They might have started, or, on the other hand, they might only be on the point of leaving; either way, he was leading a red-hot trail to their hiding-place, which was bad, for the escape of the Beklinders was more important than their own. Had it been possible he would have laid a false trail, but there was no alternative route, so he could only go on, well aware that if the Beklinders were still in the vault, the precipitate arrival of pursued and pursuers would be bound to cause a panic and perhaps jeopardize all Biggles's work.
`How much farther?' panted Algy.
`We're nearly there,' answered Ginger, stumbling, and breaking into a cold perspiration as he remembered the bottle, and thought of what might happen if he fell.
`Here's the end,' he gasped, as the opening into the vault came into view.
Ìs Biggles here?'
`No.'
`Where—?'
`He's gone on. We've got to meet him. But the Professor may be here.' Ginger realized that as Algy knew nothing about what had happened during the last few hours this was an inadequate explanation, but there was no time for details.
They reached the entrance to the vault and scrambled through. One glance showed Ginger that the Beklinders had left, for which he was thankful, but as they knew nothing of the
hue and cry, if he failed to overtake them and warn them of it, it was likely that they would be recaptured. A desperate expedient occurred to him and he resolved to take the chance. 'Get outside,' he told Algy frantically. 'There are the steps — get outside and lie down — hurry.'
He dashed back to the entrance to the tunnel 'Help yourselves to that,' he yelled, and hurled the bottle with all his might. The instant it had left his hand he whirled about and made a dash for the churchyard, hoping to reach it before the explosion occurred. He almost succeeded. He managed to get to the top step when a blast of air, almost solid in its force, shot him out like a champagne cork. Following the blast came a streak of electric blue flame For a split second it spurted through the vault entrance like a blow-lamp; then the earth shook with an explosion so violent that to Ginger it felt like the end of the world. Half dazed, a smell of scorching in his nostrils, he staggered to his feet, and saw Algy doing the same thing close at hand.
`What was that?' gasped Algy.
Òne of the Professor's little squibs,' answered Ginger. 'Let's keep going; we've a long way to go.' He set off at a run across the churchyard in the direction of the rendezvous.
Vaulting over the wall they went on without stopping to look behind, and as they ran Ginger gave Algy a sporadic account of what had happened and the situation as it now existed.
`The Beklinders shouldn't be far — in front of us — then?' puffed Algy.
`We ought to overtake them before they get to the field,' Ginger told him.
`Can't we — slow down — for a bit? I don't think — anyone is —following us.'
Ton Stalhein would hear the explosion, and he would probably guess what caused it,'
answered Ginger, easing the pace to a fast walk. 'He might even see the flash from the castle, and that would give him our position. His entire pack will be after us by this time.
It's going to be touch and go.'
They both swerved violently as a figure stepped suddenly from behind a clump of bushes which they were at that moment passing.
Ìt's all right; it's only me,' said Gustav. 'We heard somebody coming and hid until we saw who it was.'
The Professor also emerged from his hiding-place. 'What was that explosion?' he asked.
Ìt was that little bottle of syrup which you mixed to blow von Stalhein up with,' Ginger told him. 'He took it away from you and put it in his safe, you remember? A mob of his greyshirts were on our trail so I tossed it back for them to play with. By the way, this is Algy Lacey — he's one of us; but postpone the "How-d'ye-do" stuff until later on. We're all right for time, I think, but the farther we get away from this locality, the better.
Professor, you know the way, so will you please take the lead?'
In single file they resumed their journey. They saw no one, but more than once they heard sounds which told them that a hue and cry was in progress — shouts, whistles, and the honking of motor-car horns.
`They'll have a job to find us,' declared Algy confidently; 'in country like this, with so much timber about, looking for anybody would be worse than trying to find a pin in a cornfield.'
Ì'd agree with you except for one thing,' muttered Ginger anxiously.
And what's that?'
`They've got dogs.'
`Phew! I didn't know that.'
Ì should feel easier in my mind if I didn't know. They're not ordinary animals; they're trained for the job; I've seen them at work.'
Ì don't think we need worry, we are nearly there,' put in the Professor. The field is just beyond the belt of trees in front of
us.'
They trudged on, and had just reached the trees when, from far away in the direction whence they had come, one of the most sinister of all sounds floated to their ears on the still night air. It was the deep-throated bay of a hound.
Ìt sounds as if they've got the dogs on the job,' murmured Algy.
`They'll have to travel fast to catch us,' said Ginger confidently, looking at his watch. 'It'
s twelve-fifteen. We have only five minutes to wait.'
They went on again through the trees.
`This should be the place,' announced the Professor, as they forced their way through the undergrowth and emerged into the open country beyond.
`You're quite sure about that?' said Ginger. 'I've left it to you.' `Yes, this is it.'
Ginger looked round the boundaries of the big field in front of him. 'Yes, it must be,' he said. 'Anyway, it's big enough to get a machine in, and there can't be many fields of this size about here.' He whistled quietly and listened for a reply; but there was none. Ì was hoping that Biggles might be here a bit early,' he explained. `But apparently he isn't here yet,' he added, looking again at his watch. `Twelve-eighteen,' he announced. 'Two minutes to go.'
The sudden shrill of a whistle sent them all facing the way they had come. A dog barked furiously. There was another whistle, followed by a shout.
Ì should say they are within half a mile of us,' murmured Algy.
`Well, if they arrive before Biggles there is only one thing we can do,' declared Ginger, holding up his pistol and stepping backward a few paces so that he could see the top of a slight rise in the ground behind the belt of trees. `The result will depend on how many there are of them. We'll do our best to make things warm for them, however many there are.'
Ìt is twenty past twelve,' announced the Professor. He may have tried not to show it, but his voice was heavy with disappointment.
`Your watch is probably a minute fast,' Algy told him cheerfully.
Ì'm afraid your friend isn't coming.'
`That's because you don't know him as well as we do,' said Ginger. `Look – here come the greyshirts over the hill.' He started to count as figures, silhouetted against the sky, began to appear. `That seems to be the lot,' he said, when he had counted up to ten. `Ten and two couple of hounds. "Ten little greyshirts standing in a line, a bad boy plugged one and then there were nine,' he misquoted glibly.
`This is no time for joking,' said the Professor severely. `Personally, that's where I think you are wrong, Professor. We—'
`Would it not be better if we ran on?' broke in Gustav.
Ì'm not doing any more running,' stated Ginger emphatically. `Biggles said meet him here, so here I stay. I'm tired, anyway.'
`Yes, I'll bet you are,' said Algy quietly, looking at Ginger, whose eyes were heavy for want of sleep.
The figures could no longer be seen on the ridge. The rustle of bushes on the far side of the trees indicated plainly where they were.
Ìt looks as if we shall have to fight for it,' said Algy calmly. `Keep together, everybody, or we shall be plugging each other in the dark.'
T
here was a soft pattering among the dry leaves under the trees. It stopped abruptly. A dog growled.
CHAPTER XIV
Biggles Goes to Prenzel
hen Biggles had left the others after seeing Algy's machine take off, he knew what he was going to do — or, rather, what he was going to try to do.
Searching his brains for another means of escape, it was only natural that he should dwell first on the chances of getting an aeroplane. There was, he knew, an air force in Lucrania, but, never having been concerned with it, he could not recall where the military aerodromes were located; nor had he any means of finding out. Then, suddenly, he remembered that there was a regular service operated by Planet Airways, running between Prenzel and Croydon, via Hamburg. A passenger machine left each terminus at nine in the morning, and a mail plane at twelve midnight. As soon as this thought occurred to him his mind was made up. Somehow — he did not know how — he would use the mail plane. There was just a chance that he might recognize the pilot, in which case he would endeavour to enlist his services by telling him frankly what the position was; but whatever happened he would use the mail plane, even if he had to purloin it.
Prenzel was about forty miles away, which meant that he would have to return to the car which they had abandoned in the wood. There was no other way of getting to Prenzel before the machine left.
It was with the project still fluid in his mind that Biggles told Ginger of his intention of leaving the party. The revelation of his plan would, he knew, involve lengthy explanations, possibly a long debate, and as every minute was precious it was for this reason that he departed hurriedly without divulging the details.
Stopping occasionally to listen, he got back without incident to the place where the car had been left. It was still there. The road, or as much as he could see of it, was deserted.
Before getting into the car he kicked off thèG.B.' plate with his heel, and picking up a handful of moist earth rubbed it over the number-plate so as almost to obliterate the registration letters. Then he started the car, and backed, not without difficulty, to the road. Putting his pistol on the seat beside him, he sped down the road in the direction of the capital city of Lucrania.
He had not gone many miles before he was provided with proof of how far he had been right when he had said that the police would be on the look-out for the Morris. Going through the village of Garenwald a red lamp was waved in front of him He could just discern two uniformed figures behind it. He did not stop. On the contrary he slammed the palm of his hand on the electric horn, and at the same time pressed his foot on the accelerator. He smiled grimly as the red light fell into the road and the two figures flung themselves aside. He felt his mudguard graze one. Instinctively he bent low over the steering-wheel; and it was a good thing that he did, for a bullet ripped through the coachwork behind him and bored a neat round hole through the windscreen just over his head.
He did not turn, but went straight down on the main road that led to Prenzel. He was tempted to leave it and take to secondary
roads, and he would have done so had he known the country better; but he dared not run the risk of losing his way. So he raced on, glancing behind him at frequent intervals to see if there were any signs of pursuit.
Five minutes later, on a long straight piece of road, he saw behind him the blazing headlights of another car, following at a speed which told him that he was the object of it, for the needle of his own speedometer was over the sixty mark.
For the next two or three minutes he had to concentrate on the road, for there were several bends, but when he looked behind again he saw to his annoyance that the following car had lessened the gap between them. It was obvious that it must presently overtake him if he did nothing to prevent it. Ahead were the lights of a small town, and his common sense told him that he could not hope to get through it without trouble, for the police at Garenwald would have telephoned to their colleagues along the road the news that the 'wanted' car was coming in their direction.
A knowledge of continental road signs now stood him in good stead. His headlights flashed on one. It was a small black locomotive against a white background; below, a number of red lines had been drawn round the upright post. The sign warned him that he was approaching a level crossing; four red lines told him that it was two hundred metres ahead. Knowing that the chances were that it would be closed against him, he switched off his lights and swung down a side turning to the left; he groped his way along it until he came to a turning on the right, which once more took him in the direction of the town.
Watching the road he had just left he saw the headlights of the pursuing car flash past the side turning, and knew that
it would be suicidal to go on in the Morris. However, ready to jump out at an instant's notice, he clung to it for the time being, and so reached the town. A few cars were standing against the pavement on either side of the road, and he was about to attempt to exchange his own for one of them when he saw something that suited him even better. A short distance down the street was a cinema, with a car park adjacent. In it were perhaps forty or fifty cars.
He drove straight in, took his car to the place indicated by the attendant who came forward, and then made a pretence of arranging something inside the car until the man had gone. Putting his automatic in his pocket, and satisfied that all was clear, he selected a big car of unknown make, and, after a swift glance around, tried the door handle. It was locked. Three more cars he tried in turn before he found one which had carelessly been left open by its owner. It was a big car, and again of a make unknown to him, but he did not trouble about that. He got in, started the engine, and made slowly towards the exit.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the car-park attendant running towards him, waving an arm; but he did not stop. He turned into the road and promptly accelerated. Relying on his sense of direction he took the next turning on the right, and, as he had hoped, found himself back once more on the main road, apparently in the centre of the town. A group of storm-troopers and local police were standing there, deep in earnest conversation; they glanced at the approaching car, and then, to Biggles's infinite relief, resumed their conversation. He went on towards Prenzel, driving carefully until he reached the outskirts of the town.
He was just congratulating himself on having got clear when he saw in front of him two policemen in the act of putting a pole
across the road; they had just laid it on the ground, preparatory to placing it on two trestles, one on each pavement. Seeing the car coming they paused in what they were doing. One raised a hand.
`You're just too late,' muttered Biggles, as he screeched his horn and put his foot down on the accelerator. The policemen leapt aside as the car bore down on them, and Biggles settled down into his seat as he saw an open road ahead. A signpost told him that he was now only twenty-two kilometres from Prenzel. He had never been to the airport, but he knew that it was four or five miles out of the city, and on the western side, for easy communication with the capitals of western Europe. He was now travelling north-east, so he reckoned that only about twelve miles separated him from his objective. He covered six of these at racing speed, and then saw another village ahead. Had there been a side turning he would have avoided the village, but there was none, so he could only go on; but he slowed down, staring through the windscreen for the police patrol which he felt certain would be there.
At the entrance to the village street he saw what he was afraid he might find — a barricade. As far as he could make out it comprised, as had the previous one, a round pole placed across the road, each end resting on a trestle. There was a small group of people on either side. His headlights flashed on the metal buttons of police and stormtroopers.
There was no question of stopping. It did not occur to him to do so, for that, he knew, would be the end of the affair as far as he was concerned, and probably the end of him, too; he was still cruising at about forty miles an hour, but the speed-indicator needle swung upwards as his foot came down o
n the accelerator — and stayed there. His hooter wailed a warning of his intentions.
Then he gripped the steering-wheel with both hands. His lips parted in a cold, mirthless smile.
At the last moment before the impact he saw the spectators fling themselves aside as they realized what he was going to do. With a splintering crash the radiator hit the pole.
The car swerved violently, mounted the kerb, grazed a shop front — tearing off a headlight — and ricocheted back on to the road. Biggles clung to the wheel. To make matters more difficult for him the second headlamp had been knocked sideways, but did not break off; strangely enough the light remained on, but, blazing at an angle of forty-five degrees from its correct position, gave him a false sense of direction, with the result that he knocked an approaching policeman off his bicycle before he could switch the light off and get back on the crown of the road. Two shots hit the back of the car as he roared on down the street, hooting frantically, for there were several people about, and he had no wish to kill an innocent party. Possibly because of the danger of hitting civilians, no more shots were fired.
Still on the look-out for further obstructions he roared on out of the village. Once more the road lay clear ahead. On he raced, occasionally glimpsing a signpost which gave him the direction of the city. Presently he saw its lights in the distance, and he knew that he must be somewhere near the airport. Another minute and he saw the red glow of a neon beacon on his left front. As near as he could judge it was about two miles away. He also saw something else. Coming towards him down the road, but still some distance away, were the headlights of three cars, close behind each other. Looking over his shoulder he saw more lights behind him, and knew that at last he was caught between two parties of the enemy. The road ran across open, hedgeless
fields, so, after running close to the side to make sure that there was no ditch, he swung the car off the road into a field of growing corn. The wheels sank deep into the soft earth, but he ploughed his way on for about a hundred yards. Then he stopped, jumped out, and ran on towards the beacon.
19 Biggles Secret Agent Page 15