`The same as you,' nodded Ginger. 'I've had all I want of the continent for a bit.'
`Take a message to the wireless operator.'
`Yes.'
`Tell him to call up Croydon control tower. He is to say that he has a message for X.I.I., Whitehall. The message is. "All's well. Meet us at Croydon about three." Sign it "
Bigglesworth". Got that?'
`Yes. Who is X.I.I.?'
`Colonel Raymond.'
Ì get it,' nodded Ginger, making his way aft.
Conclusion
That is really the end of the story of how Professor Beklinder was snatched from a position which might have had far-reaching effects at a critical time in British history. Indeed, it would be no exaggeration to say that had Biggles and his two comrades failed in their quest, the result might have been disastrous, not only for the Professor personally, but for the British Empire.
Naturally, no word of the affair ever reached the newspapers beyond a belated and curiously worded denial that the Professor had been killed in a motor accident. Only those actively concerned with the rescue knew the truth of the rumours which subsequently leaked out both on the continent and in London.
The shell-torn Lockheed reached Croydon a few minutes after three o'clock in the morning. The passengers found two cars awaiting them. Colonel Raymond was there with two bowler-hatted gentlemen whom Ginger did not know.
Colonel Raymond made only one remark to Biggles as he stepped out of the machine, before turning to Professor Beklinder, with whom, naturally, he was more concerned at the moment. Smiling, he shook his head. 'Good work, Bigglesworth,' he said. `How do you do it?'
Òh, just low cunning, with a bit of luck thrown in,' grinned Biggles wearily.
They all went in the two cars to a famous London hotel where Colonel Raymond had arranged for the Professor to stay pending a secret inquiry into the whole affair.
They all got out.
Ì expect you fellows want to get home,' said Colonel Raymond, looking at Biggles, Algy, and Ginger in turn.
`That sounds a good idea to me,' admitted Biggles. 'I shall be available if you want me. I'
ll send you a long report in due course.'
`Good,' nodded the Colonel 'James, my chauffeur, can drive you home. He knows where you live.'
`Thanks Good night, sir. Good night, Professor; we'll have lunch together one day in the near future and congratulate ourselves.' Turning, Biggles got into the car with the others.
He slammed the door. 'Home, James — and don't spare the horses,' he said, yawning.
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19 Biggles Secret Agent Page 17
