`You bet we do,' Ginger told him. 'Straight up the road ahead of you ; then follow my directions.'
He guided the car through the city and the suburbs to the road that led to the aerodrome.
`Now go straight on,' he said. 'We've a long way to go, so you can put your foot down.'
And with that Ginger, with a weary sigh, collapsed into Algy's arms.
Some time later he opened his eyes, and then spluttered violently as he clambered into a sitting position. His throat felt as though it had been scalded. Then he saw Biggles in front of him, with a cup in one hand and a bottle in the other. He was still in the car. Algy was supporting him.
`What happened ?' he asked.
`You passed out,' smiled Biggles. 'Don't wonder at it either, with that hole in your arm. I knocked up a tavern and bought a bottle of brandy and a few other odd things, including a linen napkin with which I've just bandaged your arm. Feel better ?'
Ginger nodded. 'I'm O.K.,' he said. And he really felt better. 'Where are we ?'
`Don't ask me,' replied Biggles. 'We are on the
road you told us to follow. We stopped to buy the things I just told you about; then we drove on to a quiet spot and brought you round. I avoided staying at the tavern for fear of causing comment.'
Ginger looked out of the car window and saw that it was just beginning to get light. 'How far up the road did you come?' he asked.
Àbout thirty to thirty-five miles, for a guess.' `Then we haven't got much farther to go,'
declared Ginger.
`Have something to eat ?' invited Biggles, indicating four paper parcels which had been torn open to disclose bread, cheese, grapes, and figs.
`Yes, by gosh! I can do with some of that,' replied Ginger with alacrity. He helped himself and the others did likewise.
`What happened to you?' asked Biggles.
`That's a long story,' answered Ginger with his
mouth full of bread and cheese. 'I'll tell you all about it presently. What happened to you?'
`We were caught. That's all,' Biggles told him. `You mean, when you threw me the letter
?' `Yes. It's no use arguing with a score of rifles.' Ànd have you been in that ship ever since?' `We have.'
Ì heard you were to be shot.'
`We should just about have been marching out to the execution deck if you hadn't come along. How did you hear about it? What have you been doing all this time ? ,How the deuce did you get aboard the ship as /you did ? You might have been Goudini's best friend from the way you behaved.'
Ginger laughed quietly. 'One at a time,' he pleaded. 'I've had a devil of a time, I assure you; but I don't think Goudini, personally, will trouble about us for a bit.'
`Why not ?'
Ì pretty nearly bumped him off—if not quite—an hour or two ago. It was he who stuck the knife in my arm. My pistol went off and plugged him somewhere—I don't know where. I didn't stop to see.'
`Good Lord!' gasped Biggles. 'But Frazer's letter ? I saw you catch it. You've still got it
?'
Às a matter of fact, I haven't.'
`You haven't! Where is it ?'
`Jock McLannoch has got it.'
`Who the deuce is he ?'
À Scotch pilot fighting for the Republicans.' `But how ?'
Ì'd better tell you the whole story, then you will know everything and understand how the situation stands now,' interrupted Ginger. 'Otherwise one question will only lead to another. I've been pretty busy, believe me.'
And forthwith, while the sky turned from the pink of dawn to the blue of day, he told the story of his adventures from the time he had bolted with the letter in his hand to the rescue from the prison ship.
Biggles and Algy listened in frank amazement.
`My word!' exclaimed Biggles when he had finished. 'You have had a time, and no mistake. I think you were wise to hand the letter over to Jock—who sounds like a good scout—but the sooner we relieve him of the responsibility of it the better.'
Ì daren't risk bringing it down into the city with me.'
`Quite right. Well, let's get the letter for a start. Then we'll see about getting out of this perishing country as soon as we can. It's getting a bit too hot to hold us.'
Ìt shouldn't be difficult to get hold of a 'plane at the aerodrome,' opined Ginger. 'There were all sorts there.'
`That's the quickest way,' agreed Biggles. 'I believe there are some British ships in Barcelona harbour, but it would be a shocking risk to go back there. The ordinary frontiers are closed, of course, so an aeroplane seems to be the only way.'
`There is this about it,' offered Ginger; `Goudini's crowd know nothing about our being able to fly, so they won't be likely to look for us at the aerodrome.'
`Yes, that's all in our favour; it should be all plain sailing now,' returned Biggles as he got back into the driving seat and started the car.
They were soon speeding along the winding road. With the exception of one or two peasants going to work, they saw nobody.
`There 's the aerodrome, straight in front of us,' remarked Ginger as the flying-ground came into view. 'We can drive right up, I think. Several people saw me about with Jock; most of them knew I was the chap who pulled him out of the crash, so nobody will be likely to ask us our business. They'll take you for friends of mine.'
Biggles was driving past the hangars towards the living quarters when Ginger suddenly told him to stop. 'That 's Cy Harkwell going towards the sheds. He's an American pilot.
Jock introduced me to him yesterday. I might as well ask him where Jock is. If he's up at the sheds it's no use our going down to his quarters.'
As he spoke, Ginger got out of the car and hailed the American. 'Hullo, Cy!' he called. '
Do you happen to know where Jock is ?'
The American changed his direction and came over to them. 'What did you say ?' he drawled. `Have you seen Jock ?'
`Why—you looking for him ?'
`Yes.'
The American's face set in hard lines. 'I guess you won't find him here,' he said quietly.
Ginger felt something like a cold hand settle on his heart. 'Why ?' he faltered.
Harkwell took a cigarette from a flimsy packet and tapped the end on the back of his hand. 'Jock went down over the other side on a late patrol yesterday—'bout half an hour after you left,' he drawled.
CHAPTER XIV
WINGED WARFARE
THE silence that followed this staggering announcement was broken by the noise of a machine taking off.
Ginger looked helplessly at Biggles. Biggles looked at Algy.
Ginger moistened his lips and turned back to the American pilot. 'These are friends of mine,' he said, indicating the others with his hand. 'I wanted them to meet Jock. Was there any chance for him ? I mean—was he a—flamer ?'
'Not as far as I know. I was with him. A coupla Fiats dropped on us when we were doing a reconnaissance. They got his engine, I reckon. He cracked up amongst the rocks near Ortrovidad village. I got one of the skunks ; then a big bunch of Fiats showed up so I pushed along home. There wasn't any time to go down and get a closer view of the crack-up. That's all there was to it. S'long, boys. See you later.' The American strode away towards the hangars.
'That,' murmured Biggles, 'has just about torn it—as they say in the classics. It's a million to one he had the letter in his pocket.'
'I saw him put it in his wallet,' said Ginger miserably. 'It was my fault. I should never have
'Don't talk rot,' broke in Biggles. 'Any one in
his right mind would have done what you did. You weren't to foresee that this would happen. It's just a bit of bad luck, that's all. Things are being as difficult as they can be.
Never mind, the luck is bound to change if we ride it hard enough. But come on, this is no time or place for philosophy; we've got to make up our minds what we are going to do, and waste no time about it—not that we've much choice.'
Àbsolutely, old boy; but what the dickens
can we do ?' inquired Algy.
`What about Jock's car ?' asked Ginger.
`We'll decide what we'll do with the car when we know what we are going to do ourselves,' replied Biggles. 'At the moment we're on the horns of a dilemma, so the thing to do is—'
`Take the bull by the horns,' suggested Ginger naïvely.
Biggles laughed. 'Smart work, laddie. You've said it. Bull-fighting is the national sport in Spain, so this is where we shall have to—'
`Butt in on it,' grinned Ginger.
`You certainly know all the answers,' declared Biggles, laughing again. 'But seriously, chaps, we've got to get busy. This is the position as r see it. We can't stay here—not that there would be any sense in staying if we could. The first question that we've got to decide is, do we abandon Frazer's letter altogether and see about getting ourselves home
? In that case we can either go back to the
docks at Barcelona in the hope of getting on board a British ship—if there is one—or help ourselves to one of those machines I can see over yonder. Since all our lives are now definitely jeopardized, every one ought to have a say in that.'
Ìt's a rotten thing to simply push off without the letter,' muttered Ginger.
`You're absolutely right there, laddie, but it's a rotten thing to have to go on chasing it,'
observed Algy.
`Which means that it is going to be rotten anyway,' put in Biggles.
`Honestly, do you think there is the slightest hope of our ever seeing that letter again ?'
asked Algy.
`Yes, but I should be deceiving myself, and you, if I pretended that it was more than a thousand to one chance. You say that Jock put the letter in his pocket, Ginger ? I think he would carry it on him. Very well. It's now somewhere over the other side. If Jock was killed, the letter would either be buried with him, or handed over to General Franco's intelligence people for deciphering. In either of these cases it will have gone for good, and it would be sheer suicide to try to get it back. On the other hand, if Jock wasn't killed, then he will either be in hospital or a prison camp, in which event he might still have the letter in his possession. It doesn't follow that he has got it, because it might have been taken from him by his captors. There is, however, a chance that Jock is alive, and that he still has the letter. If that is so, there is just a hope that we may be able to make contact with him and get hold of it again.'
Algy shook his head. 'I don't jib at long shots as a rule, but that all sounds crazy to me.
Why, it would mean going into Franco country.'
Òf course ; what of it ? We should be in less danger there than here. Franco has nothing against us, whereas before to-day is out half Catalonia will be hunting for us.'
`How would you prepare to visit General Franco's domain ?' inquired Algy.
`Fly there. There is no other way.'
Ànd be shot down on the way ?'
`Possibly. We shall be shot for certain if we stay here.'
`Three republican soldiers in the uniforms of the International Brigade arriving in Franco country by air are more likely to be handed a bullet apiece than a bouquet.'
Ì agree. But the result is by no means a foregone conclusion. We should have to invent a plausible story: say we are sick of the republicans —and that would be true enough, in all conscience. At a pinch we could offer to fight for them—fly for them if necessary. I'd do that if I thought there was a chance of locating Jock when we were off duty. If we got the letter we could then fly home.'
`Do you seriously think they would trust us, International deserters, with an aeroplane ?'
`Why shouldn't they ?'
Ànd risk losing a perfectly good machine ?'
`There would be no need for them to think that if we, in the first place, made them a present of one. The thing wouldn't be logical.'
`Just what do you mean ?'
Biggles pointed to the big Italian Caproni bomber that still stood on the aerodrome some distance away from the other machines. 'That's one of Franco's 'planes,' he said quietly. '
We may be sure that he would be glad to have it back. As far as I can see there is nothing to prevent us taking it—always assuming that it is in order, a matter which we can soon ascertain. That American fellow knows Ginger. He's seen us all here. Several people have. After all, we are in uniform, so there is absolutely no reason why they should suspect our design. True, they might ask us to keep away from the machine, but I fancy the very last thing any one will imagine is that we are going to pinch it and fly it over Franco's lines. Why, if we told them that they'd think we were joking—or else they would think we were mad.'
`They wouldn't be far wrong, either,' growled Algy sarcastically.
`Well, let's make up our minds,' said Biggles, with a gesture of finality. Ìt's either that—
or France. I'd rather go to France—don't make any mistake about that. But if we did fade out like that, without making any attempt to get the letter, we should feel pretty sick about it for the rest of our lives. May I remind you that Frazer did not hesitate to sacrifice his life on the mere off-chance that we should get the letter through ?'
Òh, I'm not protesting,' murmured Algy. But you must admit that chasing this confounded letter is becoming a sort of nightmare. What you say goes for me.'
`How do you feel about it, Ginger ?' asked Biggles.
Òh, let's go after the perishing letter,' replied Ginger carelessly. 'We are so up to the neck in trouble that things can't be any worse.'
Biggles straightened himself. 'Well,' he said quickly, `let's get on with it. If we stay here we shall only get the jitters. Don't hurry. We'll stroll across quietly, as if we've nothing better to do.'
`Nor have we, if it comes to that,' mused Algy.
Leaving the car where it was, they strolled casually across the parched earth towards the Caproni, which was now deserted, the novelty of it apparently having worn off. A number of mechanics were working on machines nearer the hangars, however, but they took no notice whatever of the three legionnaires.
As they approached, Biggles ran his eyes swiftly over the machine, fully expecting to see some damage which would make their plan impracticable ; but although there were some sinister-looking holes through the tail end of the fuselage and the fin, there appeared to be no damage sufficient to put the machine out of commission.
`What about petrol ?' asked Ginger.
Ìt's a modern machine so there ought to be a gauge,' answered Biggles. 'If the tank has been holed it will show empty. We mustn't risk starting up until we have ascertained as far as possible that everything is O.K. If once we attract attention to ourselves we might be asked some awkward questions.'
By this time they had reached the big bomber. `She looks brand new to me,' continued Biggles, taking a cautious glance in the direction of the aerodrome buildings. 'Stay where you are while I have a look round inside.' So saying, he entered the Caproni by the door while the others, affecting the inconsequential manner of casual visitors, strolled round the far side of the fuselage.
`Confound it! Here comes Harkwell,' exclaimed Ginger. He turned to warn Biggles, whom he could now see in the control cabin, but he desisted when he saw that Biggles had already noted the American's approach.
Ginger turned to engage him in conversation as the best way of preventing suspicion. '
Where did this pretty baby come from, Cy,' he inquired cheerfully.
The American did not smile. He looked tired. À feller sailed in with it a coupla days ago. Claimed he was fed up with the Franco mob. That sort of thing's always happening. Guess half these dons don't know what side they do want to fight on. Say, did I understand from Jock that you had been transferred to the squadron ?'
Ginger, wondering what the question might imply, hesitated for a moment. 'Why—yes,'
he answered, realizing that denial might lead to more difficult questions.
Ò.K., that's swell,' returned the American, who did not appear to be interested in
Biggles or Algy —not that there was any reason why he should be, since Ginger had introduced them as friends of his. 'We're short of fellers this morning,' continued Harkwell. 'Lopez has gone sick with toothache and Schnitz has got a touch of dysentery. I'd like you to make up the flight. We're taking off right now. I've taken over the flight now that Jock's gone west,' concluded the American by way of explanation.
Ò.K., Cy,' agreed Ginger. 'I'll just see my friends off, if you don't mind.' He spoke in even tones, although this fresh complication had thrown his brain into a whirl. To his infinite relief, Hark-well turned and walked back towards the hangars.
Biggles instantly got out of the machine. 'I heard what he said,' he announced, with his eyes on the retreating American, and the hangars beyond, where five or six single-seater fighters were being lined up. 'I'm afraid it 's going to take me a minute or two to get started up,' he went
on quickly. 'If you don't go across right away Harkwell will be back to see what the devil'
s going on here. Then we shall be sunk. It 's a pity to have to break up the party, but I don't think any great harm will be done. 'You go across, Ginger. When the engines are started up, the chances are that with so much noise close at hand they won't notice the Caproni's engines. When you are in the air, break away and follow us.'
`But if I miss you—where are you going to make for ?'
Ì can't tell you that. I know nothing about the country. Ultimately I want to get to this village where Jock went down—Ortrovidad, Harkwell called it, if I remember rightly.'
say, there's a map in Jock's room. I saw it there,' burst out Ginger excitedly. Ìf I could get hold of it I could fly to the village and you could follow me.'
Biggles looked worried. 'This is getting an awful mix-up,' he declared. 'Don't forget you'
ll be in a republican machine—but there's Harkwell calling you. You'd better go. Do the best you can.'
The American was standing by the line of single-seaters, the engines of which were now being started. Ginger ran towards him. 'I shan't be a minute, Cy,' he shouted. 'The country is a bit strange to me yet. I want to get that map out of Jock's room.'
`Don't trouble to fetch that one. I guess you can have mine ; I shan't need it,' retorted Harkwell. He climbed up to the cockpit of the machine nearest to him, and then jumped down with a folded map in his hand. 'Here you are,' he continued. 'That's your crate—
18 Biggles In Spain Page 11