Biggles Takes a Hand

by W E Johns

  Biggles smiled broadly. “There was a time when you wouldn’t have said that.”

  Von Stalhein remained serious. “Times change, and as we grow older, if we are wise we change with them. But before we part there is one thing I must ask you. Tell no one except your worthy assistants, who I know are to be trusted, of this meeting, or of the purpose of it.”

  Biggles hesitated. “If I am to follow this up I’m bound to tell my chief. He, too, is to be trusted.”

  “I must leave that to your discretion, but I see no reason why you should mention my name unless it becomes absolutely imperative.”

  “What’s your objection?”

  “If you tell Air Commodore Raymond he may tell the Chief Commissioner; he would tell your security people; they might have to tell your Home Secretary, or Foreign Secretary; and so it could go on until the story reached the newspapers. Then all the world would know. I am trying to lead a quiet life, but once my name was mentioned that would end abruptly.”

  Biggles finished his beer and lit a cigarette. “You can rely on me to do my utmost to see that doesn’t happen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you still at the same address in case I should want to get in touch with you?”

  “Yes. I still get quite a lot of work, chiefly translations, from one of your government departments, and that is why, being grateful, I am glad to be of assistance whenever possible.”

  “Good. Then let’s leave it at that.” Biggles held out a hand. “Good-bye for now. You go out first. I’ll follow you in a minute.”

  They shook hands and parted, Von Stalhein limping slowly to the door.

  Biggles, with a curious expression on his face, watched him go. He gave him two or three minutes and followed him out into the street.

  * * *

  1 See Biggles Buries a Hatchet.

  CHAPTER II

  DEAD END?

  WHEN Biggles left the Adlon Restaurant he walked to the High Street, called a taxi and went straight to Scotland Yard. In his office he found his assistants waiting with some impatience for the explanation of the mysterious letter. This they had to contain, for all Biggles said as he hung up his cap and walked to the intercom, telephone on his desk was this: “I’ll talk to you presently. I shall have to speak to the Chief right away, if he’s in.” He pressed the appropriate button.

  “Bigglesworth here, sir,” he said. “May I have a word with you? Yes, sir, it’s urgent. Good. I’m on my way down.” As he made for the door he said briefly to the others: “I’ll be back.”

  In the Air Commodore’s office he began without preamble. “Is there, to your knowledge, anyone in this country whose death would be a desirable event for a hostile power?”

  The Air Commodore sat back, his eyes slowly opening wide. “What an extraordinary question!”

  “Let’s put it another way. Is there anyone here, or on his way here, possibly an important figure in world politics, whose assassination would embarrass the British Government?”

  The Air Commodore studied Biggles’ face carefully before he answered. “I couldn’t say offhand. You must have a very good reason for such a question. May I know what it is?”

  “I expected you to ask that and obviously I can’t decline to give you an answer. It is this. There has arrived in this country a party of three mercenary killers whose job it is to liquidate persons named by those who employ them.”

  “You mean—political murders.”

  “I have no definite information about that but I imagine so.”

  “How do you know these men are here?”

  “I’ve seen them.”

  “When?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Do you know their names?”

  “I do—unless they are working under assumed ones while on their mission to England.”

  “As you know so much you might also know where they are living.”

  “Yes, I know that, too.”

  “You have been busy.”

  “No, sir. The information came to me through a friend.”

  “You’re sure this is not a cock-and-bull story?”

  “Quite sure. The man who put me on the trail doesn’t invent things, or imagine them. He’s too busy to waste his time, or mine.”

  “I see you take this matter seriously.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’d like to know more about it before I commit myself.”

  “While we’re waiting for that the mischief might be done. Should that happen there would be no point in doing anything. You wouldn’t even get the murderers.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they would be secure under cover of diplomatic immunity.”

  The Air Commodore frowned. “Really, Bigglesworth, you’re beginning to alarm me.”

  “I came here prepared for that. I would have been disappointed had I failed to do so.”

  “Very well. What do you suggest I do about it?”

  “Provide the answer to my original question. You should be able to get it. I can’t. Until we know who it is these people are after we shall be working in the dark.”

  The Air Commodore considered the problem. “You know, Bigglesworth, this doesn’t really come within our province.”

  “I realize that, but I’m afraid it will have to if precautions are to be taken.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you pass this on to another department it’ll be all over bar the shouting. The enemy will know what’s going on and go to ground.”

  “Are you suggesting that our security people are in the habit of talking carelessly?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that; but what I do know, and you know as well as I do, is that the people behind this murder outfit have spies everywhere. I repeat, everywhere. Wherefore I say the fewer the people who know what’s in the wind the less will be the chance of a friend of this country being murdered. Not only the man himself. A lot of innocent people might die with him.”

  “How?”

  “In a sabotaged aircraft, which is one of the methods employed by our visitors to make murder look like an accident.” Biggles lit a cigarette. “That’s all, sir. I’ve told you what I know so from now on you carry the responsibility.”

  “All right—all right. There’s no need to get hot under the collar about it. You’ve sprung this thing on me out of the blue. You can’t expect me to give you an answer in five minutes. It needs serious thought.”

  “Fair enough, sir; but don’t think too long. There isn’t much I can do in the meantime but I shall be thinking, too.”

  “You won’t tell me the name of the man from whom you got this information?”

  “For the moment I’d rather not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he has a very good reason for not wanting to be involved. If it were known that he had taken me into his confidence the chances are that his name would also go on the murder list.”

  The Air Commodore agreed that was a good enough reason.

  “He has told me as much as he knows, and went to some trouble to do it,” went on Biggles. “What he doesn’t know, and I wouldn’t expect him to know, is the name of the person due to be liquidated. It may be someone who is already in this country, but more likely, I think, to be someone on his way here, or booked to come here in the near future.”

  “Why don’t you think it might be someone already here?”

  “Had that been the case I imagine he would be dead by now, and the killers on their way home. They’ve been here for at least a week, and they’re still here. As I see it they are either waiting for someone or have so far failed to find out where he is. Either way one thing is certain. They know who it is they’ve been ordered to get. If they know, surely there must be someone in this country, probably in a government department, who could put a finger on the most likely candidate for political execution. After all, it must be someone pretty high up, or those who want him out of the way wouldn’t go to such lengt
hs as they obviously have.”

  “Yes,” murmured the Air Commodore pensively. “I can see that. You’d better leave this with me for the time being. I’ll start making inquiries right away and let you know at once if I get results.”

  “Okay, sir. We’ll leave it at that.” Biggles got up and left the room.

  “What the devil’s going on?” greeted Algy wonderingly, as Biggles re-entered his own office.

  “Keep quiet and I’ll tell you,” replied Biggles, crossing to his desk and dropping into the chair.

  “Did you discover who wrote that bally letter? That’s what I want to know,” asked Bertie, impatiently.

  “I did.”

  “Someone we know?”

  “Yes. But don’t start guessing because you wouldn’t get it in a month of Sundays.”

  “Tell us. I can’t wait,” pleaded Ginger.

  “Von Stalhein.”

  Silence fell, everyone staring.

  “Has he gone round the bend?” queried Algy.

  “No. He seemed perfectly normal except in his appearance, the result of sticking a set of false whiskers on his face. That wasn’t for fun. He had a good reason for not wanting to be recognized by another party in the restaurant. And now, if you’ll listen instead of firing questions at me I’ll tell you what it was all about. But mark this. Not a word of what I’m going to say must go outside this room.”

  Thereupon Biggles related the story of his meeting with Von Stalhein and the purpose of it. “Now you’ll understand why I couldn’t get to the Chief fast enough when I came in.”

  “What had he to say about it?” inquired Algy.

  “Not much. I hoped he’d be able to tell me right away the name of the person booked for the high jump; but he couldn’t.”

  “Wasn’t he worried?”

  “Not particularly. But I think he will be when what I told him has had time to soak in.”

  “What’s he doing about it?”

  “The only thing he can do at the moment is try to find out who it is these unpleasant visitors are here to murder. Anyway, that’s what I asked him to do.”

  “And what are we going to do?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know. I can’t see how we can do much without more information.”

  Bertie gave his opinion. “The obvious thing to do is round up these three stiffs, tie some bricks to their feet and pitch ‘em into the nearest river.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” answered Biggles. “That would be doing mankind a real service. Unfortunately the laws of this land disapprove of that sort of remedy. What pains me in this particular case is, if these merciless hounds do commit murder they’ll probably get away with it by taking cover in a convenient foreign embassy. No doubt all that sort of thing is carefully arranged. It seems silly, but it boils down to this. We can’t touch them till they’ve done their monstrous work and then we shouldn’t be able to get at them.”

  “Silly?” scoffed Bertie. “I’d call it crazy.”

  Algy spoke. “Suppose the Air Commodore learns the name of the probable victim, surely he’d be warned of what might happen?”

  “A nice embarrassing situation that would cause. You invite a friend to visit you and then have to say to him, ‘Sorry, but as a result of your coming here you’ve displeased certain people who have decided to have you murdered.’ You’d have to be pretty thick-skinned to drop a clanger like that.”

  “He could ask for police protection,” said Ginger.

  “I imagine he’d get that anyway—that is, if he’s of sufficient importance to have a murder gang laid on to silence him for good. The murderers will have taken all that into account and make their plans accordingly. But it’s no use guessing. That won’t get us anywhere. Before we can take preventative measures we’ve got to know the name of the man being stalked by these professional assassins, where he is and where he’s likely to be in the near future. That might give us a lead as to how and when these murdering swine plan to get at him. I can’t recall seeing in the newspapers the name of any V.I.P. in this country now, or on his way here.”

  “People are always coming and going,” Algy pointed out. “How could you possibly say which is the one they’re after?”

  “Somebody should know. The nature of his visit to this country should provide a clue.”

  “Even so, I don’t see how knowing his name is going to help us,” argued Algy. “You still wouldn’t be able to touch the villains until they’d struck. Why us, anyhow? This sort of thing isn’t up our street. Surely it’s a job for the Security people.”

  “There are reasons, one being that bar Von Stalhein I’m the only man in this country able to recognize the members of the murder gang. For another, there may be an attempt to sabotage an aircraft. The Security people may take over later. I argued this point with the Air Commodore. It doesn’t need me to tell you that there are more spies in this country—and every other country for that matter—than ever before. They get into the highest places. If word leaked out that we’re wise to what’s going on our difficulties would be doubled. So the fewer the people in the know the better.”

  Ginger stepped in. “The man who’s been condemned to death may not be a visitor from overseas. How do you know he’s not British and a resident of this country?”

  “I don’t know. I can only assume. The killer agents have been here for at least a week. Why haven’t they struck? Why the delay? If the proposed victim lives in this country they’d have known where to find him when they arrived. Their plans would have been pre-arranged. By now they would have done their job and be on their way home. The fact that they are still here can only mean the victim isn’t dead yet. So I can only think they’re waiting for him to arrive.”

  “Well, what are you going to do?” asked Algy. “Wait till you hear from the Air Commodore?”

  Biggles lit a cigarette. “I don’t like the idea of wasting time, every hour of which might be valuable. There’s one obvious thing we must do. At present I’m the only one who knows these murderers by sight. That’s something you should all know and I can’t see any difficulty about it. Tomorrow when I go back to the Adlon Restaurant for lunch to check if the killers are still about, I’ll take you with me. I’ll book a table for four. That should give you all a chance to have a good look at them; but don’t stare. Men in their line of business notice little things.”

  “What if they don’t turn up?” asked Algy.

  “In that case the next step would be to find out if they’re still at their hotel in the Cromwell Road. Unless I have news from the Air Commodore we’ll leave it at that.”

  This settled Biggles busied himself in the office on various jobs for the rest of the day, not daring to leave for fear a call came through from the Air Commodore to give him the information he so urgently needed. The others stayed with him.

  Seven o’clock came, and he had nearly given up hope when the call came through for him to go down, and keen with expectation he hastened to obey.

  The Chief greeted him with a peculiar smile. “I can put your mind at rest,” he began.

  Biggles looked puzzled. “In what way?”

  “I’m afraid your informant was either pulling your leg or talking through his hat.”

  “Why, what do you mean?” replied Biggles, taken aback.

  “As far as we—that is, the Government—are concerned, there is no-one in this country at present, or on his way here, whose assassination would have the slightest effect on current political affairs.”

  Biggles looked amazed. “There must be some mistake, sir.”

  The Air Commodore lifted a shoulder. “The Special Branch1 should know. They’ve had no orders to guard or keep a particular eye on anyone.”

  “I must admit they should know,” agreed Biggles. “But I can’t help feeling there’s something wrong somewhere. Three professional killers are in the country. There’s no doubt whatever about that. I’ve seen them.”

  “How do you know they’re killers?”
>
  “I was told by a man who has every reason to know. Are we to believe they’ve merely come here for a holiday?”

  “You can work that out as you like. I’ve given you the information you asked for. There’s no one here who matters two hoots so you might as well forget about it.”

  “I see. Thank you, sir. I’m sorry I troubled you.” With that Biggles left the room and returned to his office.

  “Well, who’s been put on the spot,” inquired Ginger.

  “Apparently no one. It seems there’s no one here worth putting on the spot.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s the surprise packet the Chief has just handed to me. He says there’s no one here, or on his way here, whose death would cause us the slightest concern. The Security Branch haven’t received orders to stand by.”

  “What did you say to that?”

  “What could I say? I was in no position to argue.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “They believe it. As far as I’m concerned I don’t know what to believe. On the one hand the Chief should know what he’s talking about; on the other, Von Stalhein is equally well informed—in some matters maybe better. One thing is certain. Three men employed in political murders are in London. Of that there can be no doubt whatever. Von Stalhein knows them by sight. He knows their names. Had it been one man it might possibly be a case of mistaken identity. But not three together. That would be too much of a coincidence. Von Stalhein never had the slightest doubt, so I’m bound to accept it as a fact that they’re here. Why did they come? Why are they still here? Don’t ask me to believe they’ve come to see the sights. It’s unlikely they’d be allowed to leave their base, wherever that might be, unless they’d been given a definite mission.” Biggles lit a cigarette.

  “Then you’re still convinced that Von Stalhein is right all along the line,” put in Bertie.

  “I am.”

  “Then what does it all add up to, in view of what the Chief has just told you?”

  “I can arrive at only one possible conclusion. There is someone in this country, or on his way here, about whom the authorities know nothing. What I mean is, the person might be known to them by name, but his movements are not known.”