Biggles Follows On Page 4

  ‘How could you do that? Wander about Europe in the hope of meeting him?’ The Air Commodore was frankly sarcastic.

  ‘No. There’s only one way. We should have to decide on a rendezvous before the start. If I lost him, I should go there and wait. On the other hand, he could make for the same meeting place.’

  ‘What meeting place?’

  ‘That’s where you’ll have to help us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I imagine we have our own agents behind the Curtain. I also imagine that they have means of getting in touch with home, or they would serve no useful purpose.’

  ‘And I also imagine that the Intelligence Service will think twice before they give us such an address,’ said the Air Commodore grimly.

  ‘It’s asking a lot, I know. But I think the occasion warrants it. If they refuse — well, we shall have to manage on our own. But such an address would make all the difference to our chances.’

  The Air Commodore rolled breadcrumbs into little balls. ‘Another trouble is, there is so much territory behind the Iron Curtain. This International Unit might be anywhere between Poland and Bulgaria.’

  ‘True enough. But I have a feeling that we shall find it in Czechoslovakia.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘All the evidence we have points to it. Ross had a letter from Prague — I saw the postmark. Von Stalhein has a Czech passport, which presumably he uses. When I go I shall, with your assistance, carry a Czech passport for the same reason. We have people who could provide that I suppose?’

  The Air Commodore gave ground reluctantly. ‘Even if you found these fellows, how could you get them out of the country?’ he argued.

  ‘We should have to fly them out. There could be no other way.’

  ‘That would be a nice job to undertake.’

  ‘We’ve tackled worse.’

  The Air Commodore drew a deep breath. ‘All right,’ he said wearily. ‘Have it your own way. Even if you don’t bring these men back, it will be something if you can find out what they’re doing. Tell me exactly what you think you’ll require and I’ll do my best to procure it.’

  The discussion was continued until the small hours. When Biggles finally reached home he found the others still up, waiting for him.

  ‘Well, what’s the verdict?’ asked Algy.

  Biggles sank into a chair and reached for a cigarette. ‘I’m going to ask Ross to go.’

  ‘The Chief has agreed to that?’

  ‘Yes. He wasn’t happy about it. Neither am I, for that matter. He could see the difficulties of trying to keep Ross in sight.’

  ‘So can I,’ murmured Ginger.

  ‘If we can get a line on the general direction, or on the country to which von Stalhein’s recruits are being sent, it will be something to go on with,’ asserted Biggles. ‘Anyway, in the morning I shall tell Ross to accept. From what has been said, he will probably start his journey on Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘But how can you possibly keep an eye on him, old boy, without being spotted by that wily old fox, von Stalhein?’ inquired Bertie, rubbing his eyeglass.

  ‘I’ve been turning that over in my mind all day,’ Biggles told him. ‘Gaskin will have to help us for the first part of the business. I shall ask him to shadow von Stalhein from the time Ross says he’s willing to go. The first thing von Stalhein will have to do is to book a passage. If he is watched, we should learn the time and place of Ross’s departure. It seems certain he will go by air. I shall arrange for Ginger to be inside the machine, possibly in the radio cabin, until it is airborne. I’m assuming that von Stalhein won’t travel with Ross. I shall be sitting on the tarmac in the Proctor when Ross’s machine takes off. I shall follow it — or, rather, head for the same destination. You, Algy and Bertie, will stand by for radio signals from me, ready to act as I direct. That’s only a rough outline of the general idea. We’ll work out the details tomorrow. We mustn’t forget to change our registration letters. Now let’s see about getting some sleep.’

  CHAPTER IV

  By Air — to Where?

  At a quarter to three on the following Saturday afternoon Biggles sat in the cockpit of a police Proctor aircraft that had been put in a place convenient for the observation of passengers who had booked for the three o’clock British European Airways service to Paris.

  The big machine was already drawn up to receive its freight, human and otherwise. Inside, by arrangement with the Traffic Manager, was Ginger, in a position from which he could not be seen from outside.

  These arrangements were not guesswork. They were based on definite information, the result of a good deal of trouble on the part of more than one department at Scotland Yard.

  So far, everything had gone smoothly. Indeed, as far as Biggles knew, they had gone without a hitch, and he was actually in possession of more information than he expected to get. This was brought about largely by the close and efficient co-operation of Inspector Gaskin and his highly-trained staff.

  Guardsman Ross, who had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the undertaking regardless of its perilous nature, had told von Stalhein that he had decided to accept his invitation to join the International Corps; whereupon von Stalhein, watched by Gaskin’s men, had lost no time in making the necessary arrangements.

  These need not be dwelt upon in detail, but they exposed two more members of the spy organisation, one a photographer and the other a small printer, in the East End of London. They were left alone for the time being. What was of greater importance to Biggles was the booking by von Stalhein of a single passage to Paris, by British European Airways, on the three o’clock Saturday plane. The seat had been taken in the name of Ross. From the fact that von Stalhein had not troubled to change the name of his recruit, Biggles could only suppose that he felt he was on safe ground.

  Nothing of importance had transpired at the final interview between Ross and the German. Ross told his adjutant, who passed the information on to Biggles, that they were to meet at the “Stand Easy” café at a quarter-past one; and in due course this appointment was kept. From that moment Ross and von Stalhein were under surveillance.

  They had gone together to von Stalhein’s suite at the Grosvenor Hotel. When they emerged, and went into the dining-room for a meal, Ross was apparently ready for the journey, for he was now dressed in a dark suit and soft hat, and carried a suitcase. An interesting detail was, he wore a red-spotted black tie. Biggles, who was waiting at the airport with Ginger, had received this information direct from Inspector Gaskin.

  ‘What do you make of this spotted tie business?’ Ginger had asked Biggles.

  ‘I can only think that it’s for purposes of identification,’ replied Biggles. ‘We’ll put ours on. They can do us no harm even if they do no good.’

  Ginger, following Biggles’ instructions to procure the ties, had found them in a shop in Piccadilly. This was only one of several minor preparations that had been put in hand as soon as it had been decided that Ross should accept von Stalhein’s invitation.

  Documents, which included passports, were prepared. Sums of money, in several foreign currencies, were procured. Into the linings of jackets had been inserted ‘escape’ equipment designed to aid prisoners of war – tiny steel files, miniature compasses, and maps which, folded, were no larger than a postage stamp.

  In providing these Biggles was thinking not so much of himself as of Ross, and the men he hoped to release. As he remarked with a smile: ‘It’s often little things like this that count.’

  At the last minute he had rung up Marcel Brissac, his opposite number of the International Police Commission in Paris, and asked him to meet him off the plane at Le Bourget, the Paris airport which it seemed was to be the first stop. He had no particular reason for doing this. It struck him that it might be useful to have official assistance at the airport should there be trouble of any sort. ‘There’s a chance that there may be a man waiting for the London plane who wears a black tie with red spots,’ he told Marce
l. ‘If so, check up on him and see if he books a passage for anywhere.’ Marcel agreed to do this.

  For luggage, Biggles and Ginger each carried only a small handbag containing nothing more questionable than small-kit — toilet things, pyjamas, and a spare shirt and socks.

  Air Commodore Raymond had done all that Biggles had required of him. This was not much, but it was of paramount importance. He had obtained a name and address in Prague, which those engaged in the case, including Ross, could use as a hide-out, and from where, in dire emergency, a message could be got home. This address had of course been committed to memory.

  So the stage was set for what Biggles knew was likely to prove one of the most hazardous operations he had ever undertaken.

  The motor-coach bringing the passengers from London now arrived, and very soon the travellers were making their way towards the aircraft. Biggles saw von Stalhein talking earnestly to Ross, presumably giving him final instructions. For a moment a smile softened Biggles’ expression as he saw Inspector Gaskin in the background, also watching.

  Ross took his place in the machine. Von Stalhein retired.

  Biggles waited for no more, for there was no likelihood of any change of plan on either side. He asked Control for permission to take off, and having received it, he taxied out.

  In a minute or two he was in the air, heading for Paris. By arriving first he would be able to watch the passenger plane come in, and have time to look over the people waiting for it. With von Stalhein out of the way there would be no danger in this. He hoped also to have a chat with Marcel.

  He found Marcel waiting, and having put the Proctor out of the way he lost no time in coming to the point. ‘Any clients wearing spotted ties?’ he asked, as they shook hands.

  Marcel grinned. ‘But of course, mon ami. We wouldn’t disappoint you. He is here.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the booking hall. Come over and I will show him to you. I think he expects a friend on the London plane, for he has in his pocket two tickets for Prague.’

  ‘Good work, Marcel,’ acknowledged Biggles. ‘At what time does the Prague machine leave?’

  ‘At four-forty-five. Voila! There it stands, ready.’

  ‘Go and get me two tickets, if it isn’t booked to capacity. I’m going on that plane, too.’

  Marcel looked pained. ‘Not even one night in Paris?’

  ‘I haven’t time. This is serious, and urgent.’

  Marcel’s expressive eyes asked a question. ‘What happens?’

  ‘Have you had any men deserting from your army lately?’

  Marcel shrugged. ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Find out — but not now. I’ll tell you all about it when I come back from Prague. Get me the tickets.’

  ‘You want two tickets?’

  ‘Yes. Ginger will go with me.’

  As they walked into the main hall Marcel nudged Biggles. ‘There is your man,’ he said.

  Following the direction indicated Biggles saw a nondescript individual with dark, restless eyes, a sallow complexion and a rather nervous manner. He was reading, or pretending to read, a newspaper; but his eyes, Biggles noted, did not linger on the printed page.

  Marcel went off to get the tickets, leaving Biggles watching the man with the spotted tie.

  Presently a curious thing happened; at least, it puzzled Biggles for a minute. The man he was watching looked directly at him, almost as if he had become aware that he was being scrutinised. Biggles saw him start slightly, before turning away, nearly dropping his paper in doing so. But again his eyes came back to Biggles. For a moment he fidgeted, obviously ill at ease. Then he appeared to reach a decision. After a glance to left and right he came near to where Biggles was standing, and said, in a low voice, speaking in German: ‘All is well, I hope?’

  Biggles was somewhat taken aback; but even as he automatically answered he realised what had happened. The man had noticed his spotted tie and had taken him for a member of the organisation for which he himself was working. This, up to a point, was the very purpose for which Biggles had adopted the tie; but he was hardly prepared for it to operate so soon, and so effectively. Too effectively, in fact; for it seemed to him at that moment that it was likely to be embarrassing. For this reason he would have avoided further conversation had it been possible, but as it was not he resolved to take advantage of the incident if this could be done without arousing the man’s suspicions. It should not be difficult, he thought, for the fellow did not strike him as being a particularly bright type. Thinking quickly, he decided that to end the conversation too abruptly might set the fellow wondering, and in the end do more harm than good.

  Said the man: ‘We travel together perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ answered Biggles. Outwardly his manner was casual; inwardly he had qualms, for he was afraid that remarks by the man might be passwords, to which he would be expected to return the correct answers.

  However, the man went on. ‘Are you under orders, or are you only returning home?’

  ‘Orders,’ replied Biggles. ‘I go to Prague.’ He felt safe in saying this, knowing that the man had tickets for that city. His presence in the same aircraft would now appear natural.

  ‘So. I also go to Prague,’ admitted the man.

  ‘Like me, you are here to meet the London plane?’ prompted Biggles.

  ‘I have a fellow traveller on board.’

  ‘And me.’

  ‘One of the regulars, I suppose?’

  ‘I’m no longer doing that work,’ said Biggles casually. ‘I have a more important man to meet. In Prague we shall meet at the usual hotel, no doubt?’

  ‘I go to the Hotel Schweiz, in the Moldaustrasse.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Biggles. ‘I may see you there.’

  ‘You were lucky to get promotion,’ said the man in a surly voice. ‘I have been nothing but a Laufbursche1 for years. I was told there was money in the business, but what I get is hardly enough to live on.’ The man spoke bitterly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Biggles told him consolingly. ‘Your turn will come. Take my advice and be more careful what you say. If I reported what you said it would mean trouble for you.’

  Fear leapt into the man’s eyes. ‘Yes, I shouldn’t have said it. I try hard at my work, but sometimes I feel it is not noticed.’

  ‘I’ll put in a word for you,’ promised Biggles.

  ‘Danke schön.’

  ‘Do you go with your man to the end of his journey?’ inquired Biggles.

  ‘No. Only to Prague.’

  ‘These men must wonder where they are going.’

  The man smiled unpleasantly. ‘Those do, certainly, who are given fur coats.’

  ‘That’s what I think,’ returned Biggles, his face expressionless.

  The appearance of the London plane put an end to the conversation. The man walked nearer to the barrier while Biggles remained where he was until Marcel returned with the tickets. He took them from him. ‘Don’t wait,’ he said quietly. ‘We may be watched, and you may be recognised. I will get in touch with you later. Au revoir.’

  ‘Au revoir, mon ami.’ Marcel turned away.

  Biggles walked forward, and seeing Ginger, joined him. He moved quickly, for he realised that the German to whom he had been speaking, seeing two passengers wearing spotted ties, Ginger and Ross, might be puzzled. When Biggles greeted Ginger the man went over to Ross, who was looking about him, and any doubts about identification were settled.

  ‘Any news?’ Biggles asked Ginger, as soon as landing formalities had been complied with.

  ‘Nothing,’ answered Ginger quietly. ‘I had a word with Ross coming over. He still doesn’t know where he’s going. All he knew was, a man wearing a spotted tie would meet him here. That’s the fellow he’s talking to now I suppose.’

  ‘Quite right. It was rather funny. We were both waiting here and the fellow noticed my tie. He spoke to me, but I didn’t learn much.’

  ‘Did you find out where he�
�s taking Ross?’

  ‘I already knew that. Marcel was here. He told me the fellow had two tickets for Prague. But that’s only the next hop. Apparently Ross goes on from there with someone else.’

  ‘Do we travel with them?’

  ‘Of course. I have two tickets for Prague in my pocket. Marcel got them for me. I told the chap that I, too, was expecting a friend on the London plane, and was then going on to Prague. He won’t be surprised, therefore, to see us on board. That’s the machine over there — the Douglas with the Czech Airline markings.’

  ‘You’ll leave the Proctor here, then?’

  ‘Can’t do anything else. I shouldn’t get far if I landed it at Prague. The police would be on me like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘You decided to take me with you?’

  ‘Yes. This is where our troubles may begin. I may need help.’

  ‘It’ll be dark when we get there.’

  ‘So much the better.’

  ‘Where are we going to stay when we get there?’

  ‘I shall try to get in at the Hotel Schweiz.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Because that’s where our friend over the way is taking Ross.’ Ginger whistled softly. ‘Good work. We shall still be able to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping. The big problem will be how to follow Ross when he’s moved on again. I imagine he won’t be long in Prague. But we can only deal with that when the time comes. Let’s go over to the machine. Here’s your ticket. It’ll be all right for us to sit together, but there can be no more talking to Ross.’

  They moved on towards the aircraft bearing the OK registration letters of Czechoslovakia.

  * * *

  1 Errand boy

  CHAPTER V

  Behind the Curtain

  It was dusk when the Douglas glided over the boundary lights of Ruzyn Airfield, the civil airport of the ancient Bohemian city of Prague.