06 Biggles And The Black Peril

by Captain W E Johns

  "I certainly shouldn't include you amongst my friends," replied Biggles casually. "My memory is getting bad, I'm afraid, but I cannot recall inviting you to join us at breakfast."

  "No! I thought you might overlook it, so I invited myself," Blackbeard told him, with a curious smile.

  "Then I hope you will enjoy watching us eat. We are not really inhospitable, but we are very hungry, so we may be some time. You'll forgive us, I am sure, if we proceed."

  "We are in no hurry. I'll wait for you to finish and then show you what our hospitality is like. Make a good meal; we have a long way to go."

  "Really! In that case, why not start?"

  "No, we'll wait for you; you're coming with us."

  "Don't you take rather a lot for granted?" observed Biggles, coldly, as he attacked his soup with gusto. Then, with a change of tone, "Drop the bluff; it won't work here. We're in Sweden now."

  "Bluff?" murmured Blackbeard, raising his eyebrows, and glancing significantly towards the two men just inside the door, and then at several others who could be seen on the pavement outside through the plate-glass windows of the shop-front. "Really, Bigglesworth, you do me less than justice."

  Biggles smiled, but inwardly he knew that the position was more serious than he had at first supposed. It looked as if the crew of the big flying-boat had come ashore to support Blackbeard, and if that was so the crew of the amphibian were by no means out of the wood, for Biggles

  did not need telling that their enemies would stick at nothing to silence them. He saw Ginger walk past the shop-front, swing breezily through the door and start towards them, and then hesitate as his eyes fell on Black-beard. He altered his course abruptly, and without another glance in their direction went straight on through a door at the back of the dining-room that appeared to lead to the rear of the building.

  Not by a flicker of an eyelid did Biggles betray that he was one of his party, and Blackbeard, whose back was turned towards the room, did not see him.

  Neither Algy nor Smyth had so far taken part in the conversation; they had concentrated their attention on the food that was being set before them with an interest that was by no means feigned. Algy now looked up. "This is a good pie," he declared.

  "Eat it while you may, my friend," returned Black-beard suavely; "it may be your last."

  Then his manner changed. "I think this has gone on long enough," he went on coldly. "In case it is in your minds to do anything foolish, I warn you that it is quite impossible for any of you to leave this room alive except in my company."

  "But you can't

  " began Biggles.

  Blackbeard waved his hand in a deprecating gesture. "Can't," he sneered, "can't? What word is this? Pish! The issues in which I am interested, and in which you have so ill-advisedly meddled, are too big for such words, or to permit a small matter like your removal to stand in the way. Whatever may be demanded as a result of the subsequent investigation, whether it be compensation or merely an apology to the Swedish or even the British Government—these things can be dealt with by those whose work it is. Our object will have been achieved. What has been done cannot be undone. You know too much, Bigglesworth. Incidentally, it may save some unpleasantness if you will return the documents you took from my office."

  For a moment Biggles did not understand, then he remembered the papers that had been in the portfolio which Ginger had taken, and which no doubt still reposed in his pocket.

  Evidently they were of importance. He looked Blackbeard straight in the face.

  "I've no papers of yours," he said.

  Blackbeard shrugged his shoulders. "Have it that way if you like; it will all be the same in the end," he said shortly. "And now, if you have finished your meal, perhaps you are ready to go? "

  "Purely as a matter of interest—where?"

  "We have a machine waiting," was the evasive reply. "In that case I prefer to remain here."

  "As you will. I, however, shall go, so this will be your last opportunity of leaving with safety. Remember that I gave you fair warning. You cannot remain here indefinitely.

  While you are here you can do no harm; sooner or later you will try to leave, and then—well, my men have their instructions. I might mention that the house is surrounded."

  Biggles lit a cigarette and quietly considered the position, for he knew that Blackbeard was speaking the truth. As the fellow had said, they knew too much, and they would not be allowed to leave the place alive, except to return to Russia. Outrageous though it may seem, murder would be committed. The fact that the murderer, or murderers, might at some future date be apprehended by the police would make no difference as far as they were concerned, or, for that matter, where Russia was concerned. The government of that country would sacrifice the instruments of its nefarious plans without a qualm. The position was desperate, and it was no use blinking at it, he thought. He glanced up at the proprietor of the restaurant, who was counting some money on his desk, on which rested a telephone.

  "It would be unwise to look for assistance in that direction," murmured Blackbeard, following his eyes. "If you attempted to leave this table the move would be your last. My men

  He was interrupted by a sudden outcry from the door, which was flung open from the outside, and Ginger, followed by half a dozen uniformed policemen, entered.

  "There they are!" he cried shrilly, pointing towards the table. "Those are the fellows who did it." He indicated Biggles furiously. "He's the one who's got my purse!"

  Before Biggles had time to recover from his astonishment, or Blackbeard to intervene, the policemen had dashed to the table and seized Biggles by the arms.

  A man in civilian clothes joined the party. "I am interpreter," he said harshly. "Which is Bigglesworth?"

  "I am," replied Biggles quickly, suddenly understanding.

  "Yes, that's him—he's the one that's got my money," joined in Ginger.

  "What nonsense is this?" cried Biggles, rising to the occasion. "I

  "You better keep explanation for the Chief," interrupted the interpreter.

  The proprietor, the waiters, and even the patrons of the restaurant, had by this time all crowded round the scene being enacted at Biggles' table, so it was out of the question for Blackbeard's men even to consider using their weapons. Indeed, in the general scramble it was as much as they could do to see what was going on. Black-beard himself watched the three prisoners led out through

  the quickly growing crowd with impotent rage written on his face.

  Through the door and up the street, stared at by all and sundry, the prisoners were led by their police escort. What happened to Blackbeard they could not see.

  "All right; we'll come quietly," Biggles told the interpreter. "There is no need for your fellows to wrench my arms off. It's all a mistake; we shan't run away. That's the last thing we should be likely to do," he added meaningly in an undertone.

  The party, still watched by an interested group of spectators, reached an imposing building in the main street and passed through the forbidding portal. There were no formalities; they were hurried along a corridor to the cells, and it was with some satisfaction that they saw they were not to be separated. Biggles laughed as the door clanged behind them—he couldn't help it.

  "I've said it before and I'll say it again," he observed cheerfully; "that kid's a genius. He's got morènouse' than any man I ever met. That idea of his to give us in charge for robbery, and have us led out under police escort, was a brainwave. We were in a nasty jam, and I couldn't see how we were going to get out of it."

  "But this is a bit steep, being clapped into jail," protested Algy.

  "Not so steep as being clapped in a coffin, believe me," declared Biggles.

  CHAPTER XV

  BIGGLES EXPLAINS

  BARELY two hours passed before the door was opened by one of the police-officers who had arrested them, but he now looked at them with undisguised curiosity as he beckoned them to follow.

  They passed up a short flight
of stone steps and quickly found themselves in a spacious, well-appointed office. Behind a large mahogany writing-desk near the window sat a broad-shouldered man in uniform, whose natural severity of expression was intensified by piercing blue eyes and close-cropped hair. A little to one side of him sat a man whose black coat and striped trousers were obviously of English cut; a bowler-hat rested on the desk in front of him. In an enormous chair at the far side of the room, looking ridiculously out of place, sat Ginger; he grinned sheepishly as they entered.

  At a nod from the Chief of Police, for such they rightly judged the uniformed man to be, the policeman who had brought them up departed, leaving the three airmen standing in line in front of the desk. The Commissioner of Police looked at them queerly for a moment, and then said something to the man in the black coat, who cleared his throat and addressed them.

  "The Chief does not speak English," he began, "so as we assume you do not speak Swedish I have been asked' to talk to you. Which of you is Major Bigglesworth?"

  "I am, sir," replied Biggles.

  "And you are the leader of this—er—party?" Biggles bowed slightly.

  "I thought so. My name is Hesterley, and I am personal assistant to Sir Harding Boyce, His Majesty's Consul at Stockholm."

  "Is this Stockholm?" asked Biggles in surprise.

  "No, this is Christianbad. I came here as quickly as possible from Stockholm, at the request of the Commissioner of Police in response to the pleadings of the junior member of your party, with whom I may say we have already had a conversation. He has explained to me personally his reason for giving you in charge. The Chief"—he glanced at the officer—" has accepted my explanation of the affair, and is satisfied that a mistake has been made. Further, he has been good enough to put a private room at our disposal.

  The circumstances are extraordinarily difficult, as you will no doubt realize. Whatever the true facts of the case may be, we—that is, my office—can only regard you as ordinary British subjects who have got into trouble, so I must have a full explanation.

  The police, naturally, will expect a report. You have your passports?"

  Biggles took them from his pocket and laid them on the desk. "My log book is in the machine," he said—"you know we came here by air."

  The secretary nodded as he glanced at the passports and handed them on to the Chief. "

  We shall have to leave these with the police for the moment," he said, "and now, if you don't mind "

  Biggles obediently followed him to a side door into a small waiting-room.

  " Now what is all this about? " began the secretary tersely, as the door closed behind them. "Let me have the facts as quickly and concisely as you can."

  Briefly, sticking only to the main facts, yet omitting nothing of importance, Biggles recounted the events which had resulted in their present predicament.

  The secretary watched him closely while he spoke, making a note from time to time in a notebook. "Perhaps I should not say it, but it seems to me that you have done. a good piece of work," he said softly at the end. "I have already confirmed your record, and the first part of your

  story

  "

  " Confirmed it? "

  "Yes. I rang up the Air Ministry. Remember, I have already heard part of the story from that small boy of yours."

  "Of course; I had forgotten."

  "It's deuced awkward, Bigglesworth," went on the secretary. "If the Swedish Foreign Office get the hang of this thing, goodness knows where it will end. I have spoken to the Chief, who has already guessed that there is some funny business in the wind, and made certain arrangements with him in the interests of all concerned. Nevertheless, he insists—and rightly so—that you must leave the country within twenty-four hours, but it is obviously not safe for you to leave this building at present. The Customs authorities have already gone to fetch your machine from where you left it, and they will take care of it. I will send someone who understands these things to see that the tanks are filled. In the early hours of the morning my car will fetch you, with a diplomatic pass, and take you to your machine. There my responsibility will end, but my advice to you is to get back to England as quickly as possible."

  " I will certainly do that," declared Biggles.

  "You promise?"

  "On my word."

  "And you will fly a direct course to England? I ask that for special reasons."

  "I will."

  "Good. Head for the Thames and land at London Airport—no, don't ask questions—land at London Airport. You will probably receive further instructions when you get there."

  "It shall be as you say."

  "Then that is all, I think; we can't keep the Chief waiting any longer. In your own interests you will have to go back to your—er—room, the four of you, until the time comes for you to leave."

  "Yes, that would be safest. By the way, we have some papers—er—documents

  "You mean those the boy had?"

  "Yes. Did he tell you?"

  "I have them."

  " Splendid. It is a relief to know they are in safe hands.','

  "All right. Let us go back now. Follow your instructions to the letter and fly direct to England; don't forget that. You will not be really safe until you get there, but if I can do anything else to ensure your safety you may be sure that I will do it. Please remember that this meeting is unofficial. In my official capacity I can only wash my hands of the whole thing, but the circumstances are rather unusual. Your Russian friends will be watched, of course, but no restraint can be placed on their movements. Naturally, the Swedish Government does not want to be involved in trouble with its neighbours."

  "I quite understand that."

  "Well, I'll just have another word with the Chief and then I must leave you. I have made arrangements that you will not want for small luxuries during the rest of the time that you will be here."

  They returned to the larger room, where the others were still waiting, and after a short conversation between the secretary and the Chief, which, of course, they did not understand, the Chief pressed a button, and their jailer appeared to conduct them back to their cell.

  CHAPTER XVI

  A ONE-SIDED FIGHT

  IT was cold, with a touch of frost in the air, when a knock on the door warned them that the hour for their departure had arrived. They were ready, for they had no luggage to think about, and excitement had prevented them from sleeping except in short, fitful dozes.

  "Tonight, if all goes well, we shall sleep in our own beds," said Biggles quietly, "and I for one shan't be sorry. It seems a long time since I had a full night's rest. Come on, you chaps; here's our escort."

  The door had opened, disclosing the night-warden and two men in plain clothes. Not a word passed between any of them as the warden led the way through a long stone corridor, and then up some stairs, stopping at last before what was evidently a side or back door of the police--station.

  "Der passborts," was all he said, as he handed Biggles the four slim blue books, bearing the royal arms, in gold, on the front. He opened the door quietly.

  "Thank you," replied Biggles, and followed the two plain-clothes men into a narrow street where a large saloon car was waiting. Without speaking, they took their places, and in a moment were speeding through silent, deserted streets. It was only a short drive to the waterfront, and the car soon pulled up before two massive wooden gates where a policeman stood on duty. He stood aside at a single word from the driver, who indicated to the passengers that the time had come for them to

  leave the car, and led the way through a small wicket-gate into a large, gloomy building, open at the sides, and lighted by a few dingy electric-light bulbs. They went straight through it without stopping and emerged on a concrete wharf to which several small motor-boats were moored.

  Biggles gave a low exclamation of pleasure as he saw the amphibian, intact and undamaged, amongst them.

  "Take a quick look round and see that nothing has been tampered with, and make su
re the tanks are full," he told Smyth in a low voice.

  The memory of the gloomy wharf, with its inky water and sombre buildings, was to remain in their memory for a long time. The two plain-clothes men were joined by two night-watchmen, and the four of them stood in a little group, silently watching the airmen preparing for their voyage. It was an eerie scene, in which every sound was magnified a hundredfold.

  The sky was already turning grey by the time they were satisfied with their inspection, and they cast off the mooring-rope that held the machine to the wharf. Biggles took his place at the controls.

  "We shall kick up a dickens of a din when we start up," he told Algy quietly. "If Blackbeard is about he is bound to hear us, but I am afraid that cannot be avoided. The engine will warm up as we taxy out."

  The noise, as Biggles had prophesied, was appalling in the restricted area, and the group on the quay put their hands over their ears as they stepped back out of the slipstream as the amphibian swung slowly round to face the wide gates that gave access to the open sea. Biggles waved his hand in silent farewell to the four watchers of their departure, a signal that was acknowledged by a nod from the man who had driven the car; then, giving the

  engine the throttle in short, sharp bursts, he surged towards the opening.

  As they passed the barrier into open water he looked quickly to right and left, and in the dim light saw a small motor-boat shoot out from the shelter of the high sea-wall. It was instinct more than actual thought that made him push the throttle wide open, and it was well that he did so, for even as the aircraft leapt forward under the full power of the propeller, a shot, quickly followed by another, rang out above the noise of the engine.

  The vicious impact of a bullet somewhere in the tail of the machine reached his ears. He did not pause or even look back, but held the machine, now rapidly gathering flying speed, on its course. At that moment, a weather-stained tramp, with the Russian hammer-and-sickle ensign hanging limply from its peak, churning up a creamy whirlpool of foam under its stern, began to swing round across their path. There was no time to turn. To stop was impossible, for, if the pilot throttled back, the impetus of the machine would inevitably carry it nose-on into the iron side of the tramp, so he took the only course left open. He jerked the joystick back and virtually dragged the amphibian off the water. For one dreadful moment he thought she was going to stall, for she wobbled unsteadily. Had the engine missed at that moment the end would have been certain, but its rhythmic roar never faltered, and the machine, picking up flying speed, roared over the nose of the steamer, its wing-tips missing the foremast by inches.