Biggles Takes a Hand

by W E Johns

  “I’ll do that,” assented Algy.

  Biggles continued. “Bertie, what I want you to do is make an early call on Von Stalhein. I’ve thought a lot about this and I’ve decided to let him know Anna is here. You’d better tell him the circumstances in which she arrived. It might be a good thing if he came round here to meet her. If he’d rather not, say I’d be very much obliged if he’d let me know whether or not Karkoff is still having his lunch at the Adlon and how many men he has with him. The party may have increased to five. I’m wondering if the two men who followed Anna have stayed on here. They may have gone back to Berlin. Of course, it may be that Von Stalhein is now giving the Adlon a wide berth. If so you might check up yourself. If we know Karkoff’s movements they might give us a line on what he intends to do next. You can use taxis or your own car, whichever you like. I think that’s about all we can do until Ginger reports back from Berlin.”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking, too,” said Algy. “I can’t see how all this is going to end. We can’t go on playing watch-dog to the Roths and the Lowenhardts indefinitely.”

  “Of course not. What we do will depend on the people themselves. It isn’t for us to give them orders. Once the Roths have been warned that we have reason to suppose that Karkoff and his thugs are after their blood it’ll be up to them to make their own arrangements. We can’t do more.”

  “And we can’t do less,” asserted Bertie. “This hounding decent people, like Goldilocks, from one country to another, makes my back hairs bristle.”

  Biggles looked up. “Goldilocks! Who are you talking about?”

  “Anna, of course.”

  “Don’t get the idea this is a fairy tale.”

  “You must admit she’s a honey.”

  Biggles frowned. “She may be, but the thing for you to remember is, where there is honey there are bees. Watch out for ‘em or you’re liable to get stung.”

  Bertie smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, old boy. Only my fun.”

  “All right, but let’s not have too much of the Prince Charming stuff. I’m hoping Anna will tell me where the Roths are, in which case I shall probably go to see them. Her chief interest, I imagine, is in Moritz, to whom she’s engaged. If I see him I’ll tell him to get rid of those papers which according to Anna he has with him.”

  “I can’t see how any of them will be able to go back to Berlin.”

  “That’ll be up to them when they know the facts. They’re not the only people in the miserable predicament of not being able to go home for fear of being bumped off. No matter where they go they can never feel entirely safe. Their enemies will never stop looking for them, and with their network of spies they sooner or later catch up with them. You may remember Trotsky. He went into hiding in Mexico, but they found him and knocked his brains out with an axe. Those are the sort of people we are dealing with. But let’s get on with it. You both know what you have to do.”

  Taking Algy with him Biggles went to the office. The Air Commodore had not yet arrived, so while he was waiting Biggles helped Algy with the mail. There was nothing that demanded urgent action. A little after nine-thirty they were informed that the Air Commodore was in his office so Biggles went along.

  He was soon back, to find Algy still there.

  “Well, how did he take it?” inquired Algy.

  Biggles shrugged. “So-so. He’s not too happy about it. A bit peeved with me for getting involved in the first place. A lot of talk about exceeding our duties, and so on. Said we had plenty to do without going out of our way to look for trouble. Knowing how he hates to be mixed up with anything political I expected that. However, he agreed that having gone so far we’d better carry on. We couldn’t just stand by and see the Roths murdered. He also saw that to start a general alarm would do more harm than good, in that Karkoff would get wind of it and set his clock accordingly. What does interest him are the papers Moritz has brought with him.”

  “Naturally. If he could get his hands on those it would be a feather in his cap.”

  Biggles looked at the clock. “It’s nearly ten o’clock so we might as well press on and collect Anna.”

  Taking their car from the garage Biggles drove to the hotel. He went in, presently to come out with Anna. They went on to the flat. Bertie was not there, of course, having gone to see Von Stalhein.

  “Now, Anna,” began Biggles, when they had made themselves comfortable. “Did you have a good night’s rest?”

  “Not very. I was too worried.”

  “You had some breakfast?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Cigarette?”

  “No thanks. I smoke very little.”

  “All right. Now let us see if we can untangle this unhappy state of affairs. The first and most important thing is to let the Roths know there is reason to think their enemies are in England looking for them. There are two ways that can be done. You can go to them yourself, although I think that would be taking an unnecessary risk. The less you are seen outside the better. In this murky game eyes are everywhere. The alternative would be for you to tell me where they are. I would go to see them and explain the position, or bring Moritz here when you could tell him yourself. It’s for you to decide. Which shall it be? Will you go out alone or tell me where they are? You are of course at liberty to go anywhere or do anything you wish. I am simply trying to help you; or, if you like to put it the other way round, to defeat the object of these villains who have come to this country.”

  “I will take your advice,” said Anna without hesitation. “I think it better that you should go to the Roths. I did much thinking during the night and had already made up my mind to tell you where I sent them. They are staying with Doctor Bruno Jacobs, who lives at a house named Westwinds, Number eleven, Bishop’s Way, Hampstead.”

  “Thank you, Anna. Tell me about the Doctor.”

  “He is a Jewish gentleman who was at school with my father. He came to England many years ago. When it was decided that I should learn to speak English my father wrote to him and it was arranged that I should go to him for a year as governess to the children of a relative who was then living with him, her husband having died.”

  “How long ago was this? I mean, since you returned to Germany.”

  “Nearly two years.”

  “Did you keep in touch with him?”

  “At first I wrote often, but not so much lately.”

  “Did you write to him to say the Roths were coming?’

  “There was no time for that, things happened so quickly. I gave Moritz a letter of introduction.”

  “Did you hear from Moritz after he had arrived?”

  “No. My father said not to write. It would be dangerous.”

  “Was Doctor Jacobs married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any children?”

  “No.”

  “How old would he be?”

  “I never asked him that but now I think he would be more than sixty years.”

  “You said he was a dentist.”

  “What they call a dental surgeon.”

  “Did people come to his house for treatment?”

  “When I was there, all the time. He was always busy. But the last time we heard from him he said he thought he would retire. He was getting too old. But to save time could I not telephone to him, now, from here?”

  “Do you know his number?”

  “I have forgotten but you could find it in the telephone book.”

  Biggles considered the suggestion. “No,” he said. “We won’t do that. He would be suspicious of any stranger.”

  “He might remember my voice.”

  “Perhaps not. Voices can be imitated. It would be better for me to go round. It won’t take long. If he wished he could telephone you here. As for me, I have papers in my pocket that would confirm my identity.” Biggles got up. “Algy, I’ll leave you to entertain Anna while I’m away. You might get her some coffee and biscuits.”

  “It will be a pleasure.”

>   Biggles went out to the car and was quickly on his way to Hampstead. He reckoned to be there in under half an hour, and he was. He had a little difficulty in finding the street but a policeman put him right. Having located the house he locked the car and walked briskly through a small garden to the front door. In view of Doctor Jacobs’ profession he expected to see the usual brass plate on the door, but was not concerned when he failed to find one. He knocked.

  The door was opened by a well-dressed, middle-aged woman, clad as if for going out. She looked at the caller inquiringly.

  “I would like to speak to Doctor Jacobs, please, if it is at all possible,” said Biggles politely.

  “Who?”

  “Doctor Jacobs.”

  “I have never heard of him.”

  Biggles had anticipated various receptions: but not this one. He looked at the woman’s face wondering if she were lying, and decided quickly she was not. “Then Doctor Jacobs doesn’t live here?” he questioned, to gain time to recover his composure.

  “He certainly does not. This is my house and my name is Smith.”

  “But surely Doctor Jacobs, a dentist, used to live here?”

  “He may have done for all I know. The house was unoccupied, and had been for some time, I believe, when I bought it.”

  “May I ask how long ago that was?”

  “About three months. If you want any information about previous tenants you’d better see the estate agents, Carson and Co., round the corner in the High Street. They handled the sale of the property. What is all this, suddenly, about people named Jacobs? I’ve had other people here, in the last few days, asking for them.”

  “A woman with two grown-up children?”

  “That’s what the party looked like.”

  Biggles paused while this significant remark sank home. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m a police officer,” he went on. “I’m trying to trace the Jacobs’. Do you know where the party of three went when they left here?”

  “I have no idea. I gave these people the same advice as I have given you, to see Mr. Carson, the estate agent. If that’s all...”

  “Yes, that’s all. I’m much obliged to you.”

  “Good morning.” The door was closed.

  Biggles, slightly dazed by this unexpected turn in events, returned to his car with two thoughts above others in his mind. The Jacobs’ had gone. The Roths had apparently called at the house and had been given the same disconcerting news. Where had they gone?

  He went to the High Street, found the estate agent, and after a short wait was shown into the office of Mr. Carson. Producing his police pass he began: “I’m making inquiries about a Doctor Jacobs, a dentist who until fairly recently lived at a house called Westwinds in Bishop’s Way. I’ve been there, but a lady informs me she now owns the house.”

  “That’s right. A widow named Mrs. Smith.”

  “Can you help me to find the Jacobs’?”

  “I’m afraid not. In fact I know very little about Doctor Jacobs. He walked in here one day, said he had decided to sell the house and put the matter in my hands.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Must be six months. I can give you the exact date if you care to wait while I look up my file.”

  “That isn’t important. Did he give a reason for wanting to sell the house?”

  “I remember him saying something about his wife having died, and he himself being in poor health, he found the business of trying to keep the house going, without staff, too much for him. The house remained empty for some time. It was nearly three months before I found a buyer.”

  “Why did it take so long?”

  “It was a difficult sale because for some reason he didn’t want me to advertise in the public Press. Again, I had to sell the house complete with a lot of old-fashioned Victorian furniture. I suggested an auction sale to dispose of it, but that again, he said, would mean advertising. He gave me the impression that he was anxious to get out of the house as quickly as possible.”

  “I imagine he left you a forwarding address?”

  “No, oddly enough, he didn’t. I think he must have found temporary accommodation somewhere near because from time to time he would look in to see if the house had been sold. He left the keys with me. Once in a while one of my assistants would show a prospective buyer over the house, and on such occasions he brought back any mail lying on the mat. The Doctor collected it here. There was not very much. I recall one or two with German postage stamps. Once he had received his cheque I think he must have left the district because I never saw him again.”

  “Do you happen to know the name of his bank?”

  “No. He never told me that; but then, there was no reason why he should.”

  “Have you had other people here making inquiries about him?”

  “Yes. There were three people together whom I took to be Germans.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing. In our business we do not discuss the affairs of our clients. With you, a police officer, it is different.”

  Biggles got up. “Thank you, Mr. Carson. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Here’s my card. If by any chance you should see or hear anything of Doctor Jacobs I’d be grateful if you’d phone me at Scotland Yard. If you can’t get me there you might get me at home. I’ll put the number on the card.”

  “I’ll certainly do that.”

  Biggles went out, and in anything but a cheerful mood returned to the flat. Algy and Anna were there, waiting.

  “I’m afraid, Anna, I have disappointing news for you,” he said.

  “Bad news?”

  “It might be worse, but I couldn’t call it good.”

  Anna’s expression changed abruptly. “What has happened? Please tell me.”

  “Doctor Jacobs no longer lives at the house in Bishop’s Way. He sold it some months ago and went away without leaving an address.” Biggles went on to relate in detail the result of his inquiries.

  By the time he had finished Anna was looking distressed. “So we don’t know where any of my friends are,” she said heavily.

  “That, I’m afraid, is the long and short of it.”

  “Couldn’t the police find the Doctor?”

  “They might, but it would take time. Even if we did find him it wouldn’t help us to find the Roths. He can’t know they are here, or that they have been to Bishop’s Way. He left the house six months ago, before all this trouble started. I get the impression, from the way the Doctor acted, he didn’t want to be found. Otherwise, why didn’t he leave a forwarding address? That’s the usual practice.”

  “Could he have left it at the post office?” suggested Algy.

  “Obviously not. The postman continued to leave letters at the house.”

  “Why, oh why, didn’t he let us know where he was going?” lamented Anna, almost tearfully.

  “It looks to me as if he had reasons for not wanting anyone to know where he was going. I’ve no doubt it’s true that he lost his wife, and that his health was worrying him, but even so, a man of his age doesn’t suddenly abandon his home without good cause.”

  “What you think is, something happened, perhaps in Germany, to make him afraid, so he tried to hide,” said Anna, shrewdly.

  “I may be wrong, but that’s how it looks to me.” admitted Biggles. “It may have been something to do with the past. Anyway, there’s nothing remarkable about a man fading into obscurity when he retires, particularly if he has no reason to tell anyone where he is going.”

  Anna shook her head. “This is terrible. It is something I could not have imagined, although, now I look back, I recall the Doctor sometimes seemed worried when he received letters from Germany. Poor Frau Roth. What would she do when she arrived at the house and found the Doctor was no longer there?”

  Biggles shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. Do you know if she had any other friends in England to whom she could turn for help?”

  “I kno
w of none.”

  “Then money would be a problem. You say they hadn’t very much.”

  “Perhaps enough to live in a small hotel for a few weeks.” Anna buried her face in her hands. “I am so bewildered that I don’t know what to do.”

  “For the moment, there’s nothing you can do except keep out of sight as far as that is possible. If the men who followed you from Berlin were to see you it wouldn’t make the problem any easier to solve.”

  “Then you don’t think I should go back to let my father know what has happened?”

  “It would be better if you stayed here until we receive news from Germany.”

  “What news? How can we receive news?”

  “I see I shall have to tell you that Ginger has already left for the Antonstrasse to let your father know where you are, and that you are in safe hands. I’m sure he would be worried when he learned you had come to England. As things have turned out it’s a good thing I did that, or he may have followed you and gone to Hampstead only to discover that Doctor Jacobs, the Roths, and you, had all disappeared. That would have resulted in a pretty kettle of fish, as we say. After Ginger has seen him he will at least know where you are. Should he decide to come over, so well and good. We could discuss the situation together. Now it’s time we went out and had some lunch.”

  CHAPTER VII

  CITY OF FEAR

  GINGER was in a confident mood when he arrived in Berlin, and taking a taxi, intent on getting his business finished as quickly as possible, ordered the driver to take him to his objective, the Lowenhardts’ house in the Antonstrasse. As far as he was aware he was not known to anyone in the city so there seemed no point in taking precautions against being followed; but he did from time to time glance back through the rear window to check on any vehicle close behind. He saw nothing to cause him disquiet, but he did not forget he was in a city that boasted it had more spies to the square mile than any other in the world.