dismissed the car and walked home, hoping to do some exploring on the way. That wasn’t very successful.”
“What happened?”
“We tried walking up the drive to the castle like a couple of stray tourists. We didn’t get far. We were stopped by a man with a rifle and turned back.” Biggles described their venture into the prohibited forest.
“And what are you going to do next?”
“Get into the castle.”
Von Stalhein clicked his tongue. “I know to my cost you always carry your nerve with you, but isn’t this going rather far?”
“What else can I do? Until we know whether or not Marie is in the castle we shall simply be blundering about to no purpose. We can’t just sit here. We might as well go home.”
“Have you any sort of a plan?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a plan, but I have a notion to climb up to the castle from the road. That way I’m hoping to slip through the guards. What I do then will depend on what I find when I get. there. I haven’t thought further than that. If nothing more I shall have had a close look at what we’re up against.”
“And if this curious genius of yours for getting in and out of tight places succeeds, and you make contact with Marie, then what?”
“I shall find out from her the position; why she is there, if she wants to leave, and so on.”
“I don’t see how you can hope to get her out of the country.”
“First things first. We’ll deal with that problem if and when it arises. I have ideas about that, too. But we won’t waste time talking about it now.”
Von Stalhein still seemed doubtful. “You are really serious about breaking into the castle?”
“Unless you can suggest any other method of finding out if she is inside it.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No thanks. At this stage you’d do better to keep out of the way. You might arrive with a pack of watchdogs on your heels.”
“How will you get there?”
“Walk.”
“When?”
“Not tonight, obviously. It’s too late. Probably tomorrow.”
“Well. I wish you luck. Where and when shall we meet again?”
“Why not here, same time, two days from now. If we don’t turn up come again the next night, and the next, until we do — unless of course you hear we’ve been nabbed. But we shall have to be going.” Biggles took out his wallet and handed over some notes. “This should see you all right for a little while. Now, can we get out of this dismal place without going back through the courtyard?”
“Easily. There are two ways. The main entrance to the church and a narrow alley that runs into the Ludwigstrasse.”
“That sounds the one for us.”
“I’ll show it to you. We’d better part there. I can only hope that the next time I see you it won’t be on a train bound for Siberia.”
“The next time you see me,” returned Biggles cheerfully, “with any luck I shall have news of Marie. Let’s go.”
They parted at the top end of the alley.
There was no interference.
CHAPTER VIII
HEAVY GOING
IT was three o’clock in fair but sultry weather when Biggles and Bertie left their hotel and set out on foot for the castle, or to be more precise, the road that ran round the foot of the towering bluff on which it stood. Biggles, by the way, had taken the precaution of telling the hall porter at the hotel that they were going to call on a friend. He had (and this was true) no the idea when they would be back. They might stay the night, so there would be no need for anxiety if they did not return until the following day.
They had reasons for starting early. One was, by walking slowly and stopping sometimes to admire the scenery, anyone watching them would get an impression that they were not going anywhere in particular. Again, Biggles was anxious to study in daylight the steep face of the hill they intended to climb. In a few places it was particularly sheer, and these would have to be noted if they were to be avoided.
The actual climb would not begin until twilight, and only then if they were satisfied they had not been shadowed. They had, of course, some distance to go, but not more than they could have covered in an hour had they been in a hurry.
All went well. They strolled rather than walked, stopping frequently to look down on the river below them on the left-hand side. The purpose of this was not so much to rest, or enjoy the view, as look back to check if anyone was keeping
pace with them. They saw no one on foot, but as was to be expected, a few cars and cyclists passed them going in one direction or the other.
They were also overtaken by a motor coach of the omnibus type, apparently public transport.
In this way, deliberately loitering for reasons explained, it was six o’clock and still broad daylight when they reached their first objective, the bend in the road the castle. For a while they sat on the low wall that flanked the road on the river side to prevent careless car drivers from going over the bank down into the river. More than once Biggles had a critical eye at the sky. “I hope I’m wrong, but I a feeling there’s thunder not far away,” he remarked. When there was nothing in sight either way they moved to the opposite side of the road and squatted under a tree far enough back to prevent them from being seen from any traffic that might come along. There as no fence, no obstacle: the forest came right down to end flush with the highway. Again they waited, watching and listening.
Biggles lit a cigarette. “I think we’re all right,” he said. “This is where anyone laid on to watch us would have to show up, to check where we’d gone and see what we were doing.”
No one appeared. A few cars went past at high speed. None stopped. The sun dropped below the peaks of the distant mountains beyond the river and at once the light began to fail. Shadows lengthened. A huge black cloud, edged with golden light where the sun caught it, was advancing up the valley.
“I don’t like the look of that,” said Biggles. “If it decides to unload the water in it we’re going to get our shirts wet.” He got up. “I think we might make a start. The farther we can get before it is really dark the better.”
“I’m all for it,” returned Bertie. “Press on, Macduff.”
The climb started, Biggles zig-zagging to reduce the gradient and choose the easiest route. It was difficult, and therefore slow, but they made fair time and did not stop until it was judged they were about a third of the way up. The atmosphere in the forest was dank and stuffy, and they were glad to have a breather. They also had a drink at a ferny spring from which a trickle of water ran to the parent stream far below.
