Chapter 28
Wrapping It Up
There remains little to be said about their passage home. The rest of the journey was as uneventful as the first part had been exciting. The passengers, once they had restored their stomachs to their customary positions, were relieved to be on their way to England unscathed.
Once the wheels kissed the runway at Croydon, Biggles heaved a sigh of relief. The aeroplane rolled to a standstill in front of the terminal building.
Algy nudged his cousin. "Do you see who I see?" he asked incredulously. "How did he know we would be landing here now?"
Biggles followed the direction of Algy's gaze. In front of the entrance to the booking hall stood Air Commodore Raymond, accompanied by two men whose absent-minded air made him label them immediately as boffins.
"Don't ask me!" exclaimed Biggles. "I have never been able to fathom the way the mind of top brass works."
The Air Commodore and his companions came across to greet the occupants of the Cormorant as soon as they descended. It was clear that the scientists knew all about the professor and his work. They whisked him and his family away as soon as the formalities had been completed.
Raymond watched them go, his eyes solemn. "You may not know just what a service you've done for Britain," he told the assembled airmen gravely, "but I have a feeling it is going to become all too clear very soon."
Ginger thought about what he had seen in Berlin and at the top of the Steps of Death and felt a shiver of foreboding run down his spine.
"I think you're right," he murmured pensively. "I guess we got the professor out just in time."
The Air Commodore regarded him sombrely. "I'd say you're a pretty good guesser, young man," he told the lad. "What do you say to tearing a steak?"
"No prizes for guessing the answer to that one would be yes!" concluded Algy with a grin.
"It will be my treat," offered the Air Commodore. "It is the least I can do," acknowledged Raymond. "I certainly think you've earned it. The German High Command must be frothing at the mouth to lose such a valuable prize."
"I bet von Stalhein is hopping mad!" smiled Ginger. "He's a sore loser."
"Poor Erich," sighed Biggles as they made their way over to the terminal building. "He never seems to have any luck."
Leaving Smyth to put the Cormorant to bed, they piled into the Air Commodore's car for the short trip to a West End restaurant. As Ginger said, as he sank his teeth into the succulent meat, it certainly made a change from bully beef sandwiches. No one disagreed with him.
