‘What’s so difficult about it?’
‘The alternative, which I find distasteful. It must be evident to you that it would be foolish of me to turn you loose to continue your activities against me, which, if successful, would ruin all my plans for the future.’
‘They’ll be ruined anyway. It’s only a matter of time. What is the alternative?’
‘I shall have to shoot you, or as I cannot stand the sight of blood myself, have you shot. My men here are not so squeamish. With the moat conveniently at hand there would be no difficulty in your final disposal. I am sorry to have to put the matter so bluntly, but you leave me no choice. This is no time to mince words.’
‘I agree, and the answer is still no,’ replied Bertie. ‘And when I say that you can take it I am speaking for both of us.’
‘What did I tell you?’ murmured Clarence softly.
His brother ignored the gibe. ‘What a pity,’ he went on. ‘Two nice young fellows like you, it seems tragic that you should throw away your lives for no useful purpose. Would you be interested in a sum of money, a sum large enough to enable you to retire in comfort should your conscience worry you?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure you won’t change your minds, so that we could part as friends and not as enemies?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘You know what we have been doing, and why. Don’t you find it excusable?’
‘No.’
‘Very well, then. As we don’t see eye to eye there is no point in prolonging this conversation. It seemed to me I was giving you a fair chance. Some men would call that weakness on my part. We can’t both win, and as the choice is mine I’m afraid you’ll have to be the losers. However, there is no particular urgency. I will give you twenty-four hours to think things over. You will still be here tomorrow. Until then, goodbye.’
With that Lord Malboise left the room followed by his brother. The door closed. The key turned in the lock.
After the sound of footsteps had retreated Ginger looked at Bertie and said: ‘Do you really think he means that?’
‘I’m quite sure of it,’ answered Bertie. ‘Behind all that blah talk there is a villain. The chip he has on his shoulder has affected his brain.’
‘He can’t be as bad as all that,’ rejoined Ginger. ‘At least he gave us a chance. There was no need for that. There was no reason why he shouldn’t have bumped us off here and now. I can see his point. It’s either him or us and he’s the one in a position to call the tune.’
‘Don’t let him fool you,’ replied Bertie. ‘He’s a crook, and I wouldn’t trust him the length of a foot ruler. Even if we gave our word to pack up, there would be nothing to prevent him, or his henchmen, from knocking us off — if you see what I mean.’
‘I’m not sure that I agree with you,’ answered Ginger. ‘It doesn’t make sense. If he intended to do us in there was no reason why he should have come here with a proposition. He could have done it anyway.’
‘Have it your way, old boy. It isn’t worth arguing about.’
Ginger sighed. ‘So it looks as if our only chance now is Biggles.’
‘I think that just about hits the nail on the boko,’ agreed Bertie. ‘And if he’s going to do anything about us, he’ll have to be quick off the mark. How about making some more little planes? We’ve another message now. Twenty-four hours is the deadline.’
‘We’ve no more paper,’ Ginger said.
‘Then it looks as if we shall just have to sit here and tell each other funny stories,’ concluded Bertie.
‘I’m not feeling in the least funny at the moment,’ Ginger said, bitingly.
The atmosphere in the room might have been less chilly had the occupants known that Biggles, at that very moment, was surveying the chateau from the recesses of the wood beyond the moat. But of course they were not to know that, and could hardly be expected to imagine it.
CHAPTER 14
SURPRISES
It will be remembered that we left Biggles and Algy in the wood overlooking the chateau watching the departure of Marcel. They sat there for some time until, with the sun going down and nothing to engage their interest, Algy came out with: ‘Isn’t it time we did something?’
‘Do what, exactly?’
‘Well, make a move.’
‘What can we do?’
‘It isn’t like you to just sit on your backside and do nothing.’
‘The circumstances are unusual,’ Biggles pointed out. ‘There’s something in the old saying, when in doubt do nothing. It’s no use knocking on the front door hoping they’d let us in. And we certainly couldn’t break in if we tried, which would be taking the law into our own hands, anyway. The windows are either too small or they’re barred, and it would need a battering ram to knock that massive door off its hinges. And if by some miracle we did get inside, then what? Even supposing Bertie and Ginger are there, and we’ve no actual proof that they are, how are we going to find them in what must be a labyrinth of rooms and corridors? No doubt they’ll be locked up or they wouldn’t stay. At this stage I think our best plan is to lie low and watch for something to happen. If it does we might see an opportunity for action.’
‘And if nothing happens?’
‘Don’t ask awkward questions. Something is bound to happen if we have the patience to wait long enough.’
‘It’ll soon be getting dark.’
‘Lights in the place, or coming and going, might tell us something,’ Biggles went on. ‘If you’re bored there’s no need for you to stay here. One pair of eyes should be enough to see anything that goes on. I suggest you take a walk as far as the village and top your stomach up with something to eat. Whatever happens we can’t do without food, and it’s some time since we had any; and by the way things are going to we may be here for some time yet.’
‘What about you?’
‘I shan’t leave here. You can bring me something when you come back — anything, a sandwich or a bite of bread and cheese. At the moment I’m too preoccupied to be particular about what I eat. You could also bring me a packet of cigarettes. Any sort will do. I’m nearly out. You push along. You’ll find me here when you come back. If I’m not here you’ll know something has happened, in which case you’ll have to do what you think best.’
‘Okay, if you say so. See you later.’ With some reluctance Algy got up and walked away in the direction of the village.
In a matter of minutes Biggles was startled to hear him coming back; and rapid footsteps suggested haste. Algy arrived running. ‘They’re inside,’ he announced, breathlessly.
‘That’s what we supposed.’
‘Now we know for certain.’
‘Why are you suddenly so sure?’
‘Take a look at this!’ Algy held out a scrap of paper shaped like an aeroplane. ‘You realize what it is? More than once you’ve had to stop Ginger playing about with these things in the office.’
Biggles leapt to his feet. ‘Of course I know what it is. Where did you get it?’
‘I found it under the trees. As I came back I picked up another. There seems to be something written on it. Under the trees it was too dark for me to read.’
‘This must be Ginger’s work,’ declared Biggles, taking the miniature plane. ‘I can’t imagine anyone else playing this sort of game. If this was launched from the house it must have been from pretty high up, or it would never have got as far as this.’ Biggles moved to a position where there was a little more light and read aloud: ‘S.O.S. Urgent. Top turret west wing. What’s on the other paper?’ He held out a hand for it.
Algy said, ‘It’s in block capitals so I could read it. Just B AND G, which I take to mean Bertie and Ginger.’
‘This is better,’ Biggles said tersely. ‘Now we have something definite to work on. I don’t like the word urgent. It can only mean they’re in a tight spot.’
‘Then we’d better do something quickly.’
‘Yes. but what? Wait a minute. Let’s not get exc
ited. This needs thinking about. We can’t crack open that castle of a place single-handed. And we’re not at home. This is France, where we have no official authority. We shall have to be careful what we get up to. What a pity Marcel had to leave us. We shall have to call on him for help.’
‘That’s going to take time.’
‘I realize that, but I don’t see how we can manage without him.’
‘He may not even have got to Paris yet.’
‘Unfortunately he didn’t tell us what train he was catching, but I don’t suppose he’d know until he got to the station. If he had to wait any length of time for a train you might just catch him. He said he’d leave us his car. He wouldn’t take a slow train if by waiting he could pick up an express, one of the through trains from the north coast to Paris. You go to the village and make inquiries. See what you can make of it. I leave it to you. If all else fails you might phone his headquarters in Paris, and if you can’t get hold of him, leave a message for as soon as he comes in. Say we need him here immediately. It’s vital. Get on with it. I won’t move from here till you get back.’
‘Okay. See you.’ Algy departed at the double.
Left alone, and worried now, Biggles resumed his seat on the fallen tree, lit one of his few remaining cigarettes and prepared to wait. With the shadows lengthening the big building in front of him looked even more forbidding, a place that had gathered many ugly secrets in its long life. Naturally he found himself wondering what conditions were like inside, and the circumstances that had caused Ginger to put such a suggestion of urgency in his airborne message. But speculation was of course futile. Perhaps it was as well that he didn’t know, or he would have been even more disturbed in his mind.
Time dragged on. Twilight fell slowly to give way to dusk. It was then that he was brought to the alert by the appearance of a light in the room on which he had concentrated his attention: the top room in the west turret. He could just discern bars silhouetted against the light. For an instant the light was partly blocked out by a shadow as if someone had passed between it and the window.
He watched intently. The shadow appeared again, but this time it filled the windows as if it was being done deliberately. This lasted only for a moment. Again it happened. But now the blackout lasted longer. When the whole process was repeated it did not take him long to perceive a definite pattern. The long and short exposures were the dots and dashes of the Morse Code. Someone inside was signalling, and there was never any doubt in Biggles’ mind as to who it was. Thanks to the model plane he knew who was in the room. He read the message. It was a repetition of the same thing. Mayday. The international call sign of an aircraft in distress or in urgent need of help. Once the signal changed to the simple dots and dashes of S.O.S., which was equally significant.
Biggles fidgeted with impatience and frustration because there was nothing he could do about it, and single-handed it would be futile to try. To make the situation more irritating he had no means of returning the signal to show that it had been received and understood; or what was even more important, to reveal his presence there. He could imagine either Bertie or Ginger standing at the window using a jacket as a shield to make the dots and dashes, the long and short strokes, of which the Code consists. Once or twice he actually saw a figure at the window, but was unable to make out which of them it was. Not that it mattered very much. Obviously they would be working together.
Then he remembered something, and could have kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. The Auster. If it had not been moved, and he did not think it had or he would have heard the sounds, it should still be where he had last seen it, and that was not far away. But it was not the machine in which he was so suddenly interested. There should be, in the pocket of the cockpit if it had not been taken away, an emergency hand torch. Was there time to fetch it before Algy returned? He did not want to be absent when that happened, or Algy would be at a complete loss to know what to do. He resolved to risk it, and set off at the fastest pace possible in the circumstances. He realized that the trip was not going to be easy, for it was now almost pitch-dark and the ground was still strange to him. To become lost now would be fatal.
However, he reached his objective and saw to his relief that the Auster was still there. Now the question was, had the machine been searched and the torch removed? It took only a moment to ascertain that it was still there in its usual place. With it in his hand he was on the point of starting on the return journey when a figure stepped out of the shadows and accosted him. It might be more correct to say challenged him, for there was a note of authority in the voice that ordered him to stop.
Biggles switched on the torch. The light fell on a stalwart figure in uniform in the act of taking a pistol from the holster on his belt. It was the village police officer, who now demanded to be told what he was doing. Biggles provided the answer briefly because he was anxious to get back to the rendezvous with Algy. He simply said the aircraft was his and he wanted the torch to send a signal. Naturally, the gendarme wanted to know why, and to whom. Evidently he was suspicious, as he had every reason to be. This meant that Biggles, fuming with impatience, had to explain that two British police officers were being held prisoners in the chateau. They were making signals to which he wanted to reply. That was why he needed the torch. He made it clear of course that he himself was a police officer, although he did not wear uniform.
‘I will come with you,’ offered the gendarme. He went on to say that he suspected from the arrival of Monsieur Brissac from Paris that something was happening and he thought he had better keep an eye on the plane, about which of course he knew, to make sure no one interfered with it.
Biggles didn’t really want him, thinking he might be in the way, but he raised no objection. The man was only doing his duty efficiently.
On the return joumey to the rendezvous the gendarme said, ‘If your comrades are prisoners in the chateau, why can’t you fetch them out?’
Biggles answered, somewhat shortly, that he hoped to do that, but the place was locked and he couldn’t get in.
They reached the rendezvous to find that Algy had not yet returned. There was no light in the turret window: Biggles now had to explain that he had sent a friend to get in touch with Paris for help.
‘You should have sent for me,’ said the gendarme.
‘What could you do about it?’ inquired Biggles.
‘You want to get in, m’sieur.’
‘Of course I want to get in. My friends inside are in danger. But how is it possible to get in? That is why I must wait for help.’
‘But if you want to get in, m’sieur, this is simple.’
Biggles stared. ‘Comment?’
‘There is away under the ground. Un passage souterrain.’
This of course was a possibility that had not occurred to Biggles. ‘How do you know?’ he asked.
The gendarme explained that during the war he was the leader of the local French Resistance, and that the chateau was used as a place to hide, and wait, when there was to be droppage.1 His brother, who had once worked in the chateau, had shown them the passage souterrain as a way to escape if ever they found themselves trapped by the Germans.
‘But I don’t want to get out. I want to get in,’ Biggles said.
‘It is the same thing, monsieur. If one can go one way one can go the other way,’ said the gendarme with simple logic. ‘Come. I show you.’
He led the way into the heart of the wood where the undergrowth was thick. ‘The passage ends in there,’ he said, pointing. ‘It is hidden by some stones. It is old and wet and dirty, with things that live in the dark. But they do not bite,’ he added comfortingly. ‘Shall we go in?’
Now Biggles hesitated. Should he go in, or wait for Algy and possibly Marcel? It was a knotty problem. Here was a slice of luck he could not have anticipated, but there were difficulties in taking advantage of it. There were risks the helpful gendarme would not be able to appreciate unless he was told the whole story. If Al
gy returned and he was not there, not knowing what had happened he would be at a loss to know what to do, and in his anxiety might do something fatal to the enterprise. Prudence counselled that it would be better to wait. Anyhow, as far as Biggles was aware there was no call for immediate action.
‘First I will try to send a message to my friends inside to let them know that I am here,’ he told the gendarme.
‘As you wish,’ said the policeman with a shrug.
They returned to the fallen tree. There was still no sign of Algy, although it was really too early to expect him back considering what he had to do. The chateau was in complete darkness. Nothing showed in the turret room. Biggles flashed his torch two or three times, but there was no answer. Had Bertie and Ginger been moved, he wondered, or had they given up and gone to sleep?
He settled down to wait and watch. ‘You needn’t stay if you have other things to do,’ he told his amiable companion.
‘I will stay,’ decided the gendarme. ‘You may need my help.’
Biggles thought this was more than likely. The policeman volunteered the information that his name was Antoine. Antoine Chariot.
Biggles made a mental note of it and returned the compliment by giving his own.
* * *
1 The operation of receiving arms by air, usually by parachute, at a certain spot and at a certain time, from England, was known to the Resistance workers as a droppage. They had to be on the spot to collect the weapons.
CHAPTER 15
THE PASSAGE
It was getting on for four o’clock in the morning, with the first tinge of grey dawn creeping out of the eastern horizon, when Algy appeared; by which time Biggles was slumped with his head between his hands from sheer weariness and his companion was sound asleep. However, hearing Algy approaching — at least, he hoped it was him — he rose to meet him. ‘What luck?’ he questioned anxiously, for upon the answer would so much depend.
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