His watch had been smashed by the fall and he had
no idea of the time, but he felt that it must be somewhere about midnight; he did not think it could be after that hour. Where was Ginger? The thought worried him a good deal, although he tried to thrust the matter aside until he was in a position to deal with it.
He would get back as quickly as possible to the tree with the broken branch; if Ginger was not there then he would go on to the amphibian; that he would find him at one of the two places he felt sure.
The business of getting back up to the railway line was no easy matter. Hundreds of logs lay loosely about, just as they had fallen, and at every step one or more would become detached and go crashing down to the bottom of the gully. Once he started a whole avalanche, and was nearly carried down with it, but he saved himself just in time; somewhere, not far away, a hound started baying—an unpleasant sound. The noise he made climbing up to the bridge seemed to occasion no alarm, however, and he came to the conclusion that the logs often fell of their own accord, and the crash of tumbling timbers was a common sound. At last he reached the top of the pile and with some difficulty dragged himself up a latticework trestle to the bridge. A quick glance up and down showed that it was deserted, but a number of lights in the distance revealed the position of the camp. He also noticed something else, something that filled him with dismay. In the opposite direction the line ran out on to a small promontory, so it was no good going that way. What was even worse, the first buildings of the camp seemed to begin at the far end of the bridge on which he stood, so that he would have to pass through them in order to escape. There was no alternative, so he started off, making as little noise as possible, eyes probing the darkness ahead, keeping a keen lookout for sentries.
He came to a place where the line swung round to the right and the whole waterfront lay open to his view in the starlight. Twelve of the giant bombers were now moored to iron buoys, in two lines. Several smaller machines were moored about them, some close to the hangars and some out on the open water. He saw the machine in which Blackbeard had flown moored close to a wharf at the far end of the line of hangars. Ginger had described it exactly. Automatically, with the precision of long experience in reconnaissance, Biggles made a mental note of everything he could see, hangars, workshops, test benches, and the like, and then, satisfied with his inspection and the information he had gained, he proceeded towards the camp. As he approached it he saw at once that he was faced with a very difficult proposition, for the camp radiated fanwise, from the very end of the railway, and it was impossible to reach the forest beyond without going through it. If people were still moving about, it would be impossible to avoid being seen. There was no cover of which he could take advantage anywhere along the track. Still, he could not remain where he was, for sooner or later somebody would certainly come along and see him, and there was no point in going back. If he went forward he could adopt one of two methods of procedure. He could either walk straight down the middle of the track, trusting that if he was seen he would be taken for an employee, or he could creep from house to house, and avoid meeting anyone face to face.
If he adopted the latter course, and was seen, then his very actions themselves would be sufficient to arouse suspicion. Still walking on, he decided to compromise between the two; he would walk straight down the track, but would turn aside if he saw anyone coming. If he was challenged he would simply have to make a bolt for the forest.
He reached the first buildings without seeing a soul, but a moment later two men stepped out of a doorway not five yards away; there was no time to turn aside, so he walked straight on, passing so close to the men that he could have touched them. As far as he could gather they took not the slightest notice of him, although he did not turn round after he had passed them. Then a party of six or seven crossed an area of light in front of an open window about fifty yards ahead; they appeared to be coming in his direction, so he turned sharply to the right into a convenient passage between the houses, and then again to the left in order to maintain his general direction towards the forest.
He had almost reached it—he was, in fact, actually passing the last block of buildings—when three men, in earnest conversation, appeared round a corner in front of him. One voice could be heard above the others; it was Blackbeard's. To pass without being seen was an utter impossibility, and there was no side turning in which he could conceal himself. The realization of these two facts flashed through his mind in a split second.
Some of the houses had rough porches built around the doors, and without the slightest hesitation he stepped into the first one he reached. It was quite a shallow affair, not more than a couple of feet deep, and provided scanty shelter, but he pressed himself against the dark door in order to make the best of it. Before he could take any steps to prevent it, the door, which had evidently not been closed, swung inwards, and he pitched headfirst inside. He was on his feet in an instant, hands raised to repel the attack which he felt sure must follow, but nothing happened. The room was in darkness except for the faint reflected light that came from outside, and he had just time to swing the door in place before Blackbeard and his corn-panions reached it. Stone-cold with the nervous tension of the moment, he stood stock still and waited for them to pass; but they did not pass. On reaching the door they stopped, and it was instantly apparent that one of them at least was about to enter. He knew this and acted with the speed of the experienced air fighter.
The three men were now actually standing in the doorway, talking in tones which suggested a mild argument; at any instant they might enter, so he took a couple of paces into the room and peered around. It was furnished as an office. A large desk, with a shaded electric light over it, occupied the centre; filing cabinets took up most of the walls, except that part which was taken up by the window overlooking the street. Against the far wall, however, there was one of those tall cupboards used for storing stationery.
He reached it in a couple of paces and swung the door open. A few large envelopes lay on the floor; higher up there was a shelf with a number of small boxes on it; between the shelf and the floor there was just sufficient room for a man to stand upright and close the door behind him, provided he was slim. All this he saw at a glance, and it was the work of a moment to step inside and pull the door to; there was no time to latch it, for even as he pulled the door towards him the outside door was thrown open. An electric switch clicked and the room was flooded with light. Still arguing, in a language Biggles did not understand, the three men walked into the room. Blackbeard, whose office it seemed to be, judging by his actions, threw his cap into a corner, and flinging himself into the largest chair rested his feet on the desk. He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and spat it across the room. Of the other two men, one was Darton; the third was a stranger, but evidently a pilot, for he carried a flying cap in his hand. Biggles could just see through the narrow chink of the unlatched door.
"You've got the advantage of me," grumbled Darton presently, speaking in English for the first time. "I can't keep pace with this lingo of yours. I told the boss it was no use sending me over here; what does he think I am going to do, I should like to know, if I don't understand half what people say to me? "
"You'll know all in good time if I know anything about the boss," Blackbeard told him coolly. "You're lucky to get off as lightly as you have, after making the mess you made of things over there."
"I didn't make any mess, I tell you!" cried Darton indignantly. "How was I to know Biggleston—or whatever his name is—had a gang working with him? " He cursed luridly. "If I could get my hands on that smug-faced—"
He broke off short and remained with his mouth open, an expression of inane surprise in his eyes. The reason was not hard to find. Across the room not three yards away, the man he was speaking about stood facing him.
Just how it happened Biggles never knew. Whether he accidentally touched the door with his coat or sleeve, or whether a draught caught it, he could not s
ay; nor did he bother to inquire into such insignificant details. The only thing that mattered was that the door of the cupboard, either with his assistance or on its own volition, had swung open, slowly, but just too fast for him to prevent it. Darton, who was standing opposite, saw the movement and glanced up; the expression on his face brought the others round.
Biggles was the first to move. Further effort at concealment would have been merely childish, and unfortunately
the three men were between him and the door. He stepped out of the cupboard into the room.
"Well," he said, "here we are again."
Blackbeard was the only one who did not move, but a slow smile spread over his face.
Darton jumped to the door and swung round, revolver in hand. The third man, after a swift glance at the others, blocked the gangway between the desk and the wall. For perhaps thirty seconds the picture remained unchanged.
"I wonder if you could oblige me with a cigarette?" Biggles asked Blackbeard quietly. "I lost my case, you know."
"With the greatest of pleasure," replied Blackbeard, offering him his cigarette-case. "I must say you have a most disconcerting habit of turning up at unexpected places. I hope you are not going to tell me that you came here by accident?"
"Yes, curious to relate, that would be no more than the sober truth—at least, as far as my method of entry into this place is concerned. I won't strain your credulity by going into details, though."
"No, it would hardly be worth the effort," Blackbeard assured him easily. "The chief thing is, you are here, and that is really all we are concerned with. This time I imagine our mutual friend Darton will take more effective measures to ensure that you do not leave us as abruptly as you did on the last occasion. As you may well imagine, he is feeling more than a little annoyed about the way you went off, in England, without so much as saying goodbye."
"Quite," replied Biggles evenly; "but there were several urgent things I had to do. You can't really complain, though, because I've come back again, as you see." He had been talking solely to gain time to think,
and hardly knew what he was saying. His brain was working at feverish speed, trying to find a loophole of escape, but there was none. To employ force, unarmed as he was, against three armed men, could only end one way in real life, although it sometimes worked out differently on the films.
"Yes, I'll take care of you this time," sneered Darton. "You talk too much; that's your trouble."
"So do you. Stick your hands up and keep them there. I'll drop the first man who moves !"
The words, in a shrill treble, but hard as steel, cut through the room like a trumpet call; they came from the direction of the window, which was now open. Biggles had not seen it open; neither had the others; they had all been intent on the dramatic scene being enacted in the room. Even Biggles was shaken to the core, and he could only stand and stare. At the open window, his head just above the sill, was Ginger. His right arm was thrust forward into the room, the hand gripping a squat automatic.
Blackbeard's burst of laughter broke the tension; it was clear that none of them took the matter seriously.
"Why, that's the little swine who burst my shins," roared Darton, and swung up his revolver.
There was a deafening roar, and a streak of orange flame leapt across the room; it began at the window and ended at Darton's chest. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning cordite. In the silence that followed, Darton turned slowly towards the others, a curious expression of inane surprise on his face. His lips twitched once, twice, and then he crashed face downwards on to the wooden floor.
"I warned you," came Ginger's voice in a high falsetto. "The next man who moves gets his. Come on, Biggles; what are you standing there for?"
Biggles crossed the room in a bound, snatching up the fallen man's revolver on the way, and dived through the window to the street.
"Keep your distance," he told Blackbeard. "I should be sorry to have to shoot you." Then, with Ginger at his side, he sprinted for the forest.
They were only just in time, for the shot had been heard, and people were running up the main street towards the house. Luckily, the forest lay in the opposite direction.
"Keep to the track until we reach the siding," Biggles panted as they ran on. "It will be as black as pitch under the trees."
Shouts came from the direction of the town; a whistle blew, and there were more shouts.
"Here we are," he went on a few minutes later, as they reached the place where they had boarded the train. "We shall have to 'take to the forest here. It will be hard to keep straight, but we shall have to do our best."
"Biggles," gasped Ginger.
"Yes, what's the matter?"
"Did I—have I killed him?"
"I don't know."
"I felt awful—I didn't know it was loaded."
"What? Do you mean to say you had the cheek to try and hold up the party with an empty gun?"
"That's what I thought. It was that chap's gun, too; you remember I picked it up that day we set fire to the 'house. I fired six shots that night, and I thought that was all it held—that's why they call 'em six-shooters."
"Those are revolvers. Automatics hold up to a dozen, but seven is quite common."
"There must have been seven in mine. When he pointed his revolver at me I was so scared that I pulled the
trigger of mine. I thought it was his gun that had gone off till I saw him fall."
" Well, he asked for what he got so I shouldn't worry about it," replied Biggles shortly. "
He would have shot you, anyway. It seems to me that a fellow who pulls a gun on another chap can't complain if he gets shot himself."
"But I hope—"
"Save your breath," Biggles told him. "You got me out of a nasty jam; that's the most important thing. What have you got in your hand? "
"A case I found in one of the huts. I thought there might be some information in it worth having."
"Jumping mackerel!" Biggles looked at him in amazement. "You certainly do think of things," he muttered. "Where did you get it?"
"Well, you see, I was pretty worried when I discovered that the train had taken you away.
The chap on the horse went off soon afterwards, and I got back into the wood. I went back to the tree with the broken branch, but you weren't there, so I thought I'd better see if I could find you. As soon as it was dark I went down to those wooden huts and places and hung about there for a long time, but I couldn't see a sign of you. Then I started exploring a bit closer. The first hut I came to was a big place with maps all over the wall—I had a squint through the window. There were a lot of men in it, including the chap I shot and the other two. Then they all got up as if they were going and I saw one of them, the fellow who had done most of the talking, put some papers in a bag and put it on a shelf. Then they all went out. I slipped in and got the bag after they had gone, and then went down the back of the buildings, looking in the windows of those where there were any lights; that's how I saw you in the
room with those three chaps. I could see how you were fixed too, so I thought I had better do something about it."
"You certainly did that," replied Biggles grimly. "I'll buy you an aeroplane one of these days for pulling me out of that scrape. Steady now; mind your head on that branch.
There's the lake on the right; that gives us our bearings. Hark!"
They stopped to listen. From different parts of the forest behind them came shouts and sharply given orders, but they were some distance away.
"It sounds as if they're going to try and find us, but we got a good start," went on Biggles.
"We shall have to get out of this place before morning, though. They'll comb every inch of it tomorrow now that they know we're here. If they do they'll find the amphibian, so we shall have to get off at the first crack of dawn. The bigger the distance we put between this place now and ourselves the better."
" If they catch me, knowing that I've bumped off that
&nbs
p; guy
71
"They're not going to catch us," Biggles assured him with a conviction he was far from feeling. "We can't be very far away from the amphibian now. Ah! Here comes the moon; that's better. Yes, we're right; I remember those two holly bushes."
Fortunately, it was fairly open under the trees, and they made good progress, so it was not long before the open country loomed up beyond the edge of the forest.
"Here we are," announced Biggles. "Half a minute, though—that's funny." A cold hand seemed to clutch his heart as he looked around the glade. Beyond all doubt it was the place where they had left the amphibian, for they could see the wheeltracks in the loose pine-needles,
but the amphibian was no longer there. "She's gone!" he cried hoarsely.
"You've sure said it," agreed Ginger calmly.
Biggles sat down on the stump of a fallen tree. "This is something I didn't bargain for,"
he said quietly
CHAPTER X
SMYTH EXPLAINS
"MAJOR BIGGLESWORTH !
Biggles jumped as if he had been shot; the words seemed to come from the air, and the voice that uttered them seemed strangely familiar.
"Hullo, yes; who's that?" he answered sharply, grabbing Ginger by the arm and hurrying to the side of the clearing ready for instant flight.
"It's all right, sir; it's me, Smyth." There was a movement in the branches overhead, and they stared upwards. "Just a minute, sir, I'm coming down," went on Smyth, and presently he appeared, brushing dead twigs and pine-needles from his face and hair.
"What in the name of heaven has happened?" asked Biggles quickly. "Where's the machine—and where is Mr. Lacey?"
06 Biggles And The Black Peril Page 9
