The others, in the Otter, could make a cautious reconnaissance of the Daly Flats area, the main objectives being a possible airstrip, the Auster, and the position of the lugger, which, it was supposed, would by that time be well up the river. Having done this the Otter would return to Darwin, there to await Biggles's return.
Biggles said this plan did not entirely please him, but as he couldn't be in two places at once he could think of no alternative. His decision rested on the conviction that they couldn't go on tearing about the continent at the risk, should anything go wrong, of upsetting the Australian government, to say nothing of the government at home.
In pursuance of this plan it was agreed that they should have a meal at the airport and sleep in the machines. Biggles would have a word with West to see if he had any fresh news. In view of the attempt to burn the machines on the previous occasion when they had slept on the airfield it would be necessary to maintain an all-night guard, and the details of this disagreeable duty were arranged, it falling to Ginger's lot to take first watch.
'I don't like leaving the machines unattended even in daylight, so I think Ginger it would be best if you went and had your meal now,' said Biggles. 'We'll go when you come back.
'
'Fair enough,' assented Ginger, and set off forthwith. It was still broad daylight although the sun was well on its way down to the horizon. There might be, he thought, three-quarters of an hour of daylight left.
With no other thought in his head than to get a meal as quickly as possible he strode in to the tea-room, which, he found, while not full was fairly well patronized. Some of the airport staff were there, a few air crews, and one or two civilians who he supposed were waiting for the Quantas liner due in shortly from Singapore. His eyes ran over them as he pulled out a chair to sit down, more from habit than any expectation of seeing a person he knew.
Suddenly he stopped dead. Then he pushed the chair back into place, turned about and left the room. For a little way, in order not to attract attention to himself, he walked on; but as soon as he was clear of the building he ran. The others must have seen him coming, for by the time he reached the Otter, in the cabin of which he had left them, Biggles had opened the door and stood waiting.
'What's wrong?' asked Biggles quickly.
Ton Stalhein's in the tea-room,' answered Ginger breathlessly – the breathlessness not being entirely due to exertion.
Biggles looked incredulous. Not for a long time had Ginger seen him so taken aback. But he recovered quickly. 'Is he alone?' he asked, jumping down.
'I think so. He was sitting alone at a table. I didn't stop to check up.'
'Doing what?'
'Looking out of the window as if he was expecting somebody. There were tea things on the table.'
Did he see you?'
'No – but I wouldn't swear to it. I turned my back as soon as I saw him.
I wasn't expecting—'
'Neither was I,' cut in Biggles shortly.
'Well, blow me down!' exclaimed Bertie from the door. 'That blighter is a fair corker.
How the deuce did he—'
'Just a minute — let me think,' interposed Biggles curtly. 'This is what comes from taking things for granted. Either the Matilda didn't go up the river but came to Darwin instead, or else von Stalhein was put ashore at Wyndham and came up on the regular service. The plane came in from the south while we were sitting here talking.'
'The lugger was heading for the mouth of the Daly when I last saw it,'
declared Algy. `
Bertie will confirm that.'
'It could have had its course changed by wireless.'
'But why should von Stalhein come here?'
Tor the reason most people go to an airport, I imagine,' answered Biggles drily. 'To catch a plane. You realize that this has knocked my plan sideways. No matter. Let's get things in line. Von Stalhein can't know we're here or he'd hardly be sitting in a public room. We were already here when the plane from the south landed, so if he was on it it's unlikely he'd notice our machines. Or put it the other way round. Had he been here when we landed he would have seen us, and kept out of sight.
Not that it matters how he got here.
He's here. The question is, where's he going?'
'If he's booked an air passage we can soon answer that,' asserted. Algy.
'I think we'd better have a look at this,' decided Biggles. 'Suppose he sees us?'
questioned Ginger.
'I don't see that it matters much. We shan't learn anything by standing here. We must watch what he does. If he sees us — well, maybe that will shake him as much as his arrival here has shaken me. Come on. No —
somebody had better stay here to keep an eye on the machines. Bertie, you stay. You may see something from here.' 'Look!'
cried Ginger. '
Is that what he's waiting for?' He pointed to the sky.
Gliding in quietly from the south, apparently preparing to land, was an Austen
'That's it. That's the answer,' replied Biggles crisply. 'Smith's in a hurry to see him. The lugger would be some time chugging up the river against the current. Now listen carefully, everybody,' he went on. 'If that machine collects von Stalhein and takes off again tonight we shall lose track of him. We must stop it somehow. There's only half an hour of daylight left and I doubt if the pilot would risk a night landing on a jungle airstrip
— if he's going to Daly Flats. Algy, hurry to the control room and ask West, on any pretext he can think of, to keep that Auster grounded for a quarter of an hour; then join Bertie in the Otter. Bertie, stand by to start up. If the Auster should leave the ground, follow it, even if it means a night landing when you get back here. Ginger, you come with me.
With luck we may get a glimpse of mister mysterious Smith.'
By the time they had reached the booking hall the Auster was on the ground, taxiing on to the tarmac which, as it happened, was clear of machines. It stopped, but the engine remained ticking over. A man stepped down and waited, looking towards the booking hall. The pilot remained in his seat.
'Do you think that's Smith, waiting by the machine?' asked Ginger.
'No. He looks more like one of these cold-blooded, flat-faced bodyguards, we've seen von Stalhein with before — an IronCurtainmonger if ever I saw one. He's here for Erich; we needn't doubt that. Where is he?'
'I saw him in here,' answered Ginger, making a beeline for the tea-room.
As they went to open the door von Stalhein came out, so that they met face to face. If he was surprised to see them he did not show it.
The only sign of recognition he gave was a curt nod in passing. 'You're in a great hurry,'
bantered Biggles, turning to follow. On seeing Biggles almost beside him von Stalhein turned
impatiently. 'What do you want,' he demanded stiffly.
'Nothing — nothing,' answered Biggles lightly. 'I just wondered who your dour-looking pal was.'
'You don't expect me to tell you?'
'Of course not.' They were still walking towards the Auster.
'I suppose I have to thank that photograph for bringing you here,'
muttered von Stalhein savagely.
'Quite right. Naturally, I was interested to see that you were still at the old game. Don't you get tired of playing on the losing side?'
'The game isn't finished yet.'
'Yours is, as far as Australia is concerned.'
Von Stalhein glanced along the hangars as the Halifax's engines started up. 'That, I presume, is Lacey, as busy as ever,' he sneered, as, reaching the Auster, he stopped.
'Of course.'
'Where's he going.'
'I don't know. That depends on where you go.'
Von Stalhein frowned, understanding dawning in his eyes. `So he's going to follow me.'
'That's the idea. You can't blame us for taking an interest in your movements.'
Von Stalhein hesitated. Ginger could imagine him working out the comparative speeds of the tw
o machines. Actually, there was not much between them.
At this juncture the pilot, a young, good-looking fellow, looked out and stepped into the conversation. 'If you want to get home tonight you'd better get in,' he said, looking a little worried. 'We haven't too much time as it is,' he added.
Biggles gave him a quick, appraising glance, as did Ginger, who felt that this was not the sort of remark likely to be made by a member of the gang. Biggles apparently thought this, too, for in a different tone of voice he said: 'You can't go yet.'
'Why not?'
'Look at the control tower.'
The pilot frowned. 'But they gave me the okay a minute ago.' 'Looks as if they've withdrawn it. There's a Constellation about due in from Singapore.'
'Take no notice,' ordered von Stalhein harshly, moving towards the cabin.
'We must go.'
Biggles addressed the pilot. 'Your name's Cozens, isn't it?' 'Yes.'
'Australian?'
'Yes.'
'Full ticket for commercial flying?'
'Yes.'
'How long have you had it?'
'Three months.'
'How long did it take you to get it?'
'Three years.'
'You ignore control tower signals and you'll lose it in three days,'
Biggles told the pilot seriously.
Von Stalhein's escort, who, with a hand in a side pocket, had been listening to this conversation with sullen and ill-concealed impatience, broke in, nodding towards Biggles: 'Who vas he?'
Answered von Stalhein: 'The man I told you about — Bigglesworth.'
'So.'
'So what,' murmured Ginger, well satisfied with the way Biggles's plan for keeping the machine on the ground was working out. Von Stalhein moved as if to get into the machine.
'I'm sorry, but I daren't leave the ground without an all clear signal,'
said Cozens, now looking really worried. After all, he was young, and this may have been his first appointment.
'Wise man,' complimented Biggles. 'It'll be dark in a few minutes, anyway. By the way, I suppose you know the sort of people you're working for?'
'I'm beginning to wonder,' rejoined the pilot, looking hard at Biggles.
'Watch your step,' advised Biggles.
'Who are you?'
Biggles smiled faintly and indicated von Stalhein. 'Ask him — he knows.'
He glanced at the northern sky. 'But here comes the Constellation, so I'll leave you to it. So long.'
Turning, he walked away.
After a glance at von Stalhein's face, pale with anger, Ginger followed.
'That worked out all right,' said Biggles, as they made for the machines.
'I don't think the Auster will leave tonight.'
'We've shown rather a lot of our hand, haven't we,' asked Ginger anxiously.
'I don't think we've done any harm. Anyhow, there was no other way of keeping them here. I've gained what I wanted — time.'
When they reached the machines Algy and Bertie were there. Algy was smiling. 'West played up. I was sorry I couldn't see von Stalhein's face when the Auster was refused permission to leave.'
Biggles told them what had happened. 'Now look, this is the drill,' he went on. 'Things are about due for a showdown, or they will be if I have my way. I'm going to Sydney in the Halifax, alone, right away. It's close on a two thousand mile run so you needn't expect me back until tomorrow afternoon, however fast I move. If the Auster does take off tonight after all — and West can't hold it indefinitely — there's nothing you can do about it. If it goes in the morning, follow it till it lands, pinpoint the spot, then come back here and wait for me. The place, which I take to be Daly Flats, can't be any great distance away, because working on the daylight factor the Auster could have got there in half an hour or so.'
'Is there any likelihood of the Auster not going in the morning?' queried Ginger.
'If this fellow Cozens is the right type, and I think he is, von Stalhein and his frosty-faced pal may find themselves grounded. I don't know. We shall see. Keep your eyes skinned for trouble, because knowing you'll follow him, von Stalhein may well try to keep you grounded. For the rest, should any unforeseen situation arise you'll have to act on your own discretion. That's all. As soon as the Constellation has cleared I'll press on to Sydney.'
CHAPTER xi'
Disturbing News
Night, fine and warm, with a moon nearly full and a sky spangled with stars, settled silently over the airport. The beacon held aloft its guiding light. Yellow rays lanced the tarmac from windows of buildings where the duty night-staff worked. Strange aromas, the artificial ones familiar, others strange and sometimes exotic, wafted from time to time to Ginger's nostrils as he squatted on the ground, his back to an undercarriage wheel, watching the scene on first guard.
The Halifax and the Constellation had gone, southward bound. The Auster was no longer in sight. For some time, until darkness dimmed the picture, Cozens and his two passengers had stood by it talking, or, as it seemed to those watching, engaged in argument; possibly, it was thought, discussing the hazards of finding and making a night landing on an unofficial airstrip. At the end Cozens had taxied his machine into a hangar and they had all gone off together. Where they had gone was not known. There had been some talk of shadowing them, but it had not been pursued as there seemed no serious reason for this and Algy preferred to keep his party together. The men, it was agreed, would have to return to the airfield
sooner or later to get the machine. In short, it was assumed, naturally, that von Stalhein and his associates had gone to look for a bed for the night and would return in the morning. This may have been von Stalhein's intention, but in the event it did not materialize.
About half-past nine Ginger's eyes and muscles were alerted by the silhouette of a man walking quickly from the tarmac towards the Otter. As there was nothing furtive about the approach Ginger's first thought was that it might be West, with news — possibly a radio message from the Halifax. But taking no chances he got up, rapped on the hull —
the prearranged warning signal — and awaited the arrival of the visitor.
It turned out to be Cozens, the pilot.
Ginger was astonished, not so much that Cozens should call on them as that he should be allowed to do so; for he could not imagine von Stalhein giving his approval to anything of the sort. It turned out that he had not done so.
'Hello,' greeted Cozens.
'Hello yourself,' answered Ginger. 'You're the last man I expected to see. What can I do for you?'
'You can tell me what your friend meant by that remark of his about watching my step. It'
s got me worried. This is my first job and I don't want to put a blot on my logbook.'
Algy jumped down. 'Do your people know you've come here?' 'No.'
'So I imagine,' said Algy in a queer voice.
'We had a meal. Then I made the excuse of going to make sure that I'd left everything in the machine all right. I had a feeling they didn't want me to talk to you.'
'How right you were,' murmured Algy.
'They were pretty sore when I refused to ignore the control tower.'
'I can believe that. As a matter of interest where did they want you to go?'
Cozens hesitated. 'Sorry, but when I was offered this job I gave an undertaking to keep my mouth shut.'
'Didn't that strike you as an odd demand?'
'Yes, but beggars can't be choosers. I had nothing to talk about, anyway.'
'Well, I won't press you to go back on that if that's how you feel, even though I realize you don't know what sort of a crowd you've got mixed up with; but I'll do a deal with you. If I tell you, in strict confidence, why you'd be well-advised to watch your step, will you answer a question for me?'
'That's fair enough.'
'Very well. Hold your hat. You're working for an enemy spy outfit.'
Cozens's face was a picture. 'Did you say spy outfit?' His voice cracked with incredulity.
<
br /> 'I did. The real stuff, too. The sort you read about in red-hot thrillers. Cloak and dagger work, with all the trimmings — cyanide pistols, gas guns and what have you.'
Cozens clapped a hand to his head. 'I must have been blind,' he muttered.
'This explains a lot of things.'
'Such as landing on Eighty Mile Beach to burn a boat,' suggested Algy.
52 Biggles In Australia Page 11
