by W E Johns
The next half-hour was a strain on the nerves for everyone. Little more was said. There was nothing to be said. The glow in the sky from the burning stables had died down, the fire having burnt itself out or been brought under control. Biggles was standing up, gazing to the south, the direction from which Bertie would come.
“He’s late,” said Von Stalhein.
“I fancy he’s coming now,” returned Biggles, quietly.
“I can’t hear anything.”
“Nor I. But I can see something.”
The others sprang up, staring in the direction of Biggles’s pointing finger. In the far distance, high in the sky, was a cluster of sparks that might have been a party of fireflies.
“What is it?” asked Marie.
“Anti-aircraft gunfire,” answered Biggles.
CHAPTER XVII
THE FINAL HOURS
“So they’ve spotted him,” said Von Stalhein, heavily.
“I suppose it was too much to hope that an aircraft could slip across the defences without being observed,” returned Biggles evenly. “As Bertie couldn’t identify himself the guns have opened up on him. That doesn’t mean they’ll get him. He’s done this sort of thing before and knows all the tricks. Be ready to take your place as soon as we hear him. Let him get down and then run flat out to the plane.”
They waited, silent, staring into the sky. The sparks dwindled away.
“That means either he’s down or is clear of the frontier,” said Biggles. “We shall soon know. If he’s through we shall have to move fast. He’ll he tracked, either by radio or telephone, and all stations on his line of flight will be alerted.”
Von Stalhein spoke. “That means Rodnitz. And Rodnitz means Reinhardt.”
“No doubt. Listen! I can hear him. He’s through. Action stations, quickly. Marie, stay here. Don’t switch on until you see our lights.”
Biggles and Von Stalhein ran off.
For a little while the drone of aero engines increased in volume. Then it died away completely. Biggles knew what that meant. Bertie was now losing height. A minute passed. The engines came on again, closer, Bertie apparently having undershot the field and was having to use power again to reach it. Biggles held his torch high, waving it slowly to and fro. Again the engines were cut, and a few seconds later the black silhouette of the plane, no lights showing, took shape.
It still had some height to lose. Would Bertie get in? There was not much runway to spare. It was an agonizing moment. Then, with heartfelt relief, Biggles heard the wheels rumbling. Switching off his torch he ran to the machine. It had stopped, but the engines were still ticking over.
Speed, now, was everything, for other ears must have heard the aircraft land. The castle was not too far away. He reached the plane to find Ginger getting out. The others ran up. At the same time two cars with headlights blazing came bearing down the road from the direction of Rodnitz.
“Everyone aboard,” snapped Biggles. “Quick!”
Ginger held the door open. Von Stalhein helped Marie in and was getting in himself when either a mobile searchlight, or the cars’ headlights, found them. A sub-machine gun opened up. A hail of bullets struck the machine and tore up the earth around it, although the range being long the pattern was wide.
Biggles felt a blow on the shoulder as if struck by a hammer. He stumbled and fell. Ginger jumped to him. “Get away — get away,” rasped Biggles, trying to get up. But Marie and Von Stalhein had jumped out again. As they reached him he slumped. With bullets flying they dragged him into the cabin.
There, on the floor, Biggles managed to say to Ginger: “Tell Bertie not to take the same track home. They’ll be waiting for him.” Then he collapsed.
The next thing of which he was conscious was brandy stinging his throat, making him gasp. He opened his eyes and looked into Ginger’s face. He saw that the upper half of his body was naked except that his left shoulder was swathed in bloodstained strips of his shirt. Marie was holding her bundle under his head.
“All right, old boy,” said Ginger. “Take it easy.”
“Where are we?” asked Biggles, fighting for consciousness.
“Over France.”
“France! How long have we been airborne?”
“A bit over two hours.”
“Anyone else hurt?”
“No one.”
“Machine all right?”
“No serious damage.”
“How did we get to France?”
Ginger grinned. “Bertie worked out that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points. He cut across Southern Germany. Nancy is coming up ahead. We arranged for Marcel Brissac to meet us there and see us through if questions are asked.”
“Great work,” breathed Biggles. For a moment his eyes met Marie’s. Then he lapsed again into unconsciousness.
* * *
When he next opened his eyes he was in a bed, from the reek of anaesthetic a hospital bed, with Ginger sitting beside him. “What goes on?” he asked weakly as full consciousness returned.
“You’re in dock.”
“So I see. Where?”
“Nancy. Marcel fixed it. You’ll be all right, the doctor says, but you’re likely to he here for some time. He took the bullet out this morning.”
“How bad was it?”
“Nasty, but it could have been worse. The bullet missed your lung by an inch, the doctor told me.”
“Where are the others?”
“Bertie has gone on home in the Dove, taking Erich with him, to fix things up with the Chief. Marie is in the waiting room. She refuses to go without you. We’ve got rooms in a hotel. Bertie phoned the Air Commodore to tell him what had happened. Marie, having no passport, would need a permit to enter the country. It was lucky Bertie thought of asking Marcel to meet us here or we should all have been in gaol by now. He managed to patch things up here, but the Chief is meeting Bertie at the airport with the Head Customs officer.”
“I don’t get it. What have Customs got to do with it?”
“To see about Marie’s luggage. Bertie had to tell the Chief about it.”
“Luggage! What luggage? She hadn’t any luggage.”
Ginger stared. “Don’t you know what she had tied up in that scarf?”
“I haven’t a clue. I imagined a nightdress, or her small kit.”
“For Pete’s sake! How wrong can you be?”
“What was it?”
“Only a crown belonging to some dead king. It wasn’t gold. It was iron, but rubies, emeralds, and what have you, were stuck all over it like plums in a pudding.”
Biggles looked horrified. “Spare my days.” he breathed. “No wonder she wouldn’t let me carry it.”
“And that wasn’t all,” went on Ginger. “With it she had as pretty a collection of jewels since those Ali Baba had in his cave: you never saw such rings, bangles, necklaces — even loose stones. She told me she wasn’t going to leave them behind for the gang of thieves you seem to have been mixed up with. Do you mean to say she didn’t tell you?”
“She told me, more or less, but I didn’t realize what she meant,” answered Biggles slowly. “And Bertie told the Chief about this?”
“He had to. He daren’t risk being nabbed with that parcel on board.”
“Now I understand why Customs have an interest,” said Biggles. “You say Marie is in the waiting room?”
“Yes.”
“Then go and send her to me,” requested Biggles. “I have something to say to her. Once she nearly got me shot. Now she might have landed me with a ten year sentence for smuggling. Well, I don’t know.”
Ginger grinned. “I’ll go and send her up.”
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW IT ALL ENDED
BIGGLES was in hospital for a fortnight. Marie and Ginger stayed for a week, then Biggles sent them on to England where Marie was awaited to explain her extraordinary luggage.
Biggles arrived home, with his arm still in a sling, to find himself unpopular
with his Chief, who made no secret of it.
The Air Commodore, having said what he thought about the business, concluded: “And all this, I understand, was for a girl, who if I hadn’t put an oar in, might have caused you to be shot as a traitor.”
“It only happens once in a lifetime, sir,” pleaded Biggles.
“I sincerely hope you’re right. You know, Bigglesworth, you’re a dangerous fellow to have about.” The Air Commodore sighed. “But then, you always were. See that it doesn’t happen again.”
“I will, sir,” promised Biggles.
The end of the affair was probably satisfactory to all parties. The British Government, realizing that the crown was a relic that might cause trouble, took charge of it, although it remained Marie’s property and she was given a receipt for it. The other jewels were sold. They made a considerable sum, on which of course duty had to be paid; but this still left sufficient money for Marie to buy a cottage in the Hampshire village where she now lives, Biggles and Von Stalhein often running down for the weekend to talk of their many adventures.
The great castle of Schonschloss still stands. As Biggles had predicted it was not pulled down. That may have been the intention at one time, but apparently someone had second thoughts about it. It may be that it became known that the most important part of the Janis treasure was no longer there, in which case the demolition would be a waste of time and money. It is now open to the public as a tourist attraction with Max and Greta acting as caretakers.
This came about in a curious way. When after some months no word of complaint came from the Continent about what had happened at Rodnitz, Marie, through an international lawyer, made an official application for an exit permit for her two faithful servants. In return she was prepared to give an undertaking that the ancient crown would not in her lifetime be allowed to return to Bohemia.
This offer was accepted, but, understandably perhaps, Max and his wife declined to leave the home they had known all their lives, saying they were too old to start afresh in a new land. However, Marie sent them enough money to ensure that they would never want for anything.
In due course, somewhat surprisingly, the glass that had been bought and paid for in Rodnitz, was delivered, and today, on a shelf in Biggles’s flat, there stands a handsome red goblet, a souvenir of what Bertie still called fairy-tale land. So, as Biggles remarked, in accordance with that tradition it could be hoped they would all “live happily ever after”.
THE END
