Chapter 2 - A Conference and its Sequel

'You see,' said the Air Commodore, when dinner was over and they were seated at ease in a large drawing room, 'the problem we are facing is too much for one party to deal with. As most of you have guessed, my retirement isn't the only item on the agenda. I've already been asked to stay on for a little longer in any case. The fact that four of you had narrow escapes on your way here shows how serious this all is. It is clear now that there was a deliberate attempt to remove Inspector Bigglesworth that, fortunately, failed, though more from the inefficiency of the assassins than any preventative action on our part. Bigglesworth and his team are probably the best known of you. It's some time since I've needed to call on reinforcements so I'm hoping that you others will not be recognised by the opposition.'

The room was crowded now. In addition to Biggles and his team, Gimlet and his Kittens and Worrals and Frecks, there was also Steeley Delaroy, once, as Raymond confided to Biggles, a modern day Robin Hood on the wrong side of the law but a firm ally of the police since.

'Who is the opposition?' asked Gimlet.

'What we know so far,' Raymond replied, 'is that a number of criminal activities are being master-minded from some of the quieter areas of the globe. We need to track these down.'

'Tall undertaking,' said Algy. 'There's a lot of world out there.'

'Fortunately we have some clues. One of the advantages of dwelling in such places, though, is that any stranger in the area is likely to be noted and commented on. Difficult to check up on people in that situation without them being aware of it.'

'Do we know who and where some of these people are?' asked Biggles.

The Air Commodore nodded.

'We think we've identified some of the locations where key players live,' he said, 'in some remote areas: one quite close to home, the Faroe Islands; one mid-Atlantic, the Azores; one in Malaita in the Solomon Islands. We also have friends in some of these places, who have been able to indicate suspicions but we need to make contact with them and check on who the suspects might be. The reason we're having this meeting here is so you could arrive amidst a horde of visitors and be unnoticed. I only hope that the suspected attack on Inspector Bigglesworth was coincidental and not connected with the briefing. From what they boasted of to Lord Lissie, they may believe they have succeeded, which could act to our advantage.'

'If the attempt was made by these same people,' Gimlet pointed out.

'Yes, it'll be interesting to see what Inspector Jones comes up with. But we feel that assassination is one of their major activities. You can see how ruthless they are by the incident with Captain King and Lord Lissie. Not only were they willing to commit cold-blooded murder but they shot one of their own men rather than take the chance of him giving us any information. And not all of them are going to bungle things like the group you've encountered. It may be that they tried to eliminate you, Bigglesworth, because they suspected you might soon be on their trail.'

'So,' Gimlet said in a business-like fashion, 'three locations – three teams and Mr Delaroy. Who goes where?'

'A mission for you all,' said the Air Commodore, with a faint smile, 'and more friends, some familiar, some, shall we say, recently converted to help along the way where necessary.'

They stayed the night, accommodated by the mansion's many luxurious bedrooms, ready to drive out again the next day as happy tourists. Despite the comfort, Ginger slept fitfully. A waxing moon penetrated the curtains to throw an eerie pattern on the floor. He got out of bed and gazed down on bushes and trees, silvered and romantic and an attractive spectacle for the moment. Thinking that a brief read might make him drowsy, he turned on the bedside lamp. Hardly had he done so than there was a soft and hesitant tap on the door. He opened it. Standing there, shivering beneath her dressing gown and looking distinctly uneasy, was Frecks. She put her fingers to her lips.

'I think there's an intruder,' she whispered. 'I'm sure there was some movement just now.'

'I'll fetch a torch.'

Together they crept along the passage. Ginger nudged Frecks. One of the bedroom doors was ajar. He peered cautiously around it and almost froze in horror, as he spied in the moonlight a shadowy figure by the bed, brandishing a knife over its snoring, supine occupant. Instantly Ginger yelled and tore into the room, dimly aware that Frecks was following. The light went on. A dark face snarled, then the knife was upraised again and began to plunge downwards. Frecks, standing by the light-switch, grabbed a vase of flowers, the nearest thing to hand, and flung them at the man. They missed him and almost hit the sleeper but achieved their object by intercepting the thrust of the knife. The water and flowers spilt all over the man in the bed, who awoke abruptly, and Ginger grappled with the intruder. The pair crashed on to the floor but Ginger's foot became entangled in his dressing gown. The man squirmed free and again lifted the knife, this time to bring down on Ginger. Frecks, though, with great presence of mind, picked up the now-empty vase and hit the assailant on the head with it, screaming for help as she did so.

As the man slumped, half-stunned, Ginger pushed him aside and tried to wrestle the knife from his grasp. Biggles appeared, roused by Frecks' screams, and between them they forced the weapon to the floor. The man, though, twisted away from them and made for the door.

'Stop him,' called Biggles as others started to arrive.

'Leave 'im to me,' said a grim Cockney voice. Copper's big fist completed what Frecks' vase had begun and the intruder lay unconscious. Only then was Ginger aware that the figure in the bed was Air Commodore Raymond.

'Are you all right, sir?' Biggles was asking.

'Just about, I think,' the Air Commodore reported. 'Thanks, you chaps. How on earth did he get in here?'

'Came through during the day, I suppose, and managed to slip away. Hiding up here, biding his time, presumably.'

'Actually it was Frecks you should thank,' said Ginger. 'She threw the vase. I'd have been too late. Then she used it to save me.'

'Oh dear,' said Raymond, lugubriously, 'Miss Worralson will never let me forget that.'

Worrals looked round from where she was comforting Frecks, who, with the action over, was shaking, and simply smiled.

'So what are we going to do with him?' asked Biggles.

'Handcuff him to begin with,' Raymond decided. 'It's imperative he doesn't escape. He'd better spend the night in the cells and we'll question him in the morning. Notice anything about him?'

Biggles nodded.

'Unless I'm mistaken he's a Melanesian, probably from the Solomon Islands,' he said grimly, ' one of those quiet areas of the globe you were telling us about.'

'I wonder if he's alone,' put in Gimlet.

A wary search took place but unearthed no other lethal visitors.

'There may be people waiting for him outside,' Biggles suggested when they were together again. 'A police car arriving now would alert any watchers to the fact that the attempt failed and their man has been captured. There's enough of us to mount a guard over him in two hour shifts and, if a police car and an ambulance turn up in the morning, we may be able to convince them that the attack succeeded.'

'They'll guess there's something wrong when their man doesn't return, won't they?' said Algy.

'Guessing isn't knowing,' Biggles pointed out. 'Letting your enemy wonder for a while can be useful.'

'I should take a look round, perhaps,' offered Trapper, whose years in the backwoods of Canada, frequently in the company of Canadian Indians, had made him a stalker par excellence.

'Good idea,' said Raymond. 'See what you can find. Take care, though.'

'I'll give two owl hoots when I'm back,' said Trapper and slid away.

'In the meantime,' the Air Commodore resumed, 'we must hope this little episode hasn't compromised our plans. Did they know about the meeting or was this just an attempt to get me? Coincidence is stretching rather too much. Good heavens, he could have killed all of us if Miss Lovell hadn't been so alert.'

'I had a headache,' Frecks explained, now recovered. 'It seems to have gone now.'

'Could you have been followed?' Biggles asked.

'Must've been,' Raymond replied. 'I've known the Earl for years – went to school with him. Often down here. That's why I thought it would be a good cover, rather than you all obviously coming to Scotland Yard.'

'It was certainly a murder mission,' said Biggles. 'Three lucky escapes in one day – we really are receiving fortune's smile.'

'Well, we'd better arrange the rota for guard duty,' Raymond considered. 'Apart from making sure our prisoner remains in situ, there may be others of his ilk, ready to second his attempt. I don't feel much like sleep at present so Delaroy and I will take the first shift and Bigglesworth and Captain King can arrange the others from their groups.'

'Are we to have a share in this task?' enquired Worrals, acidly, 'or do you think two women with guns are incapable of guarding one dazed and handcuffed man?'

'I think Miss Lovell has already performed her guard duties for the night,' said Raymond, diplomatically, 'and done them very well too. You're welcome to join the arrangements, though, if you wish.'

The clear sky had clouded over, as Trapper emerged from the building, and the moon, which could have been a hindrance to any unseen progress, was now obscured. The grounds were extensive but his guess was that any more of the murder team would be waiting outside – any car involved would be trapped by electronically operated gates otherwise.

He followed the fence around till he found a place where a branching tree allowed him to climb over, then stiffened as he reflected that such a place might be where the assassin had planned to escape and that his associates might be near at hand. A blood-curdling screech by his ear might have unnerved many but Trapper recognised it as emitting from a real owl and continued unperturbed. He thought he sensed a bat go by but his ears were alert to other than the normal noises of the night.

His eyes registered the first sign of a presence, though – the flicker of a match followed by the dull red glow of a cigarette. Long experience had honed Trapper's night eyes; he made out the dark shape of a car and also of a thick tree beside it. Swinging himself easily into its branches, he sat in a crook of the trunk immediately above the vehicle and waited. A murmur of voices wafted up to him.

'He should have done it by now,' said one,

'Maybe the old man stayed up late,' said the other.

'Hope nothing's gone wrong,' said the first. 'I thought I saw lights over there a little while back.'

'If he hasn't returned by the morning, we go in with the crowd and see what we can find. Any police presence will tell some sort of story.'

'And if they've got him?'

'We take him out before they can question him.'

'Let's hope this is the last time we have to stay here on watch. I know all their daily routines by heart now.'

'If he doesn't show it'll mean plan B and those wretched timetables,' the second man complained, 'and an uncomfortable reception from Arragon.'

'Arragon, Hamlet, Prospero!' the first man snorted. 'Why do they have to be so flipping cultural?'

'Shows their sense of superiority over the likes of us – and Caliban inside.'

Trapper listened intently. There was nothing distinctive about the voices – both London accents. It began to rain again, which made his present position unpleasant and the conversation more difficult to hear with the pattering of drops on the roof, though this made it less likely that he himself would be noticed. Dampness could induce a cold, though, and, deciding that he had heard enough, he edged himself back round the trunk and on to the ground. Then he crawled to the back of the car and ran his fingers over the numberplate. Once he was sure of that, he inched his way into the trees. As he did so, the car window opened and a cigarette butt was thrown out.

'These are not very clever men, I think,' Trapper assessed. Wearing dark gloves, he felt around from behind the bush and came across three such butts. Having scooped these up, he crawled away to report. Reaching the fence again and feeling quite wet, he sneezed violently before he could climb over.

'Mon Dieu,' he breathed, when the fit had passed, 'a good job that didn't happen any earlier.'

Morning began much the same as usual for the Stately Home. A milk float arrived as the first streaks of dawn were shredding the sky and that was followed not long after by a baker's van. Groceries were delivered next but the grocer's departure was accompanied by a flurry of warning bells as a police car and ambulance came squealing up. The grocer waited for them to go on to the mansion before driving out.

Some time later the ambulance left and, accompanied by a second police car, drove with urgency along the Oxfordshire lanes. They were passing through a wood when, rounding a bend, they almost collided with a fallen tree, sprawled across the road; indeed the police car skidded into a bush to avoid it. The two ambulance men leapt out hurriedly but, instead of running to the tree, dived for cover on opposite sides of the road. Their alertness was justified for seconds later a huge explosion turned their ambulance into a blazing wreck. Nearby an unseen vehicle could be heard driving away. As the two policemen emerged shakily from their car, the crew of the stricken ambulance met up by the fallen tree and gazed back at their vehicle.

'Lucky there weren't nobody left in that, my oath it was.' said Copper. 'Looks like your friends in the car have been busy.'

'Tiens!' said Trapper. 'at least they left the baker alone.'

The early queue of cars at the entrance had gone by the time a faded green Viva drove up. The driver tendered his half-crown and moved on. When he was out of sight, the attendant, noting its number, reached for a phone.

The van, which had taken Raymond, Biggles and their prisoner out, had also brought more plain clothes detectives in. Once the green Viva had parked, the two men it contained were monitored as they progressed through the building. Predictably they moved away from the main throng and had penetrated the mansion as far as the laundry room, catching a glimpse of some bloodstained bedclothes, before an official arrived and escorted them back to the public area. Here they joined the tour again and had no further opportunity to drift off into the private apartments.

For a while they investigated the grounds before finally departing. An unmarked police car followed them, part of an elaborate shadowing exercise, which involved a number of cars and a helicopter. All those concerned needed to be at their most alert.

The pair drove south for almost an hour before they reached a large town. Here they parked the car and mingled with shoppers for a while before making their way to the railway station where they caught a train for the west. They alighted at Exeter, which boasts two main railway stations, and took a taxi between these before boarding another train heading for Waterloo. There were many minor stops on the way, though, and, indeed, their destination proved to be a station in Somerset so small that the plainclothesman following them found it difficult to leave the train without being seen. They were on foot to begin with but, after a while, an ancient lorry picked them up, and it was Biggles, from the helicopter, who observed their final journey along a country lane to a lonely house.

'So now we know what they meant by timetables,' he commented, turning for home in fading light.

'Good job the boys on the ground knew their stuff,' said Bertie. 'This pair has been ducking and diving like a fox fleeing hounds.'

'Let's hope they've gone to earth now, then.'

They were back in the Air Police Office before more information came through from the local police. The two men had been picked up from the house by a small van and driven to a larger residence on the other side of the village. They had returned two hours later.

'Good work,' complimented Biggles. 'I think we should take a closer look at this latest establishment.'

'Quiet sort of place,' said Ginger as Biggles drove into the village the following morning.

Biggles nodded.

'Just what these people like, according to what Raymond said, ' he replied, turning a corner. 'Should be close now.'

'So what do we do when we get there? Organise a raid?'

'On what pretext?' asked Biggles. "We've no search warrant and not enough evidence for an arrest. And no idea what we might hope to find. Trapper's night work has given us a lead. How useful that is remains to be seen but any hasty action now might close it off.'

They passed a large, rambling, ivy clad house – a respectable retreat for a successful businessman. Behind wrought iron gates a black Rolls Royce adorned the drive, flanked by the remnants of roses that would have made a rare showing a month or so before. The owner was evidently a keen gardener or, at least, employed those who were.

'Sir Simon Villiers-Silver, Chairman of Villiers Industries,' said Biggles, anticipating Ginger's question. 'Engages in a variety of activities. Some involvement in arms manufacture, which may be significant. And, if you remember your Shakespeare, the character in The Merchant of Venice who chose silver was called Arragon.'

'Raymond hasn't let the grass grow under his feet,' said Ginger with satisfaction.

'He's lucky to have feet for it to grow under after last night,' said Biggles drily.