Then, like the breath of a breeze in the trees, came the answering signal,. — . . . — . . .
—
Biggles echoed it.
A voice said softly: "Where are you?" and all doubts were set at rest.
"Here," answered Biggles.
The figure moved forward. "Who are you?"
"Bigglesworth, of the Special Air Branch. Your messenger got through. The Yard sent me out to locate you and get you home."
"Thank God for that," came the voice fervently. "We're having an awful time here. We couldn't have lasted much longer."
"Then the others are with you?"
"All except General Gorton who was shot trying to escape."
"That leaves four of you altogether?"
"No, six."
"Six?"
"We were four, but an American was brought in about a month ago, and a Polish professor soon afterwards. But make haste. It's a minute to eleven, and at eleven sharp we're locked in for the night."
"In this hut?"
"Yes."
"Then answer my questions quickly," requested Biggles. "Do you have separate rooms?"
"No. We sleep in one long dormitory."
"You've no means of getting out of it?"
"No. The windows are barred. Then there's this fence." "You've no tools?"
"No. We're searched every night at roll-call and our shoes are taken away."
"What happens to them?"
"They're locked in a pantry at the end of the hut. The door's on the outside."
"Who keeps the key?"
"The guard in the guardroom at the gate. It's on a bunch. They hang on a nail. The big one is the key of the gate through this fence. The next is the key of this hut. One unlocks the workshop—that's the big building behind —and the smallest is the key of the boot pantry."
"How many guards are on duty at a time?"
"Three. They take turns patrolling the wire. There's always a surprise visit sometime during the night, when we are counted."
"Where are you in the daytime?"
"In the big workshop behind our quarters."
At this moment a whistle was blown and a guttural voice shouted: "All insides! "
"That's it," said Vale urgently. "I must go or they'll be looking for me."
"Okay," said Biggles. "I'll get in touch with you again presently. Stand by. I'll come to a window."
Vale walked back quickly to the veranda, where there was now a general stir. Vague figures moved in the gloom. A harsh voice spoke, and seemed to be counting. This was followed by the noises of the prisoners being secured for the night. A heavy door slammed. Keys jangled. The light went out.
Biggles backed away from the wire into the trees, pulling Ginger with him. "Well, that's something," he said softly. "We know where they are and how they're fixed. With the tools we've got, when the place settles down we shouldn't have much trouble getting them out. Their shoes are the big problem. It's an old dodge, that, but effective. No man accustomed to footgear can get far without any—certainly not in country like this. Which means that as well as getting the men out we've got to open this pantry where their shoes are kept."
"Then how about making a start?" suggested Ginger. "We'd better wait a little while to give the guards a chance to get into their routine," advised Biggles.
Sitting at the foot of a tree they waited. The heat was oppressive. Fireflies danced.
Mosquitoes hummed. A sentry, his rifle shouldered in reverse, strolled by, following the wire. It was evident from his attitude that he was not expecting anything to happen. No doubt he had done the job many times before.
"How about giving him a crack on the dome next time he goes by?" suggested Ginger.
"It would bring one of his pals along to see what had happened to him."
"We could dish him out with a dose of the same medicine."
Biggles considered the suggestion but decided against it. "If we can get in without any fuss it'll be better that way. We'll let the sentry make one more tour and then get moving.
I wish I knew how often he comes round."
It was about a quarter of an hour before the sentry reappeared, now smoking a cigarette.
As soon as he had passed out of sight Biggles rose, and in a matter of seconds had cut the lower strands of the wire. Another moment and they were both inside, walking quickly towards the prisoners' sleeping quarters. Reaching the hut, keeping close against the wall Biggles went on to the nearest window, a small one with iron bars secured on the outside in a horizontal position. A quick examination revealed that the others were the same. They were at an awkward height. the sills being some four feet from the ground, which meant that the bars could only be tackled by reaching up. It was obvious, too, that at least four bars would have to be removed to make an aperture large enough for a man of average size to pass through.
"I'm afraid this is going to be a long job," muttered Biggles. "If the windows are made to open, the fellows inside would be able to get to the bars more easily. I want to let Vale know we're here, anyway." Putting a hand between the bars he tapped the V-signal very quietly on the glass.
Apparently Vale had been waiting, for almost at once the window was opened and the signal came back. Vale's face appeared dimly behind the bars.
"Everything normal?" asked Biggles.
"Yes."
"Have you told the others we're here?"
"Not yet. I thought it better to keep mum until I'd had a word with you, to find out just what you intend to do. No use getting everyone excited too soon."
"Quite right. Where are they now?"
"Gone to bed."
"Then you'd better wake them up and tell them." "I'll do that after the inspection, otherwise Grosnow may sense the excitement and smell a rat."
"What inspection? Who's Grosnow?"
"He's one of the head men here. He's in charge of us. He does a sort of orderly officer stunt every night about this time to make sure we're still here."
"I see. Glad you warned me. I've cut the fence. All we have to do now is move some of these bars. They're an awkward height for me outside. Could you manage it better from there if I gave you the tools?"
"I think so—but I'll wait till Grosnow has been round before I start."
"Good enough."
"What about our shoes?"
"We'll attend to that," promised Biggles. "Here, take this file. I'm afraid a hacksaw will make too much noise." "Filing is going to take some time."
"Can't be helped. Do the best you can." Biggles turned to Ginger. "Slip along to this pantry place to see if it looks like being difficult to crack open."
"Okay." Ginger crept along the wall until he reached the end. A quick survey revealing no sign of danger he made an inspection of the pantry, which, he found, was merely an extension of the prisoners' quarters. To his dismay he saw that the two windows, one on each side of the door, were tiny, not more than eighteen inches square—too small, he thought, for entrance to be obtained that way. That only left the door. It was made of rough, heavy timber, and he perceived that even with tools it would be impossible to force it open without a good deal of noise.
A slight sound took him on to the end of the gable, from where he could see the guard hut. The gate of the enclosure had been opened, and three men were entering. This, he guessed, was the inspection which Vale had mentioned. He hurried back to Biggles. "Cave," he whispered. "Grosnow is coming across.
Warn Vale to watch out."
But apparently Vale had heard. Silence fell. Biggles stood close against the wall, nerves taut, listening. He heard the door of the hut open. The light was switched on. Heavy footsteps thudded slowly, a step at a time, on a board floor. For a minute not a word was spoken. Ginger could imagine the sort of inspection that was going on. Then a voice burst out, so loud that his nerves twitched. "Attention!" it said, in a strange foreign accent. "I warn again, if any man tries to go he will have a bullet."
There was no answer.
Again the footste
ps, now receding. The door was shut. Silence returned.
Biggles whispered: "What about the boot pantry?" "I don't know what we can do about it,
" answered Ginger. He explained the difficulties.
"It rather looks as if we shall have to get the keys," murmured Biggles. "I'll think about it. Keep your eyes skinned."
Vale reappeared at the window. "All clear," he said. "I'm going to tell the others now.
Then I'll make a start on the bars."
"Good enough."
At that moment there came a sound which turned out to be the forerunner of others which were to put a very different aspect on the entire situation, although this was not realised at the time. The sound was a gunshot, some distance away. But it was unmistakable.
"What the deuce was that, I wonder?" muttered Biggles.
The question was soon to be answered for him. Inside a minute there came another shot.
But this was nothing to what came next. A voice was raised, shouting—nay, bellowing; and at the words, and the language used, Ginger went rigid.
"Ho there!" came the voice through the still night air.
"Ho there! Mayne! Where are you Mayne?" Bang went the gun again.
For a moment neither Biggles nor Ginger spoke. Then Ginger said, in a queer, thin voice:
"Petroff sky!"
"Aye, and drunk by the sound of it," replied Biggles bitterly. "The fool," he went on, in his anger speaking through his teeth. "The silly, drunken imbecile. Pity that tiger didn't get him."
"But how on earth did he get here?"
"Heavens only knows. Blundered on our trail and followed us. I suppose. Got drunk on his last consignment of vodka and decided to call on Mayne. Probably went to the island and learning Mayne wasn't there decided to go and look for him. This means we shall have to adjust our plan. Are you still there, Vale?"
"Yes."
"All right. Go ahead, but something is happening which may upset things. We're going to find out what's going on. We'll be back. If by any chance we don't turn up in the next couple of hours start off on your own. Head for the big lake and keep along the eastern edge. There's an aircraft waiting at one of the islands. There's a pilot with it. See you later, I hope. Come on, Ginger."
Biggles moved quickly towards the gap in the fence.
THE VELVET GLOVE
HAVING left the prison hut enclosure through the gap in the wire Biggles made for the direction of Petroff sky's approach. There could be no question of intercepting him. This had already been done by men from the camp. Others were hurrying towards the spot, from -where now arose a general hubbub. Above' it all rose Petroffsky's bellow, as he continued to shout for Mayne. More lights were switched on, so that large areas of the camp appeared to be floodlit, making everything plain to see. What the lights revealed, was not, in the circumstances, surprising. As Biggles observed, the Russian had certainly stirred things up.
Into the camp came Petroffsky, roaring as he fought a dozen or more Mongols who were hanging on to him like a pack of dogs baiting a bull. He had already been disarmed, but he fought with flailing arms. Time and time again he flung his assailants off, shouting what sounded like curses in his native tongue. But they always came back, striving to get a grip on the whirling arms. There was reason to suppose that orders had been given that he was not to be seriously hurt, otherwise, of course, he would not have lasted for so long. Supporting this supposition was the presence of von Stalhein. He was standing only a short distance away, watching with his usual frigid calm. Close to him, in a group, were the men with whom he had recently been in conference, when the Russian had been discussed.
At last, panting and bedraggled, Petroffsky was brought to a standstill quite close to the trees in which Biggles and Ginger crouched, watching. But this is not to say that he was in the slightest degree intimidated. He confronted his persecutors defiantly, shouting in a variety of languages what he would do if he was not taken to see "his old friend Mayne"
instantly. Once he paused to take a drink from a bottle which he suddenly produced from a pocket, afterwards hurling the bottle at the head of the nearest Mongol.
Eventually von Stalhein acted. First he said something to the men near him, then went on towards Petroffsky, and silencing the babble of voices with a gesture, addressed the Russian in the language he had used when shouting for Mayne.
"Of course—of course," said von Stalhein gently, in such a voice as he might have used to pacify a wayward child. "Of course you shall see your old friend Mayne. Unfortunately he isn't here at the moment, but we'll soon find him.
I'm sorry you've been treated so disgracefully, but my men were under orders, and I was not to know that you were coming." Von Stalhein patted the Russian on the arm and waved away the Mongols, who looked at each other in amazement, as well they might.
"This scum attacked me," declared Petroff sky, in a haughty voice. "Scum, sir, that's what they are. Do you know who I am?"
"Of course," replied von Stalhein, who apparently knew the answer to the question. "
Everyone knows Colonel Alexis Petroffsky. I regret that these fools of sentries failed to recognise an officer and a gentleman."
Petroffsky bowed low, and nearly fell over. "I accept your apology," he said gravely. "I observe, sir, that you, too, are a gentleman. Say no more. Will you take a little drink with me?"
"With pleasure," replied von Stalhein. "But first, since you are my guest, you must drink with me. I have some excellent vodka. But let us not talk here. Come to my quarters, where we can talk in peace."
Petroffsky bowed again. "Sir, I am honoured. But what of my old friend Mayne?"
"I haven't seen him lately," parried von Stalhein. "Is he here?"
"He came this way."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Certainly I'm sure."
"How do you know?"
"His friends . . ." Petroff sky hesitated, as if even in his befuddled state he realised that he was saying too much.
"No matter, my dear Colonel," went on von Stalhein smoothly. "If he is here he shall join us as soon as he can be found. Come along. Let's have a drink." He took the Russian by the arm, and still chattering amicably walked slowly towards a small hutment that stood alone not far from the big house. The spectators began to disperse.
Biggles drew a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice had acid in it. "The old game.
First, the velvet glove. If that fails, the iron fist. But it won't fail. Von Stalhein's a past-master at it. He went straight for Petroffsky's weak ness—vanity; vanity and booze.
Whips wouldn't have made Petroffsky speak if he was sober and realized what he was doing, but in his drink-sodden state he'll let von Stalhein wheedle out of him everything he knows. He'll tell him that we're here dressed as Koreans. He'll tell him we've got an aircraft, where it is, and all the rest of it. In short, he's going to turn our applecart upside-down."
"Why on earth did Algy let him come?" groaned Ginger.
"I don't suppose Algy knew anything about him coming, or he'd have stopped him. I'd say Petroffsky paid a call, and then went home and got a skillful of vodka. Under its influence he decided to find Mayne. He's an experienced hunter, and he'd have no difficulty in trailing us."
"Why didn't Bertie stop him?"
"I imagine he blundered past Bertie and Mayne in the dark. They might have heard him, but unless he spoke they wouldn't know who it was, and they'd sit tight—quite rightly.
But that doesn't matter now. Petroffsky's here, and in half an hour von Stalhein will know all he knows. Once von Stalhein is satisfied that he's sucked Petroffsky dry of information he'll waste no time getting after us. We've got to get our men out of this camp before von Stalhein can take action."
"We haven't a hope," declared Ginger bitterly. "I can't see Vale cutting through those bars inside a. couple of hours."
"I'm afraid I'm bound to agree with you," replied Biggles slowly. "The alternative is to hold up von Stalhein for as long as possib
le. We can't be in two places at once so it means that we shall have to split. I'll go after von Stalhein. The rest of the gang will leave him alone until he's finished with Petroff sky, so keeping him where he is for a bit shouldn't be too difficult. You go and get our people out. It's now or never. You should be able to manage it. Get them out and make for Bertie and Mayne. I'll try to meet you there, but don't count on it, and don't wait for me. Push on as fast as you can to the machine. You've got to get to it before von Stalhein can send his Mongols there—unless, of course, I can prevent Petroffsky from telling him where the machine is hidden. Are you sure you can find your way back, via the lignite diggings, without me?" "I think so. I know the direction, anyway."
"Okay, then get going. I'll hold von Stalhein as long as I can to give you as good a start as possible."
"I'll do my best," promised Ginger, and turning away, keeping to the trees, made for the prisoners' quarters.
Biggles watched him until he was out of sight, and then, after a quick survey of the scene of the recent fracas, now deserted, he began to make his way towards the hut into which von Stalhein and his new friend had disappeared. A light had been switched on inside.
He walked straight towards it, for there was no time for a cautious approach. It would not take von Stalhein long to extract the information he needed, and if he, Biggles, arrived too late to prevent that, his effort would be wasted.
He reached the hut without meeting anyone, although people were still moving about not far away, and halted in the shadow of the wooden wall for a final reconnaissance of the vicinity. Seeing nothing to cause alarm he went on to the window. A peep revealed Petroff sky slumped in a chair talking volubly while von Stalhein, standing up, smiling, poured liquor into two glasses from a bottle. It was obyious that there was no time to lose.
The door was on the far side. Half a dozen steps took him to the end of the building. He looked round it, half afraid there might be a guard on duty. Evidently von Stalhein did not consider it necessary, for there was none. Biggles opened the door quietly and found himself in a narrow corridor. Light showed under two badly fitting doors, one near, the other at the end of the corridor. From the far one came a clatter of crocks as if a servant was washing up. He would, Biggles could only hope, stay there. He went to the nearest door, and with a hand on the knob paused to listen.
37 Biggles Gets His Men Page 10