Biggles - Secret Agent Read online

  As Ginger watched breathlessly he became aware of something else; it was a confused murmur, almost a hum. For a moment it puzzled him, then he realized what it was. It was a human voice speaking rapidly beyond the wooden partition. He turned questioning eyes to Biggles. ‘We must be in the castle,’ he whispered.

  Biggles nodded.

  Ginger turned his attention again to the partition. Close against his feet was a square stone, not unlike a milestone, or one of the ‘mounting’ stools which are still sometimes to be found outside old road-houses, and which were used in days gone by to enable horsemen to mount more easily. On this Ginger climbed, and placed his ear to the woodwork in a vague hope that he might be able to hear what was being said. But in this position he was not very steady, and he reached up with his left hand to a small, oblong panel of wood which he thought might help him to maintain his balance. The movement was purely instinctive, and he had no other motive, so he was entirely unprepared for what happened next. The wooden panel, instead of being a fixture, as he had naturally supposed, was fixed to the wall only at one end, so that under the pressure of his hand it moved bodily, as on a pivot, so that he nearly lost his balance.

  Startled, but retaining his perch with an effort, he turned his eyes upwards, and was astounded — and not a little alarmed — to see a beam of yellow light pouring through a small round hole in the wall. Simultaneously, the sound of talking changed from a distant hum to a comparatively clear conversation.

  For perhaps ten seconds he could only stare at the hole in utter amazement. Then, slowly, with his body pressed close to the wooden panelling, he raised his eyes to the level of the hole.

  The room into which he found himself staring with bated breath was a magnificently appointed hall, or dining-room, although it was now furnished as an office. So much he realized subconsciously, for he did not examine it in detail, his eyes being drawn irresistibly to a huge carved desk in the centre of the room, and four men who were disposed about it. Electric light revealed the scene clearly.

  Behind the desk, in a high-backed chair carved in the same manner, was Erich von Stalhein. Standing facing him on the other side of the desk were two grey-shirted stormtroopers. Between them was a man in a leather flying jacket, obviously a prisoner. It was Algy.

  CHAPTER X

  Von Stalhein Plays a Trump Card

  Algy’s voice reached them clearly. It was coldly dispassionate. ‘Perhaps you will explain the meaning of this,’ he said.

  ‘Surely the boot is on the other foot, as you English say,’ returned von Stalhein, studiously polite. ‘I await your explanation as to why you, knowing well the international regulations, make an illegal and surreptitious landing in a foreign country.’

  Algy’s answer was a revelation to the listeners behind the panelling. ‘I landed because your gang of thugs signalled to me to do so,’ he answered icily.

  ‘I quite appreciate that when you landed your surprise at finding my men waiting for you must have been complete. Why dissemble, Captain Lacey? You expected to find your friends. Oh yes, I knew all about them coming here. I was waiting for them when they arrived, so they, like you, are under arrest,’ lied von Stalhein easily.

  Ginger, quivering with rage, was tempted to throw the lie back at the German, but prudence prevailed and he restrained himself.

  ‘You seem to know all about it,’ said Algy, with more than a suspicion of a sneer in his voice.

  ‘It is my business to know,’ purred von Stalhein.

  ‘Where are my friends now?’

  ‘You came here to answer questions, not to ask them,’ von Stalhein pointed out coldly.

  ‘Well, I’m answering no questions,’ grated Algy.

  ‘My dear Captain Lacey, your discourtesy pains me,’ murmured von Stalhein sardonically. ‘Why not be frank? I can be frank with you. Would you not be interested to hear the circumstances that have resulted in your arrival here?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ invited Algy. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

  ‘You see, it was like this,’ went on von Stalhein smoothly. ‘Immediately it was known that your friend the Major was here, it was quite obvious that two accessories could not be far away. The first was yourself, and the other, an aeroplane. Naturally, it required no great mental effort to deduce that the aeroplane, with Unterhamstadt as its objective, would operate from a point as conveniently near as possible; so friends of mine, who have control of such things, immediately broadcast a radio message to all those who work for us outside our country, asking if a British aeroplane, with a crew of three, had been observed on their particular aerodrome. By this means we were able to establish the base from which you were operating. A straight line drawn from there to Unterhamstadt on the map gave us the probable line of flight of the aeroplane. The rest was easy. An extremely delicate sound detector — our latest invention in this department, by the way — picked you up. As your friends were already here we knew that it could only be you flying the machine. After that I simply posted men at all available landing-grounds within a reasonable area, and when you arrived over that nice plain so conveniently near Unterhamstadt, they, acting on my instructions, flashed a message that you were to land. It was obvious, even to my limited intelligence, that such an arrangement must exist between you and your accomplices on the ground – unless, of course, you were both equipped with wireless apparatus, which I could not believe. But the ruse worked. So you see, it was all perfectly simple.’

  And, as he stated it, so it seemed, thought Ginger, appalled by the cunning way in which the German had anticipated and countered their plan.

  ‘Well, having flattered your vanity by letting me know how clever you are, what are you going to do about it?’ asked Algy nonchalantly.

  Von Stalhein was lolling back in his chair, his monocle in place, smoking a cigarette held in a long holder. It was obvious that he was enjoying the situation. ‘You know, Captain Lacey,’ he went on, ignoring Algy’s question, ‘great as is the admiration I have for your friend Major Bigglesworth, I fear that on this occasion he has committed a grave error of judgement in undertaking a task beyond his capacity. It is a pity.’

  ‘Must I stand here and listen to you patting yourself on the back?’ growled Algy belligerently. ‘Don’t laugh too loudly. Unless you have already killed him, Bigglesworth will give—’

  Von Stalhein interrupted him with a short laugh. ‘I shall take no risks, of that you may be sure,’ he murmured. ‘Is there anything more you wish to say? When it was reported to me that you had been brought in, naturally I felt obliged to accord myself the honour of renewing our acquaintance.’

  ‘What you really wanted to do was to gloat,’ declared Algy bluntly. ‘Well, have your little gloat while the going’s good. It’s time you knew that you won’t have it all your own way all the time.’

  ‘Silence!’ Von Stalhein’s pose broke under the strain of Algy’s contemptuous jibe. He sat bolt upright in his chair, eyes flashing coldly, lips pressed together in a straight line. He barked an order. The grey-shirted storm-troopers took Algy by the arms and marched him from the room. The door slammed behind them.

  Ginger continued to watch von Stalhein, who began to pace up and down the room with his head bowed in thought. His manner was by no means so assured as it had been for Algy’s benefit, and Ginger guessed the reason. He and Biggles were still at large, although the information the German had volunteered to Algy was to the contrary, and he was worried about it. For a minute he continued pacing up and down; then, as if he had suddenly reached a decision, he sat down again and pressed a bell on his desk. The door was opened immediately by a storm-trooper. Von Stalhein rapped out a curt order, of which Ginger caught one word — ‘Beklinder’. He turned away from the spy-hole. ‘I believe he has sent for the Professor,’ he whispered.

  Biggles moved Ginger aside and took his place. A few seconds later a man whom he had never seen, but whom he recognized instantly, was brought into the room by a single guard. It was Professor Bekl
inder.

  Von Stalhein dismissed the guard and pulled out a chair near the desk with an exaggerated exhibition of courtesy. ‘Sit down, Professor,’ he said.

  ‘I prefer to stand,’ replied the Professor bitterly.

  ‘And you would prefer to speak in English?’

  ‘That is my own language.’

  ‘You are English only by naturalization.’

  ‘Have you brought me here again to reopen this fatuous argument?’

  Von Stalhein allowed his monocle to drop from his eye. He settled himself back in his chair. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I brought you here to congratulate you on your wisdom in bowing to the inevitable. Believe me, Professor, I was delighted for your sake when I was told that you were at last working and exercising your unique talents in the laboratory which my government has provided for you.’

  ‘You may have been delighted, but it was certainly not for my sake.’

  ‘Let us not quibble about that. You have, I am told, made a small quantity of the — er — mixture, in which we are interested.’

  The Professor took a small round bottle from his pocket, and holding it up to the light turned it so that a yellow oily liquid with which it was about half filled crept sluggishly towards the other end of the receptacle. ‘Yes, no doubt this will interest you,’ he said. ‘The question naturally arises, what are you going to do with me now that I have submitted to your demands and presented you with my formula? You promised that I should be allowed to return to England.’

  ‘Yes, that is true — but not immediately.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There will be certain matters to arrange.’

  ‘Yes, so I suspected,’ said the Professor, in a curious voice. ‘And no doubt the arrangements will take a very long time to make. In fact, the truth is, you have no intention of allowing me to return to England, have you?’

  ‘You do me an injustice, Professor,’ said von Stalhein in a tone of pained reproach.

  ‘I observe that you avoid my question. Will you swear to me on your oath that I am to be allowed to return to England?’

  Von Stalhein hesitated.

  ‘No, you will not.’ The Professor answered his own question. ‘Can you possibly suppose that for one single moment I was deceived by your lies?’ he went on quickly, with a rising inflexion in his voice, a flush of anger staining his pale cheeks. ‘Can you think that I do not understand your methods — you cheat?’

  Von Stalhein rose swiftly to his feet, the corners of his mouth drawn down. ‘Such insulting remarks will not help you,’ he snapped.

  The Professor shook his head sadly. ‘As if anything could have helped me — except perhaps the British government — once I was in your hands. Oh, I had no delusions. From the moment I knew that I was in your power I realized that I was doomed. It is a bad thing for a man to know that he is doomed, Hauptmann von Stalhein. Bad for him and bad for others, because it moves him to desperate measures. But you, for all your cunning, have made a grave mistake. You put me in a laboratory — me, the inventor of Linderite.’ The Professor laughed bitterly. ‘I have been very busy in the laboratory, and my work is now complete. But what I have in this bottle is not what you so earnestly seek. Could you think that I should be such a fool?’

  ‘What is it?’ jerked out von Stalhein sharply.

  ‘It is an explosive infinitely more powerful than Linderite,’ announced the Professor. He almost purred the words as he held up the bottle again and gazed affectionately at the contents.

  Von Stalhein’s hand crept towards his pocket, but the Professor saw the movement. ‘Shoot — shoot by all means,’ he said, calmly. ‘Doubtless you are aware of what happens when nitro-glycerine is dropped — or even moved violently. It explodes. I believe the compound which I hold in my hand to be so deadly that any severe vibration — such as would occur if I allowed it to fall — would be sufficient to cause it to detonate. If such a thing occurred I should only have one regret — not that there would be much time for regrets, you understand? I should not live to see exactly how devastating would be the result. But it would be considerable, I assure you. Very little would be left of the castle. As for you and me, why, nothing would remain to show that we had ever been. A fitting end for a research chemist like myself — and for a liar like you.’

  During this long oration von Stalhein had lit another cigarette. He puffed at it jerkily, nervously. ‘But why do you call me a liar, Professor?’ he asked.

  ‘You brought me here, to Lucrania, by appealing to a man’s most primitive instinct — paternity.’

  ‘You came here entirely on your own initiative in order to meet your son.’

  ‘The whole thing was a plot arranged by you.’

  Von Stalhein shook his head. ‘I am sorry that you should so misjudge me,’ he said mournfully. ‘Naturally, I did not want to take your mind off your work. The pleasure of meeting your son I reserved until your work was finished.’

  ‘You persist in the deception?’

  ‘It is no deception, Professor. Your son is here now.’

  The Professor turned questioning eyes to von Stalhein. ‘It would be a simple matter to prove that,’ he said.

  Von Stalhein smiled as he reached for the bell. ‘You shall have proof immediately,’ he promised.

  A storm-trooper answered the summons. Von Stalhein gave an order, and as the trooper retired he got up and came round the desk towards the Professor. ‘My dear Professor,’ he said silkily, ‘In a few moments you will be apologizing for the hard names you have called me.’

  ‘I will reserve my judgement till then,’ was the curt rejoinder.

  The door was flung open again and the storm-trooper reappeared. With him was the pseudo-girl in brown who had been at the hotel, now in masculine attire. The boy stopped dead when he saw his father; then, with a glad cry, he ran forward, arms outstretched.

  The Professor’s hand trembled as he stood the bottle on von Stalhein’s desk. He was staring at his son, so he did not see von Stalhein, with a swift movement, pick up the bottle and place it on a shelf in a full-length safe that stood against the wall.

  Father and son spoke quickly in tones so low that Biggles could not catch the words, although he heard the boy make some reference to his mother. They spoke for some time, but at last von Stalhein interrupted. ‘Well,’ he said.

  The Professor swung round. There were tears in his eyes and his face was working with emotion. His embarrassment was almost painful to see. ‘I apologize,’ he said huskily. ‘This is my son.’

  Von Stalhein’s manner changed abruptly. ‘Very well,’ he said coolly. ‘The interview has lasted long enough. You will now return to your rooms — you, Professor, until you have completed what is required of you.’

  ‘Am I not to be allowed to see my son?’

  ‘Afterwards.’

  The Professor seemed to come suddenly to himself. His eyes went to the desk. ‘Where is the bottle?’ he asked.

  ‘Where it can do no harm,’ von Stalhein told him mockingly.

  The Professor nodded slowly. ‘So,’ he said, ‘again you have been too clever for me.’

  Von Stalhein shrugged his shoulders. ‘I trust that you now have an incentive to be more obliging,’ he murmured.

  The Professor bowed. ‘I understand perfectly,’ he said.

  The storm-trooper parted father and son and ordered them to follow him. They went without a backward glance and the door closed behind them.

  Von Stalhein sank down in his chair. There was a curious smile on his lips as he reached for the telephone. He spoke briefly. A few moments later an unterofficier of the stormtroopers appeared and, marching with military precision to the desk, saluted.

  ‘The two Englishmen?’ said von Stalhein crisply. ‘Is there any news yet?’

  ‘Nein, Herr Commandant.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We cannot yet find which way they have gone.’

  Von Stalhein frowned. ‘So,’ he said vindictively. ‘It wou
ld be a good thing if they were soon found — a good thing for yourself —you understand?’

  ‘Ja, Herr Commandant.’

  ‘That is all.’

  The storm-trooper saluted and marched out of the room.

  Von Stalhein, after a few moment’s reflection, picked up his cap and followed him.

  Biggles drew a deep breath and relaxed. He closed the spy-hole and stepped down into the corridor.

  ‘What the deuce is going on?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘We’d better not talk here; let’s go farther along and I’ll tell you all about it,’ replied Biggles.

  CHAPTER XI

  Desperate Measures

  As they moved carefully along the corridor, holding their arms in front of their faces to shield them from countless cobwebs, they saw other mounting stones with more spy-holes like that in the panelling of von Stalhein’s room. They looked through each one, hoping they might discover the room in which Algy or the Beklinders were confined; but this, as Biggles pointed out, was too much to expect. In each case the room into which they peeped was in absolute darkness, and as there was no sound they assumed they were now in a part of the castle which was not used.

  ‘My goodness! They didn’t trust each other much in the old days,’ whispered Ginger. ‘Fancy building a place with all these spy-holes!’

  ‘They’re not uncommon,’ Biggles told him. ‘No doubt they were needed in the days when these places were built. There was usually a conspiracy of some sort going on, and a fellow was lucky indeed who could trust even his friends. Few did, with the result that they took precautions to hear what was being said behind their backs. In addition to the spy-hole, there are probably secret doors in this panelling if we knew where to look for them. Never mind about that now. Where the dickens are we getting?’

  ‘Where are you hoping to get?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ admitted Biggles. ‘Our job is to get Beklinder out of this place and out of the country; and, of course, Algy — if we can. The arrival of Beklinder’s son on the scene hasn’t made our job any easier. I don’t suppose for a moment that the Professor will go without his son, or the son without his father. Unless they are together somewhere that is bound to complicate matters. Algy is in no position to help us; he’s in a bad way himself. The unfortunate thing is that he doesn’t know the facts. He thinks we are prisoners, so his chief concern will be to get into touch with us. Meanwhile, our own position isn’t too bright. We’ve got to find a way out. I’m pretty certain that this passage connects with at least one room in the castle, but whether we can find it is another matter. We can’t do anything until we find out where this passage ends. If it comes out inside the castle we might be able to do something. If it emerges outside the wall — well, I’m afraid we should never get in through the gate.’