Biggles and the Black Peril

by W E Johns

  'Well, I was in the War,' confessed Biggles.

  'Well strike me pink,' gasped Ginger. 'Biggles in the flesh! This is my lucky day and no mistake; I know all about you so you needn't tell me any more.'

  'Oh, and how do you know that?'

  'Read about you, of course. You've got a pal named Algy something or other, haven't you? Where's he?'

  'I left him with my aeroplane, and I'm afraid he must be getting pretty worried by this time – but never mind that now. This is serious, Ginger, under-stand that. I meant it when I told you that a gang of crooks are after me. They caught me, but I got away, but this sprained ankle is going to make things awkward. I expect they are still looking for me. You can help me, but you'll have to use your head.'

  'OK, chief, just tell me what you want me to do.'

  'Is there a town or village anywhere handy?'

  'There's a fair sized village about six miles away; I came through it on my way. I don't know the name of it but I'll soon find out.'

  'That doesn't matter; what I want you to do is this.' Biggles took out his notebook, removed several water soaked one pound notes, and held them by the fire to dry. 'Take this money,' he went on, 'and find a garage. Get the driver to drive you here as fast as he can to pick me up; you'll probably have to pay him in advance.'

  Ginger nodded. 'I get you,' he said.

  'Right! Then that's that. I'll get the driver to take me back to the village and then all I shall have to do is to send a telegram to Algy Lacey at Brooklands Aerodrome. He'll fly up and fetch me.'

  'D'you want me to start right away?'

  'I'd like you to. You'll find everything shut, of course, at this time of night, but knock up the first garage you come to. If the fellow argues, tell him that there has been an accident and that I'll pay him well for his trouble. Let him see you have money with you. If you can manage to do that, maybe I can give you a lift to London in my machine.'

  Ginger's eyes sparkled and he drew a deep breath. 'I'll be back,' he said emphatically, picking up his cap. He thrust the notes deep into his pocket and crossed to the door. 'I'll be seeing you,' he said, and stepped out into the night. For a moment he paused to listen, but hearing nothing set off at a brisk pace along the track. He had gone about half a mile when the beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness from a spot not six yards away; two figures loomed menacingly.

  'Why it's a kid,' said one in tones of disgust.

  'Say, what's the big idea?' demanded Ginger belligerently; 'you can't go about making people jump that way.' He could just make out the silhouette of a car standing close against the hedge.

  'Where have you come from?' asked one of the men gruffly.

  Ginger jerked his thumb down the lane. 'There's only one road as far as I can see.'

  'You keep a civil tongue in your head, you saucy young pup. Did you see anyone along there?'

  'No, worse luck. I was hoping to get a lift. Which way are you going?'

  'Mind your own business. We're looking for a fellow; if you happen to see anyone along the road let out a yell, and I'll give you half a crown*.'

  In today's currency, 12.5 pence.

  'OK,' replied Ginger briskly, 'if I see him I'll let you know. So long.'

  As soon as he was out of earshot he paused to listen. Despite his casual answers, his heart was beating violently, for he had no doubt as to the reason for the men's presence. They were watching for Biggles; should he return and warn him? No, he decided; he might defeat his own object by leading them to his hiding place. He thought swiftly, then hurried on his way. A quarter of a mile farther on he stopped, and cupping his hands round his mouth, let out a piercing yell. He grinned as he heard the engine of the car start up, and climbed up the bank to the edge of the moor. 'This way!' he yelled. 'Here he is,' and crouching low ran out into the darkness. He waited until he heard the car stop, and heavy footsteps thumping in his tracks, and then he gave tongue again. 'Make haste, he's running!' he shouted, and then, silently, and with the stealth of an Indian, began to circle back towards the car. When he reached it he could hear the men muttering in low tones some little distance away, evidently at a loss. He groped in his trousers pocket, produced a jack knife, which he opened, and then felt along the car until his hand reached a tyre. He placed the point of the knife on it and drove it in with all his strength. The tyre was harder than he expected it to be, but the point went home, although to his surprise it made no noise. He could hear the men returning so he jerked out the knife, and the fierce hiss of escaping air that accompanied the movement threw him into a panic, for he knew that the men could not have failed to hear it. He heard one of them curse as they started to run back.

  Ginger did not wait. With the knife still clasped in his hand he sped down the road like a hare with hounds on its trail, nor did he pause until he was absolutely winded. Then he replaced the knife in his pocket and set off at a steadier pace towards the now visible lights of the sleeping village. A policeman looked at him suspiciously as he struck the first row of houses, and he hesitated, turning over in his mind the advisability of asking the constable to come back with him in the car in case of trouble; but Biggles, he reflected, had said nothing about bringing a police-man, so he dismissed the idea and passed on. He came upon a garage almost at once, easily recognized by an illuminated petrol pump. The place was closed and in darkness, so without the slightest hesitation he beat upon the door with his fist.

  A bedroom window was flung open and a man's head appeared. 'What is it?' he asked.

  'Have you got a car on hire?' said Ginger.

  'Not at this time of night,' was the short reply.

  'Never mind the time of night, have you got a car?'

  'I have; who wants it?'

  'I do.'

  'Want me to drive you back to your mansion, eh?'

  'My money is as good as anybody else's, isn't it?'

  'How much have you got?'

  'What's that got to do with you. How much do you charge to drive six miles?'

  'Cost you two pounds at this time of night.'

  'That's OK. Make it snappy and I'll give you an extra ten bob.'

  'What's going on?' asked the man suspiciously, when, a quarter of an hour later, he appeared at the door.

  'A gentleman's had an accident down the road and wants you to fetch him.'

  'Why didn't you say so before; where's that money?'

  'Here you are.'

  The man took the two pounds that Ginger gave him, and then dragged back the door of the garage to reappear a moment later with an ancient Ford. 'Get in,' he said. 'Which way?'

  'Straight ahead,' replied Ginger. 'Keep going and I'll guide you.'

  In twenty minutes they had reached the entrance of the sunken road. 'Go slow now,' Ginger warned the driver, 'but if anyone shoots at us, step on it.'

  'Eh! What's that? Did you say shoot?'

  'Aye. I thought I'd better warn you. If anyone tries to stop us go right ahead.'

  'Where do you think we are, in Mexico?' scoffed the driver.

  But Ginger wasn't listening; he was looking for the damaged car, but it had gone. 'Whoa!' he cried, when they reached the disused level crossing; 'here we are.' He sprang down as the car pulled up and darted towards the hut. 'Hi! Biggles! we're here!' he cried triumphantly.

  There was no reply.

  With a curious prickling sensation of the skin he entered the hut and struck a match. It was empty. For a moment he could not believe it. Biggles,' he whispered foolishly, 'where are you?' He ran outside, Biggles!' he cried loudly, 'Hi, it's me, Ginger.'

  Silence.

  He stared at the driver of the car white-faced.

  'They've got him,' he muttered hoarsely. Then, lifting up his voice, Biggles!' he yelled again.

  For a minute or two he stood staring into the surrounding darkness. 'Now what are we going to do?' he asked the driver helplessly.

  'I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm going home. If I thought you'd brought me out her
e on a fool's errand—'

  'You've been paid, haven't you?' snapped Ginger, 'so what have you got to grouse about. Hold hard a minute, I'm coming with you; it's not much use staying here.'

  He left the garage man at his house, giving him the extra ten shillings as he had promised, and made his way, miserable, but deep in thought, further into the village. Again he was tempted to consult a policeman, but could not bring himself to do so. He doubted very much if the police would believe him, anyway, and he could hardly blame them if they did refuse to accept such an improbable story as the one he had to tell. He wandered about until dawn, and then made his way towards the post office.

  Chapter 3

  A Reconnaissance Flight

  Algy landed at Brooklands late in the morning with his mind in a greater turmoil than he could ever remember; he was upset and alarmed, yet he could not bring himself to believe that any tragic fate had overtaken Biggles Nevertheless, for the first time in his life, he was absolutely at a loss to know what to do for the best, although obviously his first duty would have to be to report the matter to the police.

  He left the Vandal on the tarmac for the mechanics to put away, and walked absent-mindedly towards the clubhouse.

  'There's a telegram for you, Lacey,' called Benton, a club instructor; who came out of the office as he passed.

  'Telegram for me?' cried Algy in amazement. 'Who on earth—' He took the buff envelope down from the rack and tore it open impatiently. It was addressed, simply, Algy Lacey, Brooklands Aerodrome.

  'Come at once, bring machine, Biggles captured. Waiting for you at Cramlington Aerodrome.

  Ginger.'

  Algy read and re-read the wire half a dozen times, trying to grasp its significance; one word only meant anything to him, and that was Biggles. Who Ginger was he had not the remotest idea, or why he was waiting at Cramlington Aerodrome, which is near Newcastle-on-Tyne, yet the word Biggles was enough, and he tore back to the Vandal, startling the mechanics with his impatient demands for the machine to be refuelled. He left a message for Smyth, their mechanic, to stand by in case he was wanted, and within ten minutes was off, and with a slight following wind, touched his wheels on Cramlington Aerodrome in just under two and a half hours. He taxied in and stared about him curiously.

  A few yards away a tired-looking boy with sandy hair and a freckled face was coming towards him, regarding him with frank interest, but Algy took no notice; he was accustomed to the curious stares of small boys.

  'Are you Algy?' asked a voice apologetically.

  Algy stared, and looked at the boy in amazement: 'Some people call me that – why?' he asked.

  'I'm Ginger.'

  Algy blinked and stared incredulously. 'You mean – you sent me the telegram?'

  'Yes, sir, I couldn't think of anything else to do. I'm afraid the gang's got Biggles – I mean Major Bigglesworth.'

  'Gang – got him – what gang? What do you know about this. You'd better come over here and tell me all about it.'

  Briefly, keeping to the point, yet omitting nothing, Ginger described Biggles' arrival at his bivouac, soaked to the skin, and the subsequent events up to the moment when he had returned with the car only to find that Biggles had disappeared. 'And then,' he concluded, 'I went to the post office and sent that telegram. I wasn't sure where to tell you to come, but I knew I wasn't far away from Newcastle and I knew Cramlington was the nearest aerodrome to Newcastle. I had some of Big – er – Major Bigglesworth's money left, so I was able to get here. I've got the rest of the money here – you'd better take it.'

  'Never mind about that now,' replied Algy shortly, and for a long time sat staring at the ground, deep in thought. 'Do you think you could recognize that place – the hut I mean – if you saw it, from the air?' he asked Ginger at last.

  'Well, I've never been up so I don't know, but I'll have a shot at it,' answered Ginger frankly.

  'Come on then, let's have a shot at it,' returned Algy. He was now able to form a vague idea of what had happened after Biggles had left him to inspect the mysterious flying boat. As he worked it out, Biggles must have been caught by the crew and taken aboard; it landed again farther on and in some way he had effected his escape. Then he had met Ginger, but had been recaptured while the boy was fetching the car. If that was so, then there was a good reason to suppose that he had been once more taken on board and flown away. In that case, the task of finding him within a radius of nearly two thousand miles, which was probably the machine's endurance range, was hopeless. On the other hand, the presence of the two men with the car, who had intercepted Ginger, suggested that the crew of the flying boat had confederates ashore, as they had in Norfolk. In that case it was not unreasonable to suppose that the flying boat had departed before Biggles had been retaken. He was sure it would try to reach its base, wherever that might be, before dawn. If the flying boat had left, then Biggles' captors would take him to their own headquarters, which would certainly be within striking distance of the place where the boat had landed. Moreover, the fact that such a short time had elapsed between Ginger's departure for the car, and his return, added weight to the supposition that the head-quarters, or place from which the people on shore operated, was not far distant from the sea. The first thing to do then, he decided, was to survey the area from the air, and draw such conclusions as were possible.

  Ginger literally trembled with excitement when Algy made him sit next to him in the seat which he himself usually occupied when Biggles was flying the machine, but nevertheless, Algy was more than a little shaken by the boy's familiarity with the aeroplane and its component parts. 'How do you know all this?' he asked, as he wound the self-starter.

  'Read about it,' Ginger told him. 'I read everything about flying that I can lay my hands on.'

  'Well, I must say you haven't wasted your time,' admitted Algy. 'Now listen. I'm going to fly over the district where you were last night; as soon as you spot that railway hut, touch me on the arm and point to it. Got that?'

  'OK,' replied Ginger, gazing around with intense satisfaction as the Vandal soared into the air.

  Algy headed east and soon struck the coast. For the most part it was rugged, with no possible landing place for a marine aircraft, except at one place, towards which he guided the machine. A flicker of understanding passed over his face as he spotted the concrete hut, identical with the one on the Norfolk coast 'So that's it, is it,' he mused as he throttled back and dropped down to a thousand feet, eyes probing every yard of the landscape in turn. He picked out the straight track of the narrow gauge railway, and pointed it out to Ginger, who was gazing down with a rapt expression on his face.

  'That's it!' shouted Ginger excitedly, pointing with outstretched finger at a small, black, square at the junction of the sunken road and railway.

  Algy nodded, and making the hut his centre, began circling in ever widening circles, making a mental note of every building which might be used as a base by the people acting in conjunction with the flying boat. Fortunately there were very few. There were some obviously disused buildings near an old mine-head, a pair of brand new red brick labourers' cottages, a solitary tavern, and one or two isolated farm houses. One house in particular engaged his attention, the nearest one to the creek; it stood some distance back from the road and was almost hidden by a thick growth of ivy. To the north and east it was protected by a clump of wind-twisted fir trees; on the eastern side was a sparse orchard and some ram-shackle outbuildings; to the south, an overgrown drive wound through an avenue of trees to the road. 'An ugly place,' he thought, 'anything could happen there.' He jotted down a few notes on his writing pad and made a quick sketch of the district, noting the positions of all the buildings in sight, and was about to turn away when something caught his eye. It was a common enough sight, an ordinary motor car, but it was standing between two of the outbuildings of the ivy-covered house. Remembering what Ginger had told him about the punctured tyre he was tempted to fly low to make a closer examination, but decided it
was too risky. If Biggles abductors were there, he reasoned, they could hardly fail to be perturbed, after what had occurred, by a low-flying aeroplane. From the air he obtained a very good idea of the lay-out of the countryside, and the environs of the ivy-covered house; then, feeling that he could do no more, he returned to the aerodrome.

  On the ground, he slowly removed his flying kit, and regarded Ginger thoughtfully. 'What are you going to do now,' he asked.

  'What are you?' was the naive reply. It came so pat that Algy was forced to smile, although he was in no mood for humour.

  'Me? Oh, I've got to set about finding Major Biggles,' he said seriously.

  'Well, can't I help?'

  Algy blinked. 'I don't know,' he said slowly. 'I forgot to thank you for sending me that telegram; you certainly used your initiative there, I must confess. I may need help, and you might be useful. Where were you going when you met Major Bigglesworth?'

  'To London; to join the R.A.F.'

  Algy raised his eyebrows. 'So ho,' he said, 'a bud-ding airman, eh?'

  'I've been in bud for so long, that it's getting time I burst into flower,' Ginger told him quickly. 'I know all about an aeroplane – except how to fly it.'

  'I see,' said Algy. 'Well, look here, my lad, you can't go about like that.'

  'Like what?'

  'In those rags.'

  Ginger flushed. 'They're the best I've got,' he observed.

  'That's what I mean. Here's some money; add that to the change you've got left out of Major Bigglesworth's money. Slip into Newcastle and get yourself a serviceable outfit and then come back here; I'm going to do a bit of scouting tonight.'

  'You mean, round the house where the car was?' Algy opened his eyes wide. 'So you spotted that, did you?' he asked.

  'Of course, I was on the lookout for a car; d'you think that's where they've got Biggles?'

  'It struck me as being the most likely place.' 'What are you going to do, go to the police?' 'I suppose I should really, but they might mess the whole thing up. In the first place I should probably have a job to make them believe me, and secondly, while they were pottering about getting search war-rants and so on, anything could happen. I feel inclined to have a prowl round myself first; if the job proves too big to handle I shall have to call in the police. But that's enough for the present; you get off to Newcastle for some clothes and some food and then come back. I'll get a car, one that I can drive myself, and we'll have a look round tonight.' 'OK, I'll be seeing you.'