The Black Peril Part 6

"That's it," declared Ginger, getting up; "leave it to me!"

"But-" began Algy.

"Ginger's right," interposed Biggles swiftly. "He is far less likely to attract attention. Off you go, Ginger; slip back here as soon as he goes."

Ginger was out of the door like a shot-hands in his pockets, whistling nonchalantly between his teeth.

"I don't like letting him loose like that," Biggles went on as Ginger disappeared from view, "but he's as sharp as a needle and can afford to take chances that we could not. He'd get away with anything. I'm beginning to like the young blighter."

"So am I," confessed Algy-"hullo, who's this? It's the pa.s.sport chap, and he's coming over here."

"So! Gentlemens, you have eaten well, yes?" observed the officer as he strolled over to their table, with a benevolent smile.

"Very well indeed, thanks. Have a drink?" invited Biggles.

"That is kind of you!"

Biggles ordered. "Won't you sit down?" he said. "Thank you, no, I must not stay. Work I must; always the work."

Biggles watched him closely; he felt that the man had come to them with a definite object, and wondered what it was. He was soon to know.

"You go back to England now, yes? " asked the German, still smiling.

"Not just yet; we've only just come over."

"Which way you go, to Sweden is it, yes?"

"No! We were going to see a bit of the coast; up towards Danzig, you know."

The German screwed his face into a grimace. "But that is not good," he said. "We are having very bad weather reports from there now. I have one now, today; already they have snow."

"We don't mind a bit of rough weather."

"It will be better, I think, if you took a course to the west. If you have bad weather, and are forced down perhaps, it may be said that we gave you no weather report."

Biggles drew a deep breath. "So that's it, is it?" he thought. Then aloud, "Well, we aren't really particular. We'll just have a flip round and if we see bad weather ahead we'll come back here. Then we shall probably move either towards home or Sweden."

"That would be much, much better," the German replied smilingly, but there was no humour in his steely grey eyes. "We do our best to avoid accidents," he added as an afterthought.

"So do we," Biggles told him.

"You stay here the night?"

"Probably. Our plans are not quite settled, as a matter of fact; we just fly when we feel like it."

"So! I must go," said the German draining his tankard and rising. "I think, Major Bigglesworth, you follow my advice, yes? You will find the weather better to the west."

Biggles smiled. "Righto," he said. "Thanks for warning us."

"No thanks are necessary; it is our duty to take care of our guests. Guten abend."

"You can take care of your guests all right," Biggles muttered softly after his retreating form, and then to Algy, "Well, that's their first card; it's a warning, and a fair one. What he has said in actual fact is, get out white the going's good. Did you notice the way he dropped my name? He did that deliberately."

Algy nodded. "Yes," he said, "it's as clear as daylight. If we head east after this we are heading for trouble."

. An aero engine burst into life in the harbour, died down for a moment, and then burst into a full-throated roar as the machine took off.

"That's our friend Blackbeard, I'll bet," breathed Biggles.

The door opened and Ginger hurried across to them. "He's gone," he said.

"Then let's follow him. We'll see which direction he goes, anyway!" declared Biggles, springing to his feet.

"Are you telling me?" drawled Ginger. "I'll say you'd be lucky."

"What do you mean?"

"Go and take a look. They've moored a barge right across our nose."

Biggles paid the bill and walked quickly to the door, which overlooked the harbour. An e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of alarm broke from his lips as he looked through the gla.s.s-panelled door.

Right across the nose of their aircraft had been moored a small, black sea-going barge; another, which had evidently just come into the harbour, was drifting broadside on with the current straight towards the amphibian. A man stood in the stern with a long sweep, presumably trying to steer his craft clear of the aeroplane, but either by accident or design was making matters worse.

Biggles' lips set in a straight line. "Come on," he snapped; "they're going to crash us,"

and he started, running as fast as his game ankle would permit towards the harbour, closely followed by the others.

It looked as if they would be too late, for the moving barge was not more than a dozen yards away, and the stationary one effectually barred any progress of the machine in a forward direction.

"Get to the wing-tip, somebody!" shouted Biggles, taking a running jump into the c.o.c.kpit.

Ginger saw what was required instantly. He slithered along the plane to the wing tip, and, reaching out, fended the machine away from the barge with all his strength. For a few seconds it was touch-and-go. The lightly floating aeroplane swung away from the vessel under Ginger's pressure, and he slid along the leading edge of the plane, still holding the machine off; then, as it swung round, he jumped on to the nose and pushed the machine clear, bringing its nose round towards the open sea. The engine came to life, and with stick and rudder hard over, Biggles drove the amphibian clear of the narrow gap just as the barge crunched down upon the slipway. The danger was past; dire calamity had been averted by a few seconds of time, for had they delayed their departure from the cafe by a single minute the amphibian would inevitably have been crushed like an eggsh.e.l.l.

The Pa.s.sport Officer came running down the slipway from his office, shouting abuse at the bargee and apologies to Biggles. "They are careless ones," he said. "There was very nearly an accident."

"Yes," replied Biggles grimly, "so I noticed; we'll be more careful in future. Accident, my eye," he growled to the others. "That was a nicely timed scheme to put us out of action, and it would have looked like an accident if we hadn't been slick. Well, that sets our clock right; we know just what to expect in future. We must never leave the machine without a guard over her. I'm afraid it's no use going after Blackbeard now," he went on.

"He's miles away. What sort of machine was he flying, Ginger?"

"A low-wing monoplane on floats; it looked like a two- or three-seater. It was a type I haven't seen before, so I couldn't recognize it, but it had a biplane tail-unit which should make it conspicuous. It was a Russian machine; I noticed its nationality markings. Its letters were D-XXYA."

"Good. We shall know it again if we see it." While speaking Biggles had gone through the cabin and reached towards the locker in which the maps were kept. He started as he opened it. "Hullo!" he said. "Have you been to this locker, Ginger?"

"No."

"Have you, Smyth-or you, Algy?"

"No."

"My word, they don't waste time, then; they searched the s.h.i.+p while we were in the cafe.

I distinctly remember the number of the map I left on top; it's at the bottom now."

"Blackbeard is thorough, if nothing else, as you should know," Algy told him. "You remember what I said when we landed here."

Biggles nodded. "Yes, and the sooner we're out of it the better," he said. "It begins to look as if Blackbeard recognized me all right. Whether he did or not it has been made quite clear that flying visitors aren't popular here."

"Which way are you going? " asked Algy.

"East, but I am going west first. When we take off we'll head due west so that they will think we have decided to get back to England, but as soon as we are out of sight we'll swing round and work our way back towards the east; we'll strike the coast again higher up."

They took off without further delay, and following the course they had planned struck the North German coast again near Rugen Island. They saw nothing of interest, so they pa.s.sed on, flying straight along the coast, searching the ground every inch of the way for likely landing-grounds for marine aircraft, or hangars that might house such giant machines as the one they had seen on the east coast of England. But they saw nothing of a suspicious nature; occasionally they pa.s.sed a small fis.h.i.+ng vessel, and once they saw a battles.h.i.+p far out to sea; that was all.

Daylight was failing and Biggles was just reaching for the throttle in order to glide lower when the engine coughed, spluttered, and then cut right out. He was not in the least alarmed, thinking that the main tank had merely run dry, so he switched over to the rear main tank. Nothing happened, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that something was wrong. He immediately switched over to the gravity tank and was relieved to hear the engine pick up again. "Tell Smyth to look at that rear tank!" he shouted to Algy, with an unpleasant suspicion forming in his mind.

Algy obediently crawled through the hatch into the cabin, but was back in a couple of minutes.

"It's empty!" he shouted.

Biggles frowned. "I saw them fill it!" he yelled. "So did I, but they must have emptied it again while we were in the cafe."

Then, without warning, the engine cut right out again; the propeller gave a final kick and stopped, and it was obvious from the way it did it that the gravity tank had also run dry.

Biggles understood the position at once. "They nearly emptied the gravity tank, too," he said in the silence that followed the engine's failure. "They left us just enough petrol to get off so that we should not suspect anything and examine the other tanks."

There was only one course open to him; he tilted the nose of the machine down towards the water, which fortunately was quite smooth, at the same time swinging round towards the beach which lay a few hundred yards away to the right. "Have we any spare petrol on board?" he asked as the amphibian ran to a standstill on the water. "I don't remember seeing any."

"No, I didn't think we should need it, and we already had plenty of weight up with four people on board."

"As you remarked before, it's time I understood Blackbeard; I should have suspected that something like this would happen. Think what a nice mess we should have been in if we had taken that fellow's advice and headed back for England; we should now be derelict just about in the middle of the North Sea. If a breeze happened to blow up during the night, that would have been the end of the machine-and us.

"As luck would have it, we are here, thank goodness, but it is going to be awkward. If there was a vessel about going in the direction of Danzig I'd ask for a tow, but there isn't, so we shall have to try and attract the attention of the people ash.o.r.e. I see several houses about, fishermen's cottages, by the look of them, and I can see several boats pulled up on the beach. We daren't risk mooring out here on the open sea in case a storm happens to blow up. One of us will have to try and get ash.o.r.e and get some petrol from somewhere or else hire a fisherman to tow us down to Danzig; it can't be more than five or six miles away."

It was clear that there would be no difficulty in attracting the attention of people on the sh.o.r.e, for a number had already collected on the beach, evidently having seen the flyingboat land, and in reply to its distress signals two or three boats at once put out. To arrange for a tow to Danzig, however, proved impossible. Conversation, such as it was, was slow, and most of it was carried on by signs. At the end of ten minutes the position, as far as the airmen could make it out, was this. Not one of the fis.h.i.+ng boats had an engine. There was no wind, so it would not be possible to travel under sail. To row to Danzig at that particular hour was impossible on account of a strong current that was set against them. Further, the amphibian had no riding Lights, and the fishermen said there was a chance of their being run down in the darkness by traffic going to and from the port.

" It looks as if there is only one thing for it," observed Biggles, " and that is to get them to tow us ash.o.r.e here. There doesn't seem to be much surf and there should be plenty of hands to pull us high and dry. We can spend the night ash.o.r.e, in the cabin if necessary, and as soon as it is light three of us will go and fetch some petrol from Danzig while the other remains on guard. If we can hire a motor vehicle of any sort to fetch a load of petrol it should be simple enough. We are bound to be able to get food here, anyway."

So it was arranged. The boatmen, as soon as they had grasped what was wanted, got a line over the nose of the amphibian and towed her to the sh.o.r.e, where the wheels were lowered, and many willing hands pulled her high and dry near the ramshackle boathouses beyond the reach of heavy seas. Biggles distributed some money amongst the helpers, who seemed more than satisfied, and it was quite dark by the time everything was settled. There was no sleeping accommodation available, but food and coffee in abundance at the chandler's store, to which they repaired and spent part of the evening.

What was really more important, there was a telephone on . which Biggles was able to speak to the British Consulate Office in Danzig and explain their predicament, with the result that it was arranged for a consignment of aviation spirit and oil to be sent out to them, by lorry, immediately.

"I shall soon want some more money if this sort of thing goes on," remarked Biggles as they made their way back to the machine. "I paid for one load this morning, so this trip is going to work out expensive if we're not careful. Taking it all in all, though, I think we've got away with it today very well, and as far as our present position is concerned I don't know but that we aren't as well off as if we had gone on to Danzig. There is certainly less chance of awkward questions being asked."

The petrol arrived shortly afterwards, and after attending to the refuelling of the machine they settled themselves down to pa.s.s the night as comfortably as they could.

CHAPTER VIII.

A CHAPTER OF ADVENTURES.

BIGGLES awoke from a deep sleep and sat up abruptly, wide awake on the instant, wondering if he had really heard what he thought he had heard, or if he had been dreaming. No, the sound came again from afar off, the low, rhythmic, palpitating beat of a multi-engined aeroplane. He slung the tarpaulin with which he had covered himself to one side, and ran out of the boathouse in which he had decided to sleep in preference to the cramped cabin. He tapped sharply on the amphibian's hull.

"Stand by, everybody!" he snapped crisply. "Algy, come outside, quickly; what do you make of this? Hark!"

It was still dark, but the stars were paling, and a wan light spread over the eastern sky in promise of the day to come. The distant roar of the aeroplane reached their ears clearly, although it came from a long way away, as if the machine was flying at a great height, but it was obviously travelling in their direction from the west.

"What do you make of it, Smyth?" asked Biggles.

"Sounds like five or six engines to me, sir, but there is something funny about them; they seem sort of-m.u.f.fled."

"I thought so," replied Biggles tersely. "It's that big machine all right-there she is." He grabbed Algy by the shoulder and pointed with outstretched finger at a tiny, gleaming point of light that had been caught in the sun's rays. The sun was still below the horizon to the watchers on the ground, but the machine, by reason of its great alt.i.tude, came within the region of its upflung rays.

As they spoke, the noise of the engines died away suddenly, but the tiny point of light held on its course like a shooting star. "That's it," muttered Biggles. "They switch the silencers full on now while they pa.s.s Danzig. Come on after it. Start up, Smyth. Algy, and you, Ginger, take station where you can see that machine and don't take your eyes off it until I'm in the air, or we may not be able to pick it up again."

The amphibian's engine started, and Smyth clung to a wing-tip to drag her round facing the water. Biggles raised the wheels as the machine became water-borne, and then churned up a foaming wake as he sped across the smooth surface of the water.

"How high is she, do you think?" he yelled, nodding towards the higher machine.

"Ten thousand, for a guess."

"That's about what I put it. We can't climb up to her without losing speed-not that we particularly want to; she'll have to come down sooner or later. All we have to do is to keep her in sight, but we must keep out of sight of her ourselves if we can."

Then began a chase which seemed interminable. Hour after hour pa.s.sed, the big machine maintaining its alt.i.tude, with the amphibian skimming along a few hundred feet above the ground. Biggles was flying on full throttle in order to keep up with the other, although he realized that the big machine was probably only cruising. Their course lay due east, and for a long time it lay over open water, although the coast was always visible in the distance. A large town loomed up on the horizon, and slipped away behind, after which their course became overland.

Another two hours pa.s.sed, and Biggles began to get worried, for he knew that they were reaching the limit of the amphibian's endurance range. He still had plenty of petrol to continue the chase, but if he went on any further he would be unable to return to Danzig without landing and refuelling, a procedure that he knew might give rise to an awkward situation. Looking at his map, and working out the distance in conjunction with the speed of the aircraft, a quick mental calculation told him that they must be on the Russian frontier, if not actually in Russia. The country below seemed deserted, the one or two small villages they pa.s.sed occurring only at long intervals; not by a single landmark could they judge their position to within a hundred miles. Presently a small lake appeared below, but it was unmarked on their map and told them nothing. Then a larger lake appeared, so large that they could not see the opposite bank.

"Look out!" cried Algy suddenly. "She's coming down."

Biggles looked about hurriedly for some place of concealment. There is only one form of cover in the air, and that is provided by clouds, but at that moment there was not a single cloud in the sky. Just in front of them lay a great forest, spreading round on either side of the lake. At its western extremity the ground was open, and appeared to be uninhabited, for they could see no signs of human habitation. Biggles put his nose down towards it, although there was no time to make a close examination of the surface of the ground if they were to avoid being seen by the crew of the now rapidly dropping giant.

He cut the throttle and lowered his wheels, and picking the most open s.p.a.ce he could see near the wall of the forest made a rather b.u.mpy landing.

"Thank goodness there were no rabbit-holes," he murmured fervently as he kicked over the rudder and taxied close up to the trees. " Quick, everybody; get some branches, gra.s.s, anything you can lay hands on, and throw it over the wing-top."

It was the work of only two or three minutes to cover the white wings and tail planes of the amphibian with greenery, and then, keeping in the shelter of the trees, they watched the big bomber glide down towards the lake. They did not actually see it land, for the forest, which lay between them and the water, obstructed their view, but they knew that it could not be more than a mile or two away, for it had pa.s.sed over them at a very low alt.i.tude.

"What now?" asked Algy, looking inquiringly at Biggles.

"We had better do a bit of thinking," was the reply. "In the first place I estimate that we have just about enough petrol to get back as far as a refuelling port. Next, we may have been heard by somebody when we landed, or we may be heard if we try to take off again.

We're skating on thin ice, make no mistake about that. Our papers may be in order, and all that sort of thing, but it won't count for much if we are caught spying-and we shall have a job to find a reasonable excuse for being here. Still, we haven't come all this way for nothing; what we've got to find out is just what sort of place there is here, how many of those machines there are, and how much accommodation. That is what we want to know. If we can find out what they ultimately hope to achieve, how often they fly to England, and where their landing-grounds are there, so much the better. It seems to me that there are two courses open to us. The first is to take off again, fly round the lake, learning as much as we can, and then make full-out for home, but the most we can hope to discover if we do that is how many machines they have, and only then if they happen to be moored out on the water; we might be able to count the hangars-there must be more than one of those machines here. The second idea would be to hide the machine rather more effectively, and do a bit of scouting on foot. That, to my mind, is the best plan, but of course it is far more dangerous. If we are caught, we should be caught red-handed, and it would be Siberia for the lot of us-perhaps worse."

"You're telling me," interposed Ginger quietly.