Mario, I think, has gone to fetch him. Ah – here he is.’
Algy, looking slightly bewildered, came down into the kitchen closely fol owed by Mario. ‘Bertie!’ he cried, ‘are you in the party, too? How did you get here so soon?’
‘I padded the jol y old hoof most of the way.’
‘No—I mean, what brought you here? I saw the girl write on the wal and came straight along, yet you are here as soon as I am.’
‘A little bird whispered in my ear,’ answered Bertie.
‘You mean—the girl?’
‘Oh, no. And the girl, my inquisitive partner, says she is a princess.’
‘ The princess?’
‘Ah! There you have me. I’m no judge of princesses.’
The princess stepped into the conversation. She stil carried her automatic. To Mario she said, ‘Close the door and keep guard.’ To the others she remarked, ‘I am going to show you something. It may be what you are looking for. If it is, then al wil be wel . If you are spies, it wil be a pity, because I shal have to shoot you. We take no risks.’
‘No, by jingo, I can see that,’ murmured Bertie.
The princess pushed aside an old wine press, disclosing a flight of steps leading downward. The pale yel ow light of a candle came up the steps to meet the dim daylight in the kitchen. ‘Descend,’ she meet the dim daylight in the kitchen. ‘Descend,’ she ordered. ‘If you are recognised, al wil be wel . If not I shal be close behind you. Proceed.’
Algy went first. A dozen steps brought him to the bottom, into a bare, oblong cel ar. There was only one piece of furniture, a wooden bedstead, on which a bed of dried herbs had been arranged. On it lay a man, a man whose emaciated face was half covered by a fortnight’s stubble of beard. But the eyes that he turned on the visitors were clear. He was clad in an old boiler suit, but an R.A.F. uniform lay on the floor beside him.
Algy stopped. His heart appeared tb seize up.
‘Great heavens!’ he breathed. ‘Biggles!’
‘Hel o, boys,’ answered Biggles. ‘What are you staring at?’
‘I—I hardly—knew you,’ stammered Algy.
‘Come right in, Bertie,’ invited Biggles. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I must look a bit of a mess, but I should have looked a lot worse by now had it not been for my nurse. Gentlemen, al ow me to present to you Her Highness the Princess Marietta de Palma.’
The princess inclined her head and put away her pistol. ‘So al is wel ,’ she observed, speaking in English. ‘Forgive me, but I had to be sure. There are more spies than scorpions in the country now.’
‘How the deuce did you fel ows find your way here?’ demanded Biggles.
‘When you didn’t show up we twisted the story out of Raymond and he let us come down. We traced you by the writing on the wal ,’ explained Algy.
‘Which means, I suppose, that Ginger is in the offing?’
‘At the moment he’s gone to a beastly place by the name of Peil e,’ put in Bertie.
‘Why?’ asked Biggles. Algy, too, looked surprised, for he knew nothing of Ginger’s adventures.
‘He went,’ said Bertie, ‘to get hold of Henri Ducoste, who is now a prisoner in the hospital at Peil e.’
‘Henri! A prisoner?—Peil e—I don’t understand! I assumed he got back to England?’
‘He did. But he brought us over, and his engine let him down just after he had turned for home. He crashed between Peil e and Baudon, and was taken to hospital pending removal to prison as a de Gaul eist*.’
Gaul eist .’
‘I didn’t know anything about this,’ Algy told Biggles helplessly.
‘There are a lot of things you know nothing about, old boy,’ continued Bertie. ‘I’m a bit worried about Ginger. With one thing and another he may be in a mess. A bul et-hole in the leg has let a lot of the pink juice out of him.’
‘Why didn’t you go to Peil e with him?’ demanded Biggles.
‘He said it would be better for me to come on here and try to make contact with Algy.’
‘But how did you know I’d come here?’ exclaimed Algy.
‘Just a minute—just a minute,’ broke in Biggles.
‘We’re al at sixes and sevens. Let’s take things one at a time. I presume that you came over together and then got split up, so each doesn’t know what the others have been doing?’
‘That’s about it,’ agreed Bertie. ‘But first of al , old boy, tel us about yourself. I hope you realise that until five minutes ago we didn’t know whether you were alive or dead. Even Raymond didn’t know, although in his heart he reckoned you were a gonner.’
Biggles smiled wanly. ‘To tel the truth, I wasn’t quite sure about it myself. The story won’t take long.
How much did Raymond tel you?’
Algy explained.
Biggles nodded. ‘Wel , as far as I can make out, what happened at Californie was this. I was making for the machine when a bul et hit me. Oh, yes, there was no fake about that. It knocked me for six.
Actual y the bul et hit a rib near the heart, glanced off and tore a hole in my side. The wound has healed up pretty wel , but it kept me off my feet for a few days.
The princess was already in the machine. When she saw me go down she jumped out again, with the result that the machine took off without either of us.
Mind you, I didn’t see this, because I was down for the count. Apparently there were a couple of Italians right on top of me. Her Highness, who carried a gun, shot them. There were some more on the way, so somehow or other she dragged me down to the sea, which was handy. The shock of the water brought me round, and for a little while I was able to take some slight interest in the proceedings. We lay there, the pair of us, with our noses just out of the water for about an hour, while the Italians searched high and low. When the excitement died away a bit we started making our way to Nice, half wading and half swimming. We managed to get to Jock’s Bar, where I had already arranged for a blue message to be left
—I’l explain about that later. It was my intention to write more, in case Raymond sent someone to look for us, but by that time I was al in. I’d lost rather more blood than the old system would stand.’
‘I saw some of it,’ murmured Algy.
‘The princess got me inside,’ resumed Biggles.
‘She did a bit of first-aid work with some old bathing costumes, and then found herself with an unconscious man on her hands. Of course, she should have abandoned me and made for Spain—’
‘I would not go over that again, my comrade,’
broke in the princess. ‘In my family we do not abandon our friends.’
Biggles smiled. ‘That’s the sort of girl she is,’ he said softly, and then continued: ‘Leaving me in Jock’s Bar, she went back to Monaco, where she knew a chap who had once been in the Royal service. He ran a restaurant. As a matter of detail, I knew him myself—I’l explain how that came about presently.’
‘That, I suppose, was Mario?’ interposed Bertie.
‘He put a knife into Zabani.’
‘That was nothing to do with me,’ asserted the princess. ‘It was a crime of the Camorra. Zabani betrayed me. The Camorra had helped me to escape from Italy because it hates the Mussolini regime—and the Camorra never forgives or forgets.’
‘Ginger got credit for kil ing Zabani, and it was in trying to get away that he was shot in the leg,’
explained Bertie. ‘But I’l tel you about that when my turn comes. Go ahead, chief.’
‘Wel , Mario turned up trumps,’ resumed Biggles.
‘As luck would have it, he happens to be in the local defence service as an ambulance driver. Having an empty garage, the ambulance is kept there. It was taking a chance, but he turned out and fetched me. I had no say in the matter, you understand, because al this time I was unconscious. Mario and the princess fixed it between them. They brought me here. They daren’t take me to the Chez Rossi in case someone spotted me being carried in—the place was fairly buzzing with police. Actual y, Castil on was a good choice
, because as the vil age has the reputation of being haunted, few people has the reputation of being haunted, few people come near it. Mario knew of the place because once in a while he used to come over to gather the oranges and lemons that stil grow in the gardens.’
‘Yes, I know,’ murmured Bertie doleful y. ‘I hit the poor blighter in the eye with a lemon. I hope he won’t hold it against me. Carry on, chief.’
‘Wel , that’s real y al there was to it. Princess Marietta stayed and nursed me while Mario kept us going with food. I recovered consciousness the day after they got me here, and I’ve been mending pretty fast ever since. We learned from Mario that someone was making inquiries, so I asked the princess to go down to Monaco again, to the Quai de Plaisance, and do a spot more writing on the wal , just in case Raymond had sent someone down to look for us. I gather that while she was writing she saw a bloke watching her, for which reason she left in such a hurry that she forgot the triangle.’
‘I don’t quite understand this,’ put in Algy. ‘Didn’t you do any writing?’
‘I’d better explain that,’ answered Biggles. ‘As it turned out, the blue pencil served its purpose, but at one time I was afraid it would do more harm than good. You see, most of the writing was done before the affair at Californie. When I arrived I went to the Vil a Valdora, where I bumped into a man lurking in the bushes. That was Mario, who had somehow learned about the princess. We pretty soon saw eye to eye. He told me that Zabani was a fascist, that the place was a trap, and that the princess had been taken to the police station at Monaco. Natural y, I couldn’t let that stop me from trying to get her away, but my first thought, in case I failed, was to let Raymond’s agents know, should they fol ow me, that the Vil a Valdora was a place to avoid. I went to Mario’s house to make my plans. I asked him to slip over to Nice and leave a message on the wal of Jock’s Bar—which he did. While he was gone I wrote a message on the Pernod card in the restaurant, intending to go down to the Quai de Plaisance and leave a clue there. I wanted to put anyone who came—in case I failed—in touch with Mario, but I daren’t say that in so many words. As it happened, I couldn’t get to the Quai de Plaisance, and in point of fact nothing was written there until after the debacle of Californie. Later, when I woke up here in Castil on, I got the princess to slip down and write the message I had intended writing, to cal attention to the Pernod card at Mario’s. This morning, after I had learned definitely that someone had been making inquiries, I got her to go down again and write a new message, something more explicit. In the early messages I was only concerned with letting Raymond know that the Vil a Valdora was a trap, and that Mario was a friend who could be relied on. Of course, I didn’t know you’d be coming, but I thought Raymond might send someone. It wasn’t easy, with the police fairly on the hop, to write messages in such a way that they would look pointless to anyone but the people for whom they were intended.’
‘It was the word Mayday that set me thinking,’
asserted Bertie.
‘I used the word deliberately to show that there was a hook-up with aviation,’ rejoined Biggles.
‘Mario is a good lad, but if anything he tends to be over suspicious. He was concerned only with the princess, and he was al against taking chances. As far as he was concerned, everyone was a spy. Al the same, I must say you weren’t long picking up the trail. Frankly, I hadn’t much hope of getting away from here by air, so we were making other plans, using Mario’s ambulance—but never mind about that for the moment. What about you?’
Algy told his story first, describing his visit to Jock’s Bar. ‘Someone must have found the bloodstained rags, and told the police to put them on the scent,’ he declared. ‘Gordino was there, waiting for someone to turn up, and he nearly got me.’ He then narrated the story of his journey to Monaco, how he had seen the girl in blue on the Quai de Plaisance, and how he had made his way to Castil on. He concluded by informing Biggles of the stirring events in North Africa which had resulted in the enemy occupation of the whole of France. The Italians, he asserted, were as thick as ants along the Riviera.
‘Not Italians, please,’ corrected the princess. ‘You mean the dupes of Mussolini—that rat of the Romagnna.’
‘That’s the way it is,’ said Biggles sadly. ‘The princess hates Mussolini even more than we do. And she’s not the only one to detest that puffed-up gangster. But what happened to you, Bertie?’
Bertie told his story and fol owed it up by tel ing Bertie told his story and fol owed it up by tel ing Ginger’s, up to the point where they had parted in the house of Madame Ducoste at Monaco.
Biggles heard him out in silence. ‘We must get in touch with Ginger and Henri right away,’ he decided.
‘This attempted rescue sounds a formidable business to me. When we’ve done that we’l see about getting home.’
‘What I’m anxious to know is, how are you feeling?’ asked Algy.
The princess answered. ‘He gets wel quickly because of the good constitution, but he is not strong yet.’
‘I’m getting stronger every day,’ declared Biggles.
‘I got up for a couple of hours yesterday, and I’ve been walking up and down this cel ar most of the morning. Al I real y need is a bath and a shave. The bath wil have to wait, but Mario has promised to bring me a razor.’
‘Are you kidding about feeling al right?’ asked Algy suspiciously.
‘No, I’m al right now, as long as I don’t put any great strain on my side, which might open up the wound. The princess is a great nurse—and she can cook.’
‘By Jove! Real y?’ murmured Bertie.
‘What was this plan for getting away, the one you spoke about just now?’ inquired Algy.
‘Briefly, it was this,’ answered Biggles. ‘We thought we’d have a shot at getting to the Spanish frontier. The idea was, Mario would bring the ambulance along here. He would drive it, wearing his uniform. The princess would get herself up as a nurse, and I, as the patient—an Italian officer wounded in the Western Desert. We couldn’t hope to get al the way to Spain in the ambulance, because of the petrol shortage, but we thought we might at least get clear of the Riviera, which is the real danger zone.’
Algy shook his head. ‘That might have been al right last week, but I don’t think it would work now; the Riviera is stiff with Italian troops, and the Nazis have taken over farther along the coast—Toulon and Marseil es. You would be stopped, and without papers what story could you tel ? What reason could Mario give for being so far from Monaco?’
Biggles was silent for a little while. ‘Yes, I’m afraid this invasion has altered things,’ he agreed. ‘Stil , it’s worth bearing in mind that Mario can get transport if it comes to the pinch. But it’s no use talking about that until we’ve got hold of Ginger and Henri. I’m worried about them. I’m afraid I can’t do much about it myself. Neither can the princess, and Mario wil have to look after the food department. What time is it?’
Mario, from the cel ar steps, answered, ‘It is seven o’clock, Signor, and a fine night.’
‘I didn’t know he spoke English,’ said Algy in surprise.
‘He was in London for a while – had a little restaurant in Soho,’ explained Biggles.
‘Wel , what are we going to do?’ inquired Bertie.
‘Shal we—that is, me and Algy—toddle along to Peil e, to see what is happening there?’
‘What was your final arrangement with Ginger?’
‘He said he’d get hold of Henri and make for here.’
‘H’m. That makes hard to know what to do for the best. He may already be on his way here. If you go, whichever way you take, you may miss him. At al costs we must try to keep together.’
‘It is possible, Signor, to getta from here to Peil e by the ancient mule tracks,’ al eged Mario. ‘Al the old vil ages are so joined up.’
‘You know the path?
‘Ah, no. I notta go that way.’
‘Then you couldn’t be sure of finding the path in the dark?�
�
‘No, signor. In daylight, perhaps.’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘I don’t see that we can do anything until morning,’ he decided. ‘If we start blundering about in the dark we may do more harm than good. We’l wait and give Ginger a chance to get here, in case he’s on the way. If he isn’t here by dawn, then someone wil have to take the mountain path to Peil e, while another watches the Sospel road to see if he comes that way. After al , we’re not tied to time. You fel ows must be tired after al your running about. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable—or as comfortable as you can—until morning. Then we’l make a definite plan.
Mario has brought plenty of food, so we shan’t starve.’
‘And is Mario to stay here also?’ asked the princess.
‘Yes. I think he’d better wait in case we need him,’
‘Yes. I think he’d better wait in case we need him,’
answered Biggles. ‘For the moment he had better remain on guard, in case anyone comes snooping round—not that I think it’s likely.’
And so it was arranged.
Chapter 15
Conference at Castillon
Just as dawn was breaking Mario came into the wine cel ar where Biggles, Algy and Bertie were sleeping, and having apologized for awakening them, announced that someone, he knew not who, was approaching from the south-west. This, he asserted, was beyond dispute, because on three occasions he had distinctly heard a stone rattle, and each time the sound was nearer. The intervals between the sounds had been long, from which it might be inferred that the approach was slow. He had come to warn them to be ready for action, and to ask for instructions.
Biggles turned to Algy and Bertie. ‘You’d better take care of this,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t show yourselves. Try an ambush. Probably the best plan would be to take cover in a house on the line of approach, so that before you move you can see who you have to deal with. Speaking personal y, if it is the police, I am not going to be taken prisoner—I’d sooner fight it out here than face a firing squad. Have you got guns?’
‘We have,’ answered Algy grimly. ‘Come on, Bertie.’
29 Biggles Fails to Return Page 14