by W E Johns
“I don’t understand.”
“Suppose someone with a brain has just worked out why we came here. Or new information may have come in associating us with Marie. We’ve always been afraid of that. I’d say that’s what has happened. They haven’t caught us. They don’t know where we are, but they may reckon we’re not far away. So far it can’t have occurred to them that we might already be inside the castle so they’re building a fence to keep us out. That’s funny when you think about it.”
“I can’t see anything funny in it. What can we do with barbed wire?”
“Cut it.”
“With what —our teeth?” Von Stalhein’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Or are you hoping to find wire cutters among the antiques decorating the walls inside?”
“When men built castles that damnable stuff called barbed wire hadn’t been invented. I’ve hated it since I was a kid, when I saw a pup rip its belly open trying to gallop through a fence. How could the poor little beast be expected to know what barbed wire could do? The man who thought of putting barbs on wire should have been flogged to death with a length of it.”
“Never mind what you think of it. That isn’t going to help us to get through it.”
“We’ll find a way, if it means burrowing under it. Max may be able to help us. Don’t worry. After what we’ve been doing most of our lives we shouldn’t let a little job like this beat us.”
Von Stalhein looked at Biggles curiously. “Why is it that you English get more optimistic as the outlook gets blacker?”
Biggles smiled. “Nobody knows. Maybe we’re too dumb to realize when we’re beaten. Just to comfort you it’s my guess that things will get blacker before we get to the plane.”
“It looks as if we shall have plenty of time to think about it,” returned Von Stalhein lugubriously. “With that work going on outside we’re going to be stuck in here for the rest of the day.”
“Not me,” said Biggles. “I’m moving up one storey. There’s a pile of old jackdaws’ nests on the next floor. They should make a more comfortable bed than this stone floor. Aside from that I shall be able to watch the river.”
“Has nobody told you that old nests are usually crawling with fleas?”
“I’d rather be flea-bitten than die of pneumonia. By the way, did Marie bring the tea out?”
“No. Greta.”
“So you haven’t seen Marie yet?”
“No. But she sent word that if she has anything to tell us she’ll make the usual signal.”
“I hope the news will be that Max has found the rope we asked for.”
“We don’t need it yet.”
“I’d like it now. I’d sleep more comfortably with a rope under my head.”
“Why?”
“To get to the ground in a hurry should it be necessary to evacuate this doghouse.” Biggles became serious. “You realize we’ve no back door? At a pinch, not having wings, we couldn’t retreat. In other words, my dear Erich, as things are we could find ourselves in a trap. Rather than do a high jump I’d prefer to slide down a rope.”
From some way off came the crisp snick of an axe biting into wood.
“Now what are they up to?” muttered Von Stalhein, looking anxious.
“I’d make a small wager I could tell you.”
“I’d like to know.”
“Someone is busy cutting posts to carry the barbed wire. But don’t let it worry you,” added Biggles cheerfully. “He’s wasting his time.”
“I’m glad you think so,” retorted Von Stalhein dourly.
The day wore on. A certain amount of activity continued below the balcony; voices, the clatter of posts being thrown down and the hammering of them into the ground.
Biggles took his bedding up to the turret and watched the river, hoping to see the rock emerge to show that the level of the water was falling. In this he was disappointed. The island appeared to be the same size, neither larger nor smaller. To his disgust more clouds were piling up.
A little before noon what he feared happened. It started to rain, quietly, in the way that promises a wet day. There was, however, some slight compensation for this. It stopped work on the fence, the men, presumably, having retired to shelter. At all events, nothing more was heard, and presently a cautious investigation showed that only a few posts, in a double row, had been put in place — a fraction of what would have to be done. The wire had not been touched.
“They’ll just about finish the job by the time we’re ready to leave,” said Von Stalhein, morosely. “Of course, rain may hold them up.”
“If it doesn’t soon stop, by Saturday the river will be in flood,” Biggles pointed out.
An hour later it was still drizzling when Greta arrived with more food, bread, butter, cold meat, some apples and a jug of coffee. She would, she said, bring something hot after dark.
“I hope we’re not depriving you,” said Von Stalhein.
Greta said there was no shortage of food. Nobody saw what was delivered to her kitchen, either by her husband or the truck that brought the rations for the guards. She knew about the fence. There was only one other message. Max had not been able to get a strong rope but he had brought up something which he thought would serve the same purpose. She would fetch it.
This she did. The substitute turned out to be a pair of leather reins, each about twenty feet long, part of the harness for a carriage, or a horse-drawn vehicle of some sort. At the ends were the usual buckles for attaching the reins to the bit. These would also enable the reins to be joined together if so desired.
Biggles was delighted. “This,” he told Von Stalhein after Greta had gone, “is better than a rope. I shall feel a lot more comfortable now.”
CHAPTER XV
A CHANGE OF PLAN
THE next day brought no change in the situation. The morning dawned fair. Work on the fence was resumed; but the weather continued unsettled and by noon more rain sent the men to shelter. The posts now covered two thirds of the front but only a short length of wire had been attached.
Biggles spent most of the day in the turret where, by lying flat and looking down through the chute — which in the days of primitive warfare enabled defenders to discourage attackers by dropping on them such things as quicklime and boiling oil — he could watch the progress of the work. He had another interest. The river. As far as he could judge there was little, if any, change. He thought it had dropped a trifle. At all events, unless his memory was at fault, rather more of the island was exposed.
When the rain started he was looking down at the men working on the fence, trying to estimate how long it would take them to finish the job. This, he realized would depend on the weather — that is, if they stopped work every time it rained. Would they knock off or would they continue? There was a curious irony in the situation. If it rained the work would be held up; but any advantage so gained would he offset by an almost inevitable rise in the water level.
The rain became heavier and he watched with interest to see what would happen. The men got together, apparently to discuss the matter. It took them only a minute to reach a decision. A sudden squall and they dropped their tools, hurrying for shelter. One tool in particular engaged Biggles’s attention. It was a pair of heavy army type wire cutters being used by the man fixing the wire to the posts. They lay where he had tossed them, on the edge of the rough clearing that had been cut through the coarse herbage. Biggles regarded them covetously. Nothing could be done about them at the moment but he resolved to keep them in mind.
At lunch-time they saw Greta put out some food. Von Stalhein fetched it and they had a plain but satisfying meal.
All the afternoon the rain continued in a persistent drizzle. The men did not return to work.
After dark Biggles had a few words with Marie at the window. She had nothing to report so he did not go in. No one had been near her.
Later, back in the shelter, he buckled the reins together and made a loop at one end. Von Stalhein watched with interest. �
��Are you going to do something with that?” he inquired.
Biggles said he was going to make a quick trip to the ground. He explained: “The men chucked down their tools when they packed up, intending no doubt to come back if the rain stopped. Lying nice and handy is the thing we most need. Wire cutters. They could answer a big question for us.”
“Do you mean you’re going to fetch them?”
“Of course.”
“That’s a bit risky.”
“Not too risky, considering what they could be worth to us.”
“Someone may be sent to collect the tools.”
“That’s quite likely. A British working party wouldn’t have been allowed to leave their tools lying about like that. There’s plenty of cover for me if I’m disturbed.”
“The cutters will be missed.”
“Of course they will. I’m reckoning that the careless fellow who was using them will forget where he dropped them. There should be a spare pair. If so he won’t spend much time looking for the old ones. You know how casual people are with someone else’s property, particularly anything belonging to the government. If there isn’t a spare pair of cutters that’ll be all to the good, because the work will be held up. I could get down by the ivy, but I don’t want to disturb it too much in case someone spots the damage and jumps to the right conclusion. As we have a line we might as well use it. You can give me a haul up when I’m ready.”
Putting the loop he had made over one of the battlements and pulling it tight he concluded: “Stand by. I’ll be right back.”
In a minute he was on the ground walking briskly to the spot where the tool he wanted had been dropped. The sky was overcast, but the moon must have been up behind the cloud to give enough light for him to see what he was doing. The cutters were still there. He picked them up, put them in his pocket, and was on his way back to the rope when the sound of voices brought him to a halt. He listened. The voices came nearer. In a moment he was lying flat against the base of the castle wall where the weeds had not been cut. The men talking approached slowly, as if they were inspecting the work. The voice of one identified him.
It was Reinhardt. The other he did not know, but from his tone of authority he suspected it was the oberfeldwebel in charge of the latest arrivals.
“They haven’t got very far,” complained Reinhardt, obviously referring to the fence.
“I couldn’t see any sense in letting the men get wet through,” was the explanation. “Given a fine day they’ll finish it.”
“I hope so,” muttered Reinhardt.
“What’s the idea of no one being allowed inside the place?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t make the order and it was not for me to question it. Why, do you want to go in?”
“Not particularly; but my engineers have finished outside, and their figures will have to he checked with inside measurements to locate a secret room if there is one. Moreover, there are some places that can’t be reached from outside. This balcony, or whatever it is, above us, for instance. As there’s nothing more my men can do outside they’re wasting their time.”
A pause, and Reinhardt went on: “I see no reason why you shouldn’t go in if you see the men don’t get into mischief. No collecting souvenirs, or anything like that. The head office has an inventory of the contents. I’d have to get the lady’s permission for you to enter her rooms.”
“Why?”
“Those are the orders. I imagine she still has powerful friends. I’ll speak to her. If she has no objection I’ll try to arrange for your men to go in tomorrow.”
“Thanks. They shouldn’t be in there long.”
The voices faded as the two men moved on. Biggles gave them time to get clear and then returned hurriedly to his leather rope. A tug, and with Von Stalhein pulling on the other end he was soon up.
“Who were those men?” asked Von Stalhein tersely. “They gave me a fright.”
“Reinhardt was one. The other I think was the oberfeldwebel. There was no danger. I heard them coming.”
“You got the cutters?”
Biggles produced them and laid them on a window ledge. “Yes, and that’s not all. From their conversation I also collected some information that gives us plenty to think about. It was a lucky break that I happened to be down there.”
“So. What’s the latest bad news?”
“Tomorrow, with Marie’s permission, the engineers are going to continue their work inside the castle. That’s not going to make things any easier for us.”
“Will they go to Marie’s quarters?”
“They’ll have to go through them to get to this balcony, which is one of the things they want to check. There’s no other way.”
“That means we can’t stay here.”
“Obviously.”
“What can we do about it?”
“The first thing is to warn Marie of what’s likely to happen and hear what she has to say about it. Nothing is likely to happen until tomorrow so we shall be able to sleep here tonight. Then, if the worst comes to the worst we shall have to evacuate the balcony, taking everything with us, and hide up in the forest. We mustn’t leave even a crumb lying about to show someone has been living here. I’ll speak to Marie.”
“When?”
“Now. The sooner she knows the better. She can’t know about it yet because Reinhardt has only just said he’ll speak to her. I imagine that will be tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t like this at all.”
“Neither do I, but we’ve no choice. We’ve only one way out. We’ll clean up here, drop our stuff and take it into the forest. We’ve only two more days. We shall have to be away by daybreak, before the men come to work on the wire. We’ll use the rope. That means either Marie or Greta will have to come along to unhook it and throw it down after us. We shall need it to get back on Saturday to help Marie down. No doubt they’ll be able to let us have enough food to last us until then. I’ll go and tell her we shall be gone in the morning.”
Biggles walked along and after a precautionary peep through the window tapped on the glass.
Marie came at once and opened it. “Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“Not exactly wrong but there is something you should know.”
“Come in and tell me.”
“Would that be wise?”
“No one is likely to be in the castle at this hour. Come in and I’ll close the window. It’s draughty standing here. The nights are getting chilly.”
Biggles went in. “You can tell Max he needn’t bother about wire cutters,” he began. “I have some.”
“Where did you get them?”
“From below. Those the men were working with.”
“Have you been down there?” Marie looked shocked.
“I couldn’t get them any other way. But that isn’t what I came to tell you.” Biggles went on to narrate the conversation, he had overheard. “So you see,” he continued, “it’s possible the engineers may come tomorrow to measure the balcony.”
“I shall refuse permission.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It might make Reinhardt suspicious. He might think you had something to hide. In any case it would be too dangerous for us to stay here any longer.” Biggles explained what he and Von Stalhein intended to do.
“Yes, I see you must go,” agreed Marie, looking worried. “But why not leave by the tunnel and hide at the old hunting lodge? With the work going on below the balcony you’d be safer there. Max would take you through, and knowing where you are he could keep you informed of any new development. If you hid in the forest as you propose he might not be able to find you.”
“We would have to come back on Saturday night.”
“There should be no difficulty about that. Max would fetch you. That could be arranged.”
“I think you’re right. Yours would be a better plan. It’s vitally important that we shouldn’t lose touch with each other now. We can
spend tonight where we are. Nothing is likely to happen between now and daylight. Ask Max to come for us tomorrow morning at the first streak of dawn. We’ll—” Biggles broke off, listening.
Heavy footsteps could be heard coming along the stone corridor outside the door. There was a deliberation about them that brought Biggles to his feet.
At the same time the door was thrown open and Greta burst in. “Schnell,”1 she gasped. “The Kommandant is coming.”
Biggles instinctively made a dash for the window, but Marie moved as swiftly and opened an inner door. “In there, my bedroom.”
Biggles darted in. There was no time to do more for the footsteps halted and Reinhardt spoke.
“Guten Abend, gnädige Fraulein,” he greeted suavely.
“Good evening,” acknowledged Marie. “What is it you want now?”
“Here with me is Oberfeldwebel Schultz, who is in charge of the engineers. Tomorrow some work must start inside the castle, and as the only way to your balcony can be reached is through this room he hopes you will have no objection to the men coming in. They will be only a few minutes.”
“How can I object,” returned Marie coldly. “I am in your hands.”
“Nein — nein,” protested Reinhardt. “The matter is in your hands. You have only to—”
“I know, I know,” broke in Marie impatiently. “You have had my answer. I have not changed my mind.”
“You could save so much trouble. What do you hope to gain by holding out?”
“I shall keep my self-respect. Let us say no more about it. At what time may I expect this intrusion?”
“Would ten o’clock suit you?”
“I shall be ready.”
“Very well, then. Gute Nacht.”
“Gute Nacht.”
The door was closed. Footsteps retreated down the corridor. A minute passed. Then Marie appeared at the door of her bedroom.
“They’ve gone,” she said. “They are not likely to come back, but in case they should, I think you had better go, too. You heard what was said?”
