Biggles Buries a Hatchet Read online

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1: A VISITOR BRINGS NEWS

  CHAPTER 2: A MURDERER STRIKES TWICE

  CHAPTER 3: BIGGES CHANGES HIS MIND

  CHAPTER 4: OUTWARD BOUND

  CHAPTER 5: DRAMA IN THE FOREST

  CHAPTER 6: A STRANGE ALLY

  CHAPTER 7: WHAT ONE MAN CAN DO

  CHAPTER 8: A PILOT IS LUCKY

  CHAPTER 9: PREPARATIONS

  CHAPTER 10: CLOSE WORK IN COLD BLOOD

  CHAPTER 11: BIGGLES MAKES HIS PLAN

  CHAPTER 12: A TEST OF NERVES

  CHAPTER 13: BERTIE TAKES A HAND

  CHAPTER 14: HEAVY GOING

  CHAPTER 15: VON STALHEIN SAYS HIS PIECE

  CHAPTER 1

  A VISITOR BRINGS NEWS

  THE six o’clock news was coming through on the radio when Biggles walked into the flat which he shared with his staff pilots to find them all there. Ginger, who was sitting nearest the instrument, seeing Biggles arrive, switched off.

  ‘Hello,’ he greeted, in a tone of mild surprise. ‘You’re back earlier than I expected.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ inquired Biggles casually, dropping into a chair.

  ‘Not particularly. But you said you were staying at the office until the Air Commodore—’

  ‘I know,’ broke in Biggles. ‘But he phoned to say he wouldn’t be coming back, so as the matter about which I wanted to see him wasn’t urgent I waffled along home. Has something happened?’

  ‘Nothing much; but there was a phone call for you a few minutes ago. A fellow wanted to see you. I said you weren’t expected back until around seven. He said he’d come round then.’

  ‘You know I don’t like seeing people here.’

  ‘I told him that, but he said there were reasons why he didn’t want to go to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’

  ‘Yes. Fritz Lowenhardt. Does that mean anything to you?’

  ‘Not a thing — except that it has a solid German ring about it. We may know more about it presently. You might buzz the janitor and tell him to bring this fellow up when he arrives.’

  Ginger obeyed. ‘Do you want a cup o’ tea?’ he queried.

  ‘No thanks. I had one on the way home.’ Biggles unfolded the evening paper and settled back to read.

  ‘How do you suppose this chap Lowenhardt got your private address?’ asked Algy. ‘He couldn’t have got it from the phone book because it isn’t there.’

  ‘Obviously somebody must have given it to him. Does he speak English?’

  ‘Perfectly, although his accent sounded a bit rough,’ answered Ginger. ‘From his voice I’d say he’s a young man.’

  ‘We shall see,’ returned Biggles. Silence fell.

  It was shortly after seven that the expected knock came on the door and the janitor showed in the visitor who, after the door had been closed, gazed around with what to Ginger seemed like anxiety, if not nervousness.

  He had been right in his belief that the man who had made the phone call was young; actually, he was younger even than he had thought. He put his age at not more than eighteen. In the matter of appearance he was tall, straight and fair, with exceptionally bright blue eyes. His features were finely cut, and with a rather pale complexion gave an impression that he was not very strong.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Lowenhardt,’ invited Biggles. ‘My name is Bigglesworth. I understand you want to see me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You speak English?’

  ‘Not very well,’ was the answer, with a pronounced accent.

  Biggles smiled. ‘Don’t worry about that. If you have any difficulty speak German. With one language or the other no doubt we shall be able to get along. Where have you come from?’

  ‘From Germany.’

  ‘East or West?’

  ‘From East Berlin.’

  A shadow of disapproval crossed Biggles’ face. ‘What was your purpose in coming to see me?’

  ‘I came to deliver a message.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘From my uncle.’

  Biggles looked puzzled. ‘Am I supposed to know him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is your uncle?’

  ‘I express myself badly. I should have said my uncle is Hauptmann Erich von Stalhein.’

  It was not often that Ginger saw the wind taken out of Biggles’ sails, as the saying is, but this was one such occasion.

  After a brief pause in which he threw a comical expression at the others. Biggles went on: ‘What is this message?’

  ‘I am to tell you to be extra careful because there is a plot to assassinate you.’

  Biggles stared at the speaker. Incredulity raised his voice a tone. ‘Your uncle has sent you here to tell me that?’

  ‘Yes. It has been ordered that you must be liquidated.’

  ‘Ordered by whom?’

  ‘The Special Committee of the Secret Police.’

  ‘But those are the very people for whom your uncle works.’ Suspicion and astonishment were mingled in Biggles’ declaration.

  ‘He did work for them, but not any more.’

  ‘I see. So it’s like that. Now tell me this. Why did your uncle send you with this message? If he felt like that about me why didn’t he come here himself?’

  ‘It was not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He has gone to prison.’

  ‘You amaze me. For how long?’

  ‘For life. Which means you will never see him again. It also means that he will not live long. You know how these things are arranged in Eastern Europe, where men who are no longer any use to the Party are regarded both as a danger and an unnecessary expense.’

  Bertie started to protest, but Biggles stopped him with a gesture. ‘Do you know how this state of affairs came about?’ he asked the German youth.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I think you had better tell us about it,’ suggested Biggles, his eyes on the visitor’s face. ‘By the way, how old are you?’

  ‘I am seventeen.’

  ‘Do you live with your uncle?’

  ‘I live with my mother, my uncle’s younger sister. Since my father died Uncle Erich has often stayed with us. Indeed, he was with us when this blow fell.’

  ‘Do you know who I am, and what I am?’

  ‘Oh yes. My uncle spoke often of you to me. It is because of you that he is where he is now, but he bears you no ill-will for that.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the political prison of Sakhalin, the island that lies off the coast of Siberia between the Gulf of Tartary and the Sea of Okhotsk. It is the most dreadful place in all the world. Life there is a living death.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that it was through me that he has been sent there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘You were the chief cause of his failure.’

  ‘He would have been the cause of mine had things fallen out differently,’ stated Biggles. ‘If he chose to take sides with people on the other side of the Iron Curtain that was entirely his affair. He knew the sort of people he was working for. I can’t accept responsibility for that. What were you doing in the Russian Zone of Berlin, anyway?’

  ‘Please don’t imagine that we like it there.’

  ‘Then why do you stay?’

  ‘It is easy to say that. Our home has always been there. To leave, even if that could be arranged, would mean abandoning everything we possess, all the things we treasure, and arriving in Western Europe with nothing but the clothes we stand in. We often talked of doing that, but my mother is getting on in years and she could not bear to part with the things she shared with my father.’

  ‘
I can understand that,’ conceded Biggles.

  ‘People who live in a free country cannot imagine what life is like for us.’

  ‘Some of us have a pretty good idea,’ said Biggles. ‘But returning to your uncle, would you expect me to shed tears over the fate of a man who has always been the enemy of my country?’

  ‘You have always been the enemy of his.’

  ‘That’s not true. While we were at war, yes, but even then there was nothing personal about it. When the war was over — well, it was over and we were prepared to bury the hatchet. But not your uncle. He had allowed his hatred of us to eat into him so far that he could think of nothing else than how to injure us.’

  ‘Not so much, lately.’

  Biggles shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that. But let us not waste time arguing about it. Tell me about this latest development.’

  ‘Very well. For some time my uncle had been aware that, because of his failures, he had ceased to have the confidence of his superiors. All this really culminated in his failure to recover the papers which Hitler’s Intelligence Officer, Wolff, took with him to Jamaica, where he posed as a Norwegian under the name of Hagen.’1

  ‘He told you about that?’

  ‘Yes. When he returned home he was severely reprimanded. Then someone going through the records observed that he had failed several times, and always through the same cause.’

  ‘What cause?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The conclusion was reached that he was playing a double game, and that he was passing information to you.’

  ‘Ha! That’s a good one!’ snorted Bertie.

  The visitor ignored the interruption. ‘He was arrested and charged with treason. He could have escaped because he had been warned of what was going to happen. He still had one or two friends in high places. The night before they came for him, when he was at our house, one rang him up and told him he just had time to get out of the country. But he refused to run away. He said he would face the charge, although the result was a foregone conclusion. He was tried by the People’s Court and found guilty, but before sentence was passed he was secretly given an opportunity to redeem himself. It had been decided to put you out of the way, so he was ordered to go to England and kill you as proof of his integrity. He refused, saying he was a soldier, not a murderer. He was given twenty-four hours to reconsider the matter. He came to our house and giving me some money, and your address, told me to go to England to warn you of what was likely to happen.’

  ‘I’m surprised they allowed you to leave.’

  ‘I couldn’t bring any luggage, of course. I came exactly as I was. I went out as if I was going for a walk, slipped into the station and took the first train out. How I got across the frontier is another story.’

  ‘Did your mother approve of this?’

  ‘She raised no objection.’

  ‘Are you sure you weren’t followed?’

  ‘I don’t know. In my miserable country one never knows if one is being watched.’

  ‘Won’t you be missed?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘And now, having discharged your mission here, how are you going to get back into East Berlin?’

  ‘I don’t know that, either, but I shall find a way when the time comes.’

  ‘Wasn’t this decision to kill me rather sudden? I mean, your uncle’s superior officers must for a long time have known of my activities as a counter-espionage agent.’

  ‘My uncle had a feeling that something was in the wind, a new anti-western plot of some sort, and that was why his superiors thought it would be better if you were where you couldn’t cause trouble. That, it seems, also applied to him. Perhaps he knew too much, and that was why it was decided to put him away.’

  ‘Well, I’m much obliged to you for this information,’ said Biggles earnestly. ‘At the same time I’d like to say how sorry I am to hear this tragic news about your uncle. It’s all a great pity. More than once, not necessarily because I was hoping to get him on our side of the fence, I warned him of what his fate would be if he persisted in co-operating with the ruthless gang that now controls half your country.’

  ‘He was a stubborn man, also a proud one.’

  ‘Are you telling us?’ breathed Algy.

  Again Biggles studied the face of the visitor. ‘Were you very fond of your uncle?’

  ‘Yes. He was always kind to me and my mother. I admired him, too, because I knew he was a brave soldier.’

  ‘Tell me this, frankly,’ requested Biggles, curiously. ‘Had you any other motive in coming to see me, apart from warning me of my danger?’

  The boy hesitated.

  ‘Speak up. You’re safe here.’

  ‘I thought you might be able to help him.’

  Biggles looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean? Help who?’

  ‘My uncle.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Knowing of your efficiency, which he admired and which has now been the cause of his downfall, I thought — you might — be able...’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Do something for him.’

  ‘What could I, of all people, do for him?’

  ‘You could help him to escape.’

  Biggles sat back, staring. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I was never more serious.’

  ‘Have you forgotten that your uncle was an avowed enemy of my country?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yet you can sit there and calmly suggest that I risk branding myself as a traitor, even if I didn’t lose my life, by putting your uncle in a position from which he could carry on his private war against Britain!’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘How do I know he wouldn’t?’

  ‘His outlook has changed very much recently, partly from his contact with you and partly from his eyes being opened by what he saw in Hungary during the recent uprising there. It may be that the Secret Police suspected this change in him. By saving him now you would be striking a blow at your real enemies.’

  ‘I’m not convinced of that,’ said Biggles, dubiously.

  ‘He could give you information which your Intelligence Service would be glad to have.’

  Biggles shook his head. ‘Neither does that argument impress me. In any case, I am not a free agent to strike blows at anyone, whether it be for personal or national reasons. Some people would say that from our point of view your uncle is safer where he is.’

  ‘But for the warning he has sent you through me, you could have lost your life.’

  ‘I may lose it, anyway. Aside from anything else, how do you suppose I could get to Sakhalin? No. I’m sorry, Herr Lowenhardt, but there is nothing I can do. Your uncle chose to go his own way, and if it has landed him in a tangle of barbed wire he has only himself to thank. Besides, bearing in mind where you have come from, how do I know you are telling the truth? Indeed, how do I know this is not a trap to bring about the very thing against which, you say, you have come here to warn me?’

  Fritz Lowenhardt stood up and drew himself erect. His face was slightly flushed. ‘If you think that, Major Bigglesworth, I have nothing more to say,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘I don’t necessarily think that, Herr Lowenhardt, but I would be both blind and foolish, would I not, if I failed to see the possibilities?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’m glad you do. Can I offer you some refreshment?’

  ‘No, thank you. I have done what I came to do. Now, if you don’t mind, I will take my leave.’

  ‘As you wish,’ agreed Biggles. ‘May I ask where you are staying in London, in case I have occasion to get in touch with you.’

  ‘I have a room at the Brimsdale Hotel, near Victoria Station.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Biggles turned to Ginger. ‘You might see Mr Lowenhardt out.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Ginger saw the young German to the front door and returned to find Algy airing his opinion of the proposal
made by their caller.

  ‘For sheer cool nerve that would be hard to beat,’ he declared.

  ‘On the face of it I’m bound to agree,’ replied Biggles. ‘But taking all the circumstances into consideration it wasn’t an unnatural request. The boy’s desperate, and was prompted, no doubt, by the fact that he had taken a risk in coming here to tip me off about the attempt that will presumably be made on my life.’

  ‘Yes. What about that?’ exclaimed Bertie.

  Biggles smiled. ‘Well, what about it?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I shall have to take my luck. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’d look silly asking for police protection, wouldn’t I?’ Biggles lit a cigarette and resumed his chair.

  ‘I think you were a bit casual with him,’ said Ginger.

  ‘Oh, you do. Did you expect me to leap to my feet and tear off to Sakhalin?’

  ‘No, but I thought you might have been a little more sympathetic. May I take it that you have no intention of doing anything about this?’

  ‘You may,’ answered Biggles, firmly. ‘The best thing we can do is forget about it.’

  ‘But look here, old boy, you can’t just ignore this threat against your life,’ protested Bertie.

  ‘I shall not ignore it, you may be sure, but if such an attempt is on the boards, what can I do to prevent it? Would you have me bolt into hiding, or take to wearing a bulletproof waistcoat like a nervous dictator? Forget it. I shall keep my eyes skinned and keep out of dark corners. That’s all.’

  ‘What do you know about this place — what is it — Sakhalin, where they’ve dumped poor old Erich?’ asked Bertie. ‘I never was any bally good at geography.’

  Biggles answered. ‘Speaking from memory all I can tell you about it is, it lies to the north of Japan; the southern tip is quite close, almost an extension, you might say, of Japan’s north island. It belongs to Russia, and in Tzarist days was a penal colony with a grim reputation. What goes on there now I don’t know, although from what that lad has just told us it sounds as if the new rulers of the Soviet Union are carrying on from where the Tzar left off, with political prisoners thrown in. There might be some more information in the encyclopaedia. Look it up. Ginger.’

  Ginger went to the bookcase and pulling out the appropriate volume flipped over the pages until he found what he sought.