Biggles told Alan crisply. Without waiting for a reply, although the range was too long for accurate shooting, he emptied his automatic at the bandits. Slipping in another clip he again opened a rapid fire. This had the desired effect of forcing the enemy to seek cover, although it did not, of course, prevent them from returning the fire.
Biggles still had a card to play. He had two bombs left. After adjusting the fuses he ran forward, ducking and twisting, and hurled them into the enemy's position. Then he turned and raced for the machine, now taxying in at a speed that threatened to drive it ashore.
As Alan waded out to meet it—for the water near the bank was shallow—it swung round in a smother of creamy foam. Then came two explosions, and in the few seconds' grace provided by the smoke, and no doubt by the confusion they must have caused, Biggles followed Alan into the aircraft.
The engines were roaring, and the machine accelerating even before he had got the door shut.
If there was any shooting he did not hear it. Ginger afterwards said there was. Anyway, no bullets touched the machine, and by the time Biggles was picking himself up—he was content at first to sit on the floor—the machine was airborne. He looked at Alan and grinned. "What you might call cutting it a bit fine," he observed.
"A bit too fine," returned Alan feelingly.
"No matter. We've done a good night's work and you'll have a tale to tell when you get home," declared Biggles. Then he laughed. "The only thing is, no one will believe you. I'
ll go and tell Ginger to push along. I don't know about you, but I could do with some breakfast."
BIGGLES BAITS THE TRAP
" GINGER " Hebblethwaite glanced up as Biggles came into their office after a prolonged absence. "You've been a long time," he complained.
"What goes on ? "
"Why, getting restless again ? " was the bantering reply.
Ginger eyed a small area of blue sky framed by the window. "It struck me as a nice fine day for doing something exciting," he observed.
"Then let's go and do it," returned Biggles, reaching for his cap.
Ginger started. "What are we going to do ? " he demanded crisply.
Biggles smiled faintly. "We're going to do a little experimental work in that ancient pastime known as trailing a red herring."
Ginger looked pained. "Come clean," he protested.
"All right—but let's have a little less film slang," suggested Biggles.
"In plain English we're going to pinch the priceless pearls of the Rajah of Rantipanathat's all."
Ginger blinked. "You're going to what ? " "You heard what I said."
"Suppose you give me the gen," requested Ginger, slipping into R.A.F.
jargon.
"All right ; here it is, as briefly as I can tell it," obliged Biggles, selecting a cigarette from his case and tapping it on the back of his hand. "A smart gang of jewel thieves has taken to flying about its business. I told you about that. I also told you that I was only waiting for Algy and Bertie to come back from leave in order to get cracking after them. But it happens that
the matter has suddenly become urgent, so I've had to get in touch with them to get them on the job. This is the position. You remember the big diamond robbery in Paris last week ? "
"Of course."
"The diamonds were in New York the following day, which can only mean that they were flown there. If we knew the type of machine being used by these crooks our job of catching them would be easy—but we don't. We haven't a clue. l'm hoping to get one today, and, with luck, perhaps nail the crooks into the bargain."
"And just how are you going to do that ? "
"I'll tell you. The New York Police report that one of the men suspected of being connected with the jewel thieves is now in London. If one is here it seems likely that they're all here. Why have they come here ? "
"To do another job ? "
" Exactly : and I think I know what it is," said Biggles seriously. "The Rajah of Rantipana is on his way to this country from India for the Far East Conference. He is due to land at Gatwick Airport this afternoon at two-thirty. He has with him his cele-brated pearls. Everyone knows that because the story has appeared in the newspapers."
"Why publish the story in the newspapers ? " grumbled Ginger.
"It was published at my request," replied Biggles, tapping the ash off his cigarette.
Ginger's eyes opened wide. Then he nodded slowly. I get it. You wanted to bring the jewel thieves over here ? "
"Just so. The pearls, in a blue morocco case, will be carried by one of the Rajah's attendants."
"The case should be chained to his wrist."
"The Frenchman carrying the diamonds last week tried that and got his hand cut off at the wrist, as a result of which he died," said Biggles coldly. "The attendant carrying the pearls on this occasion will be a Scotland Yard man. He will allow me to steal them. In other words, I hope to beat the crooks to it. Having got the pearls I shall sprint across the airfield to where you will be sitting in the cockpit of our Mosquito, with the engines ticking over. As I jump in you will take off."
Ginger blinked. "And what good will that do ? "
The crooks will be on the spot, with everything nicely planned, no doubt
; and also, unless I am on the wrong track, with an aircraft waiting.
What they won't be prepared for is my cutting in first. When they've recovered from the shock, what will they do ? "
"Shoot you, probably," answered Ginger grimly.
"I shall endeavour to avoid an event so melancholy, you may be sure,"
returned Biggles smiling. "They will certainly be very angry and resent my interference. When they've grasped the horrid truth they'll set off after us."
Ginger nodded slowly. "So we set off, flat out, with the Rajah's regalia, hotly pursued by the thwarted thugs ? "
"That's the idea."
"And where do I head for—assuming I get off the ground with the loot ? "
"I've considered that very carefully," replied Biggles. "We'll make for Margon, which is a nice quiet little airfield near Lyons, in France, where we shall repair to the refreshment room and have a snack. There, if my plan works, we shall presently be interrupted by the crooks, who will try to get what they failed to get at Gatwick."
"How will they know where we've gone ? "
"They'll spot the course we take. In the air I shall slow down to a speed that will nearly enable them to overtake us—but not quite."
"And what happens when they demand the pearls ?"
"I shall pull the string and they'll find themselves in the bag. We must get them redhanded, so to speak."
"Aren't you taking a chance ? I mean—how many of these crooks are there ?
"
"That's one of the things I want to find out." "You'll look silly if they bump you off and get the pearls," declared Ginger.
"If I'm bumped off I shall be past caring what I look like," answered Biggles lightly.
"Are you taking a gun ? "
"I am. You'd better take yours, too ; I have an idea you may need it. But come on. Let's get cracking. We haven't too much time."
At two-thirty precisely, dead on schedule, the big blue and silver monoplane privately owned by the Rajah of Rantipana, touched its wheels on the broad Gatwick runway, swung round and taxied slowly to the airport buildings where a little group of people, airport officers, government representatives, reporters and cameramen, stood waiting.
Among the latter, a camera hanging on his chest, was Biggles.
For the tenth time his eyes swept round the aerodrome, trying to decide which of the several machines in sight was most likely to be the one in which he was chiefly interested—the crooks' transport. Some, belonging to air operating companies, he was able to dismiss at once ; also the grey-painted police Mosquito, with engines idling and Ginger's head just visible through the windscreen. Of the others, his interest was focused mainly on three American machines, two of them converted war types, a
nd the other, a racy-looking light transport Volting, a single engine high-wing monoplane, painted dark red with a white flash running aft from the engine cowling. A man, possibly the pilot or a member of the crew, was leaning nonchalantly against
the port wing tip. Through the open door a second man could be seen moving inside.
Further inspection of the aircraft was prevented by the arrival of the Rajah and his entourage at the reception gate. The spectators surged nearer and crowded round the central figures—the Rajah himself, his secretary, and a white man who carried a portfolio in one hand and a blue morrocco case in the other. A bouquet was presented.
Greetings were exchanged. Cameras went up. Shutters clicked.
Biggles pushed his way to the front, his camera raised. An instant later came a blinding flash followed by a dense cloud of white smoke which enveloped visitors and spectators alike in its reeking coils.
The chorus of startled cries and shouts of alarm that arose were heard plainly by Ginger, sitting in the cockpit of the Mosquito a hundred yards away. Watching, with nerves braced, he saw Biggles burst out of the crowd, the blue case in his left hand, and start to run, followed closely by another man who groped in his pocket as he ran. The man's hand came up. A pistol cracked. Biggles swerved, but raced on towards the Mosquito, swerving again to spoil the aim of the man who was shooting at him.
By this time Ginger's pistol was out ; but he hesitated to shoot for fear that Biggles'
pursuer was a member of the Rajah's staff, or a genuine detective. Then, seeing that Biggles was in real danger, he fired two quick shots into the ground close to the feet of the pursuer. This had the desired effect. The man stopped, hesitated, then fired at the aircraft, without hitting it, however.
Biggles raced up, panting, and took a flying leap into the Mosquito. "Get going," he said tersely, dropping into the spare seat.
Ginger was ready. The motors bellowed. The Mosquito quivered as it moved.
The tail lifted, and a moment later the machine was in the air, skimming low over the boundary fence. For a few seconds Ginger held the aircraft down ; then he eased the control column back in a climbing turn and took up the prearranged course.
"What happened ? " he demanded. "Were the crooks there ? "
"They certainly were," answered Biggles, who, with the jewel case on his lap, was still breathing heavily. "They nearly beat me to it. I was just moving in when there was a bang as a smoke bomb exploded. Actually, it helped me. I grabbed the case and bolted."
"Who was that fellow after you—the little dark chap ? "
"I think he was one of the crooks, but I'm not sure. He made a grab for the case just as I did—in fact we both got hold of it together ; but I socked him on the jaw, got clear and ran. Go easy while I have a look behind. We mustn't get too far in front in case they lose sight of us."
Biggles studied the sky astern for a minute before he spoke again. Then he said : " Okay ; they're after us. It's the red-painted Volting. I thought that might be the machine. Keep going, but don't let them get too close in case they've machine guns aboard."
Ginger settled down for the run to France.
The flight passed without incident. The Volting hung on the Mosquito's tail, but Ginger, in the faster machine, took care that it was never close enough to do any mischief.
Eventually, with the Margon airfield on the horizon, under Biggles'
instruction Ginger, as if suddenly aware that he was being pursued, forged on ahead, and while the American machine was still a speck in the sky, landed and taxied up to the airport buildings. The only other machine on the landing ground was a drab-looking Tiger Moth.
The airport manager was waiting. It turned out that, at Biggle's request, he had been warned by Scotland Yard, via Police Headquarters in Paris, of what was afoot, so when Biggles had shown his credentials he announced that he was ready to co-operate in any way. Biggles thanked him, told him that there was nothing he could do and would be well advised to keep out of the way. Then, leaving the Mosquito where it stood, taking the blue jewel case with him Biggles led the way to the refreshment room.
There were two other people present, sitting at separate tables, each with tea in front of him. One was a parson, presumably a French cure, and the other, a mechanic of some sort, dressed in blue overalls with beret pulled on at a rakish angle. After a perfunctory glance Ginger paid no further attention to them, his interest being taken up by the Volting which, he could see through the window, had just landed and was taxying tail up towards the Mosquito.
A neat waitress came from behind the refreshment counter and asked the travellers what they would like. Biggles ordered tea and some biscuits, which were quickly brought.
Biggles sipped his tea and took a bite out of a biscuit.
Ginger, with his eye on the door, said softly, "Here they are. There are three of them.
They've left their motor ticking over so I imagine the pilot is still in the machine. That makes four of them altogether."
"Okay," murmured Biggles. "Keep calm."
Ginger reached for a biscuit, but his mind was certainly not on food. He was wondering just how they would be approached by the jewel thieves—for that they would be approached he had no doubt whatever.
His mental question was soon answered. The three newcomers, one of whom he recognised instantly as the little dark man who had chased Biggles at Gatwick, strode up to the table at which they sat. Biggles did not move. He appeared to be unaware of their presence.
One of the men, presumably the leader, as he was slightly in front, a tall good looking man with cold grey eyes and a hard mouth, spoke briefly but to the point. "Come on," he said harshly. "Hand 'em over."
Biggles glanced up. "Are you talking to me ? " "I am," was the snapped reply.
"What do you want ? " inquired Biggles.
"You know what I want—hand them over," rapped out the man. And as he spoke he reached out for the blue case which lay on a spare chair close to the tea table.
But Biggles was first. He put his right hand firmly on the case. "That is not your property," he said quietly.
"Quit quibbling," snarled the man, and knocking Biggles' hand aside he snatched up the case.
Biggles shrugged. " And just what do you think you are going to find in that case ? " he inquired evenly.
There was a moment of brittle silence, and Ginger braced himself for the clash which he felt was imminent.
The little dark man spoke in a voice with a curious foreign accent. "Open der case and make sure de pearls are in it," he rasped.
Biggles shook his head sadly. "If it's the Rajah's pearls you're looking for you're on the wrong track," he said.
Again a nasty silence fell. Nobody spoke. Then, moving quickly, with his eyes on Biggles' face, the man who held the case snapped it open. It was empty. He drew a deep breath. "Where are they ? " he grated through his teeth.
"In the strong room at the Savoy Hotel, London, I imagine, by this time,"
replied Biggles calmly. "At my suggestion the pearls were put in another bag before this pretty blue case left the machine."
Another silence. The tall man stared at Biggles as if fascinated. "Who are you ? " he managed to get out.
"Detective-Inspector Bigglesworth of Scotland Yard," replied Biggles.
"Are you coming quietly ? "
The tall man had a pistol out in a flash. Cursing viciously he pointed the muzzle at Biggles' head. A shot crashed. But Biggles did not move a muscle. Instead, the tall man staggered, clutching at a shattered arm while his pistol thudded on the floor.
Ginger, amazed, looked round, and saw that the man whom he had taken to be a priest was standing up, a smoking revolver in his hand and a monocle in his eye. Ginger gasped as he recognised Air Constable Bertie Lissie.
The mechanic was also on his feet, pistol at the ready. Ginger recognised Algy Lacey.
The pilot of the crook aircraft, having apparently heard the shot, dashed into the room. "
&
nbsp; What goes on ? " he demanded.
"You'll find out," answered Biggles curtly. "Stand still, I want you too.
And let me warn you all, if you still fancy your chance of getting away, that there is a cordon of French police round the building—all burning to avenge their comrade whom you murdered last week in Paris."
Nobody moved.
Biggles stood up and took out his handcuffs. Algy and Bertie closed in.
The handcuffs clicked. Biggles whistled. A French inspector of police, followed by several gendarmes, bustled in.
"Here are your men, Monsieur," said Biggles. "I'll leave them with you for the time being. I shall have to be getting back to Scotland Yard. He turned to the others with a faint smile. "All the same, I think we have time to finish our tea before we go."
41 Biggles Takes The Case Page 8