by W E Johns
“He may have come to pick up his men, or, what’s more likely, make a last attempt to get the Roths, supposing them to be here. As for getting away, where can he go? If he returns home to report failure he’s had it. The people who sent him here are not the sort to forgive blunders.”
Nothing more was said, for by this time they were nearing the hedge beyond which was the road. They approached it warily. A murmur of voices reached their ears and told them what they wanted to know. Biggles beckoned and moved along the hedge a little way to a gate.
“When we’re over move fast,” he whispered to Bertie. “If they try to get away in a car shoot at a tyre.”
Bertie nodded.
Biggles took a pace forward and peeped round the end of the hedge. “They’re all there,” he breathed.
At the same time from the direction of the house came the sound of a car being started.
“Right,” said Biggles. “This is it.” He vaulted over the gate and with Bertie by his side strode purposefully towards the cars, half on the grass verge, on the opposite side of the road a dozen yards away. They were not seen for a moment, but they were heard as soon as their shoes were on the hard road surface.
Three heads turned sharply in their direction.
Biggles kept on walking. “We’re police officers and you’re under arrest,” he announced in a brittle voice.
At the same time the police car swung out of the drive and pulled up beside the two vehicles already there. Algy and Ginger sprang out.
But the men on the verge were not standing still. Karkoff had a pistol out in a flash and ducking behind his car snapped a shot at Bertie who had dashed forward to prevent him from getting into it. Bertie stumbled, obviously hit, and half fell against the bonnet, clutching at it to prevent himself from falling. Before Karkoff could fire again Biggles had tackled him from behind. Locked together they fell, Biggles hanging on to the wrist of the hand that held the pistol.
Algy and Ginger could do nothing to help him. They were grappling with the other two men as they fought furiously to get into their car, one of them using a revolver as a club. He managed to tear himself free and scrambled into the driving-seat, whereupon Ginger, with whom he had been fighting, pulled out his gun and fired two shots into the nearest tyre.
Bertie had recovered sufficiently to go forward to help Biggles, who was now underneath Karkoff and having a bad time as he had to keep one hand employed to prevent Karkoff’s gun from pointing at him. Bertie forced Karkoff’s arm down, and kneeling on it wrenched the gun free. It fell on the grass. But Karkoff, a powerfully built man, was not finished. Still fighting like a maniac he managed to get to his feet, and hurling Bertie aside with a sweep of his arm made a dive for the front seat of his car. Bertie snatched up the fallen gun but daren’t use it for fear of hitting Biggles.
Actually, at that moment, Biggles, who had drawn his automatic, could have shot Karkoff, but, still hoping to avoid serious casualties and feeling confident the man couldn’t get away, he refrained. A moment later, when the opportunity had passed through Bertie getting in the way, he wished he had not been so particular; for Bertie, trying to grab Karkoff’s legs as the man slid along into the driving-seat, got a kick in the stomach that sent him reeling backwards.
Karkoff, still not properly in his seat, his body lying across both seats, reached for the starter. The engine came to life. The car, with the door still wide open, began to move, and Biggles had to sidestep smartly to prevent it from knocking him down. He began shooting at the near front tyre, but the car did not stop. He saw Karkoff get into an upright position, and afraid he was going to lose his man after all took a shot at him; but it appeared to have no effect.
At this juncture, with everything in a state of wild confusion, there came a scream of brakes and skidding tyres as a black police car jerked to a stop. The near window was down. Biggles got a glimpse of the face of Chief Superintendent Lowe. He pointed at the retreating car. “After him! It’s Karkoff,” he yelled, and then, breathing heavily from his exertions stood back to watch.
It was at once evident from the way Karkoff’s car was behaving that there was something wrong with it, or the driver. It looked lopsided and was swerving from one side of the road to the other. Biggles, who had not been sure that he had punctured the tyre, decided that he had. At all events it was plain that Karkoff would be overtaken by the police car, now rapidly overhauling it.
It never came to that. Karkoff was obviously having increasing difficulty in keeping his car on the road. Its swerves became wider. It then appeared as if the near wheel had seized up, for it spun off the road, crashing against a telegraph pole snapping it off, and overturned. The pole, dragging a tangle of wires with it, fell across the car. The police car skidded to a stop beside it and Lowe, with two police officers, jumped out.
Realizing that was the end Biggles now looked round to see what was happening, or had happened, nearer to him. The first person his eyes fell on was Bertie, white faced, sitting on the grass holding up his left arm. There was blood on his hand. Algy was hurrying to his assistance. Beside the other car, his collar torn off and one eye closed, Ginger was holding the two men covered with an automatic. One of the men was trying to stop a bleeding nose with his handkerchief; the other sat on the running-board his face in his hands. Everyone showed signs of the conflict.
Looking worried Biggles went to Bertie. “Are you badly hurt, old lad?”
“No. It’s nothing. Got one in the top of my arm or the shoulder, I’m not sure which.”
“I’ll just have a word with Lowe and we’ll have a look at it,” said Biggles. “The nurse at the house can put on a first-aid dressing and then we’ll get you to hospital.”
The Superintendent came striding up the road. “Where’s the nearest telephone?”
“In the village,” answered Biggles.
“Is there a garage?”
“I don’t think so. What’s wrong?”
The Super came nearer. “Did you say it was Karkoff in that car?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he won’t give us any more trouble. The pole’s brought the roof down and it’s lying right across him. We can’t shift it. It’ll need a crane. We shall have to find a garage with a breakdown truck. Everything all right here?”
“More or less. They used their guns. One of my chaps is wounded. I shall have to get him to hospital.”
“Want to use my car?”
“No thanks. We’ve a spare car. This one that belonged to the crooks has got a flat tyre. There’s one thing I wish you’d do. Take these two birds off our hands. They’re two more of Karkoff’s lot. I can’t do anything with them.”
The Superintendent whistled down the road. The police car turned and came back. The two constables got out. “Put the bracelets on these two,” ordered the Super.
“Good,” said Biggles. “I’ll leave you to clear up the mess. Where are the Roths?”
“At my headquarters, waiting for you.”
“Fine. I’ll fetch ‘em and bring ‘em here as soon as I can.”
“Right! See you later.” The Superintendent turned away.
Biggles spoke to Algy and Ginger. “Lend a hand to get Bertie into the car. We’ll take him to the house. We shall have to let the Lowenhardts know what has happened.”
When they were on the way to the house Biggles went on: “When we’ve had a look at Bertie’s wound you two can run him to London and find him a bed in one of the hospitals. You can then collect the Roths from Hampstead and bring them here—that is if Doctor Jacobs can put them up. I’ll wait for you in the house.”
This all worked out as planned.
The Lowenhardts looked horrified when Bertie was helped in, but the nurse, when she had been told what had happened, got busy.
Bertie was made comfortable on a couch. His jacket, bloodstained shirt and vest were removed and the wound examined. It was nasty, but no worse than had been expected. Fortunately the bullet hadn’t touched a bone.
Striking the muscle of the upper arm near the shoulder it had gone clean through. It had bled a lot, which made it look worse than it really was. Bertie, of course, made light of it, but Biggles was taking no chances and treated it seriously.
The nurse dressed and bandaged the wound with materials from Doctor Jacobs’ medical equipment. Bertie was wrapped in a rug and settled in the back seat of the police car. Algy and Ginger got in and were soon on their way.
By this time it was dark. “Take it steady,” Biggles warned them.
With the others he went back into the drawing-room. So far, in the urgency of dealing with Bertie not a word had been said about the final outcome of the affair on the road and he now proceeded to explain what had happened.
“The first thing you’ll be happy to know is, your friends the Roths will soon be on their way here,” he said.
There were expressions of surprise and joy at this.
“Where are they?” asked Anna.
“At Hampstead police headquarters. As soon as Algy and Ginger have seen Bertie safely into hospital they’re bringing them here. I trust that’s all right with you, sir?” Biggles looked at the Doctor.
“Of course. I am overjoyed. I have plenty of room.”
“Good. Then that settles that. They should be safe here, anyhow for a time. Karkoff, I believe, is dead, or if he isn’t he soon will be. The rest of the gang are under arrest, and for shooting a police officer they’re likely to be behind bars for a long time.” Biggles went on to narrate all that had happened, both in London and on the road outside. “I’m staying here to have a word with the Roths when they come. After that I shall go back to London. I shall have to speak to you all again later, of course. You may be required to give evidence, to the police if not in court.”
“How long is it since you had anything to eat?” inquired the Doctor, practically.
Biggles smiled. “Come to think of it, quite some time.”
“Then I hope you will join us at our evening meal. I’m afraid it will have to be a cold one.”
“Thank you,” acknowledged Biggles. “That is an invitation I shall not decline.”
It meant a long wait, of course, before Algy and Ginger could return, and after the meal the time was passed by Biggles recounting in more detail the events that had led to the present situation. There was still much Professor Lowenhardt did not know.
“What I do not understand is how you came into this in the first place,” said the Professor. “Are you and your colleagues secret service agents?”
“No, but we’re not quite ordinary police officers,” answered Biggles. “As a matter of fact, and there is no reason why you shouldn’t know this, we were tipped off by a German friend of ours, also a refugee from East Germany, now resident in this country, that Karkoff and his assassins were here. Events in Berlin told us the probable purpose of their visit.”
“I think the friend was Erich von Stalhein,” put in Anna.
Biggles smiled gently. “In this country we have a saying ‘no names no pack drill’. No doubt you’ll be seeing Von Stalhein shortly, and then you can ask him about it.”
The Professor nodded sagely. “It is a good thing not to mention names,” he agreed. “In these unhappy days it is not easy to know who to trust.”
The conversation then moved on to what steps the visitors should take to prevent themselves from further molestation.
“It will depend to a great extent on Moritz Roth,” stated Biggles. “He still holds the key to the situation with these documents he has brought out of Germany. I don’t think Anna and the Professor have much to worry about. Their trouble has been caused by the assumption that they knew where the Roths were hiding. But I don’t think there can be any question of the Roths returning to Berlin, unless...”
“Unless what ?” asked Anna.
“Unless Moritz returns those papers he has brought away with him. I don’t know what information they contain but they must be of vital importance to the people who now control East Germany or they wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to recover them.”
“You think he should burn them, perhaps?”
“No. That would serve no useful purpose because it would not be known they had been destroyed. If he said so it’s unlikely he would be believed.”
“Then what do you think he should do with them?”
“One plan would be to hand them over to me. I would pass them on to my Chief, and he—having had a look at them of course—could no doubt arrange for them to be sent through diplomatic channels either to the authorities in West Berlin, or direct to East Germany, whichever might be considered best. That is for us to decide. In either case the East Berlin secret police would soon know that Moritz no longer had them. They might wonder if he ever had them. Anyhow, that should remove the danger from Moritz, although that is not to say he’d be entirely safe were he to return to Germany. He might be seized for questioning. For the time being, as Doctor Jacobs has been kind enough to offer you all his hospitality you’d better stay here. I shall discuss the matter with my Chief. Let’s leave it at that,” he concluded.
A car door slammed outside.
“That sounds as if your friends have arrived,” said Doctor Jacobs.
“I’ll let them in,” answered Biggles. “It’s getting late so we shan’t stay long; but I must have a word with Moritz.”
* * *
There is really little more to tell. The rest, although it occupied some time, was no more than a matter of routine work for the police. With the murder gang safe under lock and key the peril in which the refugees had stood no longer existed so they were able to relax.
Superintendent Lowe had been right about Karkoff. He was dead before he could be extricated from the crashed car. The others, his assistants, received long prison sentences on charges of breaking into the house of Mrs. Smith at Hampstead and causing her “grievous bodily harm”—to use the official wording, and for attempted murder by shooting at police officers. The fact that their passports were found to be forgeries made their case worse. Biggles had nothing to do with this as the prosecution was handled by normal police methods.
Bertie had to spend a week in hospital before being discharged fit for light duties. He considered himself lucky. As Biggles told him cheerfully, in the work they were doing this sort of thing was bound to happen occasionally. It was only on television that people could spend their lives dodging bullets without ever getting in the way of one.
Biggles had to do a lot of explaining to the Air Commodore, who suggested that in future he would be better advised to mind his own business.
The Air Commodore took over the documents which Biggles had obtained from Moritz and had nearly cost several people their lives. Moritz needed no persuasion to pass them on, being, as he said, only too glad to be rid of them. What finally became of them Biggles was not informed. As he told Von Stalhein when they met for lunch shortly afterwards, he neither knew nor cared where they went.
The Roths had the most difficult problem to face, for after what had happened they were advised not to return to Berlin. They stayed with Doctor Jacobs for some time, indeed, until their property in Germany had been disposed of by an estate agent. This provided them with some money. The last that was heard of them was they had gone to America, where Professor Lowenhardt and Anna were to join them as soon as it could be arranged. That this had been accomplished was learned when in due course Christmas cards were received from Mr. and Mrs. Moritz Roth; from which it was gathered that Moritz and Anna were married.
As Biggles remarked in the office as he closed the file on the case, so they all lived happily ever after; and although it might be a bit old-fashioned there was no better ending to a tale than that.
THE END
Table of Contents
Contents
Chapter I: A Sinister Assignation
Chapter II: Dead End?
Chapter III: Von Stalhein Gives a Hint
Chapter IV: Lady in Trouble
Chapter V: Anna Talks
Chapter VI: Disappointing News
Chapter VII: City of Fear
Chapter VIII: Algy Meets Trouble
Chapter IX: Anna Disobeys Orders
Chapter X: A Shock for Biggles
Chapter XI: Ginger Takes Charge
Chapter XII: Biggles Plans Action
Chapter XIII: The Show-Down