Biggles Fails To Return Part 9

Algy did not press the question. 'I am a stranger in these parts,' he explained. 'Tel me, does the word Castil on mean anything to you?'

The man considered the matter. 'It may-and it may not,' he replied.

Algy perceived that he was not likely to learn much from this churlish fel ow. He had one last try.

'Is it a place-a vil age, perhaps?'

'It was,' replied the man. 'Are you thinking of going there?'

'Yes.'

The man laughed. 'The cats wil be pleased to see you,' he observed.

'Cats?' Algy began to think he was dealing with a madman. 'Is this a vil age of cats?' he queried.

The man nodded. He seemed to be enjoying a private joke. 'That's right-a vil age of cats. The cats eat the birds. You wil be able to eat the cats.'

Roaring with laughter the man turned towards a motor boat that was tied up to the quay.

Algy took a last look round. Then, deep in thought, he walked slowly up the steps of the Escalier du Port. Looking back from the top he could see no sign of Bertie or Ginger. Only a young girl in black was walking along the Quai de Plaisance.

Chapter 10.

Shattering News When Bertie and Ginger, in the bedroom at Number 6, Rue Mariniere, heard the police at the door, they a.s.sumed, natural y, that they had been traced. Had there been any way of escape it is likely that Bertie would have taken it, but hastening to the window he found himself gazing down for a hundred feet or more on to a pile of jagged rocks. Definitely, there was no escape that way. Indeed, it seemed that there was nothing they could do.

Ginger's first thought was for Jeanette and her mother, who had taken him in and befriended him, for it seemed likely that if al eged spies were discovered on the premises they would find themselves facing a firing party as accessories.

'I'm sorry about this, Jeanette,' he said bitterly, taking her hand. 'I should not have come here. Nor should I have asked you to find my friend and bring him here.'

'You did quite right to come here, monsieur monsieur,' said Jeanette softly.

During this brief interval voices could be heard at the door, but the actual words could not be distinguished. The voices ended abruptly. A door was closed. Footsteps could be heard slowly ascending the stairs. Jeanette ran to the corridor, looked out and came back.

'It is Mama,' she said. 'The police have gone.'

Ginger could hardly believe his ears. He had quite made up his mind that the house was about to be searched.

Madame Ducoste came slowly into the room.

n.o.body spoke. Al eyes were on her face, which was as pale as death.

' Messieurs Messieurs,' she said in a low voice. 'It is tragic news.'

'You mean-they know I came here?' said Ginger.

'No. The visit had nothing to do with you. It concerned Henri.'

'Henri?' cried Bertie, incredulously.

' Oui, monsieur Oui, monsieur. He has been caught. It seems that the night before last he flew to these parts, doubtless to look again on his home; but in returning his engine failed, and he crashed.'

Algy glanced at Bertie. 'Where did this happen, madame madame?'

'Just beyond Peil e. Between Peil e and Baudon.'

'Was he hurt?'

'Yes, but not badly. His head was cut, and for a time he was unconscious. They carried him to Peil e, where a doctor attended him, and where he wil remain until he is wel enough for the police to take him to Nice.'

'And then, madame madame?'

'He wil be tried as a traitor.'

'This is what the police told you?'

' Oui, monsieur. Oui, monsieur. They came to inform me official y of his arrest, and to ask me if he had been here.' They came to inform me official y of his arrest, and to ask me if he had been here.'

'You told them no?'

'I told them the truth. He has not been here.'

'Yes, we know that, madame madame,' said Ginger quietly.

'You know? How do you know this?'

'Because we know the errand that brought him here. It was he who brought us to Monaco. His engine must have gone wrong soon after he started back for England. I'm sorry now that I did not tel you this before, but it seemed cruel to burden you with anxiety. I thought it was better that you should not know that it was he who brought us here in case by any chance you were questioned by the police. Then you could tel the truth, saying that you knew nothing of him.' Ginger looked at Bertie. 'I told madame madame that we knew Henri as a pilot of the Fighting French,' he explained. 'I did not tel her that he brought us here.' that we knew Henri as a pilot of the Fighting French,' he explained. 'I did not tel her that he brought us here.'

Madame Ducoste sank into a chair, tragedy written on her face. 'They wil shoot Henri,' she said in a dul voice.

Bertie spoke. 'Do you know where he is, in Peil e, madame madame?'

'In the sanitorium.'

'Is there a guard?'

'A gendarme gendarme remains always with him.' remains always with him.'

Bertie looked at Ginger. 'I've been to this place, Peil e. It's about six miles from La Turbie, as the crow flies, at the far end of the val ey in which we landed. It sits on a ledge, in the mountains. The sanitorium is just this side of the vil age.' To madame madame he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, 'Don't give up hope. There is stil time for us to do something.' Ginger had never seen him so serious.

'But what can you do?' asked Madame Ducoste, helplessly.

'Leave the matter in our hands,' answered Bertie.

'It is rash to make promises, but we do not desert our friends.'

'I am sure of that,' breathed Jeanette.

'Confound this wound in my leg . . .' began Ginger.

'How long is it going to take to get right?' asked Bertie.

'I think I could get about,' returned Ginger. 'I'm a bit weak, that's al . It was madame madame's suggestion that I should rest for a day or two, and until this happened I was prepared to take her advice.'

'I wil make some soup,' said madame madame, and went down to the kitchen.

'You had better go down, too, mademoiselle mademoiselle,'

suggested Bertie. 'We would like to talk things over.'

Jeanette's eyes smiled at Ginger, and she fol owed her mother down the stairs.

'Now that's my idea of a girl,' declared Ginger. 'I'm absolutely crazy about her. She's the most marvel ous thing. . . .'

'Here, I say, just a minute, old boy,' reproved Bertie. 'Keep your hand on the jol y old throttle or you'l be out of control before you know where you are. Things are complicated enough as it is; if you're are. Things are complicated enough as it is; if you're going to start ordering bouquets and writing poetry. . . .'

'Okay-okay,' broke in Ginger. 'She speaks English jol y wel , too. Before the war madame madame used to let apartments to English visitors.' used to let apartments to English visitors.'

Bertie took out his monocle and turned a cold eye on his companion. 'I don't care if she speaks Greek, Arabic, Hindustani and Urdu. Is this a romance or a rescue? What I'm waiting to hear is, how did you come to get in this mess?'

In a few words Ginger told him what had happened. 'I don't know where this waiter Mario comes in,' he concluded, 'but he's in the party.

Biggles must have gone to the Chez Rossi. Mario, of the Chez Rossi, kil s the man who double-crossed the princess. That isn't coincidence. I fol owed him to the Vil a Valdora and got landed with the murder. I was al in when I got here, and pa.s.sed out on the floor. Jeanette and her mother were marvel ous. . . .'

'You've said that before.'

'I shal probably say it again,' declared Ginger.

'They looked after me as if I was their own son.

When I came round I told them as much as I dare- said I was an Englishman looking for a friend who had got stuck down here. I didn't say anything about Henri flying us down for reasons which you heard me explain. Anyway, if I had, one thing would have led to another, and I didn't want to say too much. Natural y, I wanted to let you know what had happened, so I asked Jeanette to go down to the Quai de Plaisance to look for a bloke with a guitar. She found you and brought you along. What have you been doing?'

Ginger's face was a picture while Bertie told his story, which, of course, explained the mystery of his being fol owed by the boatman, Francois. 'There's no doubt that it was Mario who stuck the stiletto into Zabani,' continued Bertie. 'As you say, somehow he is mixed up in this; the way he hid the Pernod card and b.u.mped me on the boko when I tried to have a dekko at it proves that. He's a nasty piece of work.

I'l resume the argument with him when I have time.

Meanwhile, this is a bad business about Henri. Even if we could get him away it looks as though we're stuck on the Riviera for the duration.'

'Looks like it,' agreed Ginger moodily. 'We don't seem to have done much towards settling the mystery of Biggles either. We stil don't know whether he's dead or alive. I wonder what Algy's up to? You say he went to Nice?'

'That was the idea.'

'Then al I can think is there must have been some writing on the wal at Jock's Bar to keep him there, or he would have been back by now.'

While he was speaking Jeanette came back into the room with a tray. She glanced at Ginger. 'Did I hear you speak about writing on a wal , monsieur monsieur?'

she inquired.

'Why, yes, mademoiselle mademoiselle,' replied Bertie, looking surprised. 'Do you know anything about it?'

'Only that I have seen writing on a wal .'

'Where?'

'By the Quai de Plaisance.'

Ginger flashed a glance at Bertie, then looked back at Jeanette. 'When?'

'This morning, when I wait for monsieur monsieur of the guitar.' of the guitar.'

Bertie turned to Ginger. 'Did you say anything to Jeanette about the writing on the wal ?'

'Not a word,' declared Ginger. 'Tel me, Jeanette, what did you see?'

Jeanette shrugged a shoulder. 'I saw writing.'

'But how? I mean-did you know it was there?'

'But no. What happens was this,' explained Jeanette. 'As I walk down the hil this morning at the early hour to seek monsieur monsieur of the guitar-' of the guitar-'

'Cal him Bertie-it's shorter.'

' Oui, monsieur Oui, monsieur. As I go to find Bertie I see a girl with a shawl blue. She does something to the wal . I think, what can a girl do so early with a wal , so as I walk I watch. A man, he comes. He goes near.

Voila! Mademoisel e of the shawl blue runs up the Escalier du Port. Monsieur, he runs to the place where she does something to the wal . He is agitated. He runs up the escalier escalier. He runs back, tout tout de suite de suite*1. He speaks with Monsieur Budette, he of the one eye. Monsieur Budette, he goes home. What is this, I think. Everyone is going somewhere. While I wait for monsieur monsieur Bertie I go to the wal to see what happens that makes everyone run. I see writing. Bertie I go to the wal to see what happens that makes everyone run. I see writing.

C'est tout*2.'

'In blue pencil?'

'But yes. How did you know?'

'And it said, "Chez Rossi. Pernod."'

'But no.'

Ginger stared. 'But yes! I saw it myself.'

'Then you do not see what I see,' returned Jeanette definitely. 'First, there is a place where someone has wrote. It is covered with much scribbling. Then there is writing. It says-' Jeanette wrinkled her forehead in an effort to remember. 'Oh, yes. It says: Castil on. Au bon cuisine. Then there is a word I do not know. The day of May. No, May Day.'

Ginger stared. 'Wait a minute,' he said slowly.

'Are you sure of this?'