Biggles Looks Back Page 12

  He often stopped to listen, although being on the reverse side of the slope from the road he did not expect to hear any activity on it. Actually he was more concerned with what was in front of him. The rain pattering constantly on the leaves overhead, and dripping through them, worried him because he was afraid this would drown all other sounds unless they were close.

  He had one fright when a large animal which must have been on the path crashed away into the forest. He didn’t see it, so he never knew what it was. Not that he wanted to know. He sat on the bank to rest and recover from the shock, glad that he was not pushed for time. He risked lighting a cigarette, shielding the flame with his hands. He felt he needed one.

  All the time his brain was racing, trying to see any new difficulties that had arisen as a result of Reinhardt’s latest action. One was clear, and he considered it with acute concern because he could see no way out of it. It was the business of getting to the rendezvous to meet Bertie when the time came. It meant not only getting to the road but crossing it; and he had an uneasy feeling that after this new development it would more than ever be closely watched. He saw, too, that when he got to the castle he would have to stay there. There could be no going back to the hotel, or, for that matter, to Rodnitz.

  He put his foot on his cigarette, got up and went on.

  Five miles, as Von Stalhein had estimated the distance from the bridge to the ruins of the old lodge, is a fair walk in the best conditions. To Biggles the track seemed endless. The rain continued to drop and his pauses for rest became more frequent. By no means sure of what he would have to face at the finish he did not want to arrive in a state of exhaustion. The ruins, Von Stalhein had said, were not actually on the track, but some little distance above. Afraid of passing them he now began to make sorties into the forest in search of them, finding it easy to understand how in fairy tales children so easily became lost. Once, having left the track, it took him some anxious minutes to find it again.

  The ordeal came to an end when on one of these excursions he stumbled over a large solid object. His hands told him it was a block of stone. Groping about he found more, and presently the walls of a roofless building much bigger than he had expected. He had supposed the hunting lodge to be something in the nature of a cottage; instead, he found it had been a building the size of a small church, or chapel.

  However, he felt sure this could only be the ruin of which Von Stalhein had spoken, so, as there was nothing more he could do for the time being he found a scat on a broken wall, and muffled up in his mac prepared to wait for Max, who was to be his guide for the remainder of his journey. The appointment was for ten o’clock. A cautious look at his watch, inside the mackintosh, showed that he was still early by nearly half an hour — the result, of course, of starting earlier than he had intended. There were only a few small trees on the site of the old building so visibility was somewhat better than it had been in the deep forest. That is not to say it was moonlight; but he could see a few yards.

  It was a dismal, depressing place. The only sound was the monotonous patter of rain. All he could see was the stark silhouette of broken walls against the sky. Fairy-tales? If ever there was a setting for witchcraft and dark deeds this was it, he reflected, as he ate a portion of his bread and sausage.

  He had just finished his simple but satisfying meal when a curious sound caused his nerves to stiffen. He could not imagine what had produced it. It was not wind in the trees for the air was still. It was not the soft spatter of raindrops. It was more of a scrape, as if stones had rubbed together. He held his breath, the better to hear a repetition of the sound, should it come. With every muscle alert for action his eyes strove to probe the gloom in the direction from which he thought the noise had come. Suddenly they stopped, concentrated on one spot.

  Within a dozen yards of him the ground was moving... slowly rising. Or was it? Yes. Something was moving. Something that breathed... long, deep breaths.

  Biggles was not a man easily frightened; but now for a few seconds he experienced the chilling shock of supernatural fear, which is a very different sensation from physical fear. For this no doubt the circumstances — night, the ruins, the forest, the proximity of the castle — were largely responsible; but it called for all his self-control not to give way to a panic rush from the spot.

  There was a grunt. Something fell, with a curious hollow boom. A vague form materialized, rising out of the earth. Then, as Biggles stood rigid, staring, a match flared, revealing a face, and at the sight of it his straining nerves relaxed. It was a man. Max, the forester. He was lighting one of those long German tobacco pipes which end in a porcelain bowl.

  “Here I am, Max,” said Biggles.

  Max nearly dropped his pipe. “Ach. Mein Gott. You startled me.”

  “Not as much as you frightened me.”

  “You are early.”

  “Yes. But they came to arrest me and I had nowhere else to go.”

  “So. Sind Sie fertig?”1

  “Ja.”

  “Folgen Sie mir.”2

  Everything was explained when Max stooped and lifted a stone slab. Biggles recoiled in horror, for in the light of a small pocket torch which the forester now produced it could be seen that an inscription proclaimed it to be a tomb. Max chuckled and made a sign for him to enter. The light showed stone steps descending. Biggles went down into a pit of utter darkness. Max followed, adjusted the stone above his head and took the lead.

  It came as no surprise to Biggles to find himself in a tunnel; nor was he surprised that such a crafty bolt hole existed, for such emergency entrances and exits were a necessary feature of medieval castles liable to siege. Even taking into account the improbability of it having been used for perhaps hundreds of years it was in a foul condition, damp, cold and stinking of decay; all the worse for its small dimensions.

  It was not more than five feet high, which meant it was impossible to stand erect, and only wide enough for one person to pass at a time. This of course was a simple measure of defence. The walls were some sort of brick, but they were now coated with a veneer of slime over which water from above trickled to form pools of mud on the ground. Water dripped from the roof. However, Biggles was in no case to be particular. He thought it fortunate the hole was there. And that one man knew of it, the secret no doubt having been handed down father to son for generations.

  They splashed on, Max showing the way, for some distance, when the hole came to a dead end at another short flight of stone steps. Max knew what to do. He mounted the steps. At the top he turned and raised a finger in a warning signal.

  “Sie still,”3 he whispered.

  Biggles nodded.

  Max pushed, and a door must have opened, for there came a current of clean cool air. He disappeared. Biggles followed and found himself standing by an enormous fireplace through the back of which he must have entered a room so huge that in olden times it could only have been the banqueting hall of the castle. Max beckoned and they went on.

  The journey that followed, while not very long, was for Biggles as strange as he had ever undertaken. Rooms and corridors with fey, grim walls, practically devoid of furniture and as chilly as the stone of which the place was built. It was unreal. Glazed eyes in the heads of deer and wild boar long dead, the boar with curling tusks springing from red-painted gums. The only other decorations on the walls were ancient weapons, crossbows, a mace, a battle-axe, metal gauntlets, rusty spurs and the like.

  Huge doors, black with age, were opened and closed behind them. It was impossible not to feel the atmosphere of the place; and hear it, for their footsteps, however quietly they tried to walk, had the hollow ring of an empty vault. A great flight of stone stairs swept up to the next floor. At. the top a rusting suit of armour standing stiffly to attention, hands resting on the hilt of mighty sword, regarded them with sightless eyes as they passed by.

  At last Max stopped at a door and again raised a warning finger. “Warten Sie hier,”4 he ordered, and went on alone. />
  He was soon back, inviting Biggles to enter. He himself withdrew.

  Biggles walked in and found himself in Marie’s sitting room. She, and Von Stalhein, stood before him, expressions apprehensive.

  “Max says something has happened,” said Marie.

  Biggles nodded. “I’m afraid it has. Most unfortunate but not entirely unexpected.” He looked at Von Stalhein. “Reinhardt, I think, has at last been informed of our association. He came to the hotel in a police car with two other men. It could have been for no other purpose than to arrest me. I got away, but, like you, I am now on the run. Naturally, I made for here. I was coming here anyway, as you know, to tell you what had been arranged. Is everything all right here?”

  Marie answered. “Yes. So far. Erich told you what the position is now. Sit down and we’ll talk about it. You must be tired. Give me that wet mackintosh and I’ll put it away to dry.”

  * * *

  1 German: “Are you ready?”

  2 German: “Follow me.”

  3 German: “Be quiet.”

  4 German: “Wait here.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  REINHARDT MAKES A CALL

  BIGGLES described exactly what had happened in Rodnitz.

  Von Stalhein listened with grave attention, Marie with dismay.

  “I don’t think this will affect the plan I have made with Bertie except that once we leave the castle, with the police on their toes, getting to the river and across it is bound to be dangerous,” went on Biggles. “I’d better tell you what has been arranged then you’ll understand the position. I was coming here tonight to do that, anyway. As things have turned out that was lucky, because Max was at the lodge to meet me and that simplified matters. Bertie has gone home to fetch an aircraft. If all goes well he should be back on Saturday night.” Biggles went on to unfold the scheme in detail.

  “I have some doubts about the operation that are worrying me,” he confessed. “They concern you, Marie. Will you be able to get to the landing ground? First there’s the problem of getting you down from the balcony. Erich and I can manage with the ivy, but can you? We haven’t a rope.”

  “I’ll ask Greta to speak to Max about that. He may be able to suggest something. But don’t worry. If there’s no other way I’ll use the ivy.”

  “Then there’s the matter of wading the river. I see no way out of that. We daren’t use the bridge. Moreover it would double the distance. Unfortunately any possible landing grounds we’ve seen happen to be on the other bank.”

  “I shall get there, never fear,” declared Marie confidently. “The thought of outwitting my persecutors will keep me going.”

  “Very well. We’ll say no more about it, but I thought you’d better understand clearly what has to be done. The tunnel wouldn’t be any use to us. It comes out on the wrong side of the hill and we mustn’t forget the guards.”

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?” asked Von Stalhein.

  “Nothing. There is nothing more for me to do. It’s just a matter now of waiting for zero hour. The question is, where shall I wait? Had it not been for this upset tonight I would have stayed on at the hotel. That was my intention. But for obvious reasons I can’t go back to Rodnitz. I shall have to find somewhere close, from where I shall be in contact with you. If we lost touch — well, anything could happen.”

  “You’ll have to stay here,” said Marie, firmly.

  “I was sure you’d say that, and while it presents difficulties I must admit I can see no alternative,” returned Biggles. “It would be foolish for me to go far from the castle.”

  “What are the difficulties? If you’re thinking about food—”

  “Naturally, I was thinking about that; but I’m more worried about the situation it would create.”

  “In what way?” asked Von Stalhein. “Provided Max can get the extra food one more person in the party won’t make any difference.”

  Biggles shook his head. “I’m not so sure you’re right about that. You disappeared, apparently into thin air. Now, I hope, I’ve done the same thing. The people we’re up against aren’t fools or they’d soon lose their jobs. If my guess is right Reinhardt has just learned that you and I have been on good terms for some time; that it was my party that lifted you out of Sakhalin prison camp. For some time they must have been asking themselves what are we doing here.”

  “You and Bertie have been buying glass.”

  Biggles looked dubious. “Now, as I suspect, our association is known, how long is it going to take them to realize the glass business was simply a cover story? Not long. I fancy it was suspect from the day we arrived; otherwise, why should Reinhardt be interested in me? It didn’t take him long to spot we had a particular interest in the river road. How long is it going to be before he hooks up our visit to Bohemia with this castle?” Biggles looked hard at Von Stalhein. “And if he knew, or learns, that you and Marie are old friends, that will be the pay-off. He’ll know all the answers. Did Reinhardt, when he was working with you on Intelligence, know that you were sometimes given an assignment together?”

  Von Stalhein, thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Would he be in a position to know that Marie had got hold of a foolish young flying officer named Bigglesworth, and induced him to play her cards for her?”

  “I don’t know. Not to my knowledge. Of course, he may have seen the official reports on the case. It went on for some time while we were making arrangements to get Marie out of France.”

  “Pity. That’s a vital question.” Biggles looked at Marie. “Did you know Reinhardt in those days?”

  “Only by sight. I never worked with him. I didn’t like the man.”

  Biggles shrugged. “Well, there it is. However much is known about us there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  Marie changed the subject. “Did you have a meal before you left Rodnitz?”

  Biggles smiled. “No. I left in some haste. But I’ve had one since. As an old campaigner I took care not to start on a journey without rations. On my way out of town I bought bread and a sausage. Also, not knowing where the next were coming from, a good supply of cigarettes. So I have all I want at the moment. Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What is more important, can you suggest a place where I can lie low for a few days? Not here, but somewhere not too far away. From what I’ve seen of it the castle isn’t exactly overcrowded.”

  “I’ll speak to Greta about it and she can ask Max. Until then you’ll have to share the guard room on the balcony with Erich. I’ll ring for Greta now.”

  As it happened this was not necessary. A sharp knock on the door turned every head in that direction. There was no time to move. Without waiting for an invitation to enter the door was thrust open and in burst a little grey-haired woman in a state of agitation.

  “What is it , Greta?” asked Marie quickly.

  From Greta’s lips poured a stream of words, in low German, too fast for Biggles to follow, although he sensed trouble.

  Marie looked at the two men. “You heard that?”

  Von Stalhein nodded grimly.

  Biggles said: “Not all of it. My German isn’t up to that speed.”

  “She says the courtyard is full of soldiers. I think she must mean Special Police. Soldiers and police do not often work together.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Max is there with the oberfeldwebel1 in charge. He has been asked to find quarters for the new men.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” returned Biggles.

  “Could it be worse?”

  “Easily. If they demand quarters they are obviously going to stay. If they are going to stay this can’t be a raid. A search party would have come straight into the castle. Still, Erich and I had better be ready to move fast. Let’s wait for a further report from Max.”

  Marie told Greta to return to the yard and bring any news her husband may have gathered.
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  Said Biggles: “In such times as these what a wonderful thing it is to have a loyal servant.”

  “It seems we’ve arrived at the castle just as things are boiling up,” remarked Von Stalhein, gloomily.

  “It was because I thought matters were approaching a climax that I wrote to you,” said Marie.

  They waited for some twenty minutes, the window open ready for the men to make a swift exit should it be necessary.

  “Do you suppose this is a new move on the part of the Russians?” Biggles asked Marie.

  She answered: “Not the Russians, I think. The country is of course controlled from Moscow, but they don’t worry us much now as long as the country remains quiet. The people who cause the trouble are the government, Czech Communists, traitors who, having been given power, intend to keep it. Everything they do is for themselves. They have agents and spies everywhere. There are many in Rodnitz, so even the ordinary people dare trust no one. The Ortshommandant himself is in their pay, I am told. These are the people I fear most. They are determined to have what they know is here. I don’t think the Russians on their own account would take much notice of me.”

  Greta came back. She brought news. The guard over the castle was to be doubled. Among the new arrivals were some engineers. Finally, she herself had been ordered to tell her mistress that the Kommandant would he coming to see her.

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  Marie half rose to her feet. “At this hour!”

  “He says it is important that he sees you. He will not keep you long.”

  “Very well, Greta. I can’t prevent him from coming here.”

  Greta went out.

  “We’d better get out, too,” Biggles told Von Stalhein. “I wonder what the devil he has to say at this time of night. Ah well, we shall soon know.”

  They retired to the balcony, leaving the window open just enough to enable them to hear what went on in the room. They had to wait some time, taking it in turns to keep an eye to the window, before their curiosity was satisfied. It happened to be Von Stalhein’s turn to watch when a man’s voice told Biggles that someone had entered.