‘No. The closing time varies with what I have to do,’ explained Lord Malboise. ‘This happens to be one of the days when I have some personal matters to attend to. To keep expenses to a minimum I employ only one man to show visitors round.’
‘I see you have a few today.’
‘Yes. We usually have one or two if the weather is fair. The week-ends are our busiest time. Then Clarence, my brother, gives a hand. He’s not here today.’
The car had now reached the house, a rambling Elizabethan mansion, and pulled up to the front entrance.
‘Follow me,’ requested Lord Malboise, getting out. ‘There’s no need to get mixed up with the party inside. I don’t suppose they’ll be long. Meanwhile we can go through to the terrace.’ Leading the way he took his guests through a well-furnished hall, down a corridor, across a room to french windows that opened on to what he had called the terrace. And that in fact was what it was, overlooking the park; a small, raised, stone-flagged area enclosed within a low white wall, perhaps three feet high. Tubs of flowering plants were arranged at intervals. Some garden chairs, with gay cushions and small tables at hand, made a pleasant retreat.
‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable while I fetch something to drink. I shan’t keep you a minute,’ said his lordship.
‘If you find this call inconvenient we could easily come back another day,’ Biggles said apologetically.
‘Not at all, not at all,’ returned his host quickly.
‘We shan’t keep you long, anyway,’ Biggles said.
Lord Malboise left them, to return with a silver tray on which stood a decanter and three glasses. This he put on one of the small tables, filled the glasses and served his guests. ‘Good health,’ he toasted, raising his glass. ‘Although I say it, I think you will find this quite excellent.’
Having sipped his drink Biggles agreed.
‘As you know, this opening of country houses to the public has become quite an industry,’ remarked Lord Malboise. ‘It was brought about by the present iniquitous taxation. People who want to save their property are forced into doing things that would have made their ancestors turn in their graves. When my father died a few years ago I found myself burdened with such a crushing mountain of taxes, for death duties, that I nearly gave up the struggle and went abroad, leaving the place to go to ruin. Then I had second thoughts and resolved to hang on to what is, after all, my family home, for as long as possible. What you see is the result. Wild animals in the park don’t worry me. They bring customers. I am gradually restoring the house to what we might say were its former glories.’ Lord Malboise concluded with an enigmatic smile that might have meant anything.
‘Good show,’ congratulated Biggles.
Lord Malboise went on, looking hard at Algy: ‘Forgive me if I appear to stare, but haven’t we met before?’
Algy shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t imagine where our paths would be likely to cross.’
‘Hm. Very strange. I have a good memory for faces. When I first saw you at the gates I felt sure I’d seen you somewhere quite recently; but I must have been mistaken.’
‘It’s possible I look like somebody else,’ suggested Algy.
‘Could be,’ agreed Lord Malboise. He smiled. ‘Anyhow, I shall remember you in future.’
Nothing more was said on the subject. Instead, Lord Malboise looking at Biggles’ feet, remarked suddenly: ‘That’s a smart pair of shoes you’re wearing.’
‘I like them,’ Biggles said.
‘Rubber soles?’
‘No. Some sort of plastic, I think.’ Biggles raised a foot so that his host could see the sole.
‘I must get a pair like them, if they’re made in my size. I have a large foot. You, I see, have a small one.’
‘A bit on the small side, but they get me about,’ Biggles answered, smiling.
‘Another glass of sherry?’
‘No thanks. I make one the rule when I’m driving a car. Which reminds me.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s time we were moving off, or we shall outstay our welcome.’ He got up from his chair.
‘Well, that’s up to you. Matter of fact I shall soon have to leave you to meet Clarence. It’s been nice meeting you again. Call again sometime.’ Lord Malboise also rose from his chair. ‘I’ll run you to the gates.’
That was all. They left the house as they had entered it, seeing nobody, so apparently the other visitors had gone. Lord Malboise ran them to the gates, where they parted on the most amiable terms, mutually hoping they would soon meet again. A parting wave from his own car and Biggles drove off.
CHAPTER 9
A MESSAGE FROM GINGER
As Biggles drove on, saying nothing, leaving the Park behind them, Algy said, lugubriously: ‘I must say I feel a mean sort of skunk, accepting a man’s hospitality in order to spy on him; particularly when it’s a decent fellow like Lord Malboise.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that,’ returned Biggles tartly, without taking his eyes off the road.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ inquired Algy, in a voice of mild surprise.
‘You may have been under the impression that we were spying on him, and that, I’ll admit, was our intention. As it turned out, I have an uncomfortable suspicion that it was the other way round. He was having a good look at us from close quarters. A neat little trap was set, baited with a bottle of sherry, and we stepped straight into it with both feet. It’s time I had my head examined.’
‘How on earth do you work that out?’
Biggles took the car in close to the verge and stopped. ‘Let this sink in,’ he said grimly. ‘Our noble lord may not know who we really are, but he has a thundering good idea of what we’re doing.’
‘How could he?’
‘He knows I’ve been to that building in the Park. And if he knows that he must have realized that our forced landing near it was no accident. So, naturally, he’s wondering just what we’re up to.’
‘I don’t get it,’ stated Algy. ‘How could he know you’d been to look at the building?’
‘I as good as told him. I’m afraid you missed the point of his interest in my shoes and the size of my feet. So did I, at first. I could only wonder why all that baloney about what I was wearing on my feet. He pretended to admire my shoes. Why should a man in his position take the slightest notice of my footwear, and remark on it? He wanted to see more, and I, like a fool, showed him exactly what he wanted to know.’
‘Showed him what?’
‘For Pete’s sake, don’t say the penny hasn’t dropped yet? The soles! That’s what he wanted to see.’
‘Why?’
‘There were some soft patches of muddy ground round that building and in the dark I must have walked across them, obviously leaving footprints. His lordship spotted them. Now he knows who made them. It’s as simple as that. So don’t be taken in by all that smooth charm he laid on. He’s a dangerous man. It’s a mistake to underestimate the enemy, but that’s what we’ve done. Now you know what I mean when I say it’s time I had my head examined.’ Biggles drove on.
Presently Algy said: ‘I must admit I was shaken when he said he’d seen me before, somewhere.’
‘He must have seen you at the sale when that piece of porcelain was put up for auction. It couldn’t have been anywhere else. You told me you were at the back of the hall.’
‘So I was.’
‘No matter. He spotted you as a stranger. He’s playing a dangerous game, and people who do that sort of thing develop eyes in the backs of their heads. He now knows as much about us, if not more, than we know about him. It won’t take him long to put two and two together and tot it up to make the right answer. Believe you me, we’re on thin ice — so thin that I can hear it cracking. Still, it hasn’t all been loss on our side. I learned one or two things this afternoon. I can tell you this. Lord Malboise is certainly getting a lot of money from somewhere. All that rebuilding and redecorating that’s been going on must have cost a pa
cket. Where is he getting the money? From showing visitors over his house, as he pretends? Don’t give me that. Look at today. A fine day, but only three cars at the gates. Say six people at five bob each. Thirty shillings all told. That wouldn’t go far towards what he must have spent on the house. Did you notice anything in particular as we walked through to the terrace?’
‘No. There were plenty of ornaments about, including old French porcelain, but I didn’t see anything I recognized.’
‘You didn’t see the piece Lord Malboise bought at the sale?’
‘No. What else did you see?’
‘One thing I noticed as we approached the house from the drive was an aerial on the roof; and it wasn’t a TV aerial. I suspect that when the chopper is out his lordship is in touch with it by radio.’
‘So that’s it. I told you that when I was waiting for you in the car I picked up a beam. It was just before the chopper came in.’
‘If Lord Malboise is what I suspect he is, he probably has every modern device laid on for all occasions. He would. He’s that sort of man. It’s what one would expect from the brain that’s behind the wave of high-class crime that’s been bedevilling the police.’
‘You still think Malboise is the man?’
‘Could be. I’m more inclined to think so than when we started. Otherwise, for what possible reason should he take the slightest interest in a pair of casual strangers like us? I take that to mean he’s suspicious of everybody. That’s the normal behaviour of a man who’s scared of being caught doing something unlawful. I fancy Clarence is in the business, whatever it is. I’d bet he’s already been told of our visit this afternoon. He might have been in the house while we were there. Malboise could have spoken to him. He was longer fetching that sherry than he need have been. Why wasn’t it ready on the table? He may have gone to tell Clarence to keep out of the way. I know this sounds a pretty wild guess, but we now know more than when we arrived. There’s another detail that’s got me guessing. Did you notice anything odd about that wall round the terrace?’
‘No. Was there anything wrong with it?’
‘As I’ve often told you, anything out of the ordinary always arouses my curiosity. Why was the wall whitewashed in the first place? One might say why have a wall at all? If there had to be one, why wasn’t it built of stone to keep it in line with everything else?’
‘Perhaps ordinary bricks were cheaper.’
‘They weren’t ordinary bricks. Bricks are made to a standard size. These were a size I’ve never seen before. They reminded me of something but I can’t think what. It may come to me when I’ve had time to think. There was another thing about that wall. It was never finished. There was a brick missing at a corner in the top course as if the bricklayer had run out of bricks. Why should he run out of bricks? Why leave the job unfinished? What sort of workman was that? The whole thing gave me the impression of having been done by an amateur, and I shan’t sleep o’ nights till I find out why. One day I’m going to have another look at that wall. There must have been a purpose for it.’
‘It seems to me, if you don’t mind my saying so, that you’re making clues to fit a theory,’ Algy said, pensively. ‘Why should a man in Malboise’s position do anything crooked?’
‘For money. Everybody’s after lolly. Or perhaps for the sheer hell of it. There are some queer people in the world and social position has nothing to do with it. Malboise may have been genuine when he put up that groan about ruinous taxation. He may have worked out a way of getting his own back on the government. He’s certainly got a lot of money from somewhere, so what has he to complain about? One day we may find out the answer to all this, but it isn’t going to be easy, the more so now that through my stupidity he’s been warned that he’s under observation. We’ve had our warning, too. He knows what we’re doing.’
‘How dangerous a man is he, do you think?’ asked Algy.
Biggles shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. That’s something we shall only know when we come into head-on collision, should that happen.’
This long conversation had occupied most of the journey home, and, having parked the car, Biggles and Algy went into their office expecting to find Bertie and Ginger there. They were not there. Biggles walked over to his desk and picking up a slip of paper that lay on it, with a curious expression creeping over his face, read what was written.
‘Listen to this,’ he said. ‘It’s a note from Ginger.’ He read aloud. ‘Gaskin came through. Security van hijacked between London and Birmingham. Thieves got away with £50,000 in cash. We are taking action as you ordered. Ginger.’ Biggles looked up. ‘The message is timed five o’clock.’ He went on with a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice. ‘That was just after we left the Park, so had we hung around a little longer we might have seen something of the Auster, or the chopper if it was used for the raid.’
‘We don’t know that it was,’ Algy said.
‘Of course not. But it rather looks as if, while his lordship was flattering us with his glib tongue, dear Clarence was out on a job. No doubt the Auster would make straight for Brindon Park, so we may know more about it when it comes back. How annoying. Here’s the raid we’ve been waiting for, and where are we? — miles away.’
‘You can’t blame yourself for that,’ asserted Algy. ‘We can’t be in two places at once.’
‘Of course we can’t, but it sticks in my gizzard that our noble lord may have been laughing up his sleeve at the way he led us up the garden path. But we haven’t finished yet. There’s nothing we can do for the moment. It’s no use tearing about looking for the Auster, or a solitary chopper. We shall just have to cool our heels till the others come back and give us the latest news — if there is any. Let me think.’ Biggles dropped into his chair, lit a cigarette and rested his chin between his hands.
Algy rang the canteen for a pot of tea.
Time went on. Six o’clock — seven — eight, without a sign of Bertie and Ginger. ‘What the devil can they be doing?’ muttered Biggles irritably. ‘They can’t still be in the air. Why don’t they phone to say where they are? They must know we’d be waiting here.’
‘They may have force-landed somewhere,’ offered Algy.
‘That wouldn’t stop one of them finding a phone. Had there been a serious crash we’d have had a report by now from the local police.’
Seeing the mood Biggles was in Algy did not answer.
At nine o’clock Biggles scrubbed out a cigarette and got up. ‘I’m not waiting here any longer,’ he announced. ‘They can find us at home. It’s time we had something to eat.’
Algy, too, got up. ‘Okay, if that’s how you feel.’
Later, at eleven o’clock, when Biggles said he was going to bed, there was still no word from Ginger or Bertie. ‘This can only mean one thing,’ he said wearily. ‘They’re in trouble. Just where, or how, we needn’t try to guess. There’s nothing we can do tonight, so we might as well get some sleep while we can.’
Disturbed in mind they went to bed.
CHAPTER 10
TRAPPED
Biggles was right when he had said Bertie and Ginger were in trouble. They were. They were in serious trouble. It came about like this.
Left in the office, with Biggles and Algy away to make their call on Lord Malboise, they occupied their time doing sundry odd jobs such as bringing their records up to date, a monotonous task which they always found tedious, although it had to be done from time to time as opportunity offered.
It made a welcome break, therefore, when the intercom telephone jangled, Bertie answered it, hoping the message would make an excuse to switch their activities to something more interesting. The hope was fulfilled. The caller was Inspector Gaskin, to report as he had promised, a big-scale robbery. As yet he had no details. He could only say what had happened and where. He did not waste time in speculation, but rang off to get on with his own investigation.
‘This is it, dear boy, now we can get on with something a bit more t
o our liking,’ Bertie told Ginger, having given him the gist of his conversation with Gaskin.
There was no discussion about what they should do. Their orders should such an event occur were explicit. In five minutes they were on their way to the Air Police hangar and within the hour they were airborne in the Auster making flat out for Sussex, the only area they knew where they might encounter the helicopter, should it in fact have been employed in this latest robbery. Of course, this was all guesswork, and there was a lot of ground to be covered. For obvious reasons they could not fly direct to Brindon Hall Park and circle over it without arousing the suspicions of the people on the ground; but there was no reason why they should not watch the sky above the helicopter’s lair from a safe distance.
It was a fine day with visibility as good as could be expected; the sky mostly misty blue, but with a broad belt of fleecy summer cloud creeping up from the south-west. Bertie sat at the controls, leaving Ginger free to survey the ground and the limitless expanse of sky above. Actually, Ginger was by no means optimistic of success in their quest. Indeed, if the truth must be told, he thought what they were doing was likely to prove a waste of time. There were too many ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ about it. But it was better than being cooped up in the office checking dusty files.
It was, therefore, with a yell of triumph that his eyes picked up and focused on a speck in the sky which he quickly identified as a helicopter. They were a few miles north of Brindon at the time, on a course which would cut across that of the helicopter and about 1,000 feet above it. There was of course no proof that this was the machine they were seeking; but at least it offered that possibility. In his enthusiasm he gave Bertie a slap on the back and called his attention to what he had spotted. Not for a moment did he take his eyes off it, knowing only too well how easy it was for one aircraft to lose touch with another, the result of the speed at which such machines travel.
Bertie left it to Ginger to keep the chopper under observation. All he did was ease the joystick back a little for more height which would give him a wider view. There was no risk of the chopper getting away by increasing its speed should it have reason to do so. The Auster would always ‘have the legs’ of it. The only risk of losing it would be should it suddenly drop closer to the broken landscape below.
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