Biggles Takes a Hand Page 8

  “What a blow! What have you done about it?”

  “The only thing I could do. There’s still a chance that Professor Lowenhardt may go to the house. I mean, he may not have gone straight there when he got off the plane. He may have gone to an hotel to book a room, intending to go on to Hampstead later. That seems to be our only hope. Anyhow, I’m having the house watched until midnight in case he rolls up. By that hour most people are in bed and I wouldn’t expect him to call later than that.”

  “Who’s doing the watching?”

  “Bertie is on until nine o’clock, when Algy will take over. He should be on his way there now.”

  “Did Bertie see Von Stalhein?”

  “He did, and explained the position as far as he knew it at the time. However, Von Stalhein said he’d rather keep out of the way unless there was any particular reason for him to come round. Karkoff and his gang are still eating at the Adlon Restaurant so they can’t have made much progress, either.”

  “Where’s Anna?”

  “Still with us. But we can talk about this when we get home. Keep an eye behind us. We may be followed. I’ll take a spot of evading action just in case.”

  Biggles put his foot down and the car raced on through the falling darkness.

  CHAPTER VIII

  ALGY MEETS TROUBLE

  BIGGLES and Ginger arrived home without mishap and as far as they were aware without being followed. Living in London they knew the ever-changing one-way streets which so often baffle visitors. They found Bertie and Anna in the sitting-room, a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits on the table.

  “Jolly good,” congratulated Bertie, smiling at Ginger. “So you made it.”

  “Just about,” returned Ginger. “There was a minute when things looked a bit sticky but the army came along and helped me out.”

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” requested Biggles, when they had made themselves comfortable. “But first of all, how did you get on, Bertie? See anything of interest?”

  “Not a bally thing. Nobody went to the house while I was there.”

  “Algy came along to relieve you as arranged?”

  “Dead on time.”

  “Good. Now, Ginger, tell us all about it. Things seem to have got into a bit of a tangle so the first thing to do is to try to get some sort of picture of how matters stand at the moment.”

  Ginger told the story, in the order of events, of all that had happened from the time of his arrival in Berlin.

  “The woman you saw must have been our housekeeper, Gretchen,” informed Anna, when he had finished. “She is getting old and cannot really understand all that is going on in our country today. Poor Gretchen. It’s hard for the old people.”

  “She knows enough to be suspicious of strangers, anyway,” asserted Ginger. “If it hadn’t been for your brooch I should have got nowhere with her. Here it is. You’d better have it back.” He passed it over.

  “I should have made allowances for the possibility of the Professor following Anna to London,” muttered Biggles. “I imagined he might do that but wasn’t prepared for him to follow on so soon. Of course, he might have had another reason, apart from Anna, for getting out of Berlin. I wonder was he shadowed when he left the house. In view of what Ginger tells us the house was still being watched. I don’t like the sound of that. I can understand the anxiety of the enemy to catch up with the Roths, but what is their interest in your father, Anna? Does he know something, too?”

  “Perhaps. It may be that they hope to learn from him where the Roths have gone. Or they may think the Roths will return to Berlin and go to the house.” Anna shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “If your father came here I’m afraid we’re going to have a job to find him. Our only chance is that he will go to Doctor Jacobs’ old house in Hampstead, if he hasn’t already been. I’m not very hopeful but we might catch him there.”

  “I’d have thought he’d have gone straight to the house as soon as he arrived,” said Bertie.

  “He hadn’t been when I called. For all we know he may have had a reason for not going near the house.”

  “Such as?”

  “He obviously wouldn’t go near it if he knew, or suspected, he was being shadowed. No doubt he’d be on the watch for that. His first thought would be to shake off anyone tracking him.”

  Bertie nodded. “I see that.”

  “Let’s put ourselves in his place,” suggested Biggles. “Let’s assume he went to the house in Bishop’s Way. The woman who now lives there would tell him, as she told me, that Doctor Jacobs no longer lived there. She advised me to make inquiries at the estate agent from whom she bought the place, so it’s reasonable to suppose she’d offer the same advice to the Professor. Very well. Let us suppose, since there was nothing else he could do, that he went to the agent, bearing in mind that by this time he’d be sick with worry wondering where Anna had gone. The agent spoke freely to me because I’m a police officer, but he may not have said so much to the Professor. But that isn’t the point. When I left the agent I asked him to let me know if anyone called making inquiries about Doctor Jacobs. He said he would. I haven’t heard from him, and that can only mean one of two things. Either the Professor has not yet been to the house where Doctor Jacobs lived, or if he has, he has not been to the estate agent. Looked at like that there would seem to be a fair chance of our finding him in Hampstead.”

  Everyone agreed.

  “In the meantime,” said Ginger, taking the letter addressed to the Professor from his pocket and laying it on the table, “what are we going to do about this?”

  Biggles picked up the envelope and examined it closely, without comment, before passing it on to Anna. “Does that handwriting mean anything to you?” he questioned.

  Anna studied the address. “It is something like the writing of Doctor Jacobs, but I wouldn’t be sure of it. I used to see it often when I lived with the family, but that was some time ago. If it is his writing it has changed.”

  “He may have tried to disguise it.”

  “Perhaps. But it is more like the writing of a child.”

  “The Doctor has aged since you knew him, and he has been ill.”

  Anna shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Can you think of anyone else in England who might write to your father?”

  “No.”

  “The trouble is I can’t read the postmark,” complained Biggles. “Someone banged it on in a hurry and only caught one corner. Queer how often that happens when you have a reason for wanting to read the postmark. I’d say the letter was posted somewhere outside London. You’d better take charge of it, Anna. What it contains may have no bearing on the present situation, but, on the other hand, it could answer some of the questions that have got us guessing.”

  Anna looked dubious. “I don’t think I should open a letter addressed to someone else, even to my father.”

  “I shan’t try to persuade you to. That’s a matter between you and your conscience. In the ordinary way the question would never arise, but here the circumstances are far from ordinary. It’s just possible that the lives of your father and your friends could depend on the contents of this letter, and I’m bound to point out that if you discovered that too late you’d never forgive yourself.”

  “That’s as good as saying you think I should open it.”

  “Frankly, I don’t see how it could do any harm. As our concern is only for the safety of your father and the Roths it would be pardonable. But, as I say, it’s a matter for you to decide. I wouldn’t open it myself, but you, after all, are the Professor’s daughter, and that’s a very different matter. All I ask is, whatever you do, don’t carry that letter about with you.”

  “I could leave it in my bedroom.”

  “I don’t know that it would be entirely safe there. We’re dealing with an unscrupulous gang of ruffians who stop at nothing. Rather than risk losing the letter it would be better to destroy it. Imagine how you would feel if your enemies got hold
of it and it turned out to contain vital information.”

  Anna was looking really worried. She thought for a moment or two, all eyes on her. “I am in your hands,” she said at last. “I will do whatever you advise.”

  Biggles smiled reproachfully. “That’s putting the onus on me. Very well. My advice to you is this. Open the letter and read it. If the contents have nothing to do with us you need say nothing more about it. Do what you like with it. Burn it, or keep it and give it to your father when we find him. If it should give a clue to the whereabouts of your father, the Roths, or Doctor Jacobs, I’d be glad to have it.”

  “I will open it,” decided Anna. “I am fearful for my father.”

  With hands that were trembling slightly she picked up a knife from the table, slit the flap of the envelope and took out a single sheet of notepaper folded once across. Unfolding it she first turned it over to look at the signature. She looked up. “It’s from—”

  At that moment the door was thrown open and into the room, somewhat unsteadily, came Algy. That something had happened to him was at once evident. His hair was ruffled and his face pale. There was a red bruise on one cheek. His collar was torn open with the tie, hanging loose, on one side. His left hand was heavily bandaged.

  Everyone stared. Biggles, who had leapt to his feet on Algy’s sudden entry, remained standing. “How did you get in that mess?” he asked sharply.

  Algy, who had crossed the room to an armchair, sank heavily into it. “Give me a drink,” he requested.

  “Give him a nip of brandy,” Biggles told Ginger. Then, to Algy: “Are you badly hurt? Shall I send for the doctor?”

  “I’ve had one, thanks,” replied Algy, smiling bleakly. “No, I’m all right. Just give me a minute.” He took a gulp from the glass Ginger handed to him. “Ah! That’s better.”

  Said Biggles, after a pause. “Have you seen Professor Lowenhardt?”

  “I—er—think so.”

  “You only think! Don’t you know?”

  “As I’ve never seen him in my life how could I be sure? Besides, it was dark. But I think it must have been him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Biggles drew a deep breath. He sat down. “All right,” he said. “When you’re ready tell us about it.”

  Algy finished the brandy. “That won’t take long.”

  With everyone waiting, after a brief silence he went on. “It happened so quickly that it was all over before I realized it had begun. I took over from Bertie as arranged. Just before ten o’clock it got chilly. Then it started to rain. There didn’t seem to be any reason, with another two hours to do, why I should stand there getting wet through.”

  “Where were you standing?”

  “Against a garden wall on the other side of the road, not quite opposite. The street lighting wasn’t all that good, but from there I’d be able to see anyone going to Westwinds. Deciding I could do the job more comfortably I went to the junction of Bishop’s Way and the main road and picked up a taxi. I agreed to pay the driver waiting time and he took me back to my original position, tight in against the curb. All lights were switched off except the cab’s sidelights.”

  “You were on the far side of the road, not quite opposite Westwinds?”

  “Exactly. It seemed the best position. No one could see me sitting in the cab. There was very little traffic and few pedestrians, as you’d expect on a wet night.”

  “Carry on.”

  “About half an hour later I saw a man coming along the pavement, from the direction of the main road, on the same side as the house I was watching. Two or three times he stopped, looking at the houses as if trying to make out the names or numbers. His general behaviour was that of a stranger trying to locate a particular address. Naturally, this made me sit up and take notice. I had a feeling he was going to stop at Number eleven, Westwinds, and he did. With a hand on the gate he had a good look up and down the street.” Algy smiled ruefully.

  “I suppose you might say I was partly to blame for what followed,” he went on. “I can see that now. But as you can imagine my entire attention was on the man at the gate, and I didn’t see the other two until they jumped him. Neither, I’m sure, did he, or he wouldn’t have stood there as he did. Where they came from I don’t know, but they must have been following him. I had already opened the door of the taxi, my intention being to walk over and introduce myself. I didn’t want to appear in too much of a hurry for fear of giving the man a fright. It was at that moment the other two appeared and went for him. I let out a shout and dashed across the road. I’m not quite clear about what happened after that. I grabbed one of the men by the arms whereupon the other fetched me a wallop in face. Then the taxi driver arrived on the scene and he really sailed in. I must say he was a stout feller. After all, it wasn’t his fight, but he behaved as if it was. He fairly let ‘em have it. I don’t suppose the affair lasted more than a minute but by that time the two toughs had had enough, and bolted. When I looked round for the man they’d attacked he wasn’t there. I don’t know which way he went. I didn’t see him go. He didn’t make a sound and I never really saw his face. I’d been too busy to look at him. I suddenly came over a bit faint. I didn’t know why till my taxi pal said, ‘My Gawd! They’ve sliced you.’ Then I saw my hand was bleeding pretty badly, apparently from a knife wound. The driver, a local man, whisked me round to the hospital where it needed five stitches to sew me up. He waited and afterwards brought me home.”

  “I hope you gave him a jolly good tip,” said Bertie.

  “You bet I did. Well, that’s about all.”

  “Tell me this,” said Biggles. “Did you get a good look at the men?”

  “No. They wore raincoats with the collars turned up and had mufflers over the lower part of their faces.”

  “You couldn’t say if they were some of Karkoff’s gang?”

  “No. They might have been, but I wouldn’t swear to it either way.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m all right.”

  Biggles lit a cigarette. “It must have been Anna’s father who went to the house. He may have suspected he was being followed. Maybe that’s why he left it until after dark before going to Hampstead. Pity you couldn’t have made contact with him, but things might have been worse. No doubt they would have been worse had you not been there. You couldn’t do more than you did. There is this about it.” Biggles looked at Anna. “If we don’t know where your father is neither do the people who had been following him.”

  “I don’t understand,” answered Anna, who naturally was looking upset. “If they wanted to kill him why did they wait until he was outside the house?”

  “They didn’t want to kill him—not before then, anyway. I imagine the people they are really after are the Roths, and they were shadowing your father hoping he’d lead them to where they were staying, which is exactly what he did, or would have done had the Roths been at Westwinds. The position as it now stands looks like this. The hoodlums who are after the Roths must think they know where they’re staying. Actually, as we know, they’re wrong. They still no more know where the Roths are at this moment than we do. Unfortunately the same thing applies to your father. He doesn’t know that Doctor Jacobs has moved, or that the Roths are not where he thinks they are.”

  “What a terrible muddle,” murmured Anna. “What do you think my father will do?”

  “We might as well face it. After what has happened tonight he’ll be more worried than ever, afraid that he’s given away the Roths’ hiding-place. Actually, as we know, he has not; but in his anxiety the most natural thing for him to do would be to make another attempt to get in touch with the Roths to warn them of their danger—that their enemies know where they are, as he supposes.”

  “You think he’ll go back to Westwinds.”

  “Not necessarily. Assuming the house will be watched he may try another method of communication. He might write a letter and either post it or e
mploy an express messenger boy to deliver it. But whatever he does, even if he should get a message through the result will confuse him. A letter addressed to Doctor Jacobs would almost certainly be returned marked not known. The Mrs. Smith who now lives in the house knows nothing of Doctor Jacobs. If she passed the letter to the house agent he wouldn’t be able to do anything with it because he has no idea of where the Doctor has gone.”

  “What about the telephone?” queried Ginger.

  “If Mrs. Smith has kept it on it will be in her name; which means the telephone directory would be useless.”

  “My father may have kept a note of Doctor Jacobs’ number,” said Anna.

  “What would he make of it when he was answered by a woman named Smith who would say she knew nothing of Doctor Jacobs? That was the answer I got when I called, and no doubt the answer the Karkoff gang will get should they go there.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  Biggles shook his head. “London is a big place to start looking for anyone. I’ll think about it. All we can do at present is keep watch on the house in Bishop’s Way in case your father should go there again.”

  “I’ll go and watch,” declared Anna. “I shall know him if he comes.”

  “And those men who followed you from Berlin will know you, should they come along, as they probably will. No, Anna, I wouldn’t advise that. But what about this letter? You were just going to read it when Algy came in. You might as well do that; then, as it’s getting late, Bertie will see you to your hotel.”

  Anna picked up the letter. “It’s from Doctor Jacobs,” she announced.