Biggles - Secret Agent Read online

  ‘What does your friend hope to do?’ asked the Professor.

  ‘Beyond the fact that he is going to try to get an aeroplane or a car, I do not know,’ answered Ginger, who then went on to describe the rendezvous.

  ‘I am afraid he will have a job to get an aeroplane in Lucrania,’ said the Professor, shaking his head.

  Ginger switched off the torch. ‘Getting into Unterhamstadt was a job — but we got here,’ he observed. ‘Getting hold of you was a job — but we got you. In fact, nearly everything we do seems to be a job — but somehow we manage to do it. So while getting hold of an aeroplane may be a job, it doesn’t mean that Biggles won’t get one.’

  ‘I know the field well,’ remarked the Professor.

  ‘Good! That ought to make things a bit easier, at any rate.’

  ‘I could go straight to it,’ declared the Professor. ‘I have walked over the whole district many times.’

  ‘While we are waiting you might tell me why you came back to this part of the world,’ invited Ginger. ‘Wasn’t it rather unwise?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was even worse than that; it was the height of folly,’ admitted the Professor. ‘But you see, I had a good reason for coming. It began like this. Some time ago I received an anonymous letter from Lucrania, from a man who signed himself “A Friend”, informing me that my wife was dead, but my son, who was born after I had left the country, was living at an address in Prenzel. Needless to say I was astonished and delighted at the letter, although I should have been more sceptical of its authenticity had it not been for the fact that the notepaper bore a secret mark — the mark of the society to which I once foolishly belonged. It was when the activities of this society were exposed, twenty years ago, that I had to leave the country. You must understand that I did not even know of the existence of my son. I did not reply to the letter. That would have been too dangerous. Instead, I hired an agent to spy out the land for me, but either the man was a rogue or else he was in the employ of my enemies; I do not know which; I only know that he betrayed me. He came to me, and after telling me that my son was indeed alive, asked me if I would like to meet him, and on my assurance that I would, he invited me to suggest a meeting-place. At the same time he pointed out that it would be easier for me, carrying a British passport, to come to Lucrania, than it would be for Gustav to get out of that country, for everybody leaving is suspect. As I have already told you, I often came to Unterhamstadt when I was a young man; at that time I was interested in archaeology, and stayed at the hotel, which was handy for the castle which I wished to explore. I was actually writing a paper on my discoveries when I had to fly from the country.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ put in Gustay.

  ‘How?’ asked his father quickly.

  ‘Because after Mother died I found the papers, and read them,’ answered Gustav simply.

  ‘Of course. It was silly of me not to think of that,’ resumed his father. ‘Well, to conclude, it was not unnatural that I should arrange to meet my son at the place which held for me so many pleasant memories. You see, I spent my honeymoon here. But alas, the whole thing was a fraud to trick me into coming to the country. Even as I approached the village I was apprehended. They took me to the hotel where I was kept in a semi-conscious condition by means of drug injections.’

  ‘I wonder what their object was in taking you to the hotel at all,’ mused Ginger. ‘And, for that matter, why they buried you in a vault instead of a grave.’

  ‘I think that is something we shall have to assume, for von Stalhein is never likely to explain his actions to us,’ returned the Professor. ‘I imagine that von Stalhein knew about the tunnels — possibly they were discovered when the castle was being renovated. It might not have suited him had I merely disappeared, for that would have led to inquiries. He preferred to pretend that I had been killed in an accident. By using room seventeen at the hotel he was in a position to move me — or anyone else — without being observed, even by the village people. I was carried through the tunnel to the castle. I can only suppose that by placing my coffin in the vault he was in a position to recover it immediately should he ever find it necessary. One way or another the tunnels suited his purposes very well. Had you been captured at the hotel no doubt you would have been taken to the castle that way, for had you been seen in custody by someone in the village the matter might have been reported to England.’

  Ginger nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘They must have taken Algy to the castle via the tunnel. I fancy we were there when he was brought along.’

  The Professor continued. ‘Once in the castle I was ordered under pain of death to go on with the work I had been undertaking for the British government. I refused to do this, for in my disappointment at not finding my son I cared little whether I lived or died. Many interviews I had with that man von Stalhein, who made vague promises about my son, none of which materialized.’

  ‘Then presumably Gustav knew nothing about this?’ suggested Ginger.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what brought him here?’

  Gustav answered for himself. ‘By the merest accident I saw in the public library at Prenzel, in an English newspaper, a report of the accident. You see,’ he explained, ‘knowing from my mother that my father was in England, and hoping one day to join him, I made myself proficient in the English language so that I might one day get work in England. It was to find the appointments vacant columns that I was reading the paper, and so came upon the account of the accident to my father.’

  ‘Ah, now I begin to understand,’ murmured Ginger.

  ‘I did not believe the story,’ continued Gustay. ‘I don’t know why, yet somehow I felt that my father was still alive. I suspected that there may have been a plot to get him back into Lucrania — for our police never forget or forgive. The fact that the accident was supposed to have happened at Unterhamstadt was significant. I recalled what I had read about the castle and the secret tunnels in my father’s papers, and I thought that, armed with this information, I might perhaps find him. So I determined to come to Unterhamstadt. But all the time, although I did not know it, I must have been watched by the Grospu, the secret police. I was arrested, certified insane, and placed in a mental home. But I escaped, and, disguising myself as a girl, came here.’

  ‘That was a plucky thing to do,’ declared Ginger.

  ‘Not pluck, but love of my father whom I had never seen.’

  ‘How long were you here before we came?’

  ‘Two days.’

  ‘What were you doing in the Jew’s house — where we first saw you?’

  ‘I thought I would risk asking him some questions — the very questions that I heard you ask him.’

  ‘Ah — so you were listening?’

  ‘Yes, although it was an accident that I arrived just after you. I dared not, of course, go near the house in daytime, for fear of being seen and bringing suspicion upon myself. So I waited until it was dark, and everything quiet. I was standing in a shadow watching the house, making sure that no one was in sight, when I saw you enter. Thinking that you might be agents of the secret police I crept across to listen to what you were saying.’

  ‘That explains the whole story,’ said Ginger. ‘You were the ghost in the churchyard, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You nearly frightened me to death.’

  ‘You were not more frightened than I.’

  ‘What were you thinking of doing?’

  ‘Getting into the castle.’

  ‘The castle?’

  ‘Yes. You see, my father in his explorations had found the tunnels and made a plan of them. One went from room number seventeen at the hotel. I looked for that one first, but for a long time I could not find the entrance, and it was dangerous work looking for it; for, as I think you know, the room was always locked. So I thought I would try the entrance in the monastery — it would be safer.’

  ‘The monastery? But what has the monastery to do with the church
yard?’

  ‘This is the monastery — or it was.’

  Ginger gasped. ‘What fools we were! We never suspected it.’

  ‘Why should you? The monastery has been gone hundreds of years. The church was built from the ruins.’

  ‘That will certainly interest Biggles,’ declared Ginger. ‘That’s my chief’s nickname, by the way. Good heavens!’ he cried in a startled voice, as a new thought struck him. ‘Do you mean to say there is a tunnel from here to the castle?’

  ‘Yes, there is.’

  ‘Where does it start?’

  ‘In here — in this vault. One of the stones is a sham. It hides the entrance. But why do you ask?’

  ‘Because a friend of mine is still a prisoner in the castle. We had to forsake him in order to try to get you away.’ Ginger switched on the torch and looked at his watch. ‘It is only a quarter to eleven,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve still got over an hour —there is just a chance that I might find him — are you sure about this tunnel?’

  ‘Most certainly,’ replied the Professor. ‘It joins the one from the hotel to the castle, somewhere about half-way.’

  ‘When we went up the tunnel from the hotel to the castle we did not see an opening.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is there. I have been through it.’

  Ginger rose to his feet. ‘Do you mind if I leave you for a little while?’ he said.

  ‘Why should you stay with us?’ answered the Professor. ‘In any case, we know perfectly well where we are to meet your friend. I know the place even better than you do.’

  Ginger made up his mind. ‘Then I am going to the castle,’ he declared, rather breathlessly. ‘If I don’t come back you know what to do. Whatever happens you must be at the field at precisely twenty minutes past twelve, and watch for Biggles to come. He may come in an aeroplane, in a car, or on foot — I don’t know. But you must be there when he arrives.’

  ‘We will do that.’

  ‘I hope to get back before you leave, but in case I don’t, will you give him a message from me? Tell him about the passage and say that I have gone to try to find Algy — he’ll understand.’

  ‘Very well. We shall obey your instructions to the letter.’

  Ginger picked up the crow-bar. ‘Show me the entrance to this tunnel,’ he said grimly.

  The Professor walked straight to a marble panel set low down in the wall. Its inscription, if ever there had been one, had been defaced by the ravages of time, but the remnants of some carved scrollwork remained. The Professor inserted his fingers under the carving and tugged. The panel swung open, disclosing a hole large enough to admit a man on hands and knees.

  ‘How on earth did you discover that?’ Ginger could not help asking.

  ‘I did not discover it from this end, you may be sure,’ returned the Professor. ‘I came the other way.’

  ‘From the other tunnel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How far is it from here to the other tunnel?’

  ‘I do not remember exactly; perhaps a quarter of a mile, more or less.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ginger crawled through the entrance. ‘I shall try to get back,’ he said again, ‘but if I am not here by ten minutes to twelve you go on to the field.’

  ‘We shall keep the appointment on time.’

  ‘Good — au revoir.’ Turning, Ginger went on down the tunnel, picking his way by the light of the now rather feeble ray of the torch, for the battery was beginning to show signs of exhaustion.

  The tunnel was smaller than the one which connected the hotel with the castle, from which he judged that it was only a secondary line of communication. Even in the perilous circumstances in which he found himself he could not help wondering to what sinister purposes the tunnel had been put in days gone by. Thus he pondered as he hurried along, only to have his reflections suddenly cut short when he found himself face to face with a brick wall. He searched the walls of the tunnel on either side, but soon had to admit to himself the fact that he could not continue.

  The tunnel had been blocked up. Closer inspection of the brickwork which blocked the tunnel revealed it to be of more recent nature than the rest, and he guessed what had happened. The tunnel had been deliberately closed not very long before. He struck at the brickwork with the crowbar. It gave back a hollow sound, from which he judged that it was not very thick. He struck again, harder, and had the satisfaction of seeing a brick move. After that it was only a matter of time; he propped the torch on the ground in such a way that it threw its light on his work, and then, with both hands free, he set about the wall in earnest. The brickwork crumbled before his furious onslaught, and after ascertaining with the bar that all was clear beyond, he soon had a hole large enough to get through. Picking up the torch, and still carrying the bar, he climbed through the hole and found himself in the tunnel which led from the hotel to the castle. He saw at once that they might have used the tunnel a hundred times without suspecting that the other passage was there, for after it had been blocked up the mildew and fungus had secured a hold so that there was little difference between it and the older brickwork. Hurrying on, he went towards the castle.

  He was by no means clear in his mind as to what he was going to do when he got there. It would, he told himself, depend upon what he found; but nevertheless he determined to take any steps, however desperate, to secure Algy’s release, for he realized only too well that such an opportunity as the one of which he was now trying to take advantage, would be unlikely ever to occur again. Von Stalhein would see to that.

  He reached the end of the tunnel only to find — as he expected — that the door was locked. He wasted no time, but forthwith climbed up over the fallen masonry until he found himself in the narrow corridor in which occurred the spy-hole looking into von Stalhein’s office. He went straight to it, intending not to do anything more than look in, for at the back of his mind he had a vague idea of effecting an entrance to the castle by breaking down the panelling of one of the rooms farther on — rooms which he thought, and hoped, were unused.

  Von Stalhein’s voice reached him even before he opened the spy-hole. A moment later he saw at a glance that the German was in a cold rage, lashing with his tongue about a dozen storm-troopers who stood stiffly to attention in front of him. Ginger could not, of course, understand a word of what was being said, but from mention of Biggles’s name he thought that von Stalhein was rating his men for not having found the two Englanders.

  Von Stalhein concluded his invective with a sharp word of command. The men turned, and in single file marched stiffly from the room. Whereupon von Stalhein went quickly to the telephone, had a brief conversation — which again Ginger could not follow — slammed down the receiver, and, picking up his cap, followed the storm-troopers out of the room, leaving the light on.

  Ginger did not know what to do, but remembering Biggles’s remark about the likelihood of a sliding panel, he switched off his torch and endeavoured to locate it by seeking for a crack through which the light inside the room would show. He did not find exactly what he sought, but he found a minute glimmer of light, and he pressed against this with the sharp end of the crow-bar. To his horror the bar went straight through the panelling into the room, the worm-eaten wood crumbling before the iron. Nevertheless, a tiny line of light suggested that an opening was there, if he could only discover the catch that controlled it. Listening for von Stalhein’s returning footsteps he searched diligently for the catch, but he failed to find it. Indeed, he convinced himself that there was not one, for the inside of the panelling was as smooth as a board, and had there been any projection, or a sunken finger grip, he could not have failed to find it.

  Hardly pausing to consider what he was doing, in sheer desperation he wedged the sharp end of the crow-bar into the thin line of light and attempted to lever the panel aside by brute force. He succeeded beyond his expectations. There was a loud crack followed by a sharp splintering sound, and before he could take his weight off the bar a large section of the
rotten woodwork had broken off and fallen with a crash into the room. The corridor was, naturally, instantly flooded with light from the room.

  Ginger stared at the gaping hole, petrified with horror and alarm, for the noise had seemed to him sufficient to bring everyone in the castle to the spot, and if anyone entered the room the hole in the wall would instantly be seen.

  His first lucid thought was that he must get the panel back into place before von Stalhein returned, or his corridor would be discovered and his capture assured. With this object in view he scrambled through the hole and jumped down into the room, a distance of a mere two or three feet. Not until he was there did he realize that what he had hoped to achieve was impossible. He could not get back into the tunnel and temporarily fix the panel in place from that side. He could put the panel roughly into position from where he now stood, as he quickly ascertained; but he was, of course, on the wrong side of it. And while he stood there, his brain racing, almost overcome by dismay, he heard footsteps approaching.

  Prompted now by instinct rather than by deliberate thought, he pushed the panel roughly into place and dived for the only cover the room offered, which was behind the tall door of the safe, which von Stalhein had left open. As he passed in front of it he saw the Professor’s bottle of high explosive standing on a shelf, and with a wild idea of blowing the whole place to pieces if the worst came to the worst, he snatched it with his left hand, at the same time taking out his pistol with the other. ‘If there is going to be a rough house I am at least well armed,’ he thought grimly.

  He was rigid behind the safe door when von Stalhein came back into the room. He held his breath, fully expecting the panel to fall down under the vibration of the German’s heavy footsteps. But it remained in place, and von Stalhein sat down at his desk, in which position his back was turned to Ginger, who remained where he was, for he had no wish to start trouble against odds which his common sense told him were too heavy. He noted with satisfaction that von Stalhein’s nerves seemed to be on edge, for he rapped irritably on the desk in front of him with a lead pencil. He reached for the telephone, changed his mind, and slammed the receiver down again. Ginger’s prayer of thankfulness — for he was afraid that the German was again going to summon his men — was cut off short when the man in front of him picked up the instrument and snapped what was clearly an order. But Ginger’s heart leapt, for he had caught the word Englander, which in the circumstances he took to refer to Algy.