Biggles (30 page)

But, when Kornfeldt finally appeared, Biggles was surprised. Instead of the ogre he expected, he saw a plump, ingratiating little man with pince-nez and a clammy handshake. Biggles noticed that his finger-nails were bitten to the quick. Tea was served. Polite conversation followed about English weather, the boat race and the Royal Family, and it was Biggles who finally brought up the subject he had come about.

‘There's this new aircraft that Lord Elberton's company's developing from the Swallow prototype, you know. Von Wittelsbach and I have been discussing it.'

‘Ah yes,' said Kornfeldt, nodding amiably. ‘Lord Elberton, a splendid man! How is his Lordship?'

‘Fine,' said Biggles. ‘We're on the best of terms. And as I was saying, this new plane of his is probably the most effective bomber of our time. Extraordinary range, enormous pay-load — a revolutionary warplane in every sense.'

‘Ah,' said Kornfeldt once again.

‘Well, knowing Lord Elberton as I do, I have been asked to test-fly the aircraft for the company. There'll be no problem. As you know, I've flown the prototype before, and I'm quite looking forward to the job. But I'm in something of a quandary, Herr Kornfeldt.'

‘A quandary?' asked the German softly, and for just a moment Biggles caught a flash of keen intelligence behind the spectacles.

Biggles nodded, and paused to search for words before continuing. ‘Can I speak quite frankly to you, Herr Kornfeldt?'

The German smiled encouragingly and spread his hands, as if to show that he had nothing in the world to hide.

‘Please, Major Bigglesworth,' he said. ‘I like to feel that we are friends.'

‘Well, it's about my old pal, Algy Lacey. He's my cousin and associate and, well, I've known him all my life. We're very close.'

The German nodded and lit a small cigar. ‘I know a little already about Captain Lacey, Major Bigglesworth.'

‘I rather thought you might,' said Biggles evenly. ‘It's probably not news to you that he's been very foolish.'

‘Over the Frau von Sternberg? Young men like Captain Lacey are often foolish where women are concerned, and she is very beautiful. Also a strong-willed lady. So?'

‘That's not the point I'm getting at, Herr Kornfeldt,' Biggles answered. ‘Algy has been a frightful ass, and has allowed himself to get involved with the British Secret Service.'

The German blew a thoughtful cloud of pale Havana smoke, then added softly.

‘That too I knew. A very dangerous game to play these days in Germany.'

‘Exactly, sir. That's what I told him, but he insisted on going through with it. And now I hear he has to pay the price. Von Stalhein's after him — and I know von Stalhein well enough to understand exactly what that means, Herr Kornfeldt.'

‘You're very well informed, Major Bigglesworth, but why tell me all this? What can I do? I am a humble diplomat.'

‘Perhaps,' said Biggles, ‘but the point is this. I will do anything for Algy, absolutely anything, and if his so-called friends in the British Secret Service won't help him, then I feel it's up to me.'

‘And how would you propose to do that, Major Bigglesworth?'

‘By doing a deal with you — a private deal. Herr Kornfeldt, I am prepared to exchange the secrets of Lord Elberton's new bomber for my friend.'

‘I see,' said Kornfeldt, sounding as if Biggles had just proposed a quiet game of bridge. ‘And how would this be done?'

‘Well, it would not be all that difficult for me. I'm trusted by Lord Elberton and know his staff. I know a lot about the plane already, and within a few days I can have all the details you would want.'

‘And how would you get them to us — just supposing we agreed?' purred Kornfeldt.

‘That's what I've been wondering myself,' said Biggles. ‘I
don't trust von Stalhein any more than he trusts me. We'd obviously have to meet on neutral ground. I suggest Strasbourg — it's in France but close enough to the German frontier. I can be there in three days' time. There's a hotel called the Maison Rouge in the Place Kléber. I must deal with von Stalhein personally. I will be there next Thursday evening with detailed plans of the aircraft. In return, von Stalhein must bring Algy Lacey with him. Is that understood, Herr Kornfeldt?'

The plump German smiled his pudgy smile. ‘I can see certain obvious objections to your plan, but I will make sure that your message is passed on, Major Bigglesworth. I promise you will hear from us. And now, another cup of tea before you go?'

The Maison Rouge is probably the best hotel in a city that is renowned for good hotels, and, in any other circumstances, Biggles would have thoroughly enjoyed the chance of staying there. He had flown to Strasbourg late that afternoon in the old Cormorant. The ancient aeroplane was fast becoming something of a museum piece, but thanks to Smyth's tender care it was still in splendid nick and Biggles saw it as an old and valued friend, and loved to fly it. It also had the great advantage of attracting less attention than any of the newer aircraft Colonel Raymond had suggested.

Since visiting the German Embassy, Biggles had carefully prepared himself for his meeting with von Stalhein. A dossier of plausible, but utterly misleading, documents on the new bomber had been concocted by John Prizeman, the celebrated forger, whose work had baffled half the banks in Europe in its time, and who was now a trusted employee of Colonel Raymond's, with his own extraordinary department at New Scotland Yard. Biggles had also been to Elberton's secret airfield in the Cambridgeshire fens and flown the bomber several times himself. (He was enthusiastic, but found time to make some critical suggestions on the cockpit layout which were, in fact, incorporated into production models of the plane.) Finally, he had been to Wapping once again to meet von Wittelsbach, who told him tersely that the deal was on and that von Stalhein had agreed to contact him at Strasbourg some time on Thursday evening at the
Maison Rouge. That was all he knew — but it was enough for him if it meant that Algy could be saved.

Biggles always had pretended to despise the role of a spy, but it was one that suited him. He was always at his best in times of crisis and loved a duel of wits. And so, despite his genuine concern for Algy, he was looking forward now with keen anticipation to his encounter with von Stalhein.

At the hotel — a very grand establishment dripping with chandeliers and flunkeys — he booked in, in the name agreed upon with von Wittelsbach, Conrad Peterson, a Swedish dealer in oriental carpets, checked his room, and settled down to wait. It was an unenviable situation, for as he knew quite well, von Stalhein had the advantage of being the one to make contact first. But Biggles wasn't frightened of him, and thought he knew him well enough to understand the workings of his cold Teutonic mind.

So he played the part of Conrad Peterson, sat for an hour in the bar, drank a stein of Strasbourg beer, and then went in to dinner on his own. The dining room was nearly empty and he was beginning to feel uneasy, for there was no sign of the Prussian — and still less of Algy. Von Stalhein should have come by now. Something was going on, and he hated the idea that the life of his old chum had now become the pawn in whatever game of wits von Stalhein chose to play. But there was nothing he could do, except wait until von Stalhein finally decided to reveal himself.

He had to force himself to eat, and as he did so, he reminded himself that forcible feeding was something of a speciality of the city. A sudden sense of sympathy for those unfortunate Strasbourg geese put him off ordering pâté de foie gras — or any of the other gastronomic pleasures of this well-fed city — and he contented himself with consommé and chicken Maryland. Both were equally disgusting. So was the music being played by a trio to beguile the diners as they ate. Biggles was no music-lover and the
Tales from the Vienna Woods
grated on his nerves.

He looked around him at his fellow diners, but there was no sign of von Stalhein — a group of jolly businessmen at the next table, a pair of lovers near the orchestra, and a fat old dowager near the cash desk stuffing herself with cream cakes with appalling gluttony. Biggles felt angry and on edge, for something had obviously gone awry, and as he knew only too well, if his
mission failed, his chance of ever seeing Algy alive again was slim indeed.

He drank his coffee, gave the waiter the number of his room, and rose to go. As he did so, he noticed the old woman rise as well and shuffle towards him leaning on a stick. Her bloated face was rouged and powdered, and her bright red hair made her appear particularly grotesque. But as she passed, she smiled at him and said, ‘Herr Conrad Peterson? I think you have something for me.'

Biggles stared at her — and suddenly saw something familiar about the eyes.

‘Von Stalhein!' he cried. ‘By all that's holy, what on earth ...?'

‘Just walk straight on,' said the old woman. ‘I'll be behind you. And no tricks please. I have a gun concealed in my dress and if you try anything I'll blow your head off.'

‘So,' said von Stalhein when they were safely seated in Biggles' room on the second floor of the hotel, ‘you thought that I would bring your foolish friend Lacey here with me? Really, Major Bigglesworth, I would have credited you with more intelligence than that.'

‘So where is Algy then?' asked Biggles, with a tightening of the muscles of his throat.

‘Safely in Berlin and still enjoying life with Frau von Sternberg. Naturally, my agents keep him under full surveillance, but he doesn't know it. I will deal with him when it suits me, but just for the moment I'm content to leave him where he is. And now to business, Major Bigglesworth. But first, if you'll excuse me, I'll remove this wig. It's rather hot.'

In any other circumstances Biggles would have laughed at the sight that now revealed itself — the fat, old-woman's body crowned with the Junker's close-cropped head and the duelling scar just visible through the make-up on his cheeks. But the hatred in von Stalhein's eyes wasn't funny. Nor was the Mauser automatic in his bejewelled hands.

‘Where are the documents you promised, Major?' barked von Stalhein.

‘Find them yourself,' said Biggles, trying to stall for time.

‘I will — if you compel me to,' replied the Prussian, saying which he pressed the bell for service. Almost instantly the door behind him opened and a man with the face and shoulders of an all-in-wrestler entered and clicked his heels.

‘Ja, Herr Hauptmann?' he inquired in the accent of a Hamburg docker. ‘You rang for me?'

Von Stalhein nodded. ‘Yes, Gustav. Search this, er, gentleman for me. Make sure he isn't armed, then scour the room for documents. He's probably concealed them somewhere very obvious.'

There was no point in struggling, and Biggles felt the brutal hands of von Stalhein's bodyguard searching him.

‘He's unarmed, Herr Hauptmann,' the man said. Von Stalhein nodded. ‘Excellent. And now the papers. Where are they Major?'

‘I was promised Algy Lacey, and thought you'd keep your word. I see I was mistaken.'

‘Ach!' growled von Stalhein. ‘You English really are absurd, with your ideas of what you are pleased to call “the decent thing”. When will you learn that life is not a game, Herr Biggles worth?'

Biggles treated this remark with the contempt that it deserved, and watched as Gustav methodically searched the room. Things were working out exactly as he had planned, and he smiled to himself when Gustav found the documents where he had hidden them — taped behind a picture over the bed.

‘A little obvious, Major Bigglesworth,' von Stalhein said, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. ‘I would have expected something just a little cleverer. Well, there is nothing else that need detain us in this boring city. Is the car ready, Gustav?'

‘Yes, Herr Hauptmann.'

‘Then we will go downstairs together now, Herr Bigglesworth. You will pay your bill and explain that you have been called away on business. And, please, no nonsense. I would hate to have to shoot you now.'

Gustav picked up Biggles' suitcase, and the Junker paused a moment by the mirror to replace his wig.

‘Where are we going then?' asked Biggles brusquely.

‘Why, to Berlin of course. Where do you think? You wished to
see your Captain Lacey and you shall. And since your aircraft's here, I think we'll use it.'

As Biggles brought the Cormorant in to land at Tempelhoff, his mind was racing. He had been certain all along that von Stalhein would attempt to trick him, and he had risen to the bait. As for the next move, all would depend upon von Stalhein's behaviour now. Biggles had no clear plan of action, but he was confident that he could cope with anything that lay ahead. There were times in life when one quite simply had to take a chance and use one's wits and courage to defeat the enemy. Once he had seen ancient Algy he could work things out from there.

So, with von Stalhein's automatic in his ribs, he checked the airport landing lights with steady expertise and brought the old Cormorant in to a copybook three-pointer.

‘Nice flying, Major Biggles worth,' said von Stalhein suavely. ‘A pity that you don't fly for our German Luftwaffe. We could use pilots of your calibre.'

During the flight, von Stalhein had changed out of his disguise, and was now the Prussian with the bullet head and ramrod back that Biggles remembered from the past. He barked an order, and Biggles felt himself being bundled from the cockpit by the burly Gustav, and checked an impulse to crack the fellow firmly on the jaw.

‘Take him away Gustav,' snarled von Stalhein. ‘I'll see him later.'

It was a tiny cell where Biggles found himself. There was a hard-backed chair but nothing else, and the lights were on permanently. He had no idea where he was — the windows of the big Mercedes that had driven him from the airport had been carefully blacked out — and he would have given almost anything for a cigarette. But there was no chance of that, for all his possessions had been taken. Nor could he sleep. Instead he sat, and racked his brains and waited for the dawn. It took an age to come, but even when it did it brought him no relief. Finally, the door was opened and a dumb-faced guard thrust a tray of gruel and watery coffee at him, but when Biggles tried to shout at him, he turned and simply slammed the door. There was nothing for it but to wait.