Biggles' Combined Operation

by W E Johns

  Eddie broke in. “Aw shucks! What are we waiting for? Let’s go in and mop up the whole dirty outfit.”

  “Just a minute, Eddie,” requested Biggles impatiently. “What an impetuous fellow you are. What do you want to do—start a war? Get it into your skull that we’re not in our own countries. We haven’t even permission to land. Which means that if there’s a rumpus whichever way it ends we shall be in the wrong. If we don’t want to end up in a Greek gaol we shall have to play this game with the soft pedal on —for as long as that’s possible, anyhow. Before we go off at half cock let’s be sure of our ground.”

  “Okay,” agreed Eddie, contritely. “But I get mad—”

  “So do I, but I don’t let it drive me round the bend. We might do something with a rope and a file. There must be tools about. I wonder if Alfondez could tell us— hello, where’s he gone?” Biggles looked around, peering into the darkness.

  “Skipped it, by the look of it, the yellow skunk,” muttered Eddie. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s gone to tell Nicolinos we’re here, hoping to put himself right with the gang. If he’s got a gun he’s liable to get the drop on us from cover, for the same reason. I wouldn’t put anything past that four-flusher. We should have given him something to keep him quiet.”

  “It’s a bit late to talk about that,” returned Biggles. “Well, it’s no use going after him. Let’s see about getting Bertie out.”

  “Sure.”

  “As there’s nothing we can do from here the job will have to be tackled from the inside.”

  “That’s okay with me, brother.” Eddie drew his gun, a squat automatic. “Let’s go.”

  Biggles hesitated. “Ginger, do you think you could find your way back over the hill to Marcel?”

  “I doubt it, in the dark. Why?”

  “I was thinking that if this sortie came unstuck Marcel would never know what we know. He should have the gen. He could then pull out and report what goes on here. In that case we wouldn’t have wasted our time.”

  “It won’t help matters if I lose my way.”

  “You’re right. It’s a big risk. We might do better to compromise. I’ll go in with Eddie. You watch from outside. If we don’t come out make the best of your way home and report. You should be able to manage it in daylight.”

  “Fair enough, if that’s an order.”

  “It is.” Biggles looked up at the window. “Stand by, Bertie. We’re coming in. Come on, Eddie. If we’re shot at, shoot it out with ‘em. Once we start there can be no stopping.”

  “You betcha life.”

  Gun in hand, Eddie on his heels, Biggles started off along the side of the building to reach the only gateway by which, according to Alfondez, the courtyard could be entered. Without knowing the lay-out of the interior of the monastery there was of course no point in trying to make a plan.

  “We shall have to take things as they come,” he told Eddie, during a brief pause to reconnoitre the ground ahead.

  They went on, stopping from time to time to listen for sounds that might indicate the position of an enemy. Nothing happened. Not a sound broke the heavy silence and in due course they reached the angle beyond which another step would take them into the moonlight. Again Biggles stopped to listen. After a few seconds he turned to Eddie. “Can you hear something?”

  “Sure. Some guy whispering. Round the corner.”

  Dropping on his knees Biggles risked a peep which became rather prolonged. Rising and turning to Eddie he breathed: “It’s Alfondez. He’s talking to a man so much like him that I think he must be the brother he told us about. They’re standing just this side of the main gate.”

  “So that dirty cur did rat on us.”

  “I imagine he’s telling his brother about us. We can’t get near the gateway while they’re there.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’d see us, and that’d send the balloon up.”

  “Not if we stuck our guns in their ribs. Alfondez would swoon from fright if I know anything.”

  “Wait a bit.”

  How long the delay would have been had other factors not interfered is a matter for conjecture. For all practical purposes matters were taken out of Biggles’ hands when things began to happen; and having started they followed each other in such quick succession that it was not easy to keep pace with them.

  They began when three men stepped suddenly from behind a line of cypresses that followed the road to the arched entrance to the monastery. From their behaviour these may have been the men who had pursued Alfondez, for with one shouting his name they ran forward. Alfondez fled, making for the nearest point of the trees. A shot was fired at him. It missed. Alfondez reached the trees and dived through them with his pursuers close behind. The three newcomers followed. Behind them ran the man to whom Alfondez had been talking. He was shouting in a protesting sort of voice although what he said meant nothing to Biggles who did not know the language used. He in turn disappeared through the trees, from where there now came a considerable amount of noise.

  “This is our chance,” said Biggles, urgently, and he had started to move when following a shout came three shots, punctuated by a scream.

  “I reckon that was Alfondez,” said Eddie.

  “No matter. Come on.”

  But Biggles had taken no more than half a dozen paces when he went flat, dragging Eddie with him, as from the monastery ran out two more men, looking about them, apparently seeking the cause of the shooting. Hearing the noise behind the trees they hurried on towards the spot; but before reaching it the man thought to be Alfondez’ brother came out, waving his arms and shaking his head as if in distress. Seeing the two men coming back towards him he called something, pointing, and turned back. All three disappeared behind the trees from which now arose a violent altercation, as if someone was being accused and another defending. Voices rose to a crescendo but ended as abruptly as if a radio had been switched off when a command, or what sounded like a command, cut in.

  “If they’ll go on bumping each other off we shan’t need our guns,” remarked Eddie, optimistically.

  “Keep going,” snapped Biggles, now walking quickly towards the pillared entrance to the courtyard with an eye on the trees, behind which voices could again be heard in conversation.

  Abandoning caution in the need for haste Biggles ran on to the objective and darted through into a fairyland of moonlight and grotesque shadows. He looked around for a door. A yellow artificial light revealed one, open, with a corridor beyond. He strode to it. A few paces along the stone passage a side door stood ajar. He pushed it wide open to expose a well-furnished sitting room with signs of recent occupation. A cigar smouldered in an ashtray. A glass, half full, stood on a table. A revolver lay beside it.

  “This looks like it might be Nicolinos’ den,” observed Eddie.

  “He must have been one of the men we saw go out.”

  “What do we do? Wait for him to come back and have a show-down?”

  “No. It’s unlikely he’ll be alone. I’d prefer to delay the fireworks until they become really necessary. The thing is to get Bertie before we do anything else.”

  “How are you going to find him?”

  “All we can do is make a search. We might as well draw Nicolinos’ teeth before we start.” Biggles picked up the revolver and put it in his jacket pocket. “Let’s go on and find the stairs. From the position of Bertie’s window his room must be on the first floor.”

  They were striding along the corridor when a stout, heavily-whiskered man, carrying a plate-laden tray, appeared suddenly from a side turning in front of them. He came on, looking neither surprised nor upset until Biggles poked a gun into his stomach. Then he dropped the tray with a crash and raised his hands, making it clear that he was not in a mood to argue.

  “You speak English?” demanded Biggles, fiercely.

  “Leetle bit—donta shoot,” was the answer.

  “Where have you been with that tray?”

  “I takka da dinner t
o man.”

  “What man?”

  “Dunno name.”

  “Englishman?”

  “I tink so.”

  “Have you the key to his room?”

  “It wass on de tray.”

  Eddie stooped and picked it from the debris. “Okay,” he said.

  “Is this man upstairs?” questioned Biggles.

  “Yessa.”

  “Show us the room.”

  “Yessa. Donta shoot. I have wife anda family.”

  “You won’t be shot while you do what you’re told,” promised Biggles. “Get going.”

  The man made no protest. Biggles took him to be a local Greek employed as a cook or general servant. At all events he showed no signs of hostility and was clearly unconcerned about what went on in the monastery provided his life was not endangered. The little procession, the hostage leading and Eddie watching the rear, walked quietly along a stone corridor lighted only and intermittently by moonlight striking aslant through narrow arched slits in what was obviously an outer wall. Presently a flight of steps swept upwards in a wide curve. Up these went the guide to another long corridor with doors, all exactly alike, on one side. Moonlight still filtered in through the same narrow slit-like windows on the other side. With their footsteps echoing eerily the party proceeded until the guide eventually stopped at the end door.

  “Man in dis one,” said the guide. “You no tell Colonel I show you?”

  “I won’t tell him,” promised Biggles.

  Eddie inserted the key in the lock, turned it and thrust the heavy door wide open. The room was in darkness.

  “You there, Bertie?” called Biggles, briskly.

  Bertie stepped into the corridor, smiling. “Jolly good,” he said.

  “Come on,” returned Biggles. “We can talk later. Let’s see about getting out of this rabbit warren. Here, take this. You may need it.” Biggles handed over the revolver he had taken from the room below.

  “Where did you get this lump of ironmongery?” asked Bertie.

  “I won it on the way here. I fancy it must belong to this Colonel type, Nicolinos.”

  “You weren’t long finding me. Did old George show you the way?” Bertie jerked a thumb at the guide.

  “He did.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” asked Eddie. “We shan’t need him any more. He may get in the way, or start yelping for help.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Biggles. “We might as well leave him here. We needn’t lock him in. He’ll stay put if I tell him to.”

  The waiter was pushed into the room. “You stay here and you won’t get hurt,” said Biggles, closing the door and leaving the key in the lock. “Now let’s get mobile,” he told the others, and led the way back down the corridor towards the steps.

  His purpose, as he had said, was to get out of the monastery as quickly as possible and, naturally, he made for the only exit he knew. So far things had gone exceptionally well, better than could have been expected, and he hoped that the luck might last for a few more minutes.

  In this, however, he was soon to be disappointed.

  CHAPTER XIII

  GUNS SPEAK

  IT was just before they turned into the passage from which Nicolinos’ room led off, marked by the reflected glow of the electric light, that hope of a quick departure in that direction faded. A medley of footsteps and voices coming from the opposite direction suggested that the men who had gone out were on their way to Nicolinos’ apartment. Biggles stopped, of course, making a gesture that might have been annoyance or impotence.

  “They may go in and shut the door,” he said softly.

  This was a reasonable supposition, but it did not happen. The men trooped into the room, but, as a quick peep revealed, they did not close the door. What was even worse, two men remained in the passage, talking.

  “Now what, old boy?” queried Bertie.

  “We can either wait, hoping they’ll all go in presently, or we can look for another way out. There’s bound to be another door somewhere, or failing that a man-sized window. Which way did you come in, Bertie?”

  “This way. I saw nothing outside because I was blindfolded.”

  “It’d take a cat all its time to get through any windows I’ve seen,” said Eddie. “This place must have been built for a siege.”

  “It probably was. Until recently these waters were stiff with sea-rovers looking for plunder.”

  “What about bursting that light bulb with a bullet?” suggested Eddie. “There’s only one. We could get past in the dark. They wouldn’t dare shoot for fear of hitting each other.”

  “Could you hit that bulb—at fifteen yards?” inquired Biggles.

  “Maybe not. Then how about cutting the lead?”

  “Where is it?”

  “From the way the light flickers it’s direct current,” stated Eddie. “There must be a dynamo somewhere, run by a power unit of sorts. Let’s find it and bust it and put the whole place in darkness.”

  “It would probably be easier to find another way out,” opined Biggles. “This can’t be the only exit. There should be some sizable windows. We’re asking for trouble standing here, although as Nicolinos obviously has no idea we’re in the building we might hang on a couple of minutes to see if they shut that confounded door. No doubt they’re discussing that shooting, and what went on outside.”

  “What do you reckon that was about?” asked Eddie.

  “Someone was shot. I think it must have been Alfondez. I imagine he was telling his brother about us. From the way he bolted when those three men appeared I’d say it was the party that had been out looking for him. By the way, Bertie, he told us you were responsible for putting him on the spot by telling Nicolinos it was he who had spilt the beans about this place. Is that true?”

  “Not exactly. Nicolinos asked me how I’d got wind of his headquarters. I dodged the question by saying, ask Alfondez. I didn’t actually say he’d squealed in so many words though I’ll admit I hoped to cause trouble. Why not? At that time I was having a spot of trouble myself.”

  “Aw shucks! What does it matter,” put in Eddie. “Who cares? If that dirty crook has been bumped off so much the better for everyone. Let’s do something. I can’t stand doing nothing. They’re still arguing.”

  “I just heard Bertie’s name mentioned,” said Biggles. “If Nicolinos should decide to send for him, to check up what Alfondez’ brother must have told him, things will start humming. Let’s get out of this somehow. If we can’t find another way out we shall have to come back here, that’s all.”

  So saying Biggles started off down the corridor in the direction of the steps. Reaching them, instead of going up to the first floor he carried straight on, walking slowly on account of the deep gloom. That is not to say it was pitch dark; but the only light, a feeble one, was a patch of moonlight farther on. When they reached it they found it came through a hole where part of the masonry had collapsed; but it was too small for a man to get through. Moreover, the old stonework was in such a state that it would have been dangerous to attempt it. However, the wan light revealed a heavy, old oak door, on the opposite side.

  “Let’s see what’s in here,” said Biggles.

  Half expecting to find the door locked, he was reaching for the handle when he stopped, staring back along the corridor from the far end of which came echoing a clatter of fast moving feet and a shot. It was followed by a babble of voices.

  “That sounds to me, Bertie, as if they’ve discovered you’ve flown,” said Biggles. “If so, that knocks on the head any idea of going out that way. But let’s press on. Ginger’s waiting outside. He’ll be in a rare sweat having heard shooting. He’ll imagine we were involved in it and will be wondering why we haven’t come back.”

  Finding the door unlocked he pushed it open, took one pace and then came to a halt, staring. “Suffering Icarus!” he exclaimed. “What’s all this?”

  He obviously did not mean the question to be taken seriously for what
was before him must have been evident to them all. Moonlight slanting in through a series of tall Gothic windows, devoid of glass, showed a vast vaulted chamber that was, or had been, the monastery chapel. There was no one in it, but there was plenty to claim attention, things which, it may be supposed, would have astonished the original worshippers.

  The place had been stripped of pews and other church furniture but in some queer way it retained the atmosphere of its purpose. Down the middle, where the main aisle must have been, was a line of benches, tables and trestles. On these were bottles, jars, beakers and retorts, set out in the manner of a laboratory. A certain amount of miscellaneous equipment stood about or littered the floor, scales, sacks, packing cases and the like.

  Biggles sniffed. “I smell opium.” He pointed to some sacks. “I’d say that’s it.”

  “So this is where they make the foul stuff they dish out,” muttered Eddie. “Alfondez said they used the chapel as a workshop. What a devil’s kitchen!”

  There was a click and the place was flooded with light from lamps over the benches.

  Biggles spun round. “Who did that?” he rapped out.

  “I did,” answered Eddie. “I found the switch just inside the door. I reckoned they’d have lights here.”

  Biggles didn’t look pleased. “We didn’t need them,” he reproved. “You realize all this light will be seen from outside?”

  “So what?” returned Eddie, recklessly. “Let’s see all there is to see while we’re here.”

  “All right, but don’t be long about it, because with the place blazing like a gin palace we’re likely to have visitors.”

  “Let ‘em come,” growled Eddie. “When I think of what goes on here I get all lit up myself.”

  “Absolutely, chaps. I’m with you,” murmured Bertie.

  Eddie was now at the nearest bench, examining what lay on it. It was almost entirely covered with small cardboard boxes, coloured paper and other stuff that looked like packing material. There were labels, gum and heaps of small, square, brownish objects. He picked up a label and read the printing on it. “Say, get a load o’ this,” he called.