Biggles and the Noble Lord

by W E Johns

  ‘Not good, I’m afraid,’ reported Algy, sinking down on the log. ‘Strewth! What a night I’ve had. And after all my sweat I didn’t manage to make personal contact with Marcel. Who’s this with you?’

  ‘The village cop. He’s on our side. I’ll tell you about him in a minute. Tell me what happened. What have you done and what’s the position now?’

  ‘One at a time,’ pleaded Algy. ‘Let me get my breath. I’ve been rushing about non-stop since I left you. I went to the village. There I learned that Marcel could only catch a slow train to Amiens, the nearest station where he could pick up the Paris express. As you know it stops there. Using his car, which he had left for us as he promised, I tore off hoping I might catch him. The train had just left. So I got on the phone to Amiens hoping I might catch him there. It was too late. The train was just pulling out of the station. All this, I may tell you, took time. So there was only one thing left for me to do. It was no use me trying to race the train to Paris. All I could do was ring Marcel’s office in Paris and leave a message to be handed to him the moment he came in. I said it was vital that he should return here immediately as we now had definite information.’

  ‘Did he get the message?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t wait. I thought it was time I started back here. I had a long way to go. That’s all I can tell you. I had to leave it at that. I put your name to the message. Marcel should get it. The man I spoke to at the Sûreté sounded like an intelligent fellow. What’s happened here? Where did this chap pop up from?’

  ‘I found him guarding the Auster. I went to fetch the torch if it hadn’t been pinched. Someone in the top turret room started to send out an S.O.S.; and I wanted to let him know we were here, I had to assume it was either Bertie or Ginger. In the dark I couldn’t tell. I thought the torch would help me to find out, but by the time I got back here with it the light was out and I haven’t seen it since.’

  ‘So what do we do? It’ll be hours before Marcel can get here whether he comes by road or by train, even if he gets my message.’ Algy sounded depressed.

  ‘We can either wait or we can barge into the chateau right away and attempt a rescue,’ Biggles said.

  Algy stared. ‘What are you talking about? Barge in? How?’

  ‘My friend here says he knows of an underground passage. It seems as if he was in the Resistance during the war when the place was used as a hideout.’

  ‘Then what are we waiting for?’

  ‘I was waiting for you to come back to tell me the position with Marcel. We have no authority here in France to force our way in anywhere. He has. Besides, for all we know there may be a dozen men in the house. I was in no condition to take on a mob single-handed, or even with the help of my friend here. His name, by the way, is Antoine Chariot.’

  ‘Does he know the way to the turret if we did get inside?’

  Biggles put the question. Antoine said he did.

  ‘Have you ever been up to it?’ asked Biggles.

  Antoine said he hadn’t, but he could see no difficulty about that.

  Biggles had to accept this, although he was not too happy about it. But it was not the time to raise doubts or difficulties.

  Algy came in again. ‘If we’re going to wait here for Marcel, it may mean sitting here all day tomorrow,’ he pointed out gloomily.

  ‘Let’s hear what Antoine thinks about it,’ suggested Biggles.

  By this time of course Antoine was wide awake, having been awakened by the voices. He had listened to the conversation, but as it had naturally been in English, how much of it he had understood was another matter. That would depend on how well he spoke English. Up to now Biggles had only spoken to him in French. He now asked him if he understood what they had been talking about.

  It turned out that he spoke very little English, only what he had picked up from British soldiers during the war, and that, as Biggles observed dryly, was not likely to be very helpful. So he had to go over the story again in French to make the situation absolutely clear. At the finish he asked Antoine what he thought they had better do. Would he come with them if they decided to go into the house by using the underground passage?

  Antoine considered the proposal. He decided he would probably be exceeding his duties if he did, but he could see no harm in doing a little quiet exploring. He admitted it was many years since he had seen the tunnel, so anything could have happened to it in the meantime. It might have collapsed, or perhaps been blocked up.

  ‘That’s a charming thought,’ put in Algy.

  Biggles said to Antoine. ‘We know our friends are inside and we know exactly where they are. That should make things easier.’

  ‘You say the men who own the chateau now are crooks and robbers?’ queried Antoine.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So we can expect them to fight us.’

  ‘If they catch us inside, without a doubt,’ Biggles had to admit. ‘They may have much stolen property, brought from England, we think, by helicopter.’

  ‘I have sometimes seen this helicopter,’ Antoine said thoughtfully. ‘I ask myself, what is it doing?’

  ‘Now I have told you,’ replied Biggles. ‘If we recover some of the money you will get promotion. If we find nothing we shall all get the cane for breaking in.’

  ‘We will go in,’ declared Antoine. He chuckled. ‘Alors! This will be like the exciting days of the war. Tiens! What days they were. I will show you the way, messieurs.’

  So they set off on what was going to be a hazardous operation, Biggles with some trepidation, not on account of the danger, but because he knew that if it failed, for taking the law into their own hands they would come in for more criticism than thanks; from both sides of the Channel. Also he felt a little conscious that it was wrong of him to lead the friendly Antoine into such an adventure. Had he known that Bertie and Ginger were virtually under sentence of death it would have been a different matter. Then he would not have hesitated for a moment. But he did not know that, even though the signals had indicated that the situation was serious and urgent. Algy had said that he could not imagine men like Lord Malboise and his brother stooping to murder; but in view of what they had at stake he was not so confident of this. Considering what Bertie and Ginger now must know they would not be released, at all events for a long time, that was certain. Which was another reason why, although he knew they were overstepping their authority, Biggles felt that what they proposed to do was the only answer to their problem, even if now it was largely a personal one.

  With Antoine leading the way they went to the thicket and in due course reached the entrance to the tunnel, Biggles fully expected to find it blocked up. It was, by some slabs of moss-covered rocks. Antoine made light of these by casting them to one side to reveal a yawning black hole in the ground. ‘That’s it,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Enter, monsieur.’

  Biggles now took the lead because he held the torch. He went to the hole and lowered himself into it to be greeted by the stench of wet earth, decaying vegetation and general corruption. He took a few paces and then waited for the others to join him, giving them the benefit of the light he held.

  The journey through the tunnel was an experience not easily to be forgotten. The ex-Resistance man had said it was bad, and it was. It was worse. There may be something romantic in medieval history about an underground escape route. But romantic was the last adjective Algy would have applied to this one. Or Biggles, for that matter. He was anything but happy at what they were doing. This was not watching a play on television when the viewer knows, no matter how desperate the situation, everything will come right at the end. This was cold hard fact, and he was by no means sure of the outcome. Anything could happen, and it was more likely to be all wrong than all right.

  The tunnel was a horror. It was narrow. The floor was slush. The walls were coated with evil-smelling slime and water dripped from the roof just over their heads, presumably seeping from the moat. In places they had to stoop. At first the floor sloped steadily do
wnwards, and at the lowest point they had to wade knee deep in water. After that the incline was upwards.

  Algy’s thoughts were hardly less dismal than the passage. He wondered what they would encounter at the other end. The exit might have been bricked up or finish behind an obstruction through which no opening could be found. They might not even reach the far end. The tunnel could have collapsed, in which case they would have no alternative than to retrace their steps, the operation having been a waste of time and effort and a very nasty one at that. No doubt Biggles’ thoughts were running on the same lines, but he did not express them.

  It looked as if their fears were justified when they were finally brought to a halt by a flat wooden barrier. But Antoine knew what to do. He stepped forward, and after groping about found what must have been some sort of handhold to provide a grip. Now without difficulty he was able to move what was evidently a sliding panel in the woodwork to provide a narrow aperture. Through this they squeezed to find themselves in a vault, a sort of anteroom of a much larger chamber. Here Antoine raised a warning hand and they stopped to listen. There was not a sound apart from their own heavy breathing. The place had the atmosphere of a sepulchre.

  Antoine must have seen all this before, for taking the torch from Biggles he moved forward confidently and beckoned the others to follow. They could now see the size of the place in which they had arrived. It was a great stone hall in the manner of a church. It could have been the entrance hall. As Antoine swept the walls with the torch and allowed the light to rest for a moment on a heavy door, they realized that was in fact what it was. They were inside the chateau. There was another pause to listen. Not a sound. Algy would have expected to find someone on guard, but apparently one was not considered necessary at such an hour. Antoine would have gone on, but Biggles restrained him. ‘Just a minute. When I first put on uniform I was taught that a wise soldier always keeps an eye on his rear for a possible line of retreat. Wait.’ He took the torch and walked quickly but quietly to the big double entrance doors. He was pleased to see inset in one of them a small accommodation door to save opening the big ones. The key was in the lock. It scraped with an alarming amount of noise as he turned it. There were also two bolts, one at the top, the other at the bottom. He drew them. Satisfied that the door would open he returned to the others. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if we have to leave here in a hurry,’ he explained with grim humour. ‘I’d rather not go through that stinking rabbit-hole again.’ He returned the torch to Antoine. ‘Lead on. You know the way.’

  Antoine advanced. Keeping close to the wall he followed it round presently to pull up at a narrow stone stairway that spiralled upwards. ‘Voila, messieurs,’ he said in a hoarse whisper that echoed round the high ceiling like the sighs of a lost soul. ‘To the turret.’

  ‘Ssh! Not so loud,’ requested Biggles. ‘I will go first.’ Again he took the torch and began to mount the steps.

  They spiralled anti-clockwise, from right to left, as is usual in ancient buildings. There is a good reason for this. Defence. A swordsman guarding the steps would have his right arm free from obstructions to use his sword, whereas a man with a similar weapon coming up would find his sword arm impeded by the elbow coming in contact with the wall.

  Without being challenged they reached a landing where a narrow window allowed a little grey light to enter from outside where dawn was breaking. After a short pause to listen they went on up to a second landing exactly the same as the first. Two more of these, it was reckoned, should take them to the fourth floor and their objective. It began to look as if they would reach it without trouble. The only question then was whether they would be able to get into the room where there was reason to suppose Bertie and Ginger were confined.

  Hopes were squashed as they paused for breath on the third landing. From somewhere below came first a shout and then the rumble of men’s voices, distorted by the echoing walls.

  ‘Stand still,’ breathed Biggles.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE LAST STAND

  Everyone on the small landing stood still, nerves taut, listening.

  The tread of footsteps on the stone floor of the great hall below was now joined by a confused murmur of voices, as if the men talking were moving about. For a time it was impossible to hear what was being said; nor was it possible to judge the number of men engaged. Then, during a break in the general conversation, a voice said clearly, speaking in French: ‘Where is this draught coming from?’ After another pause a more distant voice answered: ‘In here.’ Another silence, except footsteps. Then a different voice, apparently a new arrival, speaking with a crisp note of authority, demanded to be told what was happening. Someone answered: ‘We think there is somebody in the house, monsieur.’

  Biggles had to make up his mind quickly on what action to take. Obviously it could only be a question of time before they were discovered. ‘You stay here while I go on to find the boys,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t make a sound. But if they come up the stairs you’ll have to do your best to stop them.’

  ‘If we stay here we shall be in a trap,’ said Algy.

  ‘It looks as if we’re in one already,’ returned Biggles grimly.

  ‘Entendu,’ murmured Antoine, drawing his pistol.

  ‘No shooting unless you have to,’ requested Biggles.

  He went on up the stairs, what he thought must be the final flight. In this he was correct. He came to a landing. There were no more steps. Daylight slanted through a narrow slit of a window giving him ample light to see his surroundings without using the torch. He put it in his pocket to leave both hands free.

  There was only one door leading off the landing, so there was no question of choice. It looked heavy, and clearly was very old, for it was studded with iron nails. For a few seconds Biggles gazed at it in dismay. Then, to his great relief and satisfaction he saw a big iron key hanging from a hook on the doorpost. Surely it could only be the one for the door! In a moment it was in his hand and in the keyhole. It scraped as he turned it. The door creaked as he pushed it wide open, to see Bertie and Ginger sitting up in bed, staring as if they had been asleep and awakened by his entrance. They were fully dressed except for their shoes which lay on the floor.

  ‘Biggles!’ cried Ginger. ‘Brother, am I glad to see you! How—’

  ‘Don’t talk now,’ cut in Biggles. ‘Jump to it. We’ve got to get out of here fast and it may not be easy. It’s known we’re in the house.’

  The prisoners needed no further urging. They sprang from their beds reaching for their shoes. ‘Lead on, old boy,’ said Bertie. ‘You’ve arrived in the jolly old nick of time, whatever a nick may be — if you see what I mean. They were going to shoot us today and dump us in that beastly moat,’ he added, pulling on his shoes.

  Biggles stared. ‘You don’t mean that!’

  ‘Too true, chaps. That’s what the blighters said.’

  ‘But why shoot you?’

  Ginger answered. ‘Because we wouldn’t play ball with them. Today was the deadline.’

  ‘Who do you mean by them?’

  ‘The noble lord, no less, and his perishing brother.’

  ‘Are they here?’

  ‘I imagine so. They were here yesterday. How did you work the oracle to get in?’

  ‘Never mind that. The problem now is to get out. Come on. Don’t make a noise.’

  They all hurried down to the lower landing to find the others still standing there in silence. A low buzz of voices came up from below.

  ‘Anything happened?’ questioned Biggles tersely.

  Algy answered. ‘Not a thing. I think they’ve been looking for us. Now they seem to be talking about it.’

  Biggles listened. ‘They’re still in the hall. They’ll come up here next. I reckoned on leaving by the front door, but we can’t get to it without them seeing us.’

  ‘What about the tunnel?’

  ‘Same thing applies. We can’t get to it without being seen. Anyhow, I don’t want to go through that filthy
hole again.’

  ‘You’ve got Marcel’s gun.’

  ‘We’ll avoid shooting if we can. Shooting’s almost bound to mean one of us being hit. That won’t help matters. This is no time or place for casualties.’

  ‘What the devil could have roused them?’ muttered Algy.

  ‘We may have triggered off a burglar alarm, although I wouldn’t have expected to find one here.’

  ‘I don’t see why not considering what’s been going on here. Come to think of it, while you were away I thought I heard the tinkle of a bell in the distance.’

  ‘That must have been it.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Wait here for a minute to see what they do next, but I can guess what that will be. It won’t be long before they realize we must be up here. Or they’ll come up to see if the prisoners are safe. I wonder if they’ve discovered the front door has been unlocked. If we have to make a bolt we may have to depend on it.’ This conversation had been carried on in whispers. ‘Ssh! I fancy someone’s on the way up the steps now.’

  They waited. What Biggles had said was soon confirmed. Footsteps came nearer. The head of a man appeared, instantly to be withdrawn when he saw the party standing on the landing. Footsteps retreated quickly.

  ‘That’s done it,’ muttered Biggles. ‘But it was bound to happen,’ he added.

  Antoine spoke. ‘I know that man who came up. He lives near. His name is Gaston Marow. He was with me in the Resistance. I will go down and talk to him.’

  ‘He’s in a different sort of Resistance now,’ replied Biggles grimly. ‘Don’t be in a hurry. If you go down you’re likely to get yourself shot. Stay here. When we go down we’ll all go together. Let’s hear what they have to say.’

  ‘I have a pistol.’ Antoine tapped his holster.

  ‘But I understand you are only allowed to use it in self-defence.’

  ‘That is true, m’sieur.’

  ‘I have a pistol, too, one that Monsieur Brissac lent me. But for all we know there may be six men down there.’