It was half an hour before the man emerged. The bus was there. He boarded it. So did Algy. Together they alighted at the Café de Paris. Groot sat at an outside table and ordered tea. Algy, at a discreet distance, did the same. From the way Groot kept his eyes on the road, and from time to time glanced at his watch, Algy formed the opinion that he was expecting someone. In this he was right, for presently, when a small, but fast-looking sports car, painted blue, pulled in at the kerb, Groot raised a hand, presumably to indicate his position. The car bore a French registration number. Algy memorized it.
The driver alighted, and as Algy's eyes went over him he felt his pulses quicken. He was a man of about thirty-five, slim, dark, and dapper, with a little black moustache. He wore a navy blue suit. Could it, thought Algy, be Canton, the pseudo-newspaper man? The description fitted. When the fellow joined Groot at his table, and on sitting down took off his hat, the description fitted even better, for his hair was brushed straight back without a parting. When almost at once he began running his fingers through it, Algy felt confident, for the first time, that he had found what he was seeking. If this was coincidence, he pondered, it was a remarkable one. From his actions and the way he spoke the dark man appeared to be apologizing for being late. Groot gave an order to a waiter, who presently brought fresh tea and some sandwiches.
The two men, with their heads together, now carried on an earnest conversation. Algy would have given a lot to know what they were talking about, but to try to find out was, of course, out of the question. The sandwiches finished, Groot beckoned a waiter again and asked for something. The waiter looked round, walked to another table and returned with a small glass receptacle. Groot reached for it, stripped a small object of its tissue-paper wrapping, and began picking his teeth.
Now there was nothing really remarkable about this if what Algy had good reason to suspect was correct. On
the contrary, it was to be expected. Yet when it actually happened Algy could hardly believe his eyes. It was like watching a prophecy materialize. Anyway, he was quite sure now that he was outside the realm of coincidence. He, too, called a waiter, and asked for a toothpick. The waiter obliged, and in a moment Algy held in his fingers a replica of the little paper tube which Joe, the black boy, had picked up in the Australian desert.
He was now thinking fast. Having two men to watch, he hoped fervently that he would catch sight of Bertie entering the hotel opposite on his return from Nice; for if the two men separated he would have to decide which to follow. Canton—if the dark man was Canton—had a car. To follow him, as things stood, would be impossible. If both went off in the car he could shadow neither of them. This thought brought him smartly to his feet.
A line of taxis stood in the municipal parking-place less than fifty yards away. Still watching his men, he went to the leading cab, booked it, sat inside, but told the driver not to move. "I'm waiting for a friend," he explained. The driver, content to earn money by doing nothing, resumed his perusal of the evening paper.
Algy watched his men, also the hotel on the other side of the Place Casino, hoping to see Bertie, who should have been back before this. Bertie had still not arrived when, some minutes later, the two men got up and climbed into the blue sports car. As it glided away Algy told his driver to follow it. He gave this order with some anxiety, because it was beginning to get dark, and he was afraid he might lose sight of his quarry.
He was not surprised when the blue car took the Middle Corniche road to the west, for this was the direction of the ancient village of Eze, with its sprinkling of modem luxury villas. Later, the road runs on to Nice. Groot, judging from the letters in his pocket, lived at Eze, or was staying there. And to Eze the two cars proceeded. But just outside the village the leading ear turned to the right. up the secondary road that connects the Middle Corniche with the top one, known as the Grand Comiche, some hundreds of feet higher up the hill-side.
Algy ordered his driver to drop back a bit, as there was no other traffic on the road and he did not want his men to suspect that they were being followed. After going perhaps half a mile he could hear the leading car honking its horn, just round the next bend. They came upon it suddenly, not realizing that it had stopped. This was only preparatory to entering a private drive. There was a lodge at the entrance. A man was opening heavy iron gates.
"Keep going," Algy told his driver.
As they passed the gates he saw, in the fading light, on the pillars that supported the gates, the incised words, "Villa Hirondelle."
Algy allowed the driver to go a little way, then stopped him and told him to go back to Eze. "Drive slowly," he requested. As they passed the drive he saw that the gates were now shut. Of the car there was no sign, but through rows of black cypresses he could see the lights of a house of some size.
It did not take him long to decide on what to do next. In Eze he paid off his car and then walked on to the tearoom and restaurant that occupies a prominent position beside the road. He found a seat at one of the outside tables and ordered a bock. To the girl who served him he said: "It's a long time since I was here. Who lives now at the Villa Hirondelle?"
The girl answered without hesitation, "Monsieur le Count Heinrich Horndorf."
"A German, eh?"
The girl shrugged. "Perhaps. But it is said he is from Austria. We do not see him in the village, which is a pity, for he is very rich."
"You don't know him?"
"But no, monsieur. Once or twice I see him pass in his automobile. It is magnifique."
"Such a man must have a lot of friends?" prompted Algy.
"Without doubt," replied the girl. "Many cars go there."
"How long has the Count lived at the villa?"
"Nearly two years. The villa was much damaged in the war, but now it has been rebuilt in the grand fashion."
"Merci, mam'selle." Algy did not know what else to say. He did not like to press his questions too hard. The girl went off to serve another customer.
Algy gave the matter some thought. He was in no particular hurry to get back to Monte Carlo, although naturally he wanted to impart his news to Bertie. There would be no difficulty about getting back, because there were plenty of buses. For that matter he could walk if necessary, for the distance to Monaco was only about four miles. He decided to have another look at the villa, so with this object in view he walked back up the road.
The expedition yielded little in the way of information. All was quiet. There were no longer any lights showing. As he walked slowly past the gates he heard a dog growl. He could not see it, but it was clear that Count Homdorf had taken precautions to discourage trespassers. He walked on a little way, perhaps fifty yards, and then sat down against the hedge to watch. He was there for about half an hour. All that happened was that a small but powerful car of the closed-van type pulled up, honked, the same double honk that the blue car had used, and was allowed to enter. He was too far away to make out details, and he hesitated to go nearer. The car did not return, so after waiting a little longer he made his way back to the main road, where, after a short wait, he was able to pick up a Monte Carlo bus.
He went straight to the hotel, agog to tell Bertie what he had learned. He expected to find him in the restaurant or at the bar. Failing to find him, he went up to his room, but he was not there, either. The hall porter had not seen him. No one had seen him. Disappointed, Algy sat in the vestibule to wait, concluding that Bertie had gone out to look for him.
Time passed. Algy had his dinner. SO be waited.
Ten o'clock came, eleven o'clock, midnight. Still there was no sign of Bertie. Algy was puzzled, but not alarmed. He could not imagine what Bertie was doing all this time.
Finally, at one o'clock, too tired to keep awake any longer, he went to bed.
At seven o'clock he was knocking on Bertie's door. They had adjoining rooms. There was no answer. He got a chambermaid to open the door with her master key. Bertie was not there. Nor had the bed been slept in. Hardly had he got over the sho
ck of this when another shook him. Bertie's things had gone. Not one article of his kit remained.
Now quite bewildered, Algy made his way to the reception desk to see if there was a message for him. There was no message. In reply to further questions the reception clerk turned up his ledger. "Your friend, monsieur, has departed," said he. "He checked out some time during the night. The bill is paid. The room is now vacant."
Slightly dazed, Algy made his way outside. He walked down the hotel steps like a man in a dream. Crossing the road, he dropped into one of the seats facing the casino and settled down to consider the possible answers to this unexpected conundrum.
VII
MORE PROBLEMS
WHAT action to take, or whether he should take any action at all, were the problems now on Algy's mind. He felt he ought to let Biggles know what had happened, yet he hesitated to worry him, perhaps bring him down unnecessarily. There was still a chance that Bertie would turn up. There might be a letter in the post. One thing was certain, Bertie would not have acted as he had without a very good reason, pondered Algy. Bertie was well able to take care of himself. In the end he decided to do nothing in a hurry. He would wait to see if there was a message or a letter.
A letter came in the late afternoon post. He recognized Bertie's handwriting, although the envelope had obviously been addressed in great haste. He tore it open impatiently. Out fell a flimsy slip of paper. There was nothing else. He looked at the slip. It was a receipt issued by the consigne (the left-luggage office) at Nice Airport. Nothing had been written on it except a scrawled figure one, indicating that only one piece of luggage had been left. Algy turned the slip over and over, hoping to find a message, but in vain.
This simple yet mysterious document did nothing to ease his mind. Far from satisfying his curiosity, it had the opposite effect. However, he knew now what to do. The answer to his problem, he felt sure, was to be found at the airport, so to it, in a taxi, he sped.
In forty minutes he was there. First he went to the hangar in which the Auster had been parked, to confirm that it had not been taken away. It was still there. Somewhat relieved, he then went to the consigne and tendered the receipt.
The woman behind the counter glanced at it, reached to a shelf behind her and produced a large red-and-green silk handkerchief tied by the corners into a small bundle. Algy recognized the handkerchief as Bertie's property. He had often ragged him about it.
Picking it up, he took it to the nearest bench and opened it. As he threw back the corners there appeared what he observed to be the contents of Bertie's pockets—a gold cigarette-case bearing his monogram, a note-case with his papers and money, some odd letters, and most remarkable of all, his passport. At these things Algy stared in mute astonishment. He went through the papers twice, at first quickly, then more carefully, looking for a message. There was none. Finally, he gathered the things together and put them in his pockets. He was still without a clue to account for Bertie's disappearance. It was clear, however, that what Bertie had done he had done deliberately. It was equally clear that something important had happened, something of a nature so urgent that it had not been possible to let him know about it. The time had come, he decided, to let Biggles know of this development.
He would have started then and there, for there was just enough time for him to get through in daylight, he reckoned. But he did not feel inclined to leave his things in the hotel bedroom. Moreover, there was the matter of his bill. Wherefore he decided to return to Monaco, clear everything up, and make an early start in the morning. He considered putting a call through to Biggles, but abandoned the idea on the grounds that the business was too involved for a telephone conversation, which, moreover, might be overheard. On reaching the hotel he made inquiries, but there was no message from Bertie—not that he expected one.
For the rest of the day he wandered about turning the matter over in his mind, without getting an inspiration. All he could think was, Bertie had struck a hot trail, had followed it, and was still following it. But why abandon the very things without which it is impossible to get far in a foreign country—money and identification papers? That Bertie must have had a reason was evident, but what it was defied explanation. Could Bertie, he wondered, have struck the same trail as himself, but from a different angle? There was a chance of it, however improbable it might seem at first glance. If that was so, it might end at the same place as his own, the Villa Hirondelle at Eze. On the spur of the moment he decided to have another look at the place. He might learn something there. There was nowhere else to look, and he had nothing else to do, anyhow. A trip to Eze would help to pass the time, if nothing more profitable. As soon as it was dark, therefore, he boarded a bus and took a ticket to the village. Alighting at the turning, he walked slowly up the road towards the villa, with a vague idea of studying the place at close quarters.
It did not take him long to discover that this was not a practicable proposition. The gates were locked—not that he seriously contemplated entering the grounds as brazenly as that. He sought a more secretive way, but he sought in vain. In short, a reconnaissance lasting about an hour revealed that the entire property was surrounded by one of those vertical wire fences, with spikes turned over alternately at the top, that are practically insurmountable. Presently he was glad that this was so, for returning to the gates he was confronted by two snarling Alsatians —fortunately on the other side. He backed away quickly for fear they would bring out the lodge-keeper. There was, he saw, nothing more he could do, for he had no intention of taking on a pair of savage Alsatians with his bare hands. There was no question at this stage of using lethal weapons against them.
So, reluctantly, he abandoned his project; but as it was a warm moonlight night, and he was not in a hurry, he did not immediately hasten away. He retired to the hedge, rather nearer to the gates than on the previous occasion, and settled down to await events, if any. For a long time nothing happened. The gates were not opened. But at about half-past ten, just as he was thinking of going home, he saw the lights of a car coming up the road.
They stopped at the gates, and in the bright moonlight he saw the same vehicle which he had seen before, a small but powerful-looking van, painted dark blue or black—he could not be sure which. It struck him that it had exceptionally heavy tyres, with a deep tread, for a vehicle of its size. It was the sort of car a farmer might use for getting about over rough ground. That was all he saw. The car gave the usual double honk. The gates were opened. The car drove in. The gates were shut and locked. In the direction of the house, through the spire-like cypresses, lights appeared. A faint murmur of conversation reached his ears, together with a succession of scraping noises, followed by thuds, as if luggage was being unloaded. The sound stopped. The lights went out. Silence returned.
Algy got up, walked down to the main road, caught a bus home, and went to bed.
He was up early, and having had some coffee, checked out and called a taxi. He was at the airport before ten o'clock, with his kit, and with the whole day before him in which to get home.
An incident now occurred for which he was entirely unprepared. As he walked round the end of the hangar which housed his machine he saw Canton, or the man he believed to be Canton, chatting to a mechanic. They appeared to be on familiar terms, which again supported his belief that the man was Canton, for only a man connected with aviation would be in the hangar. The two were standing near a Mosquito in the same shed as Algy's Auster, which was standing end on, ready to come out. This last detail was probably responsible to some extent for what happened.
On seeing Canton, Algy had stepped out of sight promptly, not because he had any reason to suppose that the man knew of his connection with the Air Police, but simply because he preferred not to be seen. He could see everything perfectly well from a safe distance, anyway.
The conversation finished, Canton was walking away when he appeared to notice the Auster for the first time. He stopped abruptly, looked hard, and then moved his position t
o one from which he could read the registration letters. That he had not noticed the machine before was probably due to the position in which it had been parked, thought Algy, who could have kicked himself for an oversight that he now saw might have far-reaching effects. It looked as if Canton had recognized the Auster. After the attempt made to sabotage it the number should have been changed.
Canton said something to the mechanic. What he said, or what the mechanic answered, Algy could not hear. Canton then put a hand in his pocket, took out some money, and handed it to the mechanic, apparently, from the way he went off, with a request that he should pur-chase something for him. The moment the mechanic was round the corner Canton went quickly to the Auster and looked closely at the rear exhaust.
Algy knew why, and any lingering doubts he may have had about the man's identity were swept away. Canton had recognized the machine as the one he had tried to sabotage on its home airfield at Air Police Headquarters. Now he was wondering how the machine had got to the South of France; why his scheme had failed. Hence his interest in the exhaust. Algy continued to watch. After a swift glance around, Canton went over to a workbench, and selecting a hack-saw strode back to the Auster.
Algy waited for no more. Whatever the consequences might be, he was not prepared to stand by and watch his machine put out of action, for that was obviously Canton's intention. Apart from anything else, he wanted to fly home in it without delay. So, whistling, he stepped forward. Canton, hearing him, stepped back.
Algy nodded. "Good morning," he greeted cheerfully.
"Good morning," replied Canton, recovering swiftly from momentary embarrassment. "
Do you happen to know who this machine belongs to?"
40 Biggles Works It Out Page 6