Biggles and the Black Peril

by W E Johns

  'Where was this place?' asked Biggles abruptly.

  'I'm not quite certain because it was a small scale map, but I could put my finger on the spot to within fifty or a hundred miles. The lines ran straight across the North Sea, across northern Germany, to the Baltic coast. They either ended in Eastern Prussia, or in Russia. I fancy it was Russia.'

  Biggles whistled softly. 'Russia, eh? By James!' he went on quickly, 'You're right. Those fellows who came to see me in the house were Russians; I'd bet on it. I couldn't quite make out what they were at the time; I put them down as Germans, but I was by no means sure of it. One might have been a German, but I'll swear the other was a Russian; he had high cheek bones – a typical Slav.'

  'Well, that's where the big machine started from and where it's gone back to,' declared Algy.

  'What about—'

  'Well?'

  'I was just wondering.'

  'Yes, and I know what you were wondering. You were thinking about flying over the ditch and having a look round?'

  You've got it,' admitted Biggles. 'It would be a bit risky—'

  'I don't see why it should be if our papers are in order. We've got our passports. We can get carnets* from the Aero Club, and set off on an ordinary air tour. Who is going to say that we aren't just air tourists?'

  * Touring abroad by air is not merely a matter of 'Go as you please' The aircraft must carry a Journey Logbook (which is made up like a ship's log), an Aircraft Log, Engine Log, and Pilot's Logbook. The Journey Logbook must be made up at each port of call and signed by a responsible official. Then there is the Custom's Carnet (pronounced carnay) which is issued by the Royal Aero Club to avoid difficulties with customs officials in the matter of import duties. The machine's Certificate of Airworthiness must be carried; the pilot must carry his Pilot's Certificate and the Registration Certificate of the aeroplane. Passports must, of course, be carried, and endorsed or visa'd at certain places. – W. E. J.

  'That might be all right in most places, but I'm not so sure about Russia**. I do not think we should be able to get permission to even fly over Russian territorial waters. If we did go without permission, and had to come down for any reason, there would be the dickens of a stink. I don't want to end my days in Siberia. Blackbeard knows us, don't forget that. If he saw us it wouldn't be much use saying we were just on a harmless tour.'

  ** Ex-Soviet Union, now the area known as the Russian Federation.

  'Then why not go to Germany? Let's go as far as the Baltic and see what happens there before we make further plans.'

  'Yes, we could do that. It looks to me as if both Russia and Germany are in this; they have got an understanding, with Great Britain as the mutual objective. It's a long way from Russia to here, but not too far for a high efficiency bomber. If they'll go as far as fitting up elaborate floodlights over here, there is no reason why they shouldn't have petrol dumps for refuelling; submarines could lie around the coast with petrol and oil on board, if it comes to that. Well, we've nothing else to do; if there is a plot afoot it's up to us to find out what it is, if we can.'

  'You've sure spilt a bibful,' observed Ginger. 'I guess—'

  'You keep your guesses under your hat for a bit, my lad, and for goodness sake stop that Yankee drawl, or you'll have us all doing it before you've finished.'

  'OK baby – sorry – I mean, righto.'

  'That's better.'

  'That's settled then,' put in Algy.

  'Yes, we'll get back to Brooklands and fix things up; it shouldn't take more than a day or two.'

  'That's fine,' declared Ginger.

  'I didn't say you were coming.'

  'I know you didn't, but I sort of took it for granted.'

  'You take too much for granted young fellow-me-lad. You know what your father told you?'

  'You mean about if I break my neck it will be my own fault?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, I shouldn't grumble; it's my own neck, anyway.'

  Biggles looked at him doubtfully. 'All right,' he said slowly at last. 'I suppose there's no way of getting rid of you.'

  'You've said it,' Ginger told him cheerfully.

  Chapter 7

  Warned Out

  The Vandal circled gracefully and dropped lightly on to the smooth waters of the Holtenau Seaplane Station, at Kiel, the German naval base of wartime memory*, and taxied slowly past several machines that rode at moorings, towards the Custom House.

  * The First World War 1914-1918.

  'Well, we're over the ditch, anyway,' observed Biggles to Algy, who sat beside him.

  Eight days had elapsed since their decision to explore the Baltic coast had been made, eight days of exasperating delays, while their papers were being prepared. The party had now increased to four, for Biggles would not risk travelling so far afield without Smyth, their efficient mechanic, who now shared the cabin with Ginger.

  'The thing I don't like about this show is that we've got to travel under our proper names,' muttered Algy, as they made fast to the slipway. 'That doesn't matter very much as far as I am concerned, I know, but Blackbeard knows your name, and so do some of the others, and the chances are that they are over here somewhere at tins very minute; you say the chances of running into them or of their hearing your name mentioned, are remote, but I don't agree with you. There are only one or two seaplane stations in Germany, and you know how news travels. People, flying people at any rate, are bound to come quizzing round a British machine; we should do the same thing to a German kite* in England – in fact, we've done it more than once.'

  * Slang for aeroplane.

  'Suppose Blackbeard does learn that I'm here, what of it? He cannot very well have us arrested for just being here, if our papers are in order, as they are; the British Consul would want to know why. In any case I think the chances are against anyone even noticing our names; they will mean nothing to the people in the Passport Office. We couldn't fake our passports, anyway, so we had to travel under our real names or not at all.'

  You're right there, but I don't agree about not spotting our names. On the Continent people pay a good deal more attention to such things than we do, and if Blackbeard wanted us out of the way he'd find an excuse to get us out of the way, don't make any mistake about that; if you don't know German methods by this time it's about time you did.'

  'We're here, so it's a bit late in the day to argue about mat,' replied Biggles shortly. 'Let us report in and get filled up with petrol. If any questions are asked you know the story – we're just on a pleasure cruise round the Baltic. Let's get fixed up and have a bite of food.'

  The formalities proved far less exacting than they expected; indeed, if the attitude of the officials could be taken as an indication, they were more than welcome in the country. Their Journey Log was stamped, and they were cleared by Customs with a minimum of trouble or delay. Neither was there any difficulty about getting their tanks filled with oil and petrol. The officer who examined and 'cleared' the machine, in reply to their enquiry, told them in quite good English that they would get excellent food at the aerodrome cafe, and pointed it out to them.

  Accordingly they all made their way towards it, and were soon carving some excellent Frankfurter sausage, with new bread, butter and potatoes.

  There were very few people in the place; one or two mechanics in overalls, an obvious sightseer, and a couple of fellows who might have been club pilots. The English party attracted little or no attention.

  They heard a machine come in and land while they were rounding off a well enjoyed meal with cheese, but they paid no attention to it. A moment later, as a voice reached them from outside, Biggles suddenly stiffened, and moved his chair quickly so that his back was towards the door.

  'Go on eating,' he said quietly, 'and don't stare. Order coffee, Algy, and on no account mention my name. Speak quietly and it may not be noticed that we are English.'

  Algy, after Biggles' first half dozen words, glanced towards the door. A man was looking in through the gla
ss panels, as if in search of somebody. It was Black-beard. He pushed the door open and entered, speaking quickly to the waiter. He spoke, of course, in German, so they could not understand what he said.

  The waiter, evidently in reply to some question, shook his head, and then departed, to return a moment later with two tankards of beer which he set on the table beside Blackbeard. The door opened again and another man joined him; Algy thought it was one of the crew of the flying boat, but he was not quite sure. They settled themselves comfortably in their chairs and began a low conversation.

  'This is going to be awkward,' breathed Biggles. 'If we go he is bound to see me, and we can't stay here indefinitely without an excuse.'

  'We'll have some more coffee,' replied Algy quietly, and gave the order to the waiter.

  'We were fools to come to this place,' ventured Biggles, after half an hour had elapsed and still Black-beard and his companion showed no signs of moving. 'We should have known that if he was about he would be certain to come here; I expect all the pilots use this place.'

  A movement in front of him caught his eye. He glanced up and saw that he was sitting opposite to a large wall mirror that bore an advertisement for beer. It was not that, however, that made him catch his breath; Blackbeard was looking straight at his reflection in the glass. As Biggles looked up he looked away and resumed the conversation with his companion in a perfectly normal voice.

  Whether he had been recognized or not Biggles had no means of knowing, but very shortly afterwards Blackbeard rose, threw some money on the table, and with a parting word to the waiter, left the room with his companion.

  'Have they gone?' asked Biggles as the door closed behind them.

  Algy nodded. 'Think he spotted you?'

  T don't know,' replied Biggles slowly. 'He's a cunning devil. If he did see me he didn't blink an eyelid.'

  'What had we better do?'

  'Watch where he goes.'

  'That's it,' declared Ginger, getting up, 'leave it to me!'

  'But—' began Algy.

  'Ginger's right,' interposed Biggles swiftly, 'he is far less likely to attract attention. Off you go, Ginger; slip back here as soon as he goes.'

  Ginger was out of the door like a shot – hands in his pockets, whistling nonchalantly between his teeth.

  'I don't like letting him loose like that,' Biggles went on as Ginger disappeared from view, 'but he's as sharp as a needle and can afford to take chances that we could not. He'd get away with anything. I'm beginning to like the young blighter.'

  'So am I,' confessed Algy – 'hullo, who's this? It's the passport chap, and he's coming over here.'

  'So! Gentlemens, you have eaten well, yes?' observed the officer as he strolled over to their table with a benevolent smile.

  'Very well indeed, thanks. Have a drink?' invited Biggles.

  'That is kind of you; a lager beer, I think, if you please.'

  Biggles ordered the drink. 'Won't you sit down?' he said.

  'Thank you, no, I must not stay. Work I must, always the work.'

  Biggles watched him closely; he felt tat the man had come to them with a definite object, and wondered what it was. He was soon to know.

  "You go back to England now, yes?' asked the German, still smiling.

  'Not just yet; we've only just come over.'

  'Which way you go; to Sweden is it, yes?'

  'No! We were going to see a bit of the coast; up towards Danzig you know.'

  The German screwed his face into a grimace. 'But that is not good,' he said. 'We are having very bad weather reports from there now. I have one now, to-day; already they have snow.'

  'We don't mind a bit of rough weather.'

  'It will be better I think if you took a course to the west. If you have bad weather, and are forced down perhaps, it may be said that we gave you no weather report.'

  Biggles drew a deep breath. 'So that's it, is it?' he thought. Then aloud, 'Well, we aren't really particular. We'll just have a flip round, and if we see bad weather ahead we'll come back here. Then we shall probably move either towards home or Sweden.'

  'That would be much, much better,' the German replied smilingly, but there was no humour in his steely grey eyes. 'We do our best to avoid accidents,' he added as an afterthought.

  'So do we,' Biggles told him.

  You stay here the night?'

  'Probably. Our plans are not quite settled as a matter of fact; we just fly when we feel like it.'

  'So! I must go,' said the German draining his tankard and rising. 'I think, Major Bigglesworth, you follow my advice, yes? You will find the weather better to the west.'

  Biggles smiled. 'Righto,' he said. 'Thanks for warning us.'

  'No thanks are necessary; it is our duty to take care of our guests. Guten abend*.'

  * German: Good evening.

  'You can take care of your guests all right,' Biggles muttered softly after his retreating form, and then to Algy, 'Well, that's their first card; it's a warning, and a fair one. What he has said in actual fact is, get out while the going's good. Did you notice the way he dropped my name? He did that deliberately.'

  Algy nodded. 'Yes,' he said, 'it's as clear as daylight. If we head east after this we are heading for trouble.'

  An aero engine burst into life in the harbour, died down for a moment, and then burst into a full-throated roar as the machine took off.

  'That's our friend Blackbeard I'll bet,' breathed Biggles.

  The door opened and Ginger hurried across to them.

  'He's gone,' he said.

  'Then let's follow him. We'll see which direction he goes, anyway!' declared Biggles, springing to his feet.

  'Are you telling me?' drawled Ginger. 'I'll say you'd be lucky.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Go and take a look. They've moored a barge right across our nose.'

  Biggles paid the bill and walked quickly to the door, which overlooked the harbour. An ejaculation of alarm broke from his lips as he looked through the glass panelled door. Right across the nose of the Vandal had been moored a small, black seagoing barge; another, which had evidently just come into the harbour, was drifting broadside on with the current straight towards the amphibian. A man stood in the stern with a long sweep, presumably trying to steer his craft clear of the aeroplane, but either by accident or design he was making matters worse.

  Biggles' lips set in a straight line. 'Come on,' he snapped, 'they're going to crash us,' and started running as fast as his game ankle would permit towards the harbour, closely followed by the others.

  It looked as if they would be too late, for the moving barge was not more than a dozen yards away, and the stationary one effectually barred any progress of the machine in a forward direction.

  'Swing the prop, Smyth!' yelled Biggles, taking a running jump into the cockpit. Smyth leapt for the propeller. 'Wing tip – get to the wing tip somebody!' shouted Biggles, frantically winding the self-starter.

  Ginger saw what was required instantly. He slithered along the lower plane to the wing tip, and reaching out, fended the machine away from the barge with all his strength. For a few seconds it was touch and go. The lightly floating aeroplane swung away from the vessel under Ginger's pressure, and he slid along the leading edge of the plane, still holding the machine off; then, as it swung round, he jumped on to the nose and pushed the machine clear, bringing its nose round towards the open sea. The engine came to life, and with stick and rudder hard over, Biggles drove the Vandal clear of the narrow gap just as the barge crunched down upon the slipway. The danger was past; dire calamity had been averted by a few seconds of time, for had they delayed their departure from the cafe by a single minute, the amphibian would inevitably have been crushed like an eggshell.

  The Passport Officer came running down the slip-way from his office, shouting abuse at the bargee and apologies to Biggles. 'They are careless ones,' he said, 'there was very nearly an accident.'

  'Yes,' replied Biggles grimly, "so I noticed;
we'll be more careful in future. Accident my eye,' he growled to the others. 'That was a nicely timed scheme to put us out of action, and it would have looked like an accident if we hadn't been slick. Well, that sets our clock right; we know just what to expect in future. We must never leave the machine without a guard over her. I'm afraid it's no use going after Blackbeard now,' he went on. 'He's miles away. What sort of machine was he flying, Ginger?'

  'A low wing monoplane on floats; it looked like a two or three-seater. It was a type I haven't seen before so I couldn't recognize it, but it had a biplane tail unit which should make it conspicuous. It was a German machine; I noticed its nationality markings. There was a swastika under the wing tips and on the fuselage; its letters were D-XXYA.'

  'Good. We shall know it again if we see it.' While he had been speaking Biggles had gone through into the cabin and reached towards the locker in which the maps were kept. He started as he opened it. 'Hullo,' he said, 'have you been to this locker, Ginger?'

  'No.'

  'Have you, Smyth – or you, Algy?'

  'No.'

  'My word, they don't waste time then; they searched the ship while we were in the cafe. I distinctly remember the number of the map I left on top; it's at the bottom now.'

  'The Boche* is thorough if nothing else, as you should know,' Algy told him. 'You remember what I said when we landed here.'

  * Slang: offensive term for a German, now out of use.

  Biggles nodded. 'Yes, and the sooner we're out of it the better,' he said. 'It begins to look as if Blackbeard recognized me all right. Whether he did or not it has been made quite clear that flying visitors aren't popular here.'

  'Which way are you going?' asked Algy.