The Black Peril Part 2

You see," he went on quickly, "it's really all the same to me."

"What was the last big town you saw?"

"Newcastle."

"How far away is that?"

"Ten miles; fifteen, perhaps; maybe twenty. Let's see, I was there two days ago. Must be twenty miles, I should say."

"What the d.i.c.kens are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to London."

"How?"

"Walking-how do you think? You didn't see my Rolls-Royce standing outside as you came in, did you?"

"What are you going to London for?"

"To join the Royal Air Force. If they won't have me, I'm going to Heath Row to watch the air-liners. What are you doing here, and how did you get that dud foot? I thought I heard shots just now-was that anything to do with you?"

"It certainly was."

"Crikey, don't tell me some gang has put you on the spot!"

"They have, or something very much like it. There's a bunch of foreigners on my trail; if they find me, that'll be the end of it."

"Hey, that's fine. This is the first adventure I've struck since I left Smettleworth."

"Smettleworth! Where's that?"

"I don't know except that it's the place where I come from. My father's a miner; he fetched me a clip on the ear when I told him I was going to be a pilot, so I hopped it."

"I see. Well, go and have another listen and then let's sample that fry you've got in the pan."

"I don't think it's quite done."

"What is it?"

"Mixed allsorts-bits I scrounged on the way; bread, dripping, potato, turnip, an egg-and things like that." "Who gave you the egg?"

"No one-I-er-found it."

"In somebody's hen-house, eh?"

"Never mind that. If you're squeamish I'm not asking you to eat, am I?"

"How do we eat it?"

"I've got a fork and a spoon and a pocket-knife; you can have which you like. I can manage without any of 'em, if it comes to that."

While they had been talking Biggles had taken off his boot and felt his ankle; with the restraining leather removed it was beginning to swell, quickly. "Just make sure there's n.o.body about, will you," he said, "while I tie up my ankle. I've sprained it."

"All O.K.," said the boy a moment later, after a thorough survey.

"Righto. Then I think you might light the fire again so that I can see what I'm doing. Find some gra.s.s anything'll do-to bung up those c.h.i.n.ks where the light gets through. Have you got plenty of sticks?"

"There's a fence outside which should last us; this used to be a level-crossing."

"Fine. Then go and get a good supply, will you? I shall have to try and get my things dry; I'm wet through." He bound up his foot with his handkerchief and a part of his s.h.i.+rt, and after a frugal but tasty meal felt considerably better. "Now, Ginger," he said, "I want you to help me."

"All right, but not so much of the Ginger; my name's Habblethwaite."

"Let's stick to Ginger; it's shorter," suggested Biggles. "O.K. with me," agreed the boy. "

What's your name, by the way?"

"Bigglesworth."

Ginger started violently. "Bigglesworth! Not the war-pilot, by any chance?"

"Well, I was in the war," confessed Biggles.

"Well, strike me pink!" gasped Ginger. "Biggles in the fles.h.!.+ This is my lucky day and no mistake; I know all about you, so you needn't tell me any more."

"Oh, and how do you know that?"

"Read about you, of course. You've got a pal named Algy something or other, haven't you? Where's he?"

"I left him with my aeroplane, and I'm afraid he must be getting pretty worried by this time-but never mind that now. This is serious, Ginger; understand that. I meant it when I told you that a gang of crooks are after me. They caught me, but I got away, but this sprained ankle is going to make things awkward. I expect they are still looking for me.

You can help me, but you'll have to use your head."

"O.K., chief; just tell me what you want me to do." "Is there a town or village anywhere handy?" "There's a fair-sized village about six miles away; I came through it on my way. I don't know the name of it, but I'll soon find out."

"That doesn't matter; what I want you to do is this." Biggles took out his notebook, removed several water-soaked one-pound notes, and held them by the fire to dry. "Take this money," he went on, "and find a garage. Get the driver to drive you here as fast as he can to pick me up; you'll probably have to pay him in advance."

Ginger nodded. "I get you," he said.

"Right! Then that's that. I'll get the driver to take me back to the village, and then all I shall have to do is to send a telegram to Algy Lacey at Croydon Airport. He'll fly up and fetch me."

"D'you want me to start right away?"

"I'd like you to. You'll find everything shut, of course, at this time of night, but knock up the first garage you come to. If the fellow argues, tell him that there has been an accident and that I'll pay him well for his trouble. Let him see you have money with you. If you can manage to do that, maybe I can give you a lift to London in my machine."

Ginger's eyes sparkled and he drew a deep breath. "I'll be back," he said emphatically, picking up his cap. He thrust the notes deep into his pocket and crossed to the door. "I'll be seeing you," he said, and stepped out into the night. For a moment he paused to listen, but hearing nothing set off at a brisk pace along the track. He had gone about half a mile when the beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness from a spot not six yards away; two figures loomed menacingly.

"Why, it's a kid," said one in tones of disgust.

"Say, what's the big idea?" demanded Ginger belligerently; "you can't go about making people jump that way." He could just make out the silhouette of a car standing close against the hedge.

"Where have you come from?" asked one of the men gruffly.

Ginger jerked his thumb down the lane. "There's only one road as far as I can see."

"You keep a civil tongue in your head, you saucy young pup. Did you see anyone along there?"

"No, worse luck. I was hoping to get a lift. Which way are you going?"

"Mind your own business. We're looking for a fellow; if you happen to see anyone along the road let out a yell, and I'll give you half a crown."

"O.K.," replied Ginger briskly. "If I see him I'll let you know. So long."

As soon as he was out of earshot he paused to listen. Despite his casual answers, his heart was beating violently, for he had no doubt as to the reason for the men's presence. They were watching for Biggles; should he return and warn him? No, he decided; he might defeat his own object by leading them to his hiding-place. He thought swiftly, then hurried on his way. A quarter of a mile farther on he stopped, and cupping his hands round his mouth let out a piercing yell. He grinned as he heard the engine of the car start up, and climbed up the bank to the edge of the moor. "This way!" he yelled. "Here he is," and crouching low ran out into the darkness. He waited until he heard the car stop, and heavy footsteps thumping in his tracks, and then he gave tongue again. "Make haste; he's running!" he shouted, and then, silently, and with the stealth of an Indian, began to circle back towards the car. When he reached it he could hear the men muttering in low tones some little distance away, evidently at a loss. He groped in his trousers pocket, produced a jack- knife, which he opened, and then felt along the car until his hand reached a tyre. He placed the point of the knife on it and drove it in with all his strength. The tyre was harder than he expected it to be; but the point went home; to his surprise it made no noise. He could hear the men returning, so he jerked out the knife, and the fierce hiss of escaping air that accompanied the movement threw him into a panic, for he knew that the men could not have failed to hear it. He heard one of them curse as they started to run back.

Ginger did not wait. With the knife still clasped in his hand he sped down the road like a hare with hounds on its trail, nor did he pause until he was absolutely winded. Then he replaced the knife in his pocket and set off at a steadier pace towards the now visible lights of the sleeping village. A policeman looked at him suspiciously as he struck the first row of houses, and he hesitated, turning over in his mind the advisability of asking the constable to come back with him in the car in case of trouble; but Biggles, he reflected, had said nothing about bringing a policeman, so he dismissed the idea and pa.s.sed on. He came upon a garage almost at once, easily recognised by a petrol-pump. The place was closed and in darkness, so without the slightest hesitation he beat upon the door with his fist.

A bedroom window was flung open and a man's head appeared. "What is it?" he asked.

"Have you got a car on hire?" said Ginger.

"Not at this time of night," was the short reply. "Never mind the time of night; have you got a car?"

"I have; who wants it?"

"I do."

"Want me to drive you back to your mansion, eh?" "My money is as good as anybody else's, isn't it?" "How much have you got?"

"What's that got to do with you? How much do you charge to drive six miles?"

"Cost you two pounds at this time of night."

"That's O.K. Make it snappy and I'll give you an extra ten bob."

"What's going on?" asked the man suspiciously, when, a quarter of an hour later, he appeared at the door.

"A gentleman's had an accident down the road and wants you to fetch him."

"Why didn't you say so before; where's that money?" "Here you are."

The man took the two pounds that Ginger gave him, and then dragged back the door of the garage to reappear a moment later with an ancient Ford. "Get in," he said. "Which way?"

"Straight ahead," replied Ginger. "Keep going and I'll guide you."

In twenty minutes they had reached the entrance of the sunken road. "Go slow now,"

Ginger warned the driver, "but if anyone shoots at us, step on it."

"Eh! What's that? Did you say shoot?"

"Aye. I thought I'd better warn you. If anyone tries to stop us go right ahead."

"Where do you think we are, in Mexico?" scoffed the driver.

But Ginger wasn't listening; he was looking for the damaged car, but it had gone. "Whoa!

" he cried, when they reached the disused level-crossing. "Here we are." He sprang down as the car pulled up and darted towards the hut. "Hi, Biggles, we're here !" he cried triumphantly.

With a curious p.r.i.c.kling sensation of the skin he entered the hut and struck a match. It was empty. For a moment he could not believe it. "Biggles," he whispered foolishly, "

where are you?" He ran outside. "Biggles!" he cried loudly. "Hi, it's me, Ginger !"

There was no reply. He stared at the driver of the car, white-faced.

"They've got him," he muttered hoa.r.s.ely. Then, lifting up his voice, "Biggles!" he yelled again.

For a minute or two he stood staring into the surrounding darkness. "Now what are we going to do?" he asked the driver helplessly.

"I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm going home. If I thought you'd brought me out here on a fool's errand-"

"You've been paid, haven't you?" snapped Ginger. "So what have you got to grouse about? Hold hard a minute; I'm. coming with you; it's not much use staying here."

He left the garage-man at his house, giving him the extra ten s.h.i.+llings as he had promised, and made his way, miserable, but deep in thought, further into the village.

Again he was tempted to consult a policeman, but could not bring himself to do so. He doubted very much if the police would believe him, anyway, and he could hardly blame them if they did refuse to accept such an improbable story as the one he had to tell. He wandered about till dawn, and then made his way towards the post-office.

CHAPTER III.

A RECONNAISSANCE FLIGHT.

ALGY landed late in the morning with his mind in a greater turmoil than he could ever remember; he was upset and alarmed, yet he could not bring himself to believe that any tragic fate had overtaken Biggles. Nevertheless, for the first time in his life, he was absolutely at a loss to know what to do for the best, although obviously his first duty would be to report the matter to the police.

He left the amphibian on the tarmac for the mechanics to put away, and walked absent-mindedly towards the club-house.

"There's a telegram for you, Lacey," called Benton, a club-instructor, who came out of the office as he pa.s.sed.

"Telegram for me?" cried Algy in amazement. "Who on earth-?" He took the buff envelope down from the rack and tore it open impatiently. It was addressed, simply, Algy Lacey, Croydon Airport.

Come at once. Bring machine. Biggles captured. Waiting for you at Cramlington Aerodrome.

Ginger.