Where would you make for?'
'The jungle,' suggested Ginger.
'And die of hunger or malaria — if you weren't stabbed to death by the rebels? I can't believe you'd be such a fool as that. Personally, I'd make for the airport. So, I fancy, will Marcel. He's got a machine there, don't forget. Even if he can't get to it he might grab another. In a matter of life or death he won't be particular. He's no hope of getting out of this country any other way than by air, and he must know it.'
'So you suggest we go to the airport,' said Ginger eagerly.
Tan you think of any other possibility?'
'No.'
'Anyone else any ideas?'
No one answered.
'Very well,' said Biggles. 'The airport it is. We'll split up and patrol the boundary road, concentrating on the stretch nearest the hangars. We needn't bother about the airport buildings. For obvious reasons he'll keep clear of them. We might call his name occasionally, or sing snatches of R.A.F. songs. The locals will hardly be likely to recognize them but Marcel might.'
'When do we start?' asked Algy.
'Now.'
'It's as black as pitch outside and pouring with rain,' put in Ginger.
'So much the better. It should give Marcel a chance.' 'And how long do we keep this up?'
'All night. In fact, till we find him, or hear he's been recaptured.
Should that happen —
but we'll talk of that when the time comes. The rendezvous is behind the hangar in which the Halifax is parked. I'll take that particular beat.
Let's go.'
'Just a minute, old boy,' requested Bertie. 'What about this stinker Estere? His gang will be on the job, too.'
'What of it?'
'What's he going to think when we don't come home to roost?'
'I don't care two hoots what he thinks,' answered Biggles, in a tone of voice that settled any argument on that score.
Putting on their mackintoshes in the hall they walked towards the door.
Estere appeared. 'Going out?' he inquired.
`Do you mind?' asked Biggles, with biting sarcasm. 'Not at all. It's raining heavily.'
'We've been out in the rain before,' Biggles told him. 'Would you like me to call you a taxi?'
No thanks. If you're so anxious to know where we're going I'll tell you.
For something to do we've decided to make a round of these famous Saigon night clubs we've heard about.'
'Be careful.'
'Of what?'
'You may have your pockets picked.'
Biggles smiled. 'What a man you are for warnings! Your nerves must be as shaky as those of the people you were telling me about. It must be something in the atmosphere of Saigon, or the sort of life you lead. Good night.'
They slushed up the dripping pavement for some distance before Biggles hailed a taxi and told the driver to take them to the airport.
For the task on hand the night could hardly have been worse. The atmosphere was oppressive, with an element of unreality, and as dark as only a moonless tropic night can be. Except for an occasional interval the rain fell in a steady downpour. The pot-holes in the road, which had been cut to pieces by heavy military traffic, became deep puddles from which, when the rain ceased, mosquitoes rose in swarms. Air and earth seemed to be turning to water, and Ginger, peering into the darkness, soon gave up trying to keep dry.
It was one of the longest nights he could remember.
The darkness did, in fact, last for nearly twelve hours. He thought it would never end.
The monotony of his occupation no doubt made it seem worse. He would walk a little way, splashing through the mire, call Marcel's name, listen, and then blunder on until he met Bertie, who had the next beat. After a few words he would turn about and repeat the performance until he met Algy, who was his other contact man. Of all the futile vigils he had ever undertaken this seemed to be the most hopeless, but with Marcel's life at stake, and no alternative, it had to be done.
Once in a while he encountered another pedestrian of the night. Who or what he might be he never knew, for no greetings were exchanged. A vague figure would emerge from the gloom, steer a cautious course on the far side of the steaming road, and disappear again in the murk. Once a convoy of trucks went past, their headlights blurred, the vehicles filled with the huddled figures of troops returning from the front or from some sinister operation. Once, too, he had an anxious moment when a jeep came along. It stopped. A man jumped down and flashed a torch in his face.
Recognizing the uniform of the military police, Ginger pretended to be drunk.
'Who are you and what are you doing here?' asked the man.
'My answer to both questions is, I don't know and I don't care,' answered Ginger thickly.
The man laughed, as did others in the car; and Ginger breathed a sigh of relief when it went on, his ruse apparently succeeding. The thought occurred to him that these men might also be looking for Marcel.
Throughout the whole miserable ordeal he was fortified by his anxiety, and pity, for Marcel, whose plight
must be much worse than his own. But his dominant sensation was one of mounting disappointment, for he had started off in high hopes, inspired by the knowledge that Marcel was still alive and might well make for the airfield; but as the weary hours dragged on his spirits began to hang as heavily as his saturated clothes. Anger, and hatred for the people responsible for it all, took root.
Dawn, dreary and water-logged, found them all together behind the hangar that housed the aircraft.
'I'm going to keep on,' stated Biggles grimly. 'We'll stay here all day and again tonight if necessary. I can't think of anywhere else Marcel would be likely to go.'
'Why doesn't he go to police headquarters?' said Algy. 'After all, Marcel is a policeman, so you'd think he'd get in touch with the authorities here. That aspect has struck me all along as queer.'
'There's obviously some reason why he can't, or hasn't done that,'
replied Biggles. 'In some way it must be tied up with that picture in the paper, which was either issued by the police or made to look like that. I suspect the truth is this. Conditions here are much like they were in America when the country was practically run by gangsters, and nobody dare speak for fear of being bumped off. Marcel daren't be seen and he daren't trust a soul. His only hope of breaking the thing up is to get out of the country; and his only hope of getting out is to fly out.
That's why I gambled on him coming here. The danger is, other people will work that out, and they'll be along. If they see us here they'll guess what we're doing.'
'We shall also know what they're doing,' put in Bertie warmly, 'and if they start any bumping tricks we can bump with the best of 'em, yes, by Jove!'
'If things are as bad as they appear to be, I doubt if Marcel will dare to move in daylight,'opined Algy.
'He could move without necessarily showing himself,' Biggles pointed out.
'There's plenty of cover. He could work his way along this ditch, or through the scrub, to get to the hangars.' He indicated the two obstacles that separated the road from the landing area. 'All right,' he concluded.
'You carry on as you were. I'll join you presently. Under the pretext of doing a top overhaul I'm going to get the Halifax out in case we should need it in a hurry.'
'If you move the machine Estere will be told,' warned Ginger.
'I can't help that. He may think I've taken his advice and am getting ready to pull out.'
'Don't you think you ought to send Joudrier a cable?' said Algy.
'The contents of any cable I send from here will be in Estere's hands inside half an hour,'
answered Biggles succinctly, 'and, moreover, if we break the party up by sending someone into the town, we may never get together again; in which case instead of one man being missing there might be two or three. But that's enough talking. Get back on your beats but not too far apart. It's only necessary to cover the ground behind the hangars. They'll be Marcel'
s objective if he comes this way.'
The party broke up, Biggles pushing through the scrub and taking a short cut to their hangar, and the others lining the road at intervals of about fifty yards. It was no longer raining. The cloud layer seemed to be lifting, with the result that visibility was steadily improving. This, as Ginger realized, cut two ways. It was an advantage in that it gave them a better chance of seeing Marcel if he was about; but that would also apply to Marcel's enemies. Marcel would realize that, and if he moved at all it would be under cover.
The thought that occurred constantly to Ginger as he paced up and down was, if only Marcel knew they were there — or even in Saigon. Their chances of getting together would at once be tremendously improved. But on the face of it there was no possible way of bringing about this desirable state of affairs.
Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. Another minute and he had jumped the ditch, pushed his way through the scrub, and was racing across the soaking turf to where the Halifax, its engines muttering, was turning slowly head to wind on the concrete apron.
Biggles was in the cockpit. Ginger beckoned frantically. Biggles jumped down. 'What's happened?'
Nothing's happened, but I've got an idea.'
'Shoot.'
'If the Halifax was in the air it could be seen for miles around. Marcel would see it and recognize it. He'd know that no one but us would be likely to bring a Halifax here. Think what that would mean! Wherever he is and whatever he's doing it would bring him to the airfield hot foot.'
'Great work. Full marks,' snapped Biggles. 'Why didn't we think of it before? I'll take the machine off right away, ostensibly for a test, and fly first round the perimeter and then over the town. Warn the others what I'm doing. I'll fly low over you occasionally. If you want me to come in hold your arms out level.'
'Okay.' With the roar of the Halifax's engines in his ears Ginger hurried back to the road and told Algy and
Bertie the latest plan. Then, with new hope in his heart, he returned to his beat and took up a position on a bank that gave a fair view of the surrounding country. Overhead the Halifax was cruising low round the aerodrome boundary.
Presently a jeep came along. There were two uniformed men in it. Their caps were red.
From time to time the man next to the driver stood up and looked around, and Ginger did not need to be told the purpose of this procedure. Nor was he surprised when, the car drawing level, the standing man called to him.
'Have you seen a villainous-looking fellow who walks with a limp?'
'I have seen only some coolies working in the paddy fields,' answered Ginger truthfully.
'What are you doing, standing there?'
'I'm watching that big 'plane fly round.'
The two men had a brief discussion, and from the way they looked at him Ginger knew he was the subject of it. Then to his great relief the car drove on. He watched it with apprehension, for if it was going to patrol the road it was not likely to make their task any easier. The police were looking for a man with a limp. If, as he supposed, it was Marcel they were looking for, then he had evidently suffered some injury. Still watching the car he saw it stop when it reached Algy, who was walking down the road. Words were exchanged. The vehicle went on a little way, turned, came back, and passing Ginger without stopping continued on to the airport buildings. The two men got out and were joined by a number of others standing there.
It was now plain to Ginger that he, that all of them, were being watched.
It was equally plain that the present state of affairs would not be allowed to go on much longer. What would happen he didn't know and couldn't guess, but that an end would be made to what they were doing he was sure.
The clatter of a single-engined aircraft being started up made him turn to the airfield. For a moment or two a hangar covered his view; then the Morane came into sight, taxiing.
For a wild instant he thought it might be Marcel getting away; but this hope was soon squashed. The machine did not even take off, but taxied on to the front of the booking hall, where it stopped and the engine died.
Ginger smiled mirthlessly when he realized that this was merely a precaution to prevent anyone from approaching the aircraft without being seen. At least, that was what he supposed.
Still watching, he noticed an unusual amount of activity outside the main entrance.
Walking a little nearer he thought he could make out the well-dressed Estere talking to a Chinese, also well-dressed, and some police - or soldiers, he wasn't sure which. At any moment now, he knew, trouble would arrive.
The Halifax passed over very low, as' if Biggles had decided to come in.
Was that, Ginger wondered, what the police were waiting for? Did they, on some trumped up charge, intend to seize the machine? Obviously that could happen, and if it did the position would be grim indeed. He hurried to a nearby unmanned concrete gun emplacement and climbed on it for a better view, to watch if the Halifax did actually land. From the top he snatched a glance in the direction of Algy to see what he was doing, feeling that it was time they got together for mutual help should trouble arise.
Apparently Algy was thinking on the same lines, for he was beckoning to Bertie who was farther along.
Satisfied, Ginger was turning away when a movement caught his eye. It was only a fleeting glimpse, but he distinctly saw a crouching figure cross a sparse area of scrub, on the airfield side of the road, about fifty yards from where he stood. In a flash he had slid off the pillbox and was running towards the spot, also crouching low to avoid being seen from the airport buildings. As he drew near he shouted 'Marcel'.
A faint voice answered.
Ginger plunged into the bushes, and there on his knees was Marcel, although in such a dreadful state was he that for a moment he was not sure of it. He was in rags, mired from head to foot. There were jungle sores on his face and a blood-stained bandage showing through a long rent in his trouser leg. He was breathing heavily and was obviously at his last gasp.
Ginger could have wept with compassion. 'Okay, Marcel,' he said huskily.
'Hang on. We're all here. Just a minute.' He dashed back to the road to call up Algy and Bertie; but they must have seen him running, and guessing something was afoot were coming at the double. 'Come on!' he cried urgently. 'He's here! But he's in a bad way and we may have to carry him.' He ran back to Marcel, and the others arrived a moment later.
'We've no time to lose,' rapped out Ginger. 'We were being watched.
They'll come to see what we're doing.'
'Stand fast while I see where Biggles is,' answered Algy crisply, and forced a passage through the scrub for sight of the landing ground.
Within a minute he was back. 'He's coming in towards the hangar,' he announced. 'Dash out, Ginger, and tell him to get as close as he can. I'm afraid Marcel's passed out and it means carrying him.'
Ginger started off, but stopped when he heard the jeep racing up the road. 'Here they come,' he panted.
The men in the jeep must have marked well the spot where Ginger had disappeared; but they may not have known that Algy and Bertie had joined him. The jeep stopped, and the same two men who had accosted him came bursting through the bushes.
It was no time for explanations, and before the redcaps could draw their pistols from the holsters on their belts Algy and Bertie had flung themselves on them. All four went down in a heap.
The struggle that followed was furious but short. The men, who may not have been genuine police, but were in any case in the pay of the racketeers, must have been astonished by the violence of the attack made on them and were at a disadvantage from the outset. Actually, they looked thoroughly scared and did not put up much of a fight.
Ginger, whose temper had been brought to the boil by the appalling condition in which he had found Marcel, went into action like a fury, with the result that the two men, before they could have had time to grasp what was happening, were being held down on their backs by hands that were none too gentle.
<
br /> 'Tie 'em up,' rasped Algy. 'It's neck or nothing now.'
The arms of the prisoners were pinioned with their own belts. They were relieved of their pistols. 'We may need those,' said Algy, with iron in his voice. 'Come on. Get hold of Marcel. We shall have to carry him.'
'We all be spotted the moment we leave the bushes,' Bertie pointed out.
'So what? We can't stay here.'
'Just a minute,' put in Ginger. 'What about the jeep?' 'What about it?'
'Why not load Marcel in it and drive in?'
'How are we going to get it across the ditch?'
'Let's drive in through the gate this side of the booking hall. It's always open.'
'They'll spot us.'
'They'll give way when they see we have no intention of stopping. If we borrow those red kepis they won't realize it's us until we're through.'
'Ginger's right,' declared Bertie. 'Absolutely. It would take us ten minutes to carry Marcel to the machine and they'd be on us like a ton of bricks.'
'Okay,' agreed Algy. 'Get the jeep turned round, Ginger. We'll bring Marcel.'
Ginger ran to the vehicle, and after two shunts, in which he nearly ditched it, had it facing the right direction. By that time Algy and Bertie appeared, half carrying, half dragging Marcel's limp body, which was arranged as comfortably as possible in the cramped space. 'All right.
Let her go,' ordered Algy. 'Don't stop for anything. This is it.'
The gears engaged and the jeep moved forward, gathering speed.
By the time it had reached the gate by the main building it was doing forty; but faced with a right-angled turn, and knowing the tendency of a jeep to overturn when cornering at high speed, Ginger had to steady the pace; but he was still going fast when he shot through the gates. He had a glimpse of the startled faces of the men who had held out their arms to stop him, then he was through. Some shots were fired but none touched him.
His objective now was the Halifax, from which, having reached the tarmac, Biggles was just descending. Biggles stopped, staring, when he saw the approaching vehicle.
'Throw those hats away — he'll think we're police!' Ginger flung the words over his shoulder.
53 Biggles Chinese Puzzle Page 4
