by W E Johns
Chapter 8
First Blood
AFTER A QUICK dinner they set off at a brisk walk towards the aerodrome, which, owing to the flat nature of the country, was less than a mile from the outskirts of the town. On account of the lateness of the hour – it was nearly nine o’clock – Biggles had decided to speak to Smyth first.
‘We ought to have asked Josef to call us at five,’ declared Biggles as they walked. ‘But I had no idea I should sleep so long. Smyth will be wondering what on earth we’ve been doing.’
‘Will he have shifted the stuff across to the wood yet, do you think?’ asked Algy.
‘I doubt it, although it would depend on how many men Ludwig sent. If they got a way cleared through the trees it wouldn’t take them long to put up a rough lean-to, which will serve while something more substantial is being built. Smyth is no fool; he saw the folly of leaving the machines and all our stores in that eyesore of a hangar. Still, we’d better go to the hangar first, in case he’s there.’
‘I think we could take a short cut across here,’ suggested Ginger, pointing to a gap in the hedge, for the road they were on ran along the boundary of the aerodrome.
‘Yes, you’re quite right, it will cut off a big corner,’ agreed Biggles, as he pushed his way through the gap and set off towards the hangar, the outline of which could now be seen against the starlit sky.
Nothing more was said, and it was no doubt due to their silence that an incident occurred which was to have a far-reaching effect on their plans. They had nearly reached the hangar, which they now saw was in darkness, when a figure, little more than a fleeting shadow, crossed the short stretch of turf that separated the hangar from the road. There was something so furtive about it that Biggles stopped at once, catching the others by the arms. Not a word was spoken. Then, as there came a soft rasping sound from out of the darkness, Biggles began to move forward, slowly, taking care not to brush his feet against the grass. Again he stopped, not more than ten yards away, his eyes trying to pierce the gloom, from which came a gurgling sound, as of liquid being poured. The sound stopped abruptly and, moving slowly forward, the airmen could just see a figure bending down near the wall of the hangar. Suddenly it began to back away, and a match flared up, revealing the man’s silhouette. The light shone on the white fabric, and on something else, something that lay where it had been dropped near the canvas wall. Unmistakably it was a petrol can.
Biggles, understanding, sprang forward; but he was too late. The man flicked the match, and a sheet of flame leapt across the grass to the hangar.
At the sound of someone approaching, the man whirled round and saw the three airmen bearing down on him. His hand flew to his pocket and jerked up. ‘Look out!’ yelled Biggles, and flung himself aside just in time. A revolver roared. Three shots the man fired before he turned and fled towards the road. Whether it was due to his haste or the uncertain light is immaterial, but his aim was wild and the shots went wide. At the first, Biggles had whipped out his automatic, but he wavered in a turmoil of indecision, torn between anxiety for the machines which might be in the hangar, and disinclination to allow the fire-raiser to escape. But when, as the flames swiftly consumed the fabric, he could see that the hanger was empty, he hesitated no longer, but raced after the man who had done the damage. He had by this time reached the road, where the flames reflected redly on the windscreen of a car.
The fugitive probably realized that he could not hope to open the door of the car, get inside, start the engine, and get clear before Biggles and his friends arrived. Anyway, with his foot on the running-board, he turned, and again threw up his revolver. Biggles was half-way through the hedge, in no position either to take cover or use his own weapon, but Algy saw his predicament and fired. The man twitched convulsively and collapsed in a crumpled heap beside the car.
‘Now you’ve done it,’ gasped Biggles, for they were all panting with exertion and excitement. ‘You’ve killed him! You got him through the head. You—’ The words died away on his lips as he stared aghast at the face of the fallen man. ‘It’s – it’s –’ He seemed to find it difficult to speak.
‘It’s the general’s staff-officer, the man he called Menkhoff,’ muttered Algy, moistening his lips.
Biggles pulled himself together. ‘Quick!’ he snapped. ‘Into the car with him.’
Ginger flung open the rear door of the car and the dead man was bundled inside. Biggles tossed his revolver in after him. ‘Get in – get in,’ he told Algy frantically. ‘Get the car out of the way. There’ll be a crowd here presently.’
‘But where shall I take it?’
‘Anywhere you like, but get it out of the way. Drive down the road until you come to a quiet spot, then leave it. Get back here as fast as you can, but keep inside the hedge so that you are not seen.’
Algy fell into the driving seat and grabbed the wheel with trembling hands. The car shot forward with a crash of gears and raced down the road.
Biggles looked at Ginger and shook his head. ‘We’re in a nice mess now,’ he muttered. ‘If Bethstein discovers that it was us who killed Menkhoff he’ll have us shot.’
‘Will he suspect us?’
‘Possibly, but suspicion isn’t proof. We shall have to swear that we know absolutely nothing about it. I hate all this lying, but when one is dealing with liars, one can’t afford to tell the truth: it seems, not in war-time, anyway. Thank God, here comes Smyth.’ They scrambled back through the hedge to meet Smyth and Carter who now came running up. ‘Quick, Smyth,’ cried Biggles anxiously. ‘Tell me, did you get everything out of the hangar?’
‘Everything, sir. It’s under tarpaulins, amongst the trees.’
Biggles wiped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘Thank heaven for that.’
‘How did this happen, sir?’ asked Smyth.
‘This is how we found the hangar when we got to it,’ replied Biggles, truthfully enough. ‘We were on our way to see you. Listen, Smyth, there’s going to be a first-class row about this, and we’ve got to clear ourselves from suspicion.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘All right; then to prevent any argument I want you to say, if necessary, that we’ve been over by the machines with you for the last half-hour. We were all there together when we saw the hangar on fire and ran across to it. Is that clear?’
‘As clear as a bell, sir.’
‘You understand that, Carter?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘Good! Then don’t depart from that story as you value your lives. Are the machines all right?’
‘Right as rain. There was a hole or two in the fabric but we’ve patched them.’
‘Have you filled the tanks? We want to get off before dawn.’
‘Everything’s ready, sir.’
‘Good work, Smyth. I don’t know what I should do without you. Have you both got revolvers?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then get back to the machines and stand by. Don’t allow any one to come near them under any consideration whatever. I’ll tell you why as soon as I get a chance. All I can tell you now is that this place is rotten with spies and that they’re likely to damage the machines. Look at this hangar if you have any doubt about that. It was the machines they were after. My word! they didn’t waste any time. On second thoughts, I think you’d better wait here for a bit, Smyth. Carter, you get back now. Hello, who’s this? Whoever it is, there won’t be much to see but ashes.’
A car came racing down the road. It pulled up with a screech of brakes. A door slammed and presently a figure came running towards them. In the glow of the fast diminishing fire it was possible to make out the slim figure of Ludwig Stanhauser.
‘What’s happened?’ he cried in a voice of anguish.
‘The hangar caught fire,’ Biggles told him simply.
‘And the machines–?’
‘Oh, they’re safe enough.’
‘Do you mean they weren’t inside?’
‘They were moved this afternoon.
I didn’t like this hangar: it was too conspicuous.’
‘So you burnt it?’
‘Good gracious, no! We were down here to make sure that our machines were in readiness for the morning when we saw the flames.’
‘It’s a relief to know they’re all right,’ answered Ludwig thankfully. ‘I was at the palace talking to her Highness when we saw the glare from the window. I rushed down at once to see what had happened.’
‘Then you can rush back and tell her Highness that all is well. Actually, the hangar is better out of the way. Anyhow, no harm has been done, that’s the chief thing.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going home to bed shortly, but I want a few words with you – urgently. Not here, though.’
‘About something you’ve heard recently?’ asked Ludwig in a low voice, at the same time throwing Biggles a knowing glance. ‘Don’t worry; I have heard about your visitor.’
‘So she told you, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good! We begin to understand each other, I think. We’ve got to work together, Ludwig. Can you come to my room tonight?’
‘At what time?’
‘Eleven o’clock.’
‘I will be there.’
‘Don’t be seen. We must work in the dark – you understand?’
‘I understand.’ Ludwig looked around. ‘By the way, where is Lacey?’
‘He’s some things to attend to. We didn’t like to leave them without a guard,’ answered Biggles vaguely, turning to Smyth. ‘You get back now and relieve Mr Lacey,’ he said.
‘Very good, sir.’ The NCO1 saluted and marched away.
A small crowd had collected on the road, but it did not remain long. There were a few groans when it was seen what had happened, but the fire being nearly out, the people began to disperse. Algy appeared, rather breathless, as Ludwig moved towards his car. ‘Eleven o’clock,’ he whispered.
Biggles nodded.
‘Can I give you a lift to the city?’
‘No, thanks. I don’t think it would be wise to be seen with you too much.’
‘You may be right. I will see you later.’
Biggles turned to Algy as soon as Ludwig was out of earshot. ‘Where did you put the car?’ he asked quietly.
‘About a mile down the road, as you suggested. I came to an overgrown drive, and shoved it in there.’
‘Fine. You didn’t leave any personal property in the car, I hope.’
‘No fear. And I wiped the wheel with my handkerchief to remove any fingerprints.’
‘Wise man,’ declared Biggles.
‘What’s the next move?’
‘I don’t think there is any point in staying here any longer. The fire is out; Smyth and Carter are on guard. I think we might as well go home.’
As the three airmen reached the road, which by this time was nearly deserted, a big car came racing along heading for the city. They stood back to let it pass, and as it flashed by Biggles clutched Algy’s arm.
‘You saw who that was?’
‘Bethstein,’ answered Algy. ‘By thunder, didn’t he look savage!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Biggles, ‘he certainly did. That’s nothing to how he’ll look when he learns what has happened to his friend.’
A quarter of an hour’s sharp walk brought them to the hotel. Josef met them in the vestibule. He was very excited. ‘There vos peen murder!’ he said in a hoarse voice.
‘Oh, and who has been killed?’ asked Biggles calmly.
‘Der Colonel Menkhoff.’
‘Really! Where did it happen?’
‘Right by der general’s ’ouse.’
Biggles was about to pass on, but he pulled up short. ‘Where did you say?’
‘In der drive of der General Bethstein’s garten. Colonel Menkhoff – shot froo der brains.’
‘And where is General Bethstein’s house?’
‘Down der road, just past der new aerodrome.’
Biggles shook his head sadly. ‘Poor fellow,’ he said solemnly.
But once they were behind the closed door of his room he sank down in a chair and eyed Algy meditatively. ‘With the whole of Maltovia at your disposal, you would go and chose Bethstein’s own drive to park that confounded car in, wouldn’t you?’ he sneered sarcastically.
‘How the dickens was I to know it was his?’ cried Algy helplessly.
‘No, I suppose you weren’t to know,’ agreed Biggles. Then a smile broke over his face. ‘Maybe it’s all for the best,’ he said optimistically. ‘It will certainly give the general something to think about. Ring the bell for Josef. I could do with a drop of something hot. For our first day here we seem to have been what you might call busy.’
1 Non-commissioned officer i.e. a Corporal or a Sergeant.
Chapter 9
Biggles Makes Some Suggestions
PUNCTUALLY AT ELEVEN o’clock Ludwig arrived. He came unannounced. A gentle tap on the door; it opened and he walked in, in mufti, with his hat pulled well down over his eyes, and the fur collar of his heavy coat turned up so that he was almost unrecognizable.
‘Come in, Ludwig,’ said Biggles quietly. ‘Algy, lock the door.’
Ludwig advanced into the room.
‘The weather is turning colder, I see,’ continued Biggles, smiling, as he helped Ludwig off with his coat.
‘The weather may be getting colder but some things are getting hotter, I can tell you,’ declared Ludwig.
Biggles laughed. He perceived that the lad had a sense of humour.
‘Have you heard about the death of Colonel Menkhoff?’ asked Ludwig breathlessly.
‘Yes, we’ve heard about it.’
‘A nice time for a thing like that to happen; it has started a rare old crop of rumours. Bethstein is raving like a madman.’
‘That needn’t worry us, need it?’ inquired Biggles gently.
Ludwig threw him a curious glance as he sat down. ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘Bethstein is a dangerous man.’
‘So are we all – all dangerous men, if it comes to that.’
‘You may be right, but I am afraid of Bethstein.’
‘Come, come, Ludwig, that’s a sad confession. It won’t do to be afraid of him – or any one else – at this juncture.’
‘You don’t know Bethstein as well as I do,’ returned Ludwig a trifle bitterly.
Biggles’s easy manner underwent a swift change. His body stiffened and his expression became grim. ‘Listen, Ludwig,’ he said tersely; ‘this funk1 complex of yours where Bethstein is concerned has got to be kept under control. You say things are serious. Do not suppose for one moment that I am unaware of it. Very well. My answer to that is that this dilly-dallying has got to stop; if we are going to be of any use here we’ve all got to act, and act firmly, ruthlessly if necessary, regardless of whose toes we tread on. Aviation in the real sense of the word is only a side issue. I did not come here prepared to mess about with your internal organization or politics, but while things go on as they are now, with enemies working against us here in Janovica, anything we do in the air is likely to be so much wasted effort. Well, I’ve no time to waste; life is too short.’
‘By heavens! don’t think that I do not realize that,’ answered Ludwig distractedly. ‘What do you suggest? Is there anything we can do?’
‘There are a lot of things we’ve got to do, or we might as well pack up right now.’
‘Tell me one.’
‘We’ve got to have a good spring-clean at home before we start looking elsewhere.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘What I say. We’ve got to put things on the ground into such shape that our actions in clearing the air overhead are likely to be seen in true perspective, not only by the people of this country but by other nations who will be watching, and that cannot be done by half-hearted measures.’
‘Too well I know it. The question is, what to do first?’
‘We’ve got to get Bethstein
out of the way, for a start.’
Ludwig stared. ‘Are you mad?’ he gasped.
‘Mad or not, we’ve got to do it. The man is a bigger danger than the Lovitznian army. Tell me, has he a big following behind him?’
‘He has a number of officers with him, but the men dislike him.’
‘Good! Who are these officers who are with him?’
‘Most of them are foreigners brought into the country by him to help to reorganize the army on modern lines – at least, that was the excuse he gave for bringing them in.’
‘Mercenaries, eh? Well, you’ll see how they’ll behave when we show them which side their bread is buttered. Who is the big noise behind Bethstein?’
‘Klein.’
‘Klein – who’s he?’
‘He’s a banker; to be precise, the president of the Maltovian National Bank.’
‘Is he a Maltovian?’
‘No.’
‘What nationality is he?’
‘I don’t know; I don’t think anybody knows. He calls himself a cosmopolitan; actually he is, I imagine, an international financier.’
Biggles pursed his lips. ‘How the dickens did such a state of affairs come about?’
‘We got into monetary difficulties some time ago and Klein came forward and helped us out.’
‘With an eye on the future, no doubt.’
‘We know that now; we guessed it as soon as we saw that he had control of our finances. But we didn’t know it then. We were glad of any assistance.’
‘Whom do you mean by “we”?’
‘The princess, my uncle, myself, and one or two others who think on the same lines as we do.’
‘What might be called the all-Maitovian party?’
‘That’s what it amounts to.’
‘Well, you seem to have got yourselves into a nice mess one way or another. Why in the name of heaven did your uncle who, as far as I can see, should be the princess’s right-hand man, go to London?’
‘The princess sent him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because two attempts were made on his life here, and she feared for him.’
Biggles grimaced. ‘That’s pretty grim,’ he confessed. ‘Your enemies are not worried by scruples, evidently. Neither, then, need we be. I have a short way of dealing with assassins. To come back to this fellow Klein. Who are the fellows who work in the bank?’
