Biggles and the Noble Lord Page 3

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘We’ll go back to London. There’s no point in going any farther after what’s happened.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should inform the police that you’ve been robbed? It would be the natural thing to do. The crooks will expect that.’

  ‘They’ll understand why I’ve done nothing about it when they discover they’ve only got away with a few pebbles. No, we’ll leave the police out of this. It would only raise complications. The crooks will realize you’ve double-crossed them. They won’t be pleased about that.’

  ‘At least I’ve got some of their money,’ Bertie said, cheerfully.

  ‘Probably stolen notes,’ reminded Ginger. ‘They must have plenty of that sort of money. Glad to get rid of it.’

  Bertie nodded. ‘Fair enough, old boy. I’ll see you outside presently,’ he said, and went through to the bar.

  An hour later the Rolls was cruising back down the road to London, Ginger looking forward to getting out of his disguise, which he found uncomfortable, and into his own clothes.

  CHAPTER 4

  NOT ACCORDING TO PLAN

  Before the start of the return trip to London there had been a brief discussion as to whether, now the operation could be regarded as concluded, Ginger should travel as before, in the back seat, or in front with Bertie. They agreed it was not really important, but at the finish Ginger thought it better that he should continue to use the rear seat just in case they were still being watched. This would not prevent them from talking. Upon such slender threads can life depend, for had Ginger travelled in front he might not have been alive to see the end of the journey.

  As there was no need for haste Bertie settled down at a quiet forty miles an hour to make conversation easier. Naturally, they still wanted to talk over what had happened.

  Ginger said he was not entirely happy about the outcome of the affair, although, to be sure, it had worked out exactly as planned. But there were two details that worried him. The jewel case had been snatched so quickly that he was afraid Biggles might not have seen it happen. Like Bertie he would have been looking for a green Jaguar. Then again, if he had seen the theft, would he be able to keep pace with a fast car like the Mercedes, which for obvious reasons would get as far from the scene of the crime as quickly as possible? The car Biggles was using was his own. A Ford, some years old. He had refrained from using a police car with a ‘hotted-up’ engine for fear it would be recognized as such.

  Bertie did not share these anxieties. He said Biggles knew what he was doing and he was content to leave it at that. As far as he was concerned the plan had worked. If he had any doubts at all, it was over the question of what the thief would do when he discovered that all he had got for his trouble was a few pebbles; and how long it would be before he realized how he had been tricked.

  The answer to these questions were soon to be forthcoming. In fact, they were to be provided, and in no uncertain manner, much earlier than could have been expected.

  The time was nearly four o’clock when it happened. The Rolls was still travelling at a leisurely 40 miles an hour, making for Scotland Yard, to where it was assumed Biggles would return when he had completed his part of the programme. If he was not there they would wait for him; or Ginger, if he wished, could go on home to get into his ordinary clothes, in which, he declared, he would feel more comfortable. There was no urgency about it either way.

  The Rolls was on the straight stretch of country road after leaving Hatfield when Bertie in his reflector saw a small open sports car coming up behind him at racing speed. There were two men in it, crouching low for the protection of the windscreen. This was so normal that he paid no further attention to it beyond drawing in a little closer to the grass verge to give the oncoming car ample room to overtake. This swerve, slight though it was, may have saved his life.

  As he straightened out the sports car flashed up alongside, much closer than was necessary. This caused him to glance at it disapprovingly. What happened next occurred in less time than it takes to tell. He saw the goggled face of the passenger on the near side glaring at him. There seemed to be something strange about it. There appeared to be an object in front of it. Then he saw what it was. A hand holding a gun. The man was pointing a gun at him. Before he could move he saw the flash of the gun as it was fired. The bullet smashed through the glass of his window. He ducked. This inevitably caused him to swerve sharply, one wheel running on the grass. As he stood on the foot-brake there was the report of another shot. The bullet hit the car somewhere; he didn’t know where. At all events it didn’t touch him. When he raised his head the sports car was some distance ahead doing well over a 100 miles an hour. He brought the Rolls back on to the road, and stopping dead looked back at Ginger. ‘You all right?’ he shouted.

  ‘Yes. What about you?’

  ‘Didn’t touch me.’

  ‘Must have been close.’ Ginger was looking at the hole in the window.

  ‘Close enough.’ Bertie smiled, bleakly. ‘Still a miss is as good as a mile, as they say. The dirty dogs. I wasn’t prepared for anything like that. When I ducked the blighter may have thought he’d got me. Anyway, now we know what to expect. Lucky you weren’t sitting next to me. If you had been I reckon you’d have copped it.’

  The Rolls was still stationary.

  Said Ginger: ‘By gosh! They weren’t long finding out they’d been tricked. How did they manage that in the time, I wonder? Now we know what they think about it. Did you get the number of that car?’

  ‘No, laddie. I did not. I’d got my head down — well down.’

  ‘Did you get the make?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t the Jag. and it wasn’t the Merc., that’s all I know. They seem to have a fleet of cars available,’ Bertie said. ‘Shall we go on?’

  ‘Might as well,’ agreed Ginger. ‘Keep an eye open for fast cars coming either way.’

  ‘You bet I shall, now they’ve told us they don’t stop short of murder. We’ve learned that much.’ Bertie drove on.

  There was no more trouble, and an hour later the Rolls pulled up outside its destination. They went to the Air Police office. There, somewhat to their surprise, for they thought he might not have returned yet, at his desk, looking glum, sat Biggles. Algy was not there.

  ‘How did it go on, chaps?’ inquired Bertie, brightly.

  ‘It didn’t,’ Biggles answered moodily. ‘You did your part all right, but I made a mucker of it.’

  ‘That’s a pity. What went wrong?’

  ‘Sit down and I’ll tell you. Are you all right?’

  ‘More or less,’ Ginger answered. ‘Just a little shaky from shock.’

  ‘Shock! What caused it?’

  ‘On the way home we were shot at from another car.’

  ‘The devil you were!’ Biggles took more interest. ‘They didn’t waste any time. How did that happen?’

  In a few short words Bertie told the story of the attack. ‘How did you come unstuck?’ he concluded.

  ‘I made the mistake of underestimating the enemy, that’s the simple truth of it.’ Biggles went on. ‘I saw everything that happened at Stamford. It all went like clockwork, if a bit faster than I’d allowed for. However, I set off to trail the villain who pinched the bag. I think I could have grabbed him there and then, but as you know, that wasn’t the idea. I wanted to see where he took the stuff. I was soon in trouble. Speed. I should have used a faster car. Had it not been for some hold-ups at road repairs and traffic lights, I’d have lost him. I admit I was lucky there. Anyway, I managed to keep in touch, although I daren’t get too close for fear of being spotted.’ Biggles paused to light a cigarette.

  ‘The trouble came just after leaving St Neots,’ he resumed. ‘From the speed he was going, on the A.1, I naturally supposed he was making for London, where one would expect him to go; but suddenly he turned into a side road running across flat, open country, strange to me. The next surprise was when, without the slightest warning, he jammed on his brakes and
stopped. Things happened so fast that I’m not sure he did actually come to a dead stop. A man was standing beside the road. The man in the car threw him the jewel case. I was close enough to recognize it. Then he put his foot down and went on. That put me in a flap. It wasn’t much use going on after the car, which had got rid of the swag. It could have been abandoned anywhere. It might have been a stolen car, anyway. As a matter of fact I did start to follow it, and nearly ran into it coming back. It took me a minute to turn in the narrow road. I never saw it again. It must have gone back to the A.1, but which way it went after that I didn’t know. By this time I saw why he had stopped.’

  Ginger broke in. ‘What was wrong with trailing the man who had taken over the jewel case?’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For the simple reason he was away in a chopper. At least, that was what it looked like. It must have been standing close behind the hedge. I didn’t see it until it was in the air. I wouldn’t have seen it then if I hadn’t heard it. It was a small machine I couldn’t recognize from below. Without a fuselage all helicopters look alike. Well, you can’t follow a chopper in a car. The last I saw of it was heading southwest. It was no use going after the car. It must have been miles away. So, as there was nothing more I could do I came home, kicking myself for being so easily outsmarted.’

  ‘You could hardly blame yourself for that,’ remonstrated Ginger.

  ‘It caught me napping. I was ready for almost anything, but not for an aircraft,’ stated Biggles frankly.

  ‘What an extraordinary business,’ commented Bertie. ‘What could have been the idea of handing over the swag to a chopper?’

  ‘That’s pretty obvious,’ averred Biggles. ‘Supposing the jewels were in the case, it would naturally be assumed that the theft would be reported to the police right away. That would result in road blocks being set up to stop the Mercedes. If it was stopped, and it may have been for all we know — because until you came in I didn’t know whether or not you had told the police about what had happened — the police wouldn’t have been able to do anything. The jewel case wouldn’t be in it.’

  ‘We decided against telling the police for fear of complications,’ Bertie said. ‘There was no bally point in it, any old how, since we hadn’t really lost anything of value.’

  Biggles flicked the ash off his cigarette. ‘When all’s said and done we must admit the job was beautifully planned. The driver of the Merc. knew where he had to go to get rid of the swag. Once he had done that he was in the clear, free to go where he liked and no hurry. These villains think of everything and know how to work fast. In view of what you’ve told me about being shot at, I can tell you something else. The pilot of the chopper couldn’t have been long checking the contents of the jewel case. Moreover, when he saw how he’d been tricked he was pretty quick to demonstrate his displeasure. He gave orders for you to be taught a lesson.’

  ‘How was that done?’ Ginger asked the question.

  ‘By radio. It couldn’t have been done any other way in the time. We can check the actual timing presently. You didn’t even have time to get back to London. The Rolls was too conspicuous. That’s where we may have made another mistake. The car that attacked you must have been in touch by radio with the Boss. It was standing by for orders in case it was needed. The same, no doubt, with the Merc. We must remember that. The spare car was given orders to bump you off. It’s clear the brain behind these crooks leaves nothing to chance. He thinks of everything. Still, we haven’t entirely wasted our time. We know something about the way they work, and why so far they’ve got away with it.’

  Algy spoke. He had come into the office while this conversation had been going on, but so far had taken no part in it. But he must have caught the gist of it for he said: ‘Funny you should mention a chopper because I saw one this afternoon. I noticed it particularly because it seemed to be losing height.’

  ‘Where was this?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘I was in Sussex.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘It was like this,’ Algy answered. ‘As you know, for the last day or two I’ve been making inquiries about collectors of old French porcelain. From the leading auctioneers I got catalogues of their forthcoming sales. Going through them I found there was one to be held today: moreover, one of the items, listed in bold print to call special attention to it, was a piece of early French porcelain in the form of two cherubs holding a dish. I thought it might be the piece that was stolen, or, alternatively, a fellow piece to it, the other half of a pair; in which case the man who had the stolen piece might try to buy it to complete his collection. So I went along to the sale, found a place at the back and watched. The article in which I was interested was put up. It was knocked down to — guess who?’

  ‘Let’s not waste time guessing,’ requested Biggles, shortly.

  ‘Lord Malboise.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The auctioneer called the name when the hammer fell; which could only mean that he knew him, by sight, anyway. No doubt his lordship had bought things there before. What shook me was the price paid for what looked to me like a useless piece of clutter; the sort of thing you might get at a fair for knocking down an Aunt Sally. Have you any idea of what these things fetch?’

  ‘I know they’re worth a lot of money.’

  ‘This one made twelve thousand five hundred pounds. Imagine it! Some people should have their heads examined.’

  ‘Get on with the story; never mind the trimmings,’ ordered Biggles. ‘What were you doing in Sussex?’

  ‘Give me a chance. I’m coming to that,’ said Algy, looking pained. He continued. ‘Well, naturally, I thought I’d drawn a blank. A peer of the realm was hardly the sort of man to engage in crime, so I left the building prepared to forget the whole thing. When I got back here, out of sheer curiosity, nothing more, never having heard of this particular lord, I looked him up in the book to see who he was and where he came from. His full name is Baron Roger de Malboise. I found he had a place in Sussex called Brindon Hall. Having nothing better to do, as you were all out, I thought it might be worth while to give this place the onceover, just to see what sort of place it was. That’s what I was doing in Sussex. I may say I had some difficulty in finding Brindon Hall because it’s nowhere near anywhere. I was cruising around looking for it when I saw the chopper. It was losing height, but I didn’t see it land. There were too many trees in the way.’

  ‘Did you see it again?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘No. I could think of no airfield anywhere near, so I didn’t think any more about it. Anyhow, it was soon after that I came to Brindon Hall, thanks to a private sign-post, pointing the way.’

  ‘Is there any particular reason why this establishment should be honoured with a special sign-post, apparently to tell the general public how to get to it?’

  Algy grinned. ‘Too true there is. It seems his lordship is one of these impoverished noblemen who make money on the side by showing people over their houses. Quite a lot of them are doing it, I believe.’

  ‘A man who can pay twelve thousand pounds for a piece of old pottery can’t be short of ready cash.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. These big houses attract thousands of tourists, so there must be quite a lot of money in it. Some of them say they only do it to pay off taxes, and I understand they have some sort of arrangement with the tax collector to that effect. Lord Malboise probably does pretty well out of it. He has an extra attraction.’

  ‘What sort of attraction?’

  ‘Listen to this. I was cruising around when I found a road running beside a high brick wall. On the wall was a notice. It read DANGER. Keep out. Wild animals at large. Half a mile farther on there was another similar notice. Presently I came to tall iron gates and a lodge. Standing at the gates, with an assagai in his hand was a coloured gent all dolled up like a Zulu warrior: leopard skin kaross, a black cowhide shield with white bars across it and a black ring on his he
ad.’

  ‘What is this — some sort of kid’s game?’ inquired Biggles, sceptically.

  ‘Not on your nellie. It’s genuine, or as near genuine as anyone could make it. His lordship runs a private zoo.’

  ‘A zoo!’

  ‘Why not? He owns a lot of land. The park covers some thousand acres and there’s a high wall round it. He’s filled the park with wild animals.’

  ‘What do you call wild animals? I know there is one lord who has decorated his estate with free-roaming lions to provide an unusual spectacle for people to goof at.’

  ‘This one hasn’t any lions, I was told. Lord Malboise seems to have gone one better. If he had lions they’d eat the buffalo.’

  ‘Buffalo?’

  ‘Among other things there’s a herd of African buffalo, which I’ve heard are more dangerous than lions.’

  ‘Either should stop kids from going bird’s-nesting in the park,’ chuckled Bertie.

  Biggles came in again. ‘How do prospective visitors get to the Hall without being horned, mauled or trampled to death?’

  ‘That’s all laid on. You pay five bob to the Zulu for a ticket. He hands you over to a chap dressed like an African white hunter just back from safari. He has a rifle, apparently in case of accidents, and drives you to the Hall in a Land-Rover. You have to leave your own car at the gate.’

  ‘Did you have five bob’s worth?’

  ‘Not me. I’m not paying to see the inside of anybody’s house. I could see some buffalo through the bars of the gate, grazing by a clump of trees, so there’s no doubt about ‘em being there.’

  ‘What are the other animals?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I lost my interest in zoos after seeing animals where they should be, where they belong.’

  ‘You might have had a look at the place while you were there.’

  ‘Time was getting on, so I thought I’d better make for home in case you needed me.’