Trembling from shock, he tried to force himself to think clearly, to decide what he ought to do. At first he toyed with the idea of making a rush to the bomb-store and blowing the whole place to pieces, himself with it. Then his eyes fell on the code-books, still lying on his desk, and he knew that his first duty must be at all costs to prevent the British code from falling into German hands. The German code did not matter so much, although it would be better, he thought, if the enemy were kept in ignorance of the fact that it had been captured. Hastily stuffing into his pockets all the loose messages that lay on the desk, he picked up the two code-books and crept round to the rear of the hut—the only way he could go, for the German marines had now reached the depot.
His one idea was to find a place where he could
either destroy or conceal the code-books before he was captured, for he could not see how capture was to be avoided. There was only one direction he could take without being seen, and that was towards the rear of the cave, and up the narrow passage he now made his way.
For some time he stumbled on, bruising himself against unseen obstructions, but relieved to discover that the cave went on farther than he expected. Actually, as we know, it extended a good deal farther, but he was, of course, in complete ignorance of what lay ahead.
Not until he had gone some distance and was sure that he could not be seen from the depot did he start to put into operation the plan uppermost in his mind—the destruction of the code-books. Naturally, his instinctive thought was to burn them, and with this object in view he took a box of matches from his pocket and struck one. Hitherto, not possessing a torch, he had been in darkness, so it was in the light of the match that he first saw his surroundings. Somewhat to his surprise, and to his great satisfaction, he saw that the cave, although it had narrowed considerably, continued, so he decided to follow it to the end in a vague hope that the code-books might be saved after all.
For some time, in his anxiety to get as far as possible from the invaders, he struck matches recklessly, but finding his stock getting low he then began to use them more sparingly; all the same, it was not long before he discovered, by counting them, that he had only four matches left, and these he decided to preserve as long as possible. This was, in the circumstances, a natural and wise precaution, but it was to prove his undoing, for in trying to climb over an enormous boulder without using one he lost his balance on the top of it. He made a frantic effort to save himself from falling, even allowing the books to fall from his hands, but the rock was smooth, and his clutching fingers failed to secure a hold. His head came in violent contact with the hard floor on the far side; something seemed to explode in a sheet of purple flame, a flame that faded quickly to blackness as he lost consciousness.
Had he known that Briny and his father, the Flight-Sergeant, were somewhere in front of him, he might have proceeded up the cave with more confidence. In their search for Ginger they had explored the rocks round the mouth of the cave as far as it was possible to go, but finding no sign of him there, they had turned their attention to the other extremity. They both had torches so they were able to make good progress, feeling that at last they were on the right track.
It was Briny who discovered Ginger's broken torch. He was picking his way through the loose rocks of Ginger's fallen cairn when he noticed it, lying half hidden under a boulder. He recognized the type at once, and knew then without any doubt that Ginger was somewhere in front of them.
Ì say, Flight, look at this!' he cried, as he picked up the torch. 'He must 'ave come this way.'
Ì don't like the look of that,' said the Flight-Sergeant in a worried voice. 'Something pretty serious must have happened or he wouldn't have left his torch behind. The bulb 's broken, anyway,' he concluded, sweeping the floor of the cave with his own torch as if he expected to see Ginger lying there.
`He must 'ave gorn up there,' declared Briny, shining his light on the high mass of rock in front of them. 'How did he get up there without a light I wonder ?'
Ì should say he dropped it from the top,' reasoned the Flight-Sergeant shrewdly.
`But you'd 'a thought he'd 'a come back for it,' protested Briny.
`You would, but evidently he didn't,' observed the practical Flight-Sergeant. 'Give me a leg up; we'd better have a look up here.'
Briny gave him a shoulder, and the Flight-Sergeant gazed speechlessly on the sheet of placid water which he saw in front of him. 'He didn't go this way,' he announced at last.'
`Why not ?' asked Briny from below.
`Come up and have a look.' Bending down, the
Flight-Sergeant caught Briny's hands and dragged him to the top of the rock. 'What d'you make of that ?' he muttered.
`Strike ole Riley!' breathed Briny in an awestricken whisper. 'He must 'a tumbled in and got drownded.'
`That's how it looks to me,' admitted the Flight-Sergeant despondently. 'I don't think it's any use getting ourselves wet trying to get across. Let's give a hail. Hullo, there!' His voice echoed eerily over the still water.
`He ain't 'ere,' said Briny in a low voice as the echoes rolled away.
`We'd better get back and report,' decided the Flight-Sergeant. 'The C.O. ought to know about this. I reckon he's back by now.'
"Ere—'old 'ard!' ejaculated Briny suddenly, catching him by the arm. 'Ain't that a light I can see over there ?'
The Flight-Sergeant switched off his torch and told Briny to do the same so that they could see more clearly. Together they stared at the grey streak that had attracted Ginger's attention.
`That's daylight all right,' declared the Flight-Sergeant. 'It begins to look as if he may have gone across after all—bearing in mind that he'd lost his torch. I'm going over to have a look at that. You'd better stay here; there's no need for us both to go.'
`That suits me,' admitted Briny. 'I've nearly lorst me 'at twice as it is. You know, this reminds me of a place I once struck with my old shipmate, Charlie sock you on the jaw and give you something else to remember if you don't shut up remembering things,' snarled the Flight-Sergeant, whose nerves were on edge. He started taking off his clothes and piling them on the rock. 'You stay here till I come back,' he ordered Briny.
"Ow long are you goin' to be away ?'
Ìt depends on what I find over there. If I want you I'll shout.'
`Where do you reckon it leads to ?'
`The top of the island, I should say. And I guess that's where we shall find Mr.
Hebblethwaitethat is, if he hasn't fallen off. Stand fast.' The Flight-Sergeant slid into the water, and holding the torch above his head, swam on his back towards the streak of reflected light.
Ginger was, as we know, on the top of the island. He had been there for some time and was in a bad way.
After seeing Algy's machine disappear round the shoulder of rock he had sat still for some time, thinking that it might reappear and wondering what was the best thing to do.
But when the plane did not reappear he set about exploring the place, prompted by the hope that it might be possible to get immediately above the cove and attract attention by shouting.
He soon saw that the top of the island was more or less flat; what slope there was, was towards the place where he stood, which accounted for the seepage of rain-water into the underground lake. Only round the extreme edges was the rock very rough, and here it had been carved into fantastic shapes by the searing wind. There was no herbage of any sort; on all sides the rock lay bare, gaunt, and stark, with the grey edges cutting into the wan autumn sky. The rock, too, was wet from the recent rain, and he found that progress was both slow and difficult. However, after a time he reached the spot he had selected, a place from where he hoped to be able to see the cove, only to discover to his chagrin that it was still out of sight beyond a forbidding massif that towered up at the southern extremity of the island.
This mass of rock he eyed with disfavour, for he perceived that to reach the top of it would entail a dangerous climb. Another thing that worried him wa
s the fact that the afternoon was now well advanced, and if darkness caught him still on the massif he would find it difficult indeed to get down; and the top of the grim pile was no place to spend the night.
He wondered what the others were doing, and
what they were thinking of his long absence. He did not know—and perhaps it is as well that he did not—that Biggles was at that moment on the Leipzig, standing before a tribunal, and that Algy was in the cave preparing to take off with a torpedo to sink the liner. When Algy did take off Ginger heard him, but he could not see him, for he had just reached the most difficult part of the massif. As the roar of the aero-engine reached his ears he made a hasty descent, hoping to attract the attention of the pilot before the machine was out of sight ; but by the time he reached the level part of the island the Didgeree-du was a speck in the southern sky—much to his disgust.
Cold and weary, he knew that it would be folly to attempt to re-scale the massif before darkness fell, so he looked about for the best place to await the machine's return. By the irony of fate, when it did come back it passed within fifty feet of him, but as it was now quite dark it might as well have been a mile away. He wondered who was flying the machine, and what had been its mission, little suspecting that it was Algy returning after torpedoing the Leipzig.
Soon afterwards he heard the machine take off again, which was, of course, when Algy set out, with Briny in the back seat, determined to blow up the German store depot. It was, as near as he could guess, two hours later when he again heard the machine returning, and assumed that that would end operations until the following day. To his amazement, within a few minutes he heard the plane go off again, and again he wondered what was going on. This was the occasion when Algy, having flown Briny back to the base, was returning to the sandbank with Biggles's spare kit.
Tired as he was, Ginger did his best to keep awake until the machine returned, for he was not to know that its wheels were stuck fast in the ooze of the sandbank. He was curled up in a fitful sleep between two rocks when the big German flying-boat glided down. Nor did he hear Algy take off again, now in the Platypus, on his attempt to bomb the German store depot in accordance with Colonel Raymond's instructions, although the sky was now grey with the dawn of another day. Indeed, he did not awake until the rim of the sun, ominously red, was showing above the eastern horizon.
He was wide awake the instant he opened his eyes, to find that his very bones were stiff with cold. He stamped up and down for some minutes to restore his circulation, and then, with a sort of desperate energy, set about the ascent of the massif. Realizing only too well that he might not survive another night on the open rock, he took the most fearful chances to reach the top; but at last he got there, and lying flat on his stomach, peered over the
edge of the cliff. He was, as he expected, immediately above the cove, but the hail that was ready on his lips remained unuttered. At first he could only stare unbelievingly, trying to force his unwilling brain to accept the awful truth. But there was no getting away from the fact. There, on the cove, near the entrance to the cave, rode a fourengined German flying-boat.
As far as he was concerned it could mean only one thing—the squadron had been discovered by the enemy. And he must be pardoned for thinking that.
For some minutes he lay still, staring down with dismay. Then, with his face pinched from the cold, and his heart heavy, he rose to his feet and started on the return journey to the flat part of the island. Just what he was going to do he did not know, but at the back of his mind there was a wild idea of getting back to the depot by the only way he knew—
the way he had come up.
It took him longer than he had expected to get down from the massif ; and so taken up was he with his task and his melancholy thoughts that he did not notice the change in the weather until a snowflake settled lightly on his face. He stopped abruptly, glaring up at the leaden sky. 'You would pick on this moment to do the dirty on me, wouldn't you ?' he grated impotently.
However, he hurried on, but by the time he had
reached his immediate objective, the twenty-foot face of rock above the ledge, the snow was whirling round him so thickly that he could hardly see where he was going. At the edge of the cliff he stopped, half bewildered by the flakes that danced before his eyes.
Foolishly, he struck at them with his hands in a futile attempt to see the ledge. 'I'm going down if I fall down,' he told himself grimly, as he dropped on his knees preparatory to starting the terrifying descent.
It is likely that he would have fallen down, but even as he groped for the first foothold he heard a sound that caused him first to stiffen, and then draw back hurriedly. It was the muffled roar of an aeroplane which seemed to come from somewhere over his head. His lips parted in sympathy for the pilot, whose feelings he could well imagine, for as if the snow were not bad enough, the engine was missing fire on at least one cylinder, in a manner suggesting that a complete breakdown was imminent.
CHAPTER XVI
STRANGE MEETINGS
STRAINING his eyes into the baffling background of snowflakes, Ginger endeavoured to get a glimpse of the machine, for he could follow its course roughly by the sound. He heard it coming closer, the engine still missing fire, and when it did appear it was so close that he ducked, thinking that it was going to land on top of him. He recognized the machine for on .e of their own.
It was not difficult to work out what had happened. Either Biggles or Algy had been caught out in a storm, not far from the base, and was now trying to get in. To make the task more hazardous, the engine started to cut out altogether, picking up again in spasmodic bursts, which led Ginger to ascribe the trouble to snow getting into the air intake.
Still watching, he twice saw the vague grey shadow of the machine appear in the semi-opaque pall that hung over the rock, only to disappear again immediately. The second time he actually saw the pilot's head looking down over the side of the cockpit. After that there came a brief lull. The engine was no longer firing, although whether this was due to a complete breakdown, or because the pilot had throttled back, Ginger did not know.
He walked a few paces towards the flat area, and then stood still again, straining his ears for the noise he fully expected to hear—the crash of the machine striking the sea or the side of the island. He was still staring up when suddenly he heard the whine of wind in wires, dangerously close; then, out of the snow, came the grey shape of the machine, straight towards him, its wheels practically touching the rock. Even as he stared aghast, the wheels bumped, and bumped again, but the machine still ran on.
Thereafter he acted purely by instinct, for there was no time for thought. He knew that the pilot had no means of rising again, and that if it went on, in a few seconds the machine would topple over the edge of the cliff. He was already running to save himself from being knocked over with it as this fact flashed into his mind. He might just have got clear, but now he halted, and as the knifelike leading edge of the port wing reached him, he grabbed it and hung on.
He was, of course, instantly carried off his feet, but he had the satisfaction of feeling the machine swing round, and heard the protesting scream of slewing wheels. Then his fingers lost their grip and he fell headlong. The machine rumbled on, slowly, on a new course, its wheel-brakes hissing.
Ginger picked himself up and limped after it painfully, for he had bruised his knee in the fall.
By the time he reached the machine Algy was standing up in his seat, goggles raised, looking back over the tail. His face was pale and drawn with strain, but as his eyes fell on Ginger they opened wide.
`Nice work, big boy,' grunted Ginger. 'Have you any chocolate aboard ?'
Algy brushed a hand over his face. 'What is this ?' he inquired in a dazed sort of voice. '
Where the dickens are we ?'
Òn top of the island—where else could we be ? Didn't you know where you were landing ?'
`Landing my foot,' snorted Algy. 'Didn't you hear my motor packi
ng up ? What with a dud engine and the snow, I should have been glad to get down anywhere—the right side up. I knew I was near the rock because it loomed up at me once or twice, but I thought I was clear of it, gliding down on the sea. Instead of which I suddenly hit the carpet; I had to run on because I couldn't get off again.'
`You nearly fell off it,' declared Ginger. 'If I hadn't grabbed your wing, in another couple of seconds you would have been over the cliff. This isn't Croydon.'
`You're telling me!' Algy climbed stiffly to the ground, bringing with him a bar of chocolate from the pocket in the cockpit. He gave it to Ginger who ate it ravenously.
Ì don't get this,' went on Algy. 'What are you doing up here ? Why did you stay up here
?' `Because I can't get down.'
`How long have you been here ?'
`Since yesterday morning.'
`Great Scott! How did you get here ?'
`Through a hole in the rock. But never mind about that. There's a German flying-boat down in the cove. I saw it when I looked over the top this morning.'
Algy laughed. 'That's all right,' he said. Ìt's ours.'
`What!'
`Biggles and I pinched it last night. Of course, you didn't know about Biggles being a prisoner on the Leipzig—von Stalhein got hold of him.' Briefly, he gave the astonished Ginger a résumé of events of the past few hours. 'So I went off to lay an egg on the Boche supply depot—which I did; then coming back I ran into this stuff,' he concluded, indicating the snow with a gesture of disgust.
Ginger, in turn, described how he came to be where he was.
`We'd better see about getting down—and the sooner the better,' announced Algy when he had finished. 'We shall have to abandon the machine, for the time being at any rate.
Even if we could get the engine right, the weather makes flying out of the question.'
Ìf you're thinking of trying to fly off the top of this rock, even with the engine right and the weather fine, you'd better forget it. You don't know what it's like. Wait till the snow clears and have a look at it; you may change your mind then.'
21 Biggles In The Baltic v3 Page 13