by W E Johns
‘That, I suppose, was Mario?’ interposed Bertie. ‘He put a knife into Zabani.’
‘That was nothing to do with me,’ asserted the princess. ‘It was a crime of the Camorra. Zabani betrayed me. The Camorra had helped me to escape from Italy because it hates the Mussolini regime – and the Camorra never forgives or forgets.’
‘Ginger got credit for killing Zabani, and it was in trying to get away that he was shot in the leg,’ explained Bertie. ‘But I’ll tell you about that when my turn comes. Go ahead, chief.’
‘Well, Mario turned up trumps,’ resumed Biggles. ‘As luck would have it, he happens to be in the local defence service as an ambulance driver. Having an empty garage, the ambulance is kept there. It was taking a chance, but he turned out and fetched me. I had no say in the matter, you understand, because all this time I was unconscious. Mario and the princess fixed it between them. They brought me here. They daren’t take me to the Chez Rossi in case someone spotted me being carried in – the place was fairly buzzing with police. Actually, Castillon was a good choice, because as the village has the reputation of being haunted, few people come near it. Mario knew of the place because once in a while he used to come over to gather the oranges and lemons that still grow in the gardens.’
‘Yes, I know,’ murmured Bertie dolefully. ‘I hit the poor blighter in the eye with a lemon. I hope he won’t hold it against me. Carry on, chief.’
‘Well, that’s really all there was to it. Princess Marietta stayed and nursed me while Mario kept us going with food. I recovered consciousness the day after they got me here, and I’ve been mending pretty fast ever since. We learned from Mario that someone was making inquiries, so I asked the princess to go down to Monaco again, to the Quai de Plaisance, and do a spot more writing on the wall, just in case Raymond had sent someone down to look for us. I gather that while she was writing she saw a bloke watching her, for which reason she left in such a hurry that she forgot the triangle.’
‘I don’t quite understand this,’ put in Algy. ‘Didn’t you do any writing?’
‘I’d better explain that,’ answered Biggles. ‘As it turned out, the blue pencil served its purpose, but at one time I was afraid it would do more harm than good. You see, most of the writing was done before the affair at Californie. When I arrived I went to the Villa Valdora, where I bumped into a man lurking in the bushes. That was Mario, who had somehow learned about the princess. We pretty soon saw eye to eye. He told me that Zabani was a Fascist; that the place was a trap, and that the princess had been taken to the police station at Monaco. Naturally, I couldn’t let that stop me from trying to get her away, but my first thought, in case I failed, was to let Raymond’s agents know, should they follow me, that the Villa Valdora was a place to avoid. I went to Mario’s house to make my plans. I asked him to slip over to Nice and leave a message on the wall of Jock’s Bar – which he did. While he was gone I wrote a message on the Pernod card in the restaurant, intending to go down to the Quai de Plaisance and leave a clue there. I wanted to put anyone who came – in case I failed – in touch with Mario, but I daren’t say that in so many words. As it happened, I couldn’t get to the Quai de Plaisance, and in point of fact nothing was written there until after the debacle of Californie. Later, when I woke up here in Castillon, I got the princess to slip down and write the message I had intended writing, to call attention to the Pernod card at Mario’s. This morning, after I had learned definitely that someone had been making inquiries, I got her to go down again and write a new message, something more explicit. In the early messages I was only concerned with letting Raymond know that the Villa Valdora was a trap, and that Mario was a friend who could be relied on. Of course, I didn’t know you’d be coming, but I thought Raymond might send someone. It wasn’t easy, with the police fairly on the hop, to write messages in such a way that they would look pointless to anyone but the people for whom they were intended.’
‘It was the word Mayday that set me thinking,’ asserted Bertie.
‘I used the word deliberately to show that there was a hook-up with aviation,’ rejoined Biggles. ‘Mario is a good lad, but if anything he tends to be over-suspicious. He was concerned only with the princess, and he was all against taking chances. As far as he was concerned, everyone was a spy. All the same, I must say you weren’t long picking up the trail. Frankly, I hadn’t much hope of getting away from here by air, so we were making other plans, using Mario’s ambulance – but never mind about that for the moment. What about you?’
Algy told his story first, describing his visit to Jock’s Bar. ‘Someone must have found the bloodstained rags, and told the police to put them on the scent,’ he declared. ‘Gordino was there, waiting for someone to turn up, and he nearly got me.’ He then narrated the story of his journey to Monaco, how he had seen the girl in blue on the Quai de Plaisance, and how he had made his way to Castillon. He concluded by informing Biggles of the stirring events in North Africa which had resulted in the enemy occupation of the whole of France. The Italians, he asserted, were as thick as ants along the Riviera.
‘Not Italians, please,’ corrected the princess. ‘You mean the dupes of Mussolini – that rat of the Romagna.’
‘That’s the way it is,’ said Biggles sadly. ‘The princess hates Mussolini even more than we do. And she’s not the only one to detest that puffed-up gangster. But what happened to you, Bertie?’
Bertie told his story and followed it up by telling Ginger’s, up to the point where they had parted in the house of Madame Ducoste at Monaco.
Biggles heard him out in silence. ‘We must get in touch with Ginger and Henri right away,’ he decided. ‘This attempted rescue sounds a formidable business to me. When we’ve done that we’ll see about getting home.’
‘What I’m anxious to know is, how are you feeling?’ asked Algy.
The princess answered. ‘He gets well quickly because of the good constitution, but he is not strong yet.’
‘I’m getting stronger every day,’ declared Biggles. ‘I got up for a couple of hours yesterday, and I’ve been walking up and down this cellar most of the morning. All I really need is a bath and a shave. The bath will have to wait, but Mario has promised to bring me a razor.’
‘Are you kidding about feeling all right?’ asked Algy suspiciously.
‘No, I’m all right now, as long as I don’t put any great strain on my side, which might open up the wound. The princess is a great nurse – and she can cook.’
‘By Jove! Really?’ murmured Bertie.
‘What was this plan for getting away, the one you spoke about just now?’ inquired Algy.
‘Briefly, it was this,’ answered Biggles. ‘We thought we’d have a shot at getting to the Spanish frontier. The idea was, Mario would bring the ambulance along here. He would drive it, wearing his uniform. The princess would get herself up as a nurse, and I, as the patient – an Italian officer wounded in the Western Desert. We couldn’t hope to get all the way to Spain in the ambulance, because of the petrol shortage, but we thought we might at least get clear of the Riviera, which is the real danger zone.’
Algy shook his head. ‘That might have been all right last week, but I don’t think it would work now; the Riviera is stiff with Italian troops, and the Nazis have taken over farther along the coast – Toulon and Marseilles. You would be stopped, and without papers what story could you tell? What reason could Mario give for being so far from Monaco?’
Biggles was silent for a little while. ‘Yes, I’m afraid this invasion has altered things,’ he agreed. ‘Still, it’s worth bearing in mind that Mario can get transport if it comes to the pinch. But it’s no use talking about that until we’ve got hold of Ginger and Henri. I’m worried about them. I’m afraid I can’t do much about it myself. Neither can the princess, and Mario will have to look after the food department. What time is it?’
Mario, from the cellar steps, answered, ‘It is seven o’clock, signor, and a fine night.’
‘I didn’t k
now he spoke English,’ said Algy in surprise.
‘He was in London for a while – had a little restaurant in Soho,’ explained Biggles.
‘Well, what are we going to do?’ inquired Bertie. ‘Shall we – that is, me and Algy – toddle along to Peille, to see what is happening there?’
‘What was your final arrangement with Ginger?’
‘He said he’d get hold of Henri and make for here.’
‘H’m. That makes it hard to know what to do for the best. He may already be on his way here. If you go, whichever way you take, you may miss him. At all costs we must try to keep together.’
‘It is possible, signor, to getta from here to Peille by the ancient mule tracks,’ alleged Mario. ‘All the old villages are so joined up.’
‘You know the path?’
‘Ah, no. I notta go that way.’
‘Then you couldn’t be sure of finding the path in the dark?’
‘No, signor. In daylight, perhaps.’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘I don’t see that we can do anything until morning,’ he decided. ‘If we start blundering about in the dark we may do more harm than good. We’ll wait and give Ginger a chance to get here, in case he’s on the way. If he isn’t here by dawn, then someone will have to take the mountain path to Peille, while another watches the Sospel road to see if he comes that way. After all, we’re not tied to time. You fellows must be tired after all your running about. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable – or as comfortable as you can – until morning. Then we’ll make a definite plan. Mario has brought plenty of food, so we shan’t starve.’
‘And is Mario to stay here also?’ asked the princess.
‘Yes. I think he’d better wait in case we need him,’ answered Biggles. ‘For the moment he had better remain on guard, in case anyone comes snooping round – not that I think it’s likely.’
And so it was arranged.
1 Frenchman fighting under General de Gaulle against the Germans.
CHAPTER 15
CONFERENCE AT CASTILLON
JUST AS DAWN was breaking Mario came into the wine cellar where Biggles, Algy and Bertie were sleeping, and having apologised for awakening them, announced that someone, he knew not who, was approaching from the south-west. This, he asserted, was beyond dispute, because on three occasions he had distinctly heard a stone rattle, and each time the sound was nearer. The intervals between the sounds had been long, from which it might be inferred that the approach was slow. He had come to warn them to be ready for action, and to ask for instructions.
Biggles turned to Algy and Bertie. ‘You’d better take care of this,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t show yourselves. Try an ambush. Probably the best plan would be to take cover in a house on the line of approach, so that before you move you can see who you have to deal with. Speaking personally, if it is the police, I am not going to be taken prisoner – I’d sooner fight it out here than face a firing squad. Have you got guns?’
‘We have,’ answered Algy grimly. ‘Come on, Bertie.’
Under the guidance of Mario they made their way to the outskirts of the village and entered an empty house, a window of which commanded a view over the direction from which danger threatened. Dawn was now advancing with a rush, the rising sun turning the surrounding peaks to gold, and drowning the morning star in a sea of turquoise, pink and mauve.
For a few minutes nothing could be seen, and then, from a fold in the ground, appeared a brown object, which presently resolved itself into the head of a donkey, walking very slowly. As the animal came into full view two figures could be seen, one, in pale blue overalls, slumped on its back, the other leaning wearily against it.
‘Good heavens!’ muttered Algy. ‘It’s Ginger. By thunder! He’s got Henri.’
‘Yes, by jingo, you’re right – absolutely right,’ said Bertie in a startled voice.
With one accord they dashed to the door and raced towards the little party as fast as the state of the ground would permit.
Ginger heard them, and looked up to see them coming. He waved a greeting. ‘Hello, chaps, glad to see you,’ he said, smiling. ‘Look after Henri – he’s in a bad way.’
‘You look all in, yourself,’ observed Algy, giving him an arm.
‘I’m all right – just tired,’ murmured Ginger. ‘Henri is hurt, though.’ Suddenly noticing Mario advancing he groped for his gun. ‘Strewth, what’s that fellow doing here?’
‘He’s all right – he’s one of us,’ answered Algy.
‘But that’s the bloke who knifed Zabani.’
‘So what? Zabani only got what was coming to him. Believe it or not, Mario is on our side.’
Ginger shook his head. ‘I’ll take your word for it. After the last twenty-four hours I’ll believe anything.’
Algy spoke to Mario. ‘Run back and let them know it’s Ginger and Henri arrived,’ he ordered, and then devoted his attention to getting the casualties into the village.
Ginger was able to walk, but Henri was too far gone. He was conscious, but only just. Even the donkey seemed exhausted.
‘We’ve had a longish hike,’ explained Ginger. ‘These rocks are the very deuce. They’ve worn the soles clean off my feet.’ He said nothing about his wounded leg.
‘Never mind, old boy,’ put in Bertie. ‘We’ve got a tonic waiting for you – yes, by jingo, not half.’
‘What is it?’
‘Biggles.’
Ginger stopped, his eyes saucering. ‘What? You mean that?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then he’s okay after all.’
‘He looks as though he could do with a top overhaul, otherwise he’s all right,’ asserted Algy. ‘The princess is here, too.’
‘Well, knock me down with a blanket! That’s the tops!’ cried Ginger delightedly, quickening his pace.
‘Wait till you see the princess – she’s a wizard.’
‘I’m not interested in princesses,’ declared Ginger casually.
‘She saved Biggles.’
‘He saved her first, so what about it?’ inquired Ginger. ‘There’s only one girl I want to see . . .’
‘Oh, good lor’! Haven’t you forgotten her yet?’ lamented Bertie.
Ginger glared. ‘What do you mean – forgotten her?’ he demanded harshly.
‘What is this?’ interposed Algy.
‘Henri’s sister, Jeanette, has shot poor old Ginger to bits,’ explained Bertie sadly.
Ginger tapped Bertie on the chest with an irate, and very dirty, finger. ‘Listen, my noble comrade . . .’
Algy stopped the argument. He could see trouble brewing. ‘All right, no more talking,’ he broke in tersely. ‘Wait till we get inside.’
This did not take long. Mario took Lucille to a stable, promising to feed and water her. Ginger walked and Henri was carried, into the cellar.
Biggles was up, and smiling. He greeted Ginger warmly, but was too concerned about Henri to go into immediate explanations. He asked the princess to examine the sick man, which she did with semi-professional ability, removing the bandages from his head to look at the wound. When she had finished, and had rebandaged Henri’s head, she took Biggles on one side.
‘He is bad,’ she said. ‘The wound is clean, and seems to be healing, but it will take time. Also, he suffers from shock. This journey has made great demands on his strength. Only his will kept him going for so long. What he needs is rest, and, of course, most of all, a doctor.’
‘A doctor!’ cried Biggles in dismay. ‘There’s no hope of that here – unless we hand him back to the police, and that, in the long run, would do him more harm than good. We shall have to do what we can for him here – at any rate, until we see how he shapes. With one thing and another we’re a pretty groggy lot. How about you, Ginger?’
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ replied Ginger lightly. ‘That hike across the mountains, coming on top of everything else, sort of emptied my reserve tanks, but they’re filling up again now. You don’t look as smart
yourself as I have seen you look.’
‘I’m on my feet, at all events,’ answered Biggles, smiling. ‘Let me introduce you to the Princess Marietta de Palma.’
The princess gave Ginger her hand, with a smile. ‘Your commandant has often spoken of you during the long while we have been here. I am happy to meet his friends. Forgive me now, I must get back to my patient.’
While the princess was making Henri as comfortable as possible on the bed recently vacated by Biggles, Ginger told his story. ‘We were doing fine till we were nearly here, then poor old Henri began to fold up,’ he concluded. ‘All I need is a rest, but I’m afraid Henri needs more than that. He pretended he was all right, and I didn’t realise how sick he was until he collapsed. That mule track was no macadam highway.’
Mario appeared. ‘I makka da soup, and da spaghetti alla Napoletana,’ he announced.
The princess got up from the bedside. ‘With food and rest he will improve, but he really should have a doctor. I will help Mario with the soup.’ She went up the steps to the kitchen.
‘This is some princess,’ remarked Ginger as she disappeared. ‘She can nurse, and apparently she can cook.’
‘Princess Marietta is the real thing,’ declared Biggles. ‘She’s been wonderful.’
‘Here, I say, this is getting a bit thick,’ muttered Bertie, polishing his eyeglass furiously. ‘First Jeanette, now a bally princess. I don’t hold with all these women in the party.’
‘There are only two, so far,’ returned Biggles blandly.
Bertie shook his head sadly. ‘Women and planes don’t mix. I once had a pal, a jolly good pilot, too, who walked straight into a spinning airscrew. He was looking at a gal who had just stepped on the tarmac. That’s the sort of thing that happens – if you see what I mean?’
‘Oh, go and play yourself a tune,’ murmured Ginger.
‘What would be more to the point,’ suggested Biggles, ‘let’s get together and talk things over. But I’ll tell you this,’ he added. ‘Since meeting Princess Marietta my opinion of princesses has touched a new altitude record.’
