Biggles - Secret Agent Read online

  Von Stalhein stepped out on to the road.

  ‘Keep your hands still,’ ordered Biggles, taking a pace towards him and running his hands over his pockets. He took a small automatic from the German’s hip pocket and put it in his own. ‘You would be well advised to do precisely as I tell you,’ he went on. ‘Start walking back towards the castle.’

  Von Stalhein hesitated.

  ‘I can give you just two seconds,’ grated Biggles.

  Von Stalhein shrugged his shoulders, turned about, and started walking slowly up the road towards the castle gate, whence came the sound of running footsteps.

  Neither of the Beklinders had spoken. ‘We’re British agents,’ was all Biggles said as he slipped into the driving seat.

  ‘In you get, Ginger,’ he ordered.

  ‘Have you picked up the torch?’

  Ginger crawled swiftly into the seat beside Biggles and slammed the door. Biggles slammed his. The car moved forward, swerving round the fallen storm-trooper, who was sitting up near the side of the road. He shouted something as they passed but they could not catch the words.

  ‘He seems to be annoyed about something,’ murmured Ginger.

  ‘A brave man but a fool,’ said Biggles curtly, as he accelerated. ‘Apparently he had the absurd idea that he could unfasten his holster, pull out his revolver, aim, and fire, before I, with my gun in my hand, could pull the trigger. I had to shoot him through the arm. He will know better next time.’

  ‘Where are we bound for?’ asked Ginger, as they reached the junction of the castle road and the village street, and Biggles put his foot hard down on the accelerator. The car raced forward.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Biggles. Then raising his voice a little, but without turning, he said, ‘Professor Beklinder, I want you to be good enough to do exactly as you are told; we are going to try to get you out of the country. I take it that that meets with your approval?’

  ‘Most certainly,’ answered the Professor. ‘But I will not go without my son,’ he added.

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Biggles told him. ‘Have you your passport, by any chance?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither of you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it’s no use our trying to get across the frontier in the ordinary way. With passports there was just a chance that we might have managed it within the next couple of hours; after that I’m afraid every frontier guard will be on the look-out for us. But it’s no use trying it without papers. Every telephone in the country will start buzzing as soon as von Stalhein gets back to the castle.’

  ‘How shall we get out of the country, then?’ asked the Professor anxiously. He spoke with just a suggestion of a foreign accent.

  ‘I can think of only one way,’ replied Biggles, ‘and that is by using the same means as we came in. That is, by aeroplane.’ He suddenly applied the brakes, and, pulling the car to a skidding standstill, turned to Ginger. ‘We’d better get things clear,’ he said. ‘First and foremost, we’ve got to get the Professor and his son out of the country.’

  ‘What about Algy?’ asked Ginger quickly.

  ‘That, for the moment, becomes a side-issue. We shall have to come back for him afterwards. He’ll understand that. As far as the immediate present is concerned I don’t think we dare risk rushing about in this car. Von Stalhein will have its number, and within a couple of hours every policeman and storm-trooper in the country will be on the watch for it. We’ve got to try to get hold of Algy’s machine. It was dark when he landed, and, as it seems unlikely that it would be dismantled or flown away before morning, it should still be where he left it. There will be a guard over it, of course, but we can’t help that. We’ve got to get it, even if it means a fight. I can think of no other way of getting out of the country. And we’ve got to work fast. If ever they get hold of the Professor again, or ourselves, knowing that we know the truth about the faked accident, it will be good-bye. Hark!’

  Far behind them, from the direction of Unterhamstadt, came the vibrant hum of a high-powered car.

  ‘You see?’ said Biggles. ‘They’ve got another car on our track. There must have been one in the village. The pursuit is up.’ As he spoke he started the Morris forward again, but cruised along slowly, half leaning through the open window as if he was looking out for something.

  Then, as if finding what he sought, he turned the car off the road and allowed it to run quietly between the trees of the forest that hemmed them in on both sides. Not until the car was a good fifty yards from the road did he apply the brakes and switch off the lights.

  As the car stopped he got out, asking the others to do the same And hardly had they complied when round the corner came a big open car, driven at racing speed. The seats were packed with storm-troopers. It tore on, and disappeared from sight round the next bend in the road.

  ‘You see what we’re up against?’ said Biggles. ‘That car would soon have overtaken us. We shall do better on foot, across country.’

  ‘You mean, you’re going to try to reach the landing-ground?’ inquired Ginger.

  ‘Unless you can think of a more promising scheme.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘There is bound to be a guard, in which case there is likely to be some shooting; nevertheless, we shall have the advantage of surprise on our side. I have two spare weapons — von Stalhein’s, and the one belonging to the storm-trooper whom I had to shoot, so we are all right for equipment. One of us ought to get through — and it only needs one of us to fly the machine. If you find yourself in the machine with the Professor and his son, take straight off. Don’t wait for me. That’s an order — you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Good!’ Biggles turned to the Professor. ‘Professor Beklinder,’ he said gravely, ‘as you must have gathered from our conversation, although we have got you out of immediate danger the position is still serious. We had an aeroplane ready to fly you to England, but unfortunately the pilot was captured, and we assume that the machine is under guard. My plan is to attempt to take it by force, but I cannot jeopardize your life without your consent. Do you agree, or would you prefer to try some other way?’

  ‘If there was another way I should prefer to try it,’ admitted the Professor frankly. ‘Not for myself, you understand, but on account of my son.’

  ‘Have no fears for me,’ declared the boy, stoutly. He turned to Biggles. ‘Did I hear you say that you had a spare pistol?’

  Biggles smiled faintly. ‘You did.’

  ‘Then please give it to me. You seem to forget that I have scores of my own to wipe out.’

  Without a word Biggles passed him the revolver which he had taken from the wounded storm-trooper, and gave the Professor von Stalhein’s automatic.

  ‘Be careful with that, Gustav,’ said the Professor, nervously, and thus the others learned the boy’s name. ‘In case the plan miscarries, there is one thing I should like to say,’ he went on, turning to Biggles. ‘It is how much I appreciate what you, personally, are doing on our behalf, and the British government—’

  ‘Oh, don’t think about that now,’ broke in Biggles. ‘The British government looks after those who serve it, anyway. My only regret in this matter is that we did not make contact with your son earlier; he would have been a useful ally. But we’ve no time to waste. If we are all agreed, let us push on. Every hour will make our task more difficult.’

  Leaving the car as it stood, they set off through the forest in the direction of the landing-ground, which was, Ginger judged, about two miles away.

  They said little as they walked, for the night was still, and, well aware of the distance at which the sound of human voices can be heard in such conditions, Biggles requested silence. So they walked on, Biggles taking the lead, his brief remarks being confined to warnings against obstructions, such as low-hanging branches. They were, of course, travelling across country — if a forest can be so described. It was one which they had not previously seen, and the
close-growing trees offered perfect cover. But after going about a mile Biggles suddenly called a halt, and the reason was at once apparent to the others.

  They had reached the edge of the forest. Strictly speaking, it was not the edge; the trees ended, but began again on the other side of what was, in effect, a wide strip of cultivated land that had swept far into the forest. The distance to the trees on the far side of this clearing was about two hundred yards, but in the whole of that area there was no cover of any sort.

  ‘What do you think about it?’ whispered Ginger.

  ‘I think it is the sort of place that might be watched,’ replied Biggles.

  ‘I don’t see anybody.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be likely to. A man keeping guard would hardly be such a fool as to stand in the middle of the field. He’d keep back in the trees so that he could not be seen.’

  ‘That looks to me like a footpath running down the middle there,’ observed Ginger.

  ‘It is,’ put in Gustay. ‘I once walked to the edge of the wood yonder; I remember the place well,’ he added by way of explanation.

  ‘It would take us over a mile out of our way if we had to go all round the edge of the wood,’ remarked Biggles. ‘We can’t spare the time to do that. We shall have to go straight across, and risk it.’

  The words had barely left his lips, and he had, in fact, taken a pace forward with the object of continuing the march when from out of the forest, at the extreme end of the cultivated land, travelling away from Unterhamstadt, came a fast-moving object, which, as it drew nearer, resolved itself into several component parts.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ breathed Biggles, stepping back farther into the trees.

  It was soon possible to make out the details of the approaching figures. There was a storm-trooper on a bicycle. Beside him, controlled by leads, ran two Alsatian dogs. The man made no sound, but, pedalling fast, went on down what Ginger had rightly supposed to be a path and finally disappeared into the dim distance. Nobody spoke until he was out of sight.

  ‘That gives us an idea of how careful we shall have to be,’ murmured Biggles.

  ‘Where was he off to, I wonder?’ said Ginger.

  ‘If that path bears round to the right it would take him somewhere near the open country where Algy landed — that is, if my bump of locality is correct,’ answered Biggles.

  ‘Yes, I think the path does go round that way,’ put in the Professor, his voice heavy with anxiety. ‘What had we better do?’

  ‘We’ve got to get across this field before we do anything else,’ declared Biggles. ‘We can’t afford to lose a minute. Let’s make a dash for it. If we’re challenged, go on running, but keep together. Everybody ready? Good. Let’s go.’

  They broke from the sombre trees and set off at a steady run for the opposite side of the clearing, where, at the foot of a low hill, the trees began again. They could just see the silhouette of the hill against the sky. At every moment Ginger expected to hear a challenge ring out, but nothing of the sort happened, and he voiced his relief when they once more plunged into the welcome cover of the trees. The Professor was out of breath. ‘I am not so young as I was,’ he said apologetically, as they waited for him to recover before they went on again.

  Groping their way, stumbling over roots, and colliding with unseen obstacles, they pushed on, and they had nearly reached the top of the hill, which began to take the form of a ridge, when a sound split the silence — a sound that pulled them up short. There was no possibility of mistaking it. It was the sound of an aero engine being started up.

  ‘He’s done us,’ grated Biggles through his teeth, as he ran on to the top of the ridge.

  ‘Who?’ asked Gustay.

  ‘Von Stalhein. He’s afraid of us. He guessed that we should make for the machine, and he daren’t even trust his guard. He’s removing our only link with France — look, there it goes.’

  By this time they had all reached the top of the ridge, where an outcrop of rock prevented the growth of trees. There was no need for Biggles to amplify his remark, for what had happened was plain for all to see. The ridge overlooked the stretch of open country which they had chosen for a landing-ground. On the side of it nearest to them was a little group of lights. The machine was in the air, heading eastward. The noise of the engine diminished rapidly — became a hum. Some of the lights on the field went out. Figures began to move towards a waiting motor-car. The car went off, and disappeared round the shoulder of a neighbouring hill. Silence fell.

  ‘Well, that’s that!’ said Biggles in a resigned voice. The Professor sank down and buried his face in his hands. ‘Here — here, just a minute, Professor,’ chided Biggles.

  ‘It’s hopeless now.’

  ‘Hopeless?’ Biggles laughed quietly. ‘If you’d been through what I’ve been through in my time — and Ginger, too, for that matter — you’d know that nothing is hopeless until you’re dead — and buried. You were supposed to be dead and buried, don’t forget — but here you are.’

  ‘But surely there is nothing we can do, is there?’ asked Gustav miserably.

  ‘There are plenty of things we can do,’ answered Biggles. ‘It’s just a matter of choosing the best one.’

  ‘That’s right enough,’ agreed Ginger, with a bigger show of cheerfulness than he felt in his heart.

  Biggles took him aside, and, choosing a sheltered place among the rocks below the ledge, took out his map and the torch. He studied the map for a moment without speaking Then he placed the index finger of his left hand on a spot a little to the north of the village. ‘Look here, Ginger,’ he said in a low voice, ‘we’ve got about one chance left — but it wouldn’t do to let the others know that things are as bad as that. I’m afraid they are depressed. If they lose heart altogether we shan’t be able to do anything with them, so behave as if it were all plain sailing.’ Biggles glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock,’ he continued. Now this is what I want you to do. You see this place on the map?’

  Ginger dropped on his knees to see more clearly the place Biggles was indicating. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘I want you to be there, with the Beklinders, at twenty minutes past twelve precisely.’

  ‘You’re not going with us?’

  ‘No. There’s no time for answering questions, but I’m going to try to pull off the cheekiest coup of my life. You be on that field at twelve-twenty. Wait until twelve-thirty. If I am not there by then you can reckon that I shan’t be coming. If that happens, forget about me and try to get out of the country as best you can. It’s a thousand to one against your doing it, but you can only try; anyway, there will be nothing else left for you to do. Make for the French frontier. You know the tricks. Take cover by day and travel only by night. Remember it is better to lie in open fields of crops than in ditches. Your greatest difficulty will be food. Do without it if you can; don’t go near houses unless you are absolutely compelled to. People in the country keep dogs, and dogs bark, and by tomorrow the whole country will be looking for us. One bark will be enough to bring a pack of storm-troopers to the spot. But I hope it won’t come to that. The place where I hope to meet you is less than four miles from here, which means that if you started now you would be there in an hour – which is rather too soon. Yet with these storm-troopers all over the place it’s going to be dangerous for you to hang about in the open.’

  ‘We shall have to pass near the churchyard on the way to this new rendezvous; what’s wrong with us hiding in the vault until it’s time for us to go on to it?’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ declared Biggles. ‘You ought to be safe there. I should say it isn’t more than a couple of miles from the vault to the rendezvous—’

  ‘What is this rendezvous?’ asked Ginger puzzled.

  ‘It’s a big field. Before we started I looked at it with a view to using it as a landing-ground, but I decided that it was a bit too near the village. Had it become necessary for Algy to land he might have been heard taking off again. Tha
t was why I chose the other place — that and because it was larger. I’m going to try to get hold of an aeroplane. If I can’t get a ‘plane, I’ll get a car. I’ve no time to tell you more than that now. Is everything clear?’

  ‘Absolutely. We’ll be at the field at twelve-twenty.’

  ‘That’s right. Stay in the vault as long as you can — but don’t be late. If I don’t turn up — well, you know what to do.’

  ‘What about Algy?’

  ‘While either of us is alive we’ll try to get him out. He knows that. But we’ve got to get the Beklinders away first. Algy is a personal matter — they are a national matter.’

  Biggles got up and went back to where the Beklinders were waiting. ‘I shall have to leave you now,’ he said quietly. ‘In the meanwhile I want you to do exactly as Ginger orders. Your safety will depend upon it.’ And with that he walked away through the trees.

  Ginger beckoned to the Professor and his son. ‘Follow me, please,’ he said.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Ginger Goes Back

  As they made their way towards the churchyard Ginger explained the situation as far as he was able to the Beklinders, who accepted it philosophically and agreed to accompany him to the vault. They avoided roads, and even footpaths, in which matter both the Professor and his son were better informed than Ginger. Indeed, the Professor knew every inch of the country, having — as he said —stayed in the district many times when he was a young man.

  In this way they reached the churchyard without trouble; there were one or two alarms, such as when a whistle was blown on a road near to which they happened to be passing; that was all. On reaching the churchyard Ginger recovered the crow-bar from where Biggles had hidden it, and, prising up the stone slab, they descended into their hiding-place. The time then, by Ginger’s watch, was ten-thirty.

  ‘I’m afraid we have rather more than an hour to spend here,’ he told the others.