This state of affairs did not, however, persist for many seconds, for even if the Lovitznian machine was not being hit, the pilot could not for long remain in ignorance of the fact that he was being attacked. The realization of this must have been as great a shock to him as the appearance of the second machine was to Biggles, but he acted like lightning. In a split second the single-seater was screaming vertically skyward, with the other machine hanging to its tail as if a tow-line connected them.
By this time the others had also realized that something unexpected had happened, and they all stood up in their uncomfortable refuge to watch, spellbound, the end of the affair.
Whether the Lovitznian machine had been hit or not they had no means of knowing; it seemed unlikely that it could have escaped scatheless, yet it showed no signs of being disabled. At the top of the zoom the pilot pulled right over on to his back, and then cleverly flicked a half roll to even keel. In this position he had, of course, a very definite advantage over the larger machine on account of his superior height, for the two-seater had not been able to hold the rocket zoom as long as the smaller machine, but he employed this advantage in a rather surprising manner. Instead of attacking his opponent he whirled round and, putting his nose down for maximum speed, roared away in the direction of the hills, over which he swiftly disappeared. Algy started to follow, but Biggles at once leapt into the open, waving furiously a rather dirty handkerchief.
'If he crosses those hills he's sunk,' he snapped. 'He'll run into the rest of the pack. 'That cunning devil is trying to lead him into a trap. Ah, thank goodness he's got the sense to turn back.'
The two-seater had, in fact, turned, and was now
beginning to circle preparatory to landing. Biggles continued to wave, and by every indication he could think of endeavoured to convey the information that the field was safe to land on. Nevertheless, he could well understand Algy's hesitation, for although the snow was fast disappearing, a thin covering still remained, and there was nothing to show a pilot what lay underneath it.
Biggles stopped waving as the noise of the two-seater's engine died away, and its nose dipped as it glided down to land. They all began to run to the point where it would finish its run.
`Stay where you are,' shouted Biggles to Algy, who was climbing out of his seat as if he intended leaving the machine.
`Why?' asked Algy, pushing up his goggles.
'There are half a dozen more fighters hanging about somewhere. I fancy the fellow you had a go with has gone to fetch them.'
'Is that so?' exclaimed Algy, dropping back into his seat.
'There's no time to talk now,' went on Biggles swiftly. 'You get the Count home as fast as you can and then come back for us.' Biggles turned to the Count. 'In you go, sir. You'd be wise to sit on the floor,' he advised, 'or you may get frost-bitten.'
'I don't like the idea of leaving you here,' protested the Count.
'Don't waste time arguing, please,' said Biggles. 'Seconds are valuable. It's far more important that you should get back. We shan't be long after you, anyway.'
The Count climbed up into the open cockpit and Biggles gave Algy the signal to take off.
'We'll wait for you here,' he shouted, as he backed away.
Algy said nothing. He raised his left hand in a parting salute. The engine roared, and Biggles grabbed a wing-tip to help him to turn. There was no wind, so the direction of the take-off was immaterial and in a moment the machine was racing, tail up, over the snow, while those on the ground turned their backs to the biting slipstream. They turned again as the machine zoomed into the air, and watched it bank on its course for home. Satisfied that all was well, Biggles then turned towards the farm-house, where several curious spectators were watching.
They had just reached the stable yard when six Lovitznian fighters roared into sight over the hills. Biggles grabbed Ginger by the arm and dragged him into the shelter of a barn, from where they watched the enemy aircraft anxiously.
'Algy only just got away in time,' muttered Biggles. 'I don't think there is anything to worry about now. These fellows will hardly have the nerve to chase one of our machines right across Maltovia.'
'One of our machines?' queried Ginger.
'Well, it was carrying Maltovian markings,' smiled Biggles. 'Smyth and Carter have evidently been busy. Ah! There they go,' he added quickly, as the Lovitznian machines turned back towards the hills. 'Good! I shall feel happier with them out of the way. Come on, let us see if we can beg a crust of bread.'
He led the way to the veranda where the owner of the house was standing with his wife and several small children. They had some difficulty in making it understood that they were friends and not enemies, but once this was achieved - chiefly by the production of a Maltovian ten-mark note - a pot of tea, eggs, and a dish of bacon were soon forthcoming.
Àlgy will have to make two more journeys to get us both back, won't he?' asked Ginger, mopping up bacon fat from the dish with a crust of bread.
Ì've been thinking about that,' answered Biggles. 'I don't think so. You and Algy are both fairly light. If fly the machine you should both be able to get in the back seat. It will be a bit of a squeeze, but the machine can carry us all without any difficulty if we can get in.'
The farmer and his family were staring at them wonderingly, which was not surprising, but as there were no means of making them understand the situation, Biggles could not satisfy their curiosity. The meal finished, he just had time to smoke a cigarette before the two-seater was heard returning.
`Make sure it's Algy,' said Ginger cautiously.
`Yes, it's him all right,' replied Biggles, as he saw the machine swing round to land, so after thanking their host as well as they were able to, they hurried back to the field.
It was a tight fit to get two persons into the back seat, but by Ginger lying at full length on the floor, with his legs under the seat, and Algy standing up, it could just be managed.
He was, of course, in flying-kit, so the cold would not be likely to trouble him unduly.
Biggles swung himself up into the pilot's seat. His hand closed over the throttle; the engine roared as the machine swung round and, a moment later, was speeding across the snow-covered turf. He did not attempt to climb to any altitude, but at a few hundred feet he levelled out and raced straight back for the aerodrome. There were many things to attend to, and he was anxious to speak to the Count. In twenty minutes by the watch on the instrument board the aerodrome came into view, and it was with real satisfaction that he landed and taxied up the runway into the wood.
`Where the dickens is Smyth?' he growled, as he jumped clown and Algy joined him. It is not like him to be absent when he is wanted.'
His voice died away curiously as several Maltovian soldiers ran out from the trees. 'What the dickens is all this about, I wonder?' he went on quickly, a suspicion of alarm in his voice. He swung round on his heels as a voice addressed him from behind. An officer stood there, and he was covering them with a revolver. Biggles recognized him at once.
It was the thin-lipped aide-de-camp who, with Menkhoff, had accompanied General Bethstein when he had called on them at their hotel. His name, he had learned subsequently, was Vilmsky.
`What is the meaning of this?' Biggles was really angry. `You are under arrest,' replied Vilmsky suavely.
`By whose orders?'
`General Bethstein's.'
Òn what charge?'
Èspionage.'
Biggles nodded slowly. `So that's the game, is it?' he said softly.
Chapter 16
To Die at Dawn
'It is my duty to warn you that in the event of resistance my orders are to shoot,' went on Vilmsky imperturbably.
Ìs that so? I trust you are always as mindful of your duty,' sneered Biggles.
The other scowled but said nothing.
`By what authority does General Bethstein issue such an order as this?' asked Biggles coldly. His object was really to gain time, for he saw that they wer
e in a tight corner, and his brain was feverishly seeking a way out.
`His own,' replied Vilmsky bluntly. 'Where is Lieutenant Hebblethwaite?'
Until that moment Biggles had almost forgotten Ginger; or rather, perhaps, it would be more correct to say that he imagined that he was standing somewhere behind him. He now realized, however, that he must be still lying on the floor of the machine. 'How do you suppose I know?' was his reply to Vilmsky's question. 'You saw us land, didn't you?'
`He isn't here. Where is he?'
Ì shouldn't be likely to tell you if I knew.'
'Very well. No doubt we shall find him. Come.' 'Where to?'
`Where we are going to take you.'
'Where is that?'
'To the barracks.'
'Also by the general's orders?'
'You are now under my orders.'
Biggles shrugged his shoulders. He perceived that either resistance or argument was futile, and that the wisest plan was to get away as quickly as possible in order to give Ginger a chance to do something. 'All right,' he said loudly, hoping that Ginger would hear him and take the hint. 'When her Highness hears of this you'll get some orders, my friend - marching orders. How do we travel?'
'My car is waiting.'
'Then let us get on with it. I am very tired and rather cold, so the sooner this nonsense ends, the better.'
Vilmsky snapped an order, and the soldiers lined up on either side of the prisoners.
Algy moved nearer to Biggles. He was white with fury. 'If ever I get my hands on this skunk, or his crooked pal Bethstein, I'll twist their windpipes into a knot that will take a bit of untying,' he breathed vindictively.
Biggles nodded. 'I should have anticipated something of this sort,' he said bitterly, as the party began to move towards the road. 'But to tell the honest truth I did not think that Bethstein would dare to go as far as this. The question is, how far will he go? If he is prepared to go to these lengths to get rid of us he may go to any lengths. Well, we can only wait and see. If we start a rough house they'll shoot us, and there are too many of them for us to hope to get away with it. I have a feeling that Vilmsky would like us to try to get away. I hope they don't separate us, that's all.'
Two cars were waiting on the road. The prisoners, with an escort, were put into the first one and the remainder of the soldiers filled the other. Another order from Vilmsky and the cars began their journey.
'The barracks are somewhere on the other side of the city,' whispered Algy. 'If they take us right through the main street we may get a chance to do something.'
'They won't,' replied Biggles grimly.
In this assumption he was correct, for soon afterwards the cars took a turning to the right and then proceeded to make a detour round the city. Consequently, it was a good hour before they arrived at their destination, the so-called barracks. The building was, in fact, a medieval fortress modernized in a half-hearted way. The massive gates were closed, but a hoot from the horn brought out a sentry who opened them to admit the cars and then closed them again.
'This place looks more like a jail than a barracks,' muttered Algy, eyeing the old stone walls with disfavour.
'I imagine it would be as hard to break out of,' answered Biggles moodily, as the cars came to a halt in a flagged courtyard, where they were invited to dismount.
No further information was given them as they were marched through a gloomy archway and along a damp corridor, in which their footsteps, and those of their escort, echoed eerily, to what was, without doubt, a cell. The roof was circular, after the manner of a large culvert, and the stone walls were bare of decoration except for countless initials that had been carved on them, apparently by previous prisoners. One of these, with a ghastly sense of humour, had sketched, in charcoal, a grinning skull and crossbones over his monogram. A plain deal table occupied the centre of the floor; a rough wooden form stood beside it, while two crude trestle beds at either end of the apartment completed the furniture. A wan grey light filtered through an iron-barred window high up in the end wall.
'Very pretty,' remarked Algy, with bitter sarcasm, as the door slammed and he stood regarding the skull and
crossbones device. 'This place has an unpleasant resemblance to a well-used condemned cell.'
`Try thinking of something cheerful,' suggested Biggles, sitting down on the form and yawning. 'I'm too tired to think.'
'You had an exciting night, I gather?'
'We certainly did,' Biggles told him wearily, and thereafter ran briefly over their adventures for his benefit.
'You didn't expect to find me still in the field when you got back to it, I hope?' said Algy, when he had finished.
'Of course not. You couldn't have done anything, if you had stayed. You were quite right to go home.'
'I waited as long as I dared, but when the snow began to come down good and proper, I decided that my best plan was to get back while I could. I could have come back if the weather had cleared. It was as black as the pit by the time I got home, and but for Smyth'
s flares I should never have found the aerodrome. As it was, I ran into the trees and smashed a wing-tip. That's why I came over in the two-seater this morning.'
Biggles nodded. 'I thought something of the sort must have happened.'
'As a matter of fact, I had been beetling up and down for the best part of half an hour when I saw that bloke who sports the pennants behaving as though he was shooting up somebody on the ground; I guessed who it was, and down I came in a hurry. He really showed me where you were, because, naturally, I was concentrating on the other side of the river.'
'We saw you,' Biggles told him, 'but we didn't know it was you. You were very high up, and in any case we were expecting the big machine. By the way, what did you do with the Count?'
'I unloaded him at the aerodrome. He insisted that I should go back for you immediately. The last I saw of him he was walking up the road towards the city. He waved to me as I took off again.'
'I hope he got to the palace all right,' said Biggles quietly. He glanced round suspiciously and dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Ginger is bound to try to get in touch with him, to let him know what has happened. It was a bit of luck for us that he did not get out of the machine. Frankly, had he been caught with us and brought here I wouldn't give a fig for our chance, but if he manages to get clear he will be certain to make a bee-line for the Count, or Ludwig.'
'Even so, they may have a job to find us.'
'I realize that, but they will be certain to guess that Bethstein was at the bottom of it, and they ought to be able to find him even if they don't find us.'
'On the other hand, the cunning devil may take care that they do not,' returned Algy morosely. 'After all, it isn't a bona fide case of arrest on suspicion of espionage. The whole thing is a frame-up arranged by Bethstein to keep us out of the way while he gets on with his dirty work.'
'That is so,' agreed Biggles. There was never any doubt about that.'
Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of four guards, armed with rifles with bayonets fixed, under the command of Vilmsky. Biggles stood up and faced them with some surprise, for he had hardly expected them back so soon. He stood still, and advised Algy to do the same, while they were searched, for he realized that resistance was useless. Everything in their pockets having been removed, he turned to Vilmsky expectantly.
'March!' was the curt command.
'What's the idea?' asked Biggles coldly.
`You are going to be tried by a military court on a charge of espionage.'
Èspionage my foot,' snapped Biggles. 'Of whom does this court consist?'
Òfficers of the Maltovian army.'
Biggles looked at Algy and raised a shoulder helplessly. `Well, I suppose we'd better go,'
he said quietly. 'It's no use fighting and being hauled up by brute force like a couple of pickpockets.' He turned to Vilmsky, who was regarding them with a supercilious smile. '
Lead on,' he said grimly.<
br />
Back along the corridor they marched and then up a flight of stone stairs that emerged on to a wide landing. Outside a door two sentries were on duty. They stood aside when they saw the prisoners and their escort. Vilmsky opened the door and walked in. Unhurriedly, with Algy close behind, Biggles followed, his eyes taking in the scene.
Within the room, a lofty chamber lighted by several lamps, for the winter afternoon was drawing in, five men were sitting behind a long refectory table. All wore the uniforms and badges of rank of senior officers of the Maltovian army. On the table, which was covered by a green baize cloth, were sheets of paper and writing materials. That was all.
All eyes were on the prisoners as they advanced slowly towards the table, but Biggles's hostile gaze was fixed on one man, obviously the president of the court, for he sat at the centre of the table with two others on either side. It was General Bethstein.
The general returned his stare. 'Is your name Bigglesworth?' he asked in a loud voice.
Biggles's lips curled slightly. 'Why waste time asking fool questions?' he said harshly. '
You know it is.'
Ànswer my question!'
`Let me ask you one. What is the meaning of this farce?'
14 Biggles Goes To War Page 12
