"Certainly. I am Squadron Leader Taglen, of the Air Ministry, and this is Colonel Barlow of the Special Intelligence. You sent in a report recently."
"I did."
"Why did you do that?"
"Why?" Biggles opened his eyes wide. "Because I thought you would be glad to have the information." "Was it intended to be a joke?"
Biggles frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked tersely. "It was anything but a joke for us, I can assure you."
Taglen looked at him queerly. "I cannot think of any other reason why you should send us off on a wild-goose chase. We know your record, of course. You have been an officer, a responsible officer holding a command. What made you do this, Bigglesworth?"
Biggles stared at him in amazement. "What the dickens are you driving at?" he replied curtly. "Are you suggesting that I'm a liar? You can soon satisfy yourself of the truth of the matter by inspecting the places I named in my report. I told you exactly where you would find the switches controlling the floodlights."
"I know; we've been there."
"Then why do you take this attitude?"
Taglen looked at Colonel Barlow with an odd expression, then back at Biggles. "Are you really serious?" he asked.
"Dash it all, man, do you think I'd be likely to invent such a yarn?"
"We thought not, but there is little to substantiate it." "But the floodlights?"
"There are no floodlights there-nothing at all."
Biggles sprang to his feet, his injured ankle forgotten. "Good heavens!" he cried, suddenly understanding. "But you saw the mark on the wall?"
"There is no mark."
"But the switch under the floor?"
"If there is a switch we were unable to find it."
Biggles threw up his hands. "I might have guessed it," he muttered bitterly. "But what about that house, though, where I was held prisoner?" he added quickly.
"There is no such house."
"You mean you couldn't find it?"
"We found where there had been a house." "Don't talk in riddles, man; what do you mean?" "The house has been burnt down; there is only a charred skeleton left."
Biggles looked at Ginger with a grim smile. "You either made a bigger bonfire than you intended, my lad-or else they have deliberately burnt the place down to cover up their tracks. Well, Taglen, I am sorry," he went on, turning to the others, "but I can only give you my word that everything I told you in that report was true, and to my mind the subsequent actions of these people, the swift and efficient way in which they have removed all traces, go to show how serious the matter is."
"Personally, I believe you," Taglen told him, "but whether the higher authority will take the same view or not I cannot say. But one thing is certain: there is nothing left for us to work on, not a single clue. If you hear any more about the affair, or pick up the thread again, perhaps you will be good enough to let me know. You can always get in touch with me at the Ministry."
"I will."
"That's all there is to be said, then; we might as well be getting back. Good morning, Bigglesworth!"
"Well, what do you know about that?" asked Biggles, after the two officials had departed. "By James, these people waste no time; they knew we should report the matter as soon as I got away, and acted accordingly. They're smart and no mistake. Well, come on."
"Where are you going?" asked Algy.
"Norfolk. Before I do anything else I am going to satisfy myself that what these fellows told us is true. I don't doubt it for an instant, mind you, but-well, I'd just like to have a look around. What are you going to do?" The last remark was addressed to Ginger, who had whipped a flying cap and pair of goggles from his pocket-two presents from Algy.
Ginger's face fell. "Aren't I coming with you?" he cried despairingly. His disappointment was so genuine that Biggles' heart softened.
"But this is all very fine, my lad," he said. "What is your father going to say if anything happens to you? This may turn out to be no joyride, you know."
"Oh, there's no need to worry about that," replied Ginger quickly. "I wrote a postcard from Newcastle to say I'd got a job, flying."
"And what did he say to that? Was he pleased?"
"Well-er-" Ginger looked sheepish-" not exactly pleased. He said-" He took a dirty envelope from his pocket.
"Just what did he say? Come on; let's have the truth."
"Well, if you must know, he said that if I broke my blinking neck it would be my own fault."
"And he'll be quite right. Very well, you can come, but you do what you're told-understand?"
Ginger nodded. "O.K., chief," he said brightly.
They reached the creek on the Norfolk coast about the middle of the afternoon, and after a brief survey of the landscape from the air landed in exactly the same place as when they had been forced down by the storm. Seen in the clear light of day, its utter solitude was even more depressing than before, for the only signs of life were the wheeling seagulls. They taxied to the beach and walked quickly up to the hut, where a quick examination revealed that what Taglen had told them was true in every detail. Not a sign or mark of any sort remained; the place might have been unvisited since it was abandoned at the end of the war; even the candle had gone, and the mark on the wall had been carefully erased. They dug into the sandy floor, but all they uncovered was more sand.
"Well, that's that," observed Biggles. "I don't think it's any use going back to the place on the Northumberland coast, because if they have made such a thorough clean-up here they will certainly have done the same thing there. It looks as if we've come to a dead end."
"Not quite," said Algy slowly. "I've still a card up my sleeve."
"What's that?" asked Biggles sharply.
"You remember the night you left me here, and I crept up to the hut to see what I could find out?" "Perfectly well."
"I risked a peep through the window, and this is what I saw. The head chap-you know, the one with the black beard Biggles nodded.
"He had got a map held up against the wall," went on Algy. "I couldn't see very much, but I just had time to spot one or two things. The first was that there were several marks-six or seven, I should think-on the east coast of England. We know about two of them; one was the place on which we are now standing, and the other was in Northumberland. If you remember, the sign on the wall had a number over it-a figure eight, in Roman numerals, wasn't it? Well, I should say this place was number eight; there are still six others that we haven't located. I noticed that one seemed to be somewhere in Essex, but I was too far away to see the exact spot. The important thing is, though, that from each one of these places a line had been drawn, in the way they mark shipping routes on a map, to a spot in Europe, which, I imagine, is the headquarters of the whole thing. It looked to me as if a course had been plotted on the map to each one of the places over here."
"Where was this place?" asked Biggles abruptly.
"I'm not quite certain, because it was a small-scale map, but I could put my finger on the spot to within fifty or a hundred miles. The lines ran straight across the North Sea, across northern Germany, to the Baltic coast. They either ended in Eastern Prussia, or in Russia.
Biggles whistled. "Russia, eh? Those fellows who came to see me in the house were Russians; I'd bet on it. ,, "Well, that's where the big machine started from and where it's gone back to," declared Algy. "Well?" "I was just wondering."
"Yes, and I know what you were wondering. You were thinking about flying over the ditch and having a look round?"
"You've got it," admitted Biggles. "It would be a bit risky "I don't see why it should be if our papers are in order. We've got our passports. We can get carnets* from the Aero Club, and set off on an ordinary air tour. Who is going to say that we aren't just air tourists?"
"That might be all right in most places, but I'm not so sure about Russia. I do not think we should be able to get permission to even fly over Russian territorial waters. If we did go without permission, and had 1Touring abroad by air is not merely a matter of " Go as you please." The aircraft must carry a Journey Logbook (which is made up like a ship's log), an Aircraft Log, Engine's Log, and Pilot's Logbook. The Journey Logbook must be made up at each port of call and signed by a responsible official. Then there is the Customs Carnet (pronounced carnay), which is issued by the Royal Aero Club to avoid difficulties with Customs officials in the matter of import duties. The machine's Certificate of Airworthiness must be carried; the pilot must carry his Pilot's Certificate and the Registration Certificate of the aeroplane. Passports must, of course, be carried, and endorsed or visaed at certain places.-W.E.J.
to come down for any reason, there would be the dickens of a stink. I don't want to end my days in Siberia. Blackbeard knows us; don't forget that. If he saw us it wouldn't be much use saying we were just on a harmless tour."
"Then why not go to Germany? Let's go as far as the Baltic and see what happens there before we make further plans."
"Yes, we could do that. It looks to me as if Russia and that part of Germany dominated by Russia are in this, with Great Britain as the objective. It's a long way from Russia to here, but not too far for a high-efficiency bomber. If they'll go as far as fitting up elaborate floodlights over here, there is no reason why they shouldn't have petrol dumps for refuelling; submarines could lie around the coast with petrol and oil on board, if it comes to that. Well, we've nothing else to do; if there is a plot afoot it's up to us to find out what it is, if we can."
"You've sure spilt a bibful," observed Ginger. "I guess-"
"You keep your guesses under your hat for a bit, my lad, and for goodness' sake stop that Yankee drawl, or you'll have us all doing it before you've finished."
"O.K. baby-sorry-I mean, righto."
"That's better."
"That's settled, then," put in Algy.
"Yes, we'll get back to the drome and fix things up; it shouldn't take more than a day or two."
"That's fine," declared Ginger.
"I didn't say you were coming."
"I know you didn't, but I sort of took it for granted." "You take too much for granted, young fellow-melad. You know what your father told you?"
"You mean about if I break my neck it will be my own fault?"
"Yes."
"Well, I shouldn't grumble; it's my own neck, anyway."
Biggles looked at him doubtfully. "All right," he said slowly at last. "I suppose there's no way of getting rid of you."
"You've said it," Ginger told him cheerfully.
CHAPTER VII.
WARNED OUT.
THE amphibian circled gracefully and dropped lightly on to the smooth waters of a once-famous German seaplane base, and taxied slowly past several machines that rode at moorings, towards the Custom House.
"Well, we're over the ditch, anyway," observed Biggles to Algy, who sat beside him.
Eight days had elapsed since their decision to explore the Baltic coast had been made, eight days of exasperating delays while their papers were being prepared. The party had now increased to four, for Biggles would not risk travelling so far afield without Smyth, their efficient mechanic, who now shared the cabin with Ginger.
"The thing I don't like about this show is that we've got to travel under our proper names, " muttered Algy, as they made fast to the slipway. "That doesn't matter very much as far as I am concerned, I know, but Black-beard knows your name, and so do some of the others, and the chances are that they are over here somewhere at this very minute; you say the chances of running into them or of their hearing your name mentioned are remote, but I don't agree with you. There are only one or two seaplane stations in Germany today, and you know how news travels. People-flying people, at any rate-are bound to come quizzing round a British machine; we should do the same thing to a German kite in England-in fact, we've done it more than once."
"Suppose Blackbeard does learn that I'm here, what of it? He can't very well have us arrested for just being here, if our papers are in order, as they are; the British Consul would want to know why. In any case, I think the chances are against anyone even noticing our names; they will mean nothing to the people in the Passport Office. We couldn't fake our passports, anyway, so we had to travel under our real names or not at all."
"You're right there, but I don't agree about not spotting our names. On the Continent people pay a good deal more attention to such things than we do, and if Blackbeard wanted us out of the way he'd find an excuse to get us out of the way, don't make any mistake about that; if you don't know German methods by this time it's about time you did."
"We're here, so it's a bit late in the day to argue about that," replied Biggles shortly. "Let us report in and get filled up with petrol. If any questions are asked you know the story-we're just on a pleasure cruise round the Baltic. Let's get fixed up and have a bite of food.
The formalities proved far less exacting than they expected; indeed, if the attitude of the officials could be taken as an indication they were more than welcome in the country.
Their Journey Log was stamped, and they were cleared by Customs with a minimum of trouble or delay. Neither was there any difficulty about getting their tanks filled with oil and petrol. The officer who examined and " cleared " the machine, in reply to their inquiry, told them in quite good English that they would get excellent food at the aerodrome cafe, and pointed it out to them.
Accordingly they all made their way towards it, and were soon eating an acceptable meal.
There were very few people in the place: one or two mechanics in overalls, an obvious sightseer, and a couple of fellows who might have been club pilots. The English party attracted little or no attention.
They heard a machine come in and land while they were rounding off a well-enjoyed meal with cheese, but they paid no attention to it. A moment later, as a voice reached them from outside, Biggles suddenly stiffened, and moved his chair quickly so that his back was towards the door.
"Go on eating," he said quietly, "and don't stare. Order coffee, and on no account mention my name. Speak quietly and we may not be noticed."
Algy, after Biggles' first half-dozen words, glanced towards the door. A man was looking in through the glass panels, as if in search of somebody. It was Black-beard. He pushed the door open and entered, speaking quickly to the waiter. He spoke in German, so they could not understand what he said.
The waiter, evidently in reply to some question, shook his head, and then departed, to return a moment later with two tankards of beer, which he set on the table beside Blackbeard. The door opened again and another man joined him; Algy thought it was one of the crew of the flying-boat, but he was not quite sure. They settled themselves comfortably in their chairs and began a low conversation.
"This is going to be awkward," breathed Biggles. "If we go he is bound to see me, and we can't stay here indefinitely without an excuse."
"We'll have some more coffee," replied Algy quietly, and gave the order to the waiter.
"We were fools to come to this place," ventured Biggles, after half an hour had elapsed and still Black-beard and his companion showed no signs of moving. "We should have known that if he was about he would be certain to come here; I expect all the pilots use this place."
A movement in front of him caught his eye. He glanced up and saw that he was sitting opposite to a large wall-mirror that bore an advertisement. It was not that, however, that made him catch his breath; Blackbeard was looking straight at his reflection in the glass.
As Biggles looked up he -looked away and resumed the conversation with his companion in a perfectly normal voice.
Whether he had been recognized or not Biggles had no means of knowing, but very shortly afterwards Black-beard rose, threw some money on the table, and with a parting word to the waiter left the room with his companion.
"Have they gone?" asked Biggles as the door closed behind them.
Algy nodded. "Think he spotted you?"
"I don't know," replied Biggles slowly. "He's a cunning beggar. If he did see me he didn't blink an eyelid."
"What had we better do?"
"Watch where he goes."