"Where did you board it?"
"On the water, of course, where else? Don't ask me to name the place because I can't. I suspect we are in Northumberland, but I am by no means sure." Biggles spoke the literal truth, and said the words with conviction.
His interrogator changed the subject. "Your name is Bigglesworth, is it not?"
"It is."
"Not by any chance the Major Bigglesworth who acquired a reputation during the war?"
"I served during the war, if that is what you mean, and, I hope, not entirely without success."
The man exchanged glances with his companions and nodded slowly. "And now you are in the British Intelligence Service, heh?" he asked quietly. Biggles laughed; he could not help it. "I am not," he said. "I have been abroad until recently, but at present I am doing nothing. I am not in any way connected with any branch of either the intelligence or regular services."
"Do you expect us to believe it was by accident that you were on our flying-boat last night?"
"I do not; it sounds much too unlikely," admitted Biggles, "but I can only assure you that at this time yesterday I had not the remotest idea that such a craft existed."
"But unfortunately for yourself you know now."
"Why unfortunately? From what I saw of it it was an extremely interesting-looking machine, and I should like to see more of it." Biggles spoke lightly, but he did not deceive himself as to the other's meaning.
"Perhaps you will, my young friend, perhaps you will," the man assured him. "You may see more of it than you wish."
"May I inquire the purpose of this conversation, and how much longer you propose to continue this outrage?" asked Biggles coldly.
"The answer to the first part of your question is that I wished to satisfy myself as to your identity, and possibly ascertain why you were so ill-advised as to meddle in matters that do not concern you. The answer to the second I cannot for the moment furnish. I am very much afraid I shall have to take you for a long flight, Major Bigglesworth. You are not by any chance seeking employment? "
"Not with you."
"And it would be too much to expect you to give your word of honour that if I released you you would forget the existence of the flying-boat and what you have seen?"
"You are quite right; it would."
"Ah! I was afraid so. In that case, your fate is in your own hands; you will return as a passenger in the machine the next time she visits this coast. After that " The man shrugged his shoulders, and followed by the others
left the room without another word. Presently giggles saw the car departing down the drive.
"This is a bigger thing than I imagined," he soliloquized, "and that fellow, I fancy, is the boss. They must have got in touch with him at once after last night's affair, and he made a special journey to see me. Well, I should like to know where his headquarters are. I wonder what the dickens poor old Algy is thinking by this time." As if in answer, the low drone of an aeroplane engine reached his ears; at first he paid little attention to it, thinking it was some club machine on a cross-country flight, or joyride, but when the deep bellow became recognizable he jumped to the window, and stared up eagerly. It was the amphibian!
To say that he was surprised would be to put it mildly, and for the moment he could not imagine how on earth Algy had learned where he was. He had taken it for granted that Ginger, on returning to the hut and finding he had disappeared, would proceed on his way to London, the richer for the change out of the money he had given him. "Ginger must have got in touch with him somehow or other; there's no other possible solution," he mused. "Good for him! I mentioned Croydon Airport, now I come to think of it; he must have fetched Algy up here. Smart lad, that."
The arrival of Algy on the scene put a different complexion on matters, although on further consideration it was hard to see how he could help him. Had he been able to signal to the machine, still circling above, something might be done to effect his rescue, but as it was there was no way of letting them know just where he was. Algy could hardly be expected to know the actual house in which he was confined, and there would certainly be other houses about, he reflected. He was glad to see the machine, however, for its presence was a link with Algy, and he was half sorry when it presently drifted out of sight and the noise of the engine faded into silence. A frugal lunch was brought in about one o'clock by the same man who had brought his breakfast.
"When's the flying-boat coming over here again?" Biggles asked him as he was about to leave the room without speaking.
"It'll be soon enough for you," the man assured him truculently.
" What a nice cheerful cove you are," muttered Biggles as the fellow went out and slammed the door behind him.
The afternoon passed slowly, and as the daylight began to fade he grew irritated at his enforced inaction. "I shall go crazy if they keep me here long, doing nothing," he growled, and examined the room for the hundredth time. Every article that might have been used as an instrument to prise open or break down the door or window had been removed. The door admittedly did not look very strong, being of an ordinary, cheap sort, but it refused to give in the slightest degree to the pressure of his shoulder, and as he knew that more forcible methods could not be employed without a good deal of noise he turned again to the window.
It was now nearly dark, but a slight movement caught his eye, a movement that from his elevated position was quite plain, but which would be invisible from the ground floor. He peered forward through the glass and saw a small figure creeping stealthily along the side of the old-fashioned coach-house, keeping close to the brickwork. He watched it breathlessly as it reached a corner, straightened, and looked up, eyes roving slowly over the house. As the face turned towards the window through which
Biggles was staring he saw that it was Ginger. The boy saw him at the same moment. He raised his hand to show that he had seen him, and then disappeared. His departure was so swift and unexpected that at first Biggles could not believe that he was no longer there, and he continued to stare at the spot, aware that his heart was beating furiously. He watched the place where Ginger had disappeared until it was quite dark, half expecting some signal to be made; but none came.
"Well, at least they know where I am," he thought jubilantly.
CHAPTER V
RESCUE
WHEN Ginger disappeared, he had merely dropped flat and then wormed his way on his stomach, like a snake, to the rear of the building. On reaching it, he glanced quickly to right and left and then darted into an evergreen shrubbery just beyond it. Five minutes later he arose, filthy and begrimed, from a ditch a good hundred yards away from the house. He doubled down a hedge to the road, paused for an instant to listen, and then, crossing it swiftly, made his way down the hedge on the far side, and presently broke into a trot, which he kept up until he came to a coppice, nearly a quarter of a mile away. Even there he did not relax his caution, but moved through the trees with no more noise than a shadow, and with unerring instinct struck his object at the first attempt. It was a motor-car, parked just inside the coppice, which adjoined the road. Algy was standing by the radiator in a listening attitude, but he started violently as Ginger rose up, out of the ground, as it were, by his side. "Great Scott, you made me jump ! " he ejaculated. "It looks to me as if you were right," he added, referring to Ginger's insistence that he, not Algy, should make the first scouting expedition from the rendezvous they had established that evening after leaving the aerodrome. Algy, not '
unnaturally, had been in favour of leaving Ginger with the car, but Ginger would not hear of it. "For one thing," he had said, "you are twice as big as I am, which means that you stand
double the chance of being spotted; and for another, I'm used to this sort of thing and you're not."
Algy did not ask him how it was that he was "used to this sort of thing," but he eyed him suspiciously. "Well, he's there," said Ginger casually.
"How do you know?" asked Algy quickly.
"I saw him."
"Where?"
"At a window; he's right up the top of the house." For a moment Algy stared at him. " You ought to have been an Indian," he told him.
"I should say I ought," replied Ginger in his best American drawl. "Well, I guess we'd better go and get him," he added.
" I think I ought to go and fetch the police."
"That's a bright idea. I can see them handling this job; by the time they had got a searchwarrant and all the rest of it Biggles would be anywhere but in that house. Even now they might shift him at any minute. Pretty fools we should look if we went to the police and then came back and found the place empty."
"Perhaps you're right."
"There's no perhaps about it."
"Well, I'm an amateur at housebreaking so I shall have to go and have a look round before I decide on a plan. We haven't a weapon between us and these fellows are certain to be armed. I wonder how many there are of them?"
"I didn't see anybody except Biggles, but I knew he was there before I saw him."
"How?"
"I found the car with the burst tyre. I crawled all round the house, staring at every window, before I spotted him; then I gave him the O.K. and came back."
"I'd better go and have a look at that window."
"I shouldn't; you might be spotted. The next time
we go up there will be to fetch Biggles. I've got an idea." "Well, what is it?"
"The first thing to do is to get the other people out of the house."
"And how do you propose to do that—go up .and ask them if they'd kindly step outside while
?"
"Shucks! I could think of a dozen ways to get them out. I'll fetch them out, don't you worry. Now, this is my scheme. First of all we cut a couple of good cudgels."
"I haven't a knife—"
"You ought to carry one. I never move without mine. I was saying, we cut a couple of cudgels and take that spare can of petrol—"
"You're not going to set the place on fire!"
"I didn't say I was; I wish you'd give me a chance to finish. What was I saying? Oh, yes, the petrol. Now this is the racket. We go up to the house together. When we get there I'll show you the tool-shed where you can get an axe; I know there's one there because I've seen it."
"What's the axe for?"
"For you to beat Biggles' door in with, of course." "I see."
"Then you stand by the back door and wait for the people to run out. They'll run out, you can bet on that. When they run out you run in."
"But wait a minute; what's going to make them run out?"
"Don't you worry about that; that's my job. I've always wanted to light a good bonfire and this is my chance. That's all there is to it. You watch the door; when they run out, in you go and scoot up to the second floor. When you get there yell for Biggles. He'll answer
you and then you'll know which room he's in. Then all you have to do is to bash in the door with the axe and make for the car."
"Pretty good," admitted Algy admiringly. "When did you think of all this?"
"Think of it! I didn't have to think; it just came sort of natural." Algy grinned. "Good enough," he said. "Let's cut those cudgels." In a few minutes they were on their way to the house. It was pitch dark, but Ginger seemed to have the eyes of a cat, and Algy followed him blindly, scratching his hands and face more than once on the brambles of the hedge.
"Don't make such a noise," whispered Ginger. "You remind me of an elephant in a jungle."
"Where did you see an elephant in a jungle, anyway?"
"On the films. Quietly now. Here we are; that's the door you've got to watch; it's the back door and the one they'll come out of. Here's the toolhouse; wait a minute while I fetch the axe." He was back in a moment and thrust the weapon into Algy's hand.
"Suppose they come out of the front door?" asked Algy.
"They won't. Now you keep under cover or they may spot you in the glare. Watch the fireworks—so long." With the cudgel in his right hand and the tin of petrol in the other he vanished into the darkness. As silently as a ghost he made his way through the maze of outhouses until he came to the one he sought; it had once been a stable, and the floor was still littered with straw; several trusses of hay were piled in the corner. He unscrewed the lid of the petrol-can easily, for he had given it a start before he left the car, and poured the
spirit over the hay. He had stood the tin down on the floor, and was feeling his pocket for the matches, when a slight sound made him turn. A long, low shadow was creeping towards him, making a deep growling sound as it advanced.
He felt the hair slowly rise on his scalp, and a prickling sensation ran down his spine. Then, as the sinister shadow drew level with the doorway, he saw that it was a huge black Alsatian, which was evidently kept in the stable. He caught his breath sharply, gripped his cudgel with both hands and waited; there was nothing else he could do, for the brute was between him and the door. The dog stopped, and for what seemed an eternity the two faced each other.
"Get out of here," snapped Ginger.
Then the beast sprang. As the shadow left the floor Ginger leapt sideways, and brought the cudgel down with all his force; he aimed at its head, but struck an even more vulnerable spot, its muzzle. The click of the heavy piece of wood as it smashed on to the bone made him feel sick, but he had no choice; the wolfish animal would tear him to pieces if it could. With a dreadful noise that was half a howl of pain and half a roar of rage it spun round as it landed on the floor and attacked again, but now keeping a watchful eye on the stick that Ginger whirled in front of him like a flail. Had the dog been a bulldog there could only have been one ending to such an encounter, but the Alsatian lacks the deadly dogged ferocity of its smaller brother. It charged again, however, and Ginger was forced to step back; as he did so he trod on a thick object and something struck him a sharp blow on the back of the head. He knew what it was under his foot by the way it "gave "—the stable broom. He had stepped on the bristles and the stick had flown up and hit
him. He could not have wished for a more fortunate circumstance, for a broom with stiff bristles is the best defence in the world against an angry dog, a fact of which he was well aware. He dropped his cudgel and grabbed the broom. The Alsatian, seeing the cudgel fall, snatched at the opportunity and sprang, but the stiff wire-like bristles leapt out to meet it, and caught it fairly across the eyes. With a frightful howl it turned tail and dashed out of the doorway, followed by the broom. Ginger snatched up his cudgel with a trembling hand, for the experience had been an unnerving one, and took out his matches. He leapt like a deer away from the conflagration that seemed to spring towards the match as he struck it, and dashed out of the doorway looking to right and left for the dog; but it had disappeared.
He had barely reached the shelter of a clump of laurels when the back door was flung open and a man emerged.
"I'm sure I heard that dog bark," he was saying to somebody inside, and then, raising his voice, "Zulu! Here, Zulu! Here
" His call broke off abruptly as he saw the fire leaping
skyward from the stables. "Look out!" he yelled, "Get some water; the place's on fire." He was joined by two other men, and all three of them rushed into the open, each shouting instructions to the others.
"Get the hose, get the hose!" cried one. "It's in the toolshed ; buckets are no use." Ginger, from his place of concealment, saw Algy dart across the lurid glow into the back door; a sound of hammering came from inside the house even above the noise of the devouring flames.
"That fellow upstairs is trying to get out !" shouted one of the men, tugging at a length of garden hose, which was in a hopeless tangle.
"Let him!" screamed one of the others. "He can't get out; if the house catches fire it'll save us a lot of trouble." He ran across the courtyard, uncurling the hose as he ran, ,and cursing like a madman as he tried to straighten it out, came to a stop not a yard from the place where Ginger knelt, watching. By the merest chance he happened to look up just as Algy ran
out of the house with Biggles limping beside him. "Look out!" he yelled, and whipped out an automatic. The range was point-blank, and in the glare of the now leaping flames it was as light as day; to miss such a target as Biggles and Algy presented was almost impossible, for Biggles was unable to move very fast, and they still had seven or eight yards to go before they could reach the cover of the nearest outbuildings. The man—it was the one whom Biggles knew so well—raised his weapon and took deliberate aim.
Ginger sprang to his feet, and, taking the end of the cudgel in both hands, brought it round with a terrific swipe straight across the man's shins. Under the force of the blow, the wood, a piece of tough ash, flew to splinters. The man let out a piercing shriek of anguish: the automatic flew out of his grasp, and he crashed to the ground, clutching at his injured legs and moaning dreadfully.
At his first yell of agony the other two men had looked towards him, and seeing what was happening added their shouts to the din. Ginger leapt into the open, snatched up the automatic and pointed it towards them. It was no time to utter warnings, he decided, and began pumping out lead as fast as he could pull the trigger. Five rounds he fired before the two men, who had fled before his fusillade, disappeared round a corner of the house. Where his bullets went Ginger did not know, nor did he stop to find out; he dropped the weapon into his pocket
and dashed off in the direction taken by Biggles and Algy. Rounding the end of the outbuildings, he saw that they were about fifty yards away, Biggles hobbling as fast as he could towards the road, with Algy helping him.
A shot rang out from somewhere behind, and Ginger faced round, feeling in his pocket for the automatic. One of the men was close behind him, but he dashed back as Ginger's gun blazed in his face. A piece of brick flew out of the wall not a foot from his head.
"Stay back there," yelled Ginger, "or I'll drill you like—like a . . . now what the dickens do they drill people like?" he growled. " Colander—that's it." Then, raising his voice, "I'll drill you guys into a colander—two colanders," he bellowed. Then, to himself, as he retreated down the drive, "That doesn't sound right to me; I'll have to look it up in a book."
Biggles And The Black Peril (06) Page 5
