by W E Johns
Biggles was now in a quandary. Even if the woman was Marie would she behave as a friend or an enemy? It was evident he would learn nothing more unless he revealed himself; yet to do this would be a dangerous gamble... staking everything on a single throw... risking complete disaster should he lose.
After giving the matter some thought a possible solution to his problem occurred to him. Von Stalhein had seen Marie long after he had known her. Would he recognize her? He decided it would be worth a trial before taking a plunge that might prove fatal. Backing away he returned to the place where he had gained the parapet and there listened for a minute for sounds that would indicate trouble. It was now dim starlight but he could see nothing below. Leaning over he whistled softly. The signal was answered instantly by two dark figures that broke out of the deep ivy.
“Erich,” whispered Biggles.
“Yes.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes.”
“Come up. I want you up here.”
Presently, reaching down, Biggles gave Von Stalhein a hand over the final obstacle.
“What is it?” asked Von Stalhein quickly, urgently, anxiously.
Biggles pointed to the light. “There’s a woman in that room, reading. It could be Marie, but if it is I can’t recognize her. You may. Go and look. I think it’s reasonably safe here. I haven’t heard anyone moving about.”
Von Stalhein crept along to the light. He looked into the room. He returned. “It could be Marie but I wouldn’t swear to it. She’s aged since I last saw her.”
“What shall we do about it? If I can’t recognize her it’s unlikely she’d recognize me; so if she saw a strange face at the window she might set off a general alarm. She might recognize you. You haven’t changed so much.”
“Are you suggesting that I show myself?”
“Yes. What else can we do? Be ready to bolt if she screams.”
“If it is Marie she won’t do any screaming,” declared Von Stalhein confidently. “She’s had plenty of shocks in her time. If it isn’t her, anything could happen; but as you say, the only way we shall find out is by putting it to the test. Wait a minute, though. I have an idea. We once had a secret signal for identification. She might remember it. By watching her I should know.”
“Okay. Try it. Meanwhile I’ll slip back and warn Bertie to be ready for trouble.” Biggles hastened to do this. By the time he returned Von Stalhein was at the window.
He crept close to him. Saw him take a coin from his pocket. Heard a rat-tat-tat of metal on glass in what was obviously a sort of password.
The woman started. Her eyes went to the window. In a moment she was on her feet. She crossed the room swiftly. One of the panes of glass was opened. “Who is it?” she asked tersely.
“Erich.”
In a second the French window had been opened a little way. “Erich! Are you mad? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. I got your letter. Bigglesworth is with me.”
There was a little gasp. “Not my Biggles!”
“The same man.”
“Where is he?”
“Here beside me.” In a swift aside Von Stalhein said. “It’s Marie.”
Biggles moved forward into the light. The window was opened wide. “Come in, both of you.”
“Is it safe?” asked Von Stalhein, dubiously.
“Quite safe. The only other person in the castle is my old maid Greta; she won’t disturb me at this hour unless I ring for her. She is to be trusted.”
Von Stalhein went through the window into the room.
Biggles followed; and so, after many years he and Marie face to face.
Smiling wistfully she held out a hand. “I knew we’d meet again one day,” she said softly. “It had to be.”
Biggles raised the hand and touched it lightly with his lips. “This is a dream come true.” he murmured.
“Am I forgiven?”
“Forgiven? Between you and me there was never anything to forgive. But let us be sure it is safe to talk. Hadn’t you better lock the door?”
“I can’t. The key has been taken away.”
“Do you really mean that you and your maid are the only people who actually live in this colossal pile of stone?”
“Yes. You would not have seen a light in any other window. Greta’s room is on the other side of the corridor, overlooking the yard.”
“What about the guards?”
“Their sleeping quarters are over the stables, which cover all the far side of the central courtyard round which the castle is built. They are forbidden to enter without the unteroffizier in charge. They only go to the kitchen for regular meals. Greta has to cook for them. I think that is the main reason why she and her husband, Max, were left here.”
“Extraordinary.”
“I’ll tell you presently why I think such an arrangement was made.”
“How many guards are there?”
“Max says six, with one unteroffizier.”
“Do they patrol all round the castle?”
“No. They only watch the approaches, the old carriageways through the forest. Apparently it is supposed that anyone coming here would use one of them.”
“Don’t they go round to the front, the way we came?”
“I’ve never seen one under my window.”
“There’s a strip of level ground. We crossed it.”
“Yes, but it’s all overgrown, the weeds and bushes so high in places that a man couldn’t see over them. They must suppose that no one in his right mind would try to reach the castle by climbing up through the forest from the road. After all, who would come here? I think the guards are more to keep me in than keep other people out. Sometimes a car brings one of the head Security Police to question me, otherwise I am left alone. It suits me.”
Biggles looked at Von Stalhein. “This is fantastic.” He turned back to Marie. “We shall have to talk fast. Erich is in trouble.”
“How is that?”
“He has been recognized by the secret police and is now being hunted. He’ll have to get out of the country. What is the position with you?”
“I am not allowed to leave the castle.”
“You mean you are really a prisoner?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’d never guess the reason. Sit down. They’ll hardly look for Erich here. My position is simple. I hold a secret I refuse to divulge. They say if I will tell them what they want to know I shall be free to go where I like. I don’t believe that. Once I have answered their question I shall be of no further use to them — and I needn’t tell you what that would mean.”
“A labour camp in Siberia.”
“More likely a convenient sudden death to prevent me ever from talking. So far I have held out; but they are getting impatient. I don’t think this can go on much longer. They are beginning to drop hints of threats.”
“May we know the secret?”
“Of course. It was an ancestor of mine who built this castle seven hundred years ago. My family has lived here ever since, fighting endless wars from the Middle Ages to the end of the last century. It would be strange if during this long period we did not acquire some objects of value, both intrinsic and historical. Some were given to my ancestors for services rendered. Some were bought. Some came to us as the spoils of war.”
“In other words you accumulated a treasure,” put in Biggles.
Marie smiled. “You may call it that. As years went on many of these objects so increased in value that steps had to be taken to protect them. At first they were merely arranged about the castle as decorations, curiosities, for which reason the collection became known to many people.”
“Have you ever seen these things?”
“Yes. The first time was when I was a child. My grandfather took me to the strong room he had built to contain them. I have a clear recollection of holding the ancient jewelled crown of Bohemia. My grandfather said it had caused many wars. He exp
lained that even though a royal family had become extinct through natural death or assassination, while the crown is in existence the country remains a kingdom. The crown, not a person, is the symbol of nationalism. It is around the crown that the people may one day rally. You will understand why this crown is of such importance to certain people.”
Biggles nodded. “You know where it is?”
“Yes, although I have never admitted it.”
“Is it still in the strong room where you saw it?”
“No. That would not have been a difficult place to find. Before my father went to the last war, not knowing how it would end or what would follow it, he put our treasure in a place that would be impossible to find without taking the castle to pieces. Even then it might be overlooked. My mother being dead, the only person he took into his confidence was me. It was as well this course was taken, because hardly had the war ended than people were here demanding that the Janis objects of art be handed over. My father did not survive the war. It happened that I did, so naturally, as the last of the family, I came home to claim the property. There was no difficulty about that. The trouble was I had no money in cash; that had been swept away in the war; and I had actually considered selling some our treasures when men arrived ordering me to hand them over. I realized that if I complied, not only would I never see them again but I would not receive a taler for them.”
“What did you do?”
“I pleaded ignorance.”
“Did they accept that?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. Of course, they can not be sure. They are certainly suspicious. They were here for a long time, searching. They took away the good old furniture, some books from the library, the best pictures and some rare antique suits of armour, no doubt for their museums. This, they said, was to pay arrears of taxes. But so far they haven’t found our real treasures and I don’t think they will. The castle now is really no more than an empty shell.”
“Why do they allow you to go on living here?”
“I think because they hope I will get tired of living ‘like this and tell them what they are so anxious to know. It is almost solitary confinement. The only man who is allowed to enter the house is Greta’s old husband, Max. He brings in the food. Much as I would hate giving away our precious things I would do that if I could be assured of my future.”
“Why aren’t the guards allowed in?”
“After all the searching they must know there is something of exceptional value hidden in the house. It may be thought they might do some searching on their own account, and if they found anything make off with it. I can think of no other reason. At first the worry of all this, the constant questioning, made me ill, but now I am used to it I don’t mind so much. That is the situation now. I am not allowed to write letters.”
“How did you get the letter to Erich?”
“You call him Erich. I don’t understand this. Is it possible that you are now friends?”
Biggles smiled. “Very good friends. It took some time, but after a spell in prison on Sakhalin Island it dawned on him that he was fighting on the wrong side. There is an old saying, war makes strange bedfellows. He showed me your letter - and here we are.”
“The letter was smuggled out by Max, Greta’s husband, who, like his father before him, was a forester on the estate. His family are as much a part of the castle as we are. I was allowed to have one woman servant and I chose Greta for that reason. I think Max was left because, knowing everything about the place, it was thought he might be useful to my guardians. He gave the letter to a friend who was leaving the country.”
“That brings me to the point of our coming here. What can we do for you? Do you want to stay here or leave the country?”
“I would leave if I could. I have considered trying to escape, but I am not very strong and I doubt if I could manage the hard journey overland which would be inevitable.”
“You would leave even if it meant abandoning everything here? You could never come back.”
“I wouldn’t mind that. I don’t want the treasure, but I would do anything rather than see it fall into the hands of people I detest.”
“Then I can take it as definite that you don’t want to spend the rest of your life here?”
“I do not.”
“In that case I will try to arrange something. Erich is no longer in a position to do much.” Biggles looked at his watch. “Now we must go. I have a friend outside and already he will be worried by our long absence.”
“Where will you go?”
“Back to our hotel in Rodnitz.”
“And then?”
“Make plans for your escape.”
“What of Erich?”
“He’s now the big problem. As soon as it is daylight the hunt for him will begin. We shall have to find him somewhere to hide.”
“Why not here?”
“Here?” Biggles looked as if he did not understand. “Do you mean in the castle?”
“Not exactly, although that would be safe. You came to my room along the balcony?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get up?”
“By the ivy.”
“At each end of the balcony, not overlooked by any window, there is a small stone guard-room, where the sentries used to stand in bad weather. They are not very comfortable but I can give Erich a rug. No one comes here except my woman, Greta. She can bring extra food.” Marie smiled. “While he is waiting for the hunt to end, so that he can escape, he can relieve my boredom by telling me the latest news and of your association with him.”
Biggles looked at Von Stalhein. “How does that sound to you?”
“Perfect. What about you?”
“We’ll go back to our hotel, make a plan and come back some time. I can’t say when. It might be advisable to let things settle down on the road before we attempt to come back here. If we’re seen on the road too often it may look suspicious. You’ll have to leave it to us. Now we’ll get along.”
“Mind how you go,” said Von Stalhein anxiously.
“There are almost certain to be police on the road. If so you will be stopped.”
“I shall have a tale ready for them.” Biggles held out a hand to Marie. “I won’t say good-bye. I shall be back. Au revoir.”
Biggles went to the window and through to the balcony. Above the place where he had left Bertie he waited for a minute, listening. The rain had stopped, but the air was clammy with mist. A luminous spot in the sky showed where the moonlight was trying to pierce it. A low whistle and Bertie appeared.
“I’m coming down,” said Biggles.
“All okay.”
Biggles clambered down the ivy, taking care as far as possible not to leave marks that would betray the purpose for which it had been used.
“I say, old boy, you’ve been a heck of a long time,” complained Bertie. “What have you been doing — exploring the whole bally fortress?”
“We found Marie.”
“You did! Jolly good.”
“I’ve been talking to her. It took her some time to explain the situation here. However, I now have all the gen. Erich is staying. Marie can let him have food. I don’t think he could do better. I’ll tell you all about it later. The next thing is to get down to the road and home. Let’s go.”
The descent through the forest was as difficult, although not as exhausting, as the ascent. The difficulty was to get down without making a noise which might be heard by police left to watch the road. It occupied nearly half an hour, much of this time being lost in the last few yards, which called for extreme caution. Stepping out of the forest on to the road was the most dangerous moment, but in the event nothing happened. They could see no one; but the mist reduced visibility to a few yards.
They set off for Rodnitz at a brisk pace, talking naturally and talking no precautions against being seen, Biggles considering these to be unnecessary now they were on the public highway. In this way they had covered perhaps half a mile when they were
stopped by torch being flashed in their faces. “Halt,” ordered a voice sharply. They stopped. Two men loomed up. “Where have you been?” asked one.
“For a walk.”
“Why at this hour of night?”
“We went farther than we intended, got caught in the storm and had to take shelter under the trees until the rain stopped.”
“Why did you choose this road?”
“For the scenery.”
“Where are you going now?”
“To our hotel in Rodnitz.”
“Which hotel?”
“Steinhof, in the Ludwigstrasse.”
“Have you seen a man on the road?”
“No, but there has been an accident. We passed a car on its side. There was no one in it.”
“We know about that. Your identity cards, please.” They were handed over.
“So. Englanders.”
“Ja.”
“Tourists?”
“No. Business. I can show you letters.’ The man copied their names in his notebook and handed back the passports. “You may pass.”
“Danke. Gute Nacht.”
“Gute Nacht.”
Biggles and Bertie walked on.
“I was prepared for that,” said Biggles, after they had gone a little way.
They were not stopped again.
It was after two o’clock when they reached their hotel so they had to ring for the night porter to let them in. However, he was a jovial fellow and made a joke of their wet clothes. What was more to the, point he offered to dry their suits in his boiler room, an offer that was accepted with gratitude since they only had a change of underclothes. The man went with them to their room and took the saturated garments saying he would return them in the morning before he went off duty — which, it may be said, he did, getting a good tip for his trouble.
Biggles laid a finger on his lips. “Don’t talk now,” he breathed. “I don’t trust walls.” Then, in a loud voice he said: “Gosh! I’m tired. I shan’t need rocking to sleep.”
CHAPTER X
THE PROBLEM
THE following day started with an incident which, while disturbing, looked for a few minutes as if it was going to be worse.
Biggles and Bertie had dressed and were just going down to breakfast when there came a knock on the door. Biggles called “Come in,” whereupon it was opened by the manager of the hotel looking anything but happy.
