Biggles and the Noble Lord

by W E Johns

  Biggles answered. ‘You may be sure the police haven’t overlooked that; but what can they do about it? How are you going to find the man who supplies the necessary information? It’s not much use questioning the staff. No one is likely to admit he is the culprit. We know this sort of thing does go on. The bribe has only got to be big enough to turn some men crooked. The only thing the police can do is watch a suspect to see if he’s suddenly spending more money than he earns. Even if that happens it only half answers the question. You can’t prove anything. The suspect can say he won the money gambling. No, we shan’t find the answer that way. To stop the rot we’ve got to catch the big man at the top, not the small fish who work for him.’

  Ginger came in. ‘How about setting a trap?’

  ‘What sort of trap?’

  ‘Send out a dummy car with an imaginary load of money on board, on the lines of the “Q ships” they used in the war to trap enemy submarines. You remember they were harmless-looking merchant ships, but they bristled with concealed guns. When a U-boat popped up off went the guns and down went the sub.’

  ‘How do you think that could be made to work in our case?’ inquired Biggles.

  ‘I was thinking of the way Lady Charlington’s jewels were lifted from her chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce on the way to Scotland. The car stopped only once on the way, at an hotel. Her Ladyship went in to have some lunch, leaving her jewel case under the seat. The chauffeur took the opportunity to slip into the gent’s toilet. He was away less than two minutes, yet when he came back the jewels had disappeared.’

  ‘The chauffeur must have been in on that job,’ declared Algy.

  ‘You can’t say that,’ disputed Biggles. ‘He had been driving his boss, at home and abroad, for thirty years, during which time he would have had scores of opportunities to pinch the jewels. He’s still in Her Ladyship’s employment and has never shown a sign of making any profit out of the theft. He blamed himself for what had happened and has never been the same man since. I’ll admit the crooks must have known the day Her Ladyship was going to travel, and where she was going, so they were able to follow in another car to wait for their chance. They knew she would have to stop somewhere for lunch on such a long run. They could have got the information from the gossip column of a society newspaper or magazine. Of course, the chauffeurs of wealthy people are always being approached by crooks to play in with them. That’s a well-known fact. But most of them have more sense than to fall for that racket, although it must be a big temptation. They know only too well that if anything is missing they’ll be suspect. I once had a talk with one of these chaps. He told me the crooks were always at him. Never left him alone. He’d been offered as much as a thousand pounds to disappear for a couple of minutes.’

  ‘In the case we’re talking about the crooks must have known where the car was going to stop,’ urged Ginger.

  ‘That to some extent was Lady Charlington’s own fault, as she was prepared to admit. She always stopped for lunch at the same hotel whenever she was on her way to Scotland to join her husband. Anyway, it would only have been necessary for the crooks to know the day she was going to travel for them to follow in another car.’

  ‘How would they know she was taking her jewels with her?’

  ‘There was going to be a big house party, so naturally she’d want her jewels with her.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the point,’ Ginger said. ‘Why shouldn’t we organize something of the sort? All we need is a Rolls. I could play the part of some foreign princess over here for a holiday. Bertie could be my chauffeur. You could let it be known to the Press that I was going somewhere on a certain day taking my famous jewels with me. All you have to do then is follow us in another car. The car stops somewhere en route for lunch. The princess goes in. That’s me. Bertie goes to have a drink at the bar. The crook makes his snatch. You grab him. It’s as easy as that.’

  Biggles smiled broadly. ‘I see you’ve got it all worked out. Pretty good. But there’s one thing wrong. If it worked I should find myself with some small-time crook. The man I want is the top man, the crafty type we believe to be organizing these raids.’

  Ginger had the answer ready. ‘Very well. Don’t grab him. Let him get away with it. You follow him to see where he goes. He should lead you to the man you want.’

  Biggles gave the proposal some thought. ‘As a plan it strikes me as a pretty big pond to angle in for one particular fish,’ he remarked. ‘Still for want of anything more substantial we could try it. There’s just a chance that we might get a bite. If we hooked nothing we’d be no worse off than we are now. It’s no use waiting for the fish we’re after to give itself up. It would be an expensive operation to put on the expense account, but the Air Commodore said I could try anything. He’ll probably think I’m out of my mind — and he could be right.’

  ‘What am I supposed to be doing while the rest of you gallivant about in Rolls-Royces and lush hotels?’ inquired Algy.

  ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t try both schemes,’ Biggles answered. ‘You could check up for someone with money who collects antique French porcelain. The people who deal in that sort of stuff should know. Try the leading auctioneers, watch the sale rooms, and so on. You might strike a lead worth following. If we all fail there will be no harm done. Let’s see about getting organized.’

  CHAPTER 3

  ACCORDING TO PLAN

  A week later the plan was put into action. What had been arranged had been done. A notice to the effect that Princess Lazu of India, now staying at the Savoy Hotel in London, intended to leave on Saturday for a visit to friends in Scotland, had appeared, with a photograph, in the appropriate newspapers and magazines. The photograph, showing Ginger made up as a young woman, getting into her Rolls-Royce; Bertie, in chauffeur’s uniform, was holding the door open for her. Algy had gone his own way to check up on well-known collectors of early porcelain.

  In four days the newspaper idea had produced what Bertie described as a ‘nibble’, to give them encouragement and show that it had not passed unnoticed. It could only be hoped that the nibble came from the organization they were trying to trap. There was no proof of this. It came about in this way.

  The Princess’s Rolls, hired for the purpose, was in the hotel garage. One morning Bertie, in the chauffeur’s uniform he now habitually wore, was putting a duster over it when he noticed another chauffeur taking more than a passing interest in him. He was smart, good-looking, and might have been in the early fifties. Bertie took no notice. At the time it did not occur to him that there was anything sinister in this. There was nothing unusual about it.

  Presently the man strolled over and looking at the car remarked admiringly: ‘Nice job.’ He spoke in an educated voice.

  Casually, Bertie agreed, and continued his work.

  ‘That’s Princess Lazu’s car, isn’t it?’ said the man.

  ‘It is,’ Bertie answered, somewhat curtly, taking care not to be too ready to talk.

  ‘Taking her up to Scotland, I hear.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I read it in the paper. Isn’t it true?’

  ‘Yes. Something like that,’ admitted Bertie, going on with his polishing.

  ‘How about a drink?’ was the next suggestion.

  ‘No thanks. Not now. I’m busy,’ replied Bertie, wondering what this was leading up to.

  There was a brief silence. Then the man said: ‘Should be a nice trip if the weather stays fine.’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Bit of a responsibility, though.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, I suppose she’ll be taking her jewels with her, in which case you’ll be expected to keep an eye on ‘em. From all accounts they’re really something. Starting Saturday, aren’t you?’

  Bertie did not answer.

  ‘Where do you reckon to stop for lunch?’

  ‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Bertie.

  ‘What time are you starting?’

  Be
rtie stopped what he was doing and looked round. ‘What are you getting at?’ he demanded to know.

  The man smiled. ‘I’ll give you one guess.’

  ‘Listen, friend,’ Bertie said coldly. ‘If you’ve something to say, say it, and let me get on with my work.’

  ‘Meet me at the pub on the corner tonight, at say, eight o’clock and I’ll tell you. The Princess will be at dinner, so you won’t be on duty.’

  ‘I don’t drink with people I don’t know,’ Bertie stated.

  ‘I could put a little proposition to you that you might find interesting.’

  ‘Nothing doing,’ snapped Bertie.

  The man raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s the matter with you? Have I said something?’

  ‘You’ve said enough.’

  ‘I would have thought you could use a thousand nicker as easy as anyone else.’

  ‘And what exactly have I to do for that?’

  ‘Nothing. Well, practically nothing. When you stop for lunch simply make an excuse to leave your car for one minute. It’s as easy as that.’

  ‘So that’s it,’ sneered Bertie. ‘I’ve heard it all before.’

  The man smiled curiously. ‘I’ll bet you have.’

  ‘Nothing doing.’

  ‘Are you saying you prefer to spend the best years of your life trundling some daft bird around the country?’

  ‘Push off,’ requested Bertie icily.

  ‘Think it over. Maybe you’ll change your mind. If you do I’ll see you get the money.’

  Bertie did not answer.

  The man waited for a minute. Then, with a casual, ‘So long — be seeing you,’ he departed.

  Out of the corners of his eyes Bertie watched him make his way through the parked cars to a green Jaguar. He noted the number. So he hadn’t been long getting a bite, he thought with satisfaction as he returned to his Rolls. He realized of course that what had just happened might have nothing to do with the man they were really after, for as Biggles had said, this attempting to bribe the chauffeur of a wealthy owner was a common occurrence.

  As soon as convenient he telephoned Biggles and told him about the incident. Biggles said: ‘Good. That’s fine. You know what to do. Carry on. When you leave on Saturday I’ll be on your tail.’

  At the first opportunity he also told Ginger, his princess, about it. ‘With any luck we should soon have a bird in the cage,’ Bertie concluded. ‘It may not be the one we’re looking for, but any old bird in the hand is worth a dozen in the bushes.’

  On Saturday morning, at the time arranged, Bertie brought the Rolls round to the main entrance of the well-known hotel. Three pieces of luggage were put in the boot. The ‘Princess’ came out carrying what was obviously her jewel case. It was in fact a jewel case, a second-hand one bought for the operation; a small, brown, pigskin, drum-shaped receptacle with a handle on the lid. The inside was divided into compartments, on this occasion holding nothing more valuable than a few small pebbles to represent the precious stones for which it was intended. Bertie, cap in hand, held the door of the rear seat open for her to get in. She handed him the case while she took her place. When she was settled he passed back the case. She put it on the seat beside her. Bertie closed the door and took his place at the wheel. The hall-porter touched his cap and closed the door. The Rolls moved slowly into the Strand to begin its journey.

  During this operation Bertie had found it hard to keep a straight face, with such dignity did Ginger play his part as the Princess he was supposed to be. Indeed, he made a smart, good-looking young woman. A bath, with a little colouring matter in the water, had toned his skin to the right shade of cafe au lait to suggest the Orient. Two-inch heels had given him that much extra height, and a touch of lipstick completed a transformation that would have deceived Bertie had he not known the truth. Neither of them was likely to come into close physical contact with the man, or men, who might be expected to make a raid on the jewel case; but knowing they were likely to be under observation from the moment of leaving the hotel, they took pains to play their respective parts correctly. That of employer and employee. So their behaviour was stiff and formal.

  Bertie had seen no more of the man who had tried to bribe him in the garage; but he felt confident that he would not be far away. His eyes roved round for the green Jaguar, but he could not see it. This did not surprise him. It did not follow that the Jaguar would be used for the raid on the jewels. Nor could he see Biggles’ Ford — his own car — although in the press of traffic he had little time to look for it. However, he knew it would not be far away.

  With the Princess relaxed and settled in her seat, Bertie, poker-faced, took the shortest route to the North Circular Road, and from it turned up the A.1, the main road to the north. It was a pleasant spring day, and as the traffic thinned out, still keeping a close watch behind and in front of him for any vehicle acting suspiciously, he derived some pleasure from the situation. There was not much in the way of conversation in the Rolls. Bertie concentrating on what he was doing. Once as they headed up the open road, Ginger said: ‘Well, how did I make out?’ (To save possible confusion we had better call him Ginger.)

  ‘Jolly good,’ Bertie answered, without turning his head. ‘You would have fooled anyone. You jolly nearly took me in.’

  Ginger allowed himself to smile. ‘Just remember I’m your boss,’ he bantered.

  Clear on the A.1 the Rolls began to eat up the miles. The first stop, it had been decided, would be at Stamford, at the George, the popular three-star hotel on the main road, for lunch. This, it was thought, would be where the raid, if there was to be one, would be attempted. It was by no means certain. Bertie had refused to be bribed, but the man’s last words had been: ‘Think it over.’ If, therefore, Bertie left the car it would be assumed that on second thoughts he had agreed to co-operate. Time would show.

  The Rolls covered the 90 miles to Stamford, in Lincolnshire, without any trouble and glided in to halt at the front entrance. From then on things happened with a rapidity that nearly left Bertie ‘standing on one foot’, as he afterwards put it. This was the order of events.

  Bertie jumped out and, as was right and proper, opened the door for his lady passenger, his employer. Ginger got out, leaving the jewel case on the seat, and walked into the hotel. Bertie put the jewel case on the floor, where it could not easily be seen by anyone passing, closed the door, locked it, and surveyed the scene. As was to be expected there were several cars parked near, most of them without their drivers who had gone into the hotel for one reason or another. He was looking for the green Jaguar. It was not there. The driver of a car that had followed him in, a dark blue Mercedes, got out and paused to light a cigarette. He was not the man who had spoken to Bertie in the garage in London; he had never seen him before, so without giving him another thought he went into the hotel to have a drink which, after the fairly long run, he felt he needed. He decided that the man who had tried to bribe him had taken him at his word and had not turned up. Just inside the hotel entrance he turned for a final look round, still thinking of the green Jaguar. There was still no sign of it, and he was turning again to go on to the bar when he saw the driver of the Mercedes step quickly to the Rolls, unlock the door, presumably with a duplicate key, pick up the jewel case and walk away with it. Bertie was amazed at the speed and facility at which this was done.

  Unthinkingly, his natural reaction was to dash after the thief and confront him; but he remembered in time that this was all according to plan. The trap had worked. He saw the thief return to his Mercedes, the engine of which must have been left running from the speed at which it accelerated and made off. At this precise moment a light Bedford van pulled up alongside the Rolls effectively preventing it from being moved. Any driver would have objected to this, and Bertie strode out to ask the driver of the van to give him room to get out.

  The man was not in the least abashed. He said: ‘Okay — okay. There’s no need to blow your top. I shan’t be a tick. I only came in to give y
ou this.’ Without getting out of his seat he offered a small packet, actually a folded envelope. As Bertie took it the man added: ‘The gent in the Merc. asked me to give it to you.’ With that he drove off, leaving Bertie standing with the package in his hand trying to keep pace with events.

  There was no point now in trying to follow the Mercedes even had he wished to do so. It was already out of sight. The van had gone, too, and he realized with a mild shock that this was no accidental encounter. This was all part of the getaway plan after the jewel case had been snatched. It was well thought out and neatly executed.

  Bertie looked at the envelope in his hand He went into the hotel and tore it open to reveal a thick wad of ten-pound notes. Without bothering to count them he stuffed them into his pocket. Why had he been given this money? The reason was not hard to find. The thief assumed he had changed his mind and had agreed to co-operate. This would be a natural supposition when he had left the Rolls to go into the hotel. The money was the promised reward.

  Still slightly dazed Bertie went into the dining-room and saw Ginger sitting alone at a small table already having his lunch. Going up to him he said quietly: ‘It worked. They’ve got it.’

  ‘Good. What did you do?’ Ginger said, without looking up.

  ‘Nothing. I couldn’t have done anything had I wanted to. They saw to that. I was hemmed in by a van.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ginger said calmly. ‘Not to worry. We can leave the rest to Biggles.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ returned Bertie gloomily. ‘I didn’t see him.’

  ‘He’d be on the job,’ declared Ginger confidently. ‘There’s nothing more we can do. As we’re here we might as well have something to eat. You can’t very well sit here with me, so I suggest you go to the bar for a drink and a sandwich. I’ll see you outside in half an hour.’