Biggles Takes a Hand

by W E Johns

  “Would it be possible for such a person to creep into the country under the curtain—if you see what I mean,” queried Bertie.

  “These murdering thugs have obviously been able to get in.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Algy. “Forget about it?”

  “Not on your life. Not yet, anyway. It’d be on my conscience if some poor devil was bumped off when I might have been able to prevent it. I shall carry on in my own way till something happens to turn the spotlight on the mystery.”

  “Then do I take it that tomorrow’s arrangement still stands?”

  “Definitely. But let’s pack up. It’s getting late. A bite of something to eat may help to get the old brain-box functioning.”

  * * *

  1 The Special Branch at Scotland Yard is concerned with national security and the protection of public personages from harm.

  CHAPTER III

  VON STALHEIN GIVES A HINT

  THE following day, at a little before twelve-thirty, they were all in Kensington, walking briskly towards the Adlon Restaurant, Biggles having resolved to arrive early to be sure of getting a table. He had already described the men so that the others would know each one by name as he entered, assuming of course that they came.

  “This is the place,” he said, as they stopped outside. “Remember the drill. Don’t stare at them. One good look as they sit down should be enough to get their faces photographed on your minds. If we can get a table near them we might recognize the language they use. It’s unlikely they’ll talk in English, but there’s just a chance we might catch a name if one occurs in the conversation. When they leave, I want you, Ginger, to tail them and see where they go.”

  “Suppose they don’t all leave together?”

  “In that case you’ll follow the first to leave. Algy will follow the second party if it breaks up. That’s about all we can do. As far as we ourselves are concerned there must be no mention of what we’re doing. Men like these develop sharp ears. Stick to trivialities—football, cricket, anything you like. Okay. Let’s go in.”

  Only a few customers had arrived and they were at the far end of the room. The same waitress was on duty. It so happened that the table next to the one in which they were interested was laid for four, and unoccupied. Biggles asked the girl if they could have it. She said it had not been reserved so they took it.

  To Biggles’ satisfaction, and somewhat to his surprise, no sooner had they sat down and ordered their meal, taking the full course luncheon to cover as much time as possible, than the men they had come to observe walked in. Their manner was alert, as if they were in a hurry, which, Biggles reasoned, accounted for their arrival earlier than usual. The impression of haste was confirmed by the way Karkoff, after a glance at his watch, called the waitress. He gave his order to the girl in English with a strong foreign accent tinged with an American twang, as if he might have learned the language in that country although he was obviously not a native either of the United States or Canada. Thereafter he spoke with his companions, in a voice low but just audible, in a tongue which Biggles was unable to recognize. This was to be expected, for men of the same nationality, wherever they might be, usually carry on their conversation in the language in which they are most familiar, normally their mother tongue.

  Thereafter the meal proceeded in the customary manner. Although snatches of conversation could be overheard Biggles learned nothing from those at the next table. From time to time Karkoff looked at his watch. At length he said something sharply, whereupon Rallensky got up and leaving the others to pay the bill went out.

  Ginger finished his coffee and with a casual “See you later,” also departed.

  A few minutes later it was Molsk who got up and left.

  Algy, seeing what was about to happen from the way Molsk had pushed back his chair, was already on the way to the door.

  Karkoff was evidently in no hurry. He was smoking a cigar, and not until he had finished it did he call for his bill. His departure was leisurely.

  “You might as well see where he goes,” Biggles told Bertie.

  Biggles, now alone, having no purpose in staying, paid his bill and made his way back to the office, satisfied that the primary purpose of the lunch had been achieved in that everyone now knew the suspects by sight. He was a little puzzled over the way the other party had broken up. He could only suppose they had different tasks to do but did not waste mental energy in a futile effort to guess what they might be. Von Stalhein had not turned up at the restaurant for lunch, as Biggles thought he might. Apparently he had decided to keep out of the way, which taking all the circumstances into account was understandable.

  Algy was the first of the others to return. All he had to report was that Molsk had gone to the continental platform at Victoria Station and there met the boat train from Dunkirk. He had watched the passengers off, presumably to no purpose as he had then gone to the hotel in the Cromwell Road.

  Bertie came in next. Karkoff had gone straight home. He had watched the hotel for a time but had not seen him go out again.

  When Ginger came in it turned out that he had been farther afield, to London Airport, where Rallensky had checked the passengers who had come in on the regular Berlin plane. Apparently he had seen no one of interest to him for he had then gone home.

  “It seems as though we’ve been wasting our time,” remarked Ginger moodily, when he had heard the reports of the others.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Biggles told him. “On the contrary, I find this very interesting. We’ve made at least one point. It now looks as if the person these thugs are after isn’t here yet; and, moreover, they don’t know how or when he’s coming. Why otherwise should they watch both ports of entry, sea and air. I suspect that means something else.”

  “What else could it mean?” asked Ginger.

  “It could well mean that enemy agents on the Continent have lost track of the man they’re after. If they knew where he was they could phone Karkoff and so save him the trouble of watching both the boat trains and the air terminus. Obviously they have reason to think that the man who is to be done away with will make for England. These factors, taken together, could explain why Karkoff and his precious pals have been hanging about for a week or more. They also raise more difficult questions.”

  “Aren’t they difficult enough already?” questioned Bertie. “What other questions could there be?”

  “Does this wretched man who is to be murdered know it? I’m beginning to take a different view from Von Stalhein. He was sure that to necessitate the employment of Karkoff, the number one killer, the victim must be someone on a high level of importance, probably a diplomat. Of course, the word important is a matter of degree. I mean, a man can be important in one respect and not in another. The fact that the Security people haven’t been detailed to guard anyone suggests to me that the man we’re concerned with comes into a different category from the one we first assumed. He may not even be a politician. He may not be known to us. It’s my guess that he’s more important to someone behind the Iron Curtain than he is to us. Who the deuce can it be?” Biggles tapped a cigarette irritably on the back of his hand.

  “I don’t see how we can hope to get a line on him,” said Algy. “We know so little.”

  “One thing we do know is, Karkoff is here, and according to Von Stalhein he’s a cold-blooded professional murderer. I must accept that. Von Stalhein is an old hand at espionage, and he wouldn’t fool about with a disguise, and go to the trouble of sending me an anonymous letter, without a thundering good reason. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s scared. We know him too well for that. But he’s taking no chances. Neither would I were I in his position. As an escapee from a political prison he might be the man they’re after, but he doesn’t think so. He’s been in this country for so long that it will be assumed he has told us everything he knows, so the only motive for killing him would be revenge. Even if that were so it’s unlikely, he thinks, that Karkoff—who knows him by sight—w
ould be sent to do a job which a lesser thug might do. We’re certainly faced with a poser, and it isn’t easy to see what we can do about it. Every time there’s an air crash I shall wonder if we’ve missed the boat.”

  “We might shadow the Karkoff gang trusting that eventually they’ll lead us to the man due to be murdered,” offered Ginger.

  “We should then know the answer too late. All we should find at the end of the trail would be a corpse.”

  “It’s queer Von Stalhein can’t offer a suggestion,” said Algy. “He must keep in touch with events on the Continent.”

  “When I last saw him he had no more idea than we have.”

  Bertie stepped in. “I’m not much good at this sort of thing but it seems to me that this stinker Karkoff is as much at sea as we are.”

  “Except that he must know who he’s looking for, which is something we don’t know, and without a clue to work on are not likely to know. The Air Commodore can’t have struck the scent or he’d have got in touch. Well, we might as well go home. We can do our guessing as well there as here.”

  They locked up and took a taxi to the flat.

  As they walked through the hall Biggles automatically glanced at the post-box and seeing a letter in it took it out, although not until they were in their quarters did he look at it. “From Von Stalhein,” he said. “Anyway, it’s in the same handwriting as the anonymous note,” he went on, opening the envelope and removing the letter. “No address. No signature, so he’s still taking no chances. Listen to this.” He read:-

  “‘I have been going through back numbers of newspapers for anything I may have missed. Three weeks ago there was a minor purge in East Berlin. One of the men arrested was Oberst Hans Roth, Under-minister of Defence. Since the arrests a number of refugees have crossed from East Germany to the West. Roth may have escaped and been one of them. He would have so much information that it would be necessary to silence him. He would not dare to stay in Germany where he is known by sight to many people. He may have fled to England or be trying to reach this country. Burn this note.”

  Biggles crumpled the letter, put it in an ash-tray and set fire to it. “What are we to make of that?” he said quietly.

  “He obviously thinks this fellow Roth might be the man Karkoff is after,” answered Algy.

  “The question is, did he get away? We should be able to check on that. Our Intelligence people would know. If he did there might be something in what Von Stalhein says. The Air Commodore could find out.” Biggles looked at the clock. “He may still be in his office. I don’t like using the phone for this sort of thing so I’ll get a cab and dash back to the Yard. It won’t take long.”

  He went out.

  In less than an hour he was back, and the expression on his face as he walked in prepared the others for his news. “No use,” he said.

  “So he’s still in prison?” queried Ginger.

  “Worse. A fortnight ago he was tried for plotting against the State, sentenced to death and shot the next morning.”

  “Not so good,” murmured Algy. “I suppose there’s no way of proving that? I mean, reports from that part of the world are not always correct.”

  “I’d say this one is true otherwise there would have been no need for any report to be issued. Had Roth escaped, and I imagine only by a miracle could he have done that, the soft pedal would have come down on the story.”

  “So we’re back where we were.”

  “Looks like it. I’m afraid this is where we find ourselves bogged down. I’ve no personal interest in Roth, anyhow. What worries me is the possibility of perfectly innocent people being killed at the same time as the man who’s been put on the spot. These devils might sabotage an aircraft with a full load of passengers on board. It isn’t all that difficult to slip a parcel containing a time bomb in the luggage compartment. It isn’t possible to open every suitcase being loaded into every machine. The search would take longer than the flight. Von Stalhein assures me that this sort of devilment has actually been done, although the disaster was written off as an accident.”

  “We might tail Karkoff and Co. and get a lead that way,” suggested Bertie.

  “It isn’t practicable. To keep a twenty-four hour watch on three men who might not always be together would be too big a job for us to tackle, particularly as we haven’t been detailed for the assignment. The Chief hasn’t actually told me to lay off the case but I don’t think he’s too keen on us getting involved in a matter which isn’t really our cup of tea.”

  “In that case why not hand it over to the Security people, or the Counter-espionage Branch, and leave them to get on with it—if you see what I mean.”

  “Because that would mean telling them everything; how we got on to the business. That would mean bringing Von Stalhein into the picture and he particularly asked me to keep him out of it. Moreover, as I argued with the Chief, when a lot of people are let into a secret there’s always a risk of a leakage. Anyway, it’s all too vague. The Security people would want to know who they were to guard. We don’t know so we can’t tell them. As for Counter-espionage, we have no reason to suppose that the man booked to be murdered is an enemy agent coming here to do us a mischief. In fact, if, as it seems, he is to be silenced, his purpose might be to do us a good turn.”

  Said Ginger: “Von Stalhein obviously doesn’t know that this chap Roth has had his chips. Don’t you think you should tell him?”

  “Yes, I shall have to do that. It means going round to him. He isn’t on the phone and he wouldn’t thank me for putting anything in writing. His own position isn’t entirely safe. He should be at home at this hour. I’ll slip along to his quarters and join you at the French restaurant round the corner for a meal as soon as I’m through. See you presently.”

  Biggles picked up his hat, went out, found a taxi and in twenty minutes was paying the driver outside the building where, on the top floor, his one-time enemy lived in a modest flat. Going up he knocked on the door which was opened by the man he had come to see, one hand in the pocket of a dressing-gown.

  “It’s only me. You won’t need your gun,” greeted Biggles, smiling faintly.

  When they were inside Von Stalhein put the automatic in a drawer of a desk. “One never knows,” he remarked dryly.

  “Sorry to worry you at this hour but I’ve a spot of news I thought you might care to have,” went on Biggles. “I got your note, for which many thanks, and followed it up. Was the man you mentioned a friend of yours?”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as that, but when I lived in the same part of the world I knew him and his family fairly well. Why?”

  “Then you may be sorry to hear he’s dead. A fortnight ago he was tried for treason, sentenced to death and shot the next day.”

  Von Stalhein pulled a grimace. “I can’t say I’m surprised. They never really trusted him. So they were taking no chances of him coming over to this side. He knew too much. I wonder what happened to his family. They, too, must have known too much for the good of their health.”

  “What family had he?”

  “When I knew them, a wife, a son, and a daughter. Both children would now be in their late teens. I’m sorry for them. You know how it is. Unless they made a quick getaway and managed to cross the border into West Berlin it’s unlikely we shall ever hear of them again.”

  “What a country to live in,” breathed Biggles. “Suppose they managed to get across into West Berlin what would they do—not that I can see any way of helping them there.”

  “Naturally, they’d go into hiding. They have, or used to have, friends in West Berlin. They might stay with them, anyway for a time. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m still wondering if there could be any connexion between this Roth affair and Karkoff being here. I mean, could he be after Roth’s wife?”

  Von Stalhein thought for a moment. “I’d hardly think so. Why should she come here?”

  “She’d be safer here than in Germany. Surely she’d realize that even if she and he
r family got into West Berlin it wouldn’t take East German agents long to track her down. It doesn’t need me to tell you the country must be crawling with spies.”

  “Oh, yes, they’d get her if she stayed there,” agreed Von Stalhein. “No doubt she’d be more worried for her children, Moritz the boy, and Margareta the girl, than for herself.”

  “Would she know you’d been given political asylum in this country?”

  “Her husband would know. He may have told her. She knew me.”

  “Would they know your address in London?”

  “Most unlikely. I’ve done my utmost to keep it secret. That is why I receive no letters here and have no telephone.”

  “So even if they got to London there could be no chance of them calling on you for help?”

  “None.”

  “Would you help them?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Could you make a guess at anyone who would give them accommodation if they got through into West Berlin?”

  Again Von Stalhein searched his memory. “I remember one particular family with whom they were extremely friendly although that was some time ago. I dined at their house several times with the Roths. Their names were Max Lowenhardt and his wife. Their daughter Anna was engaged to marry Moritz Roth so that would be a close tie.”

  “Would you tell me where they lived or is that asking too much?”

  “For what purpose do you want their address?”

  “I must find out why Karkoff is here. There is just a possibility, as they must know too much, that it might be the Roth family, or one of them. The first thing to establish, therefore, is if they managed to escape to West Berlin. From what you tell me the Lowenhardts should know. If they don’t I shall question our Security officers on the spot. Believe me, I shall be very careful.”