Chapter 12 - Reporting Back

Flakes of snow were beginning to fill the air as Biggles circled the RAF. Base, waiting for two Hunters to land before following them down. Air Commodore Raymond sat beside him, whilst Worrals and Frecks occupied the passenger seats.

'Ah, some of the others have arrived, I see,' said Biggles, taxiing up to stop by the Gadfly.

'Our favourite plane at the moment,' commented Worrals from behind him. 'We've both been relieved to see it this last week.'

As they entered the station buildings, Biggles turned to watch another Auster coming in to land.

'This should be Bertie,' he said, 'with Gimlet King and Copper, I hope. Nicely on time.'

'Welcome to East Anglia,' said a voice behind him, familiar even though he hadn't heard it for years.

'I believe you've met Group Captain Wilkinson,' Raymond smiled.

'Wilks, old son! How are you?' Biggles said, shaking hands with his wartime comrade. 'Haven't seen you since that business in the Sudan. Are you in charge here?'

'Hello Biggles, old scout,' said Wilks. 'Yes, for the time being, though I'm supposed to have been retiring for the last year or so.'

'We rather thought it would be good to keep it in the family, so to speak,' Raymond explained. 'Save lengthy explanations to a commander who didn't know us.'

'So that's why you picked here for the conference.'

'Absolutely. Not as luxurious as a Stately Home but more secure, I trust.'

'And a spot of lunch to start with,' added Wilks. 'Still some turkey and Christmas pud left over. If you have to work on Boxing Day, at least it'll be on a full stomach. But I don't recall meeting these ladies before.'

The Air Commodore introduced Worrals and Frecks.

'I think I've heard of you,' Wilks began enthusiastically, 'Didn't . . . '

'Tread carefully, Wilks,' murmured Biggles.

'Very pleased to meet you,' amended Wilks, taking the hint. 'And that's Lissie arriving, I see. Party's almost complete.'

He led them to the officers' mess, a large, spacious house within the base perimeter, built, clearly, with a view to accommodating gentlemen and catering for their comfort. The main eating area was on the ground floor but Wilks showed them upstairs to a lounge, where some tables had been put together in the centre of the room amidst arm-chairs and settees. A crackling wood fire dispensed heat to combat a rapidly chilling day and, enjoying its attributes, Ginger, Algy and Smyth rose to welcome them. Standing by the window were Tug and Angus, whom Frecks greeted warmly.

'Guid to see you, Lassie,' said Angus. 'How's it been since we picked you out of the sea? And how did ye get that wee bruise on your face?'

'The old cliché of frying pans and fires suggests itself,' answered Frecks. 'I'll tell you more later.'

'So, you're some of the reinforcements,' said Biggles, beaming as he shook hands. 'Can't anyone settle to a quiet life these days?'

'Air-sea rescue's our latest trick,' said Tug. 'You get into the scrapes; we pull you out. Ladybirds a speciality.'

Steeley was last to arrive with Cub and Trapper. Wilks joined them all for a relaxing and chatty meal.

'Thought it would be more private up here than downstairs,' he said. 'The Air Commodore was keen to keep identities under wraps as much as possible, though Biggles and I go back so far, there'd be nothing strange about him dropping in for a chin-wag at this season.'

Raymond nodded approval and turned to Steeley as they sat down.

'Hope you don't feel out of it, Delaroy,' he said. 'I half expected you to bring your old companions, Wilde and Ballantyne along. I'm sure we could have used them.'

'Tubby's too domesticated nowadays, I think,' said Steeley, ' and it would have been cruel to bring Brian, a newspaper reporter, face to face with a red-hot story he wasn't allowed to report.'

'I'm grateful to your wife for sparing you for the project.'

'Fortunately she's very understanding and patient.'

'Yes, she must be,' said Worrals, overhearing, a faint smile on her face.

After the meal the trestle tables and dining chairs were removed and they settled down on softer furnishings to enjoy coffee, forming a semi-circle around the cheerful fireside. Outside, as Biggles noted, it was snowing in earnest.

'We're here all right,' he remarked seriously, 'but I wouldn't fancy flying home in this.'

'We can always accommodate you if needs be,' assured Wilks. 'Nothing lavish but it should be snug enough.'

He stood up.

'I'll leave you to it,' he said. 'Anything you need, just sing out.'

'Yes we'd better get under way,' said Raymond as soon as the door had closed. 'Sorry about the elaborate precautions but I felt that if we all came by air, there was less chance of any of us being followed and here, at least, we are in secure premises. I'll ask each team to give a report but no names no pack drill as they used to say. The fewer the people who know the identity of our agents the better and the experiences of Miss Worralson and Miss Lovell show just how much our adversaries would like to get hold of that information.'

Biggles began, though he soon handed over to Ginger for the details of Sidlington's conference with his men. There was no mention of Anna but the drama at the river was recounted, mainly, as Biggles pointed out, to show the kind of people they were up against.

'We knew from our last meeting that they had aircraft,' he finished, 'but to be able to summon up a makeshift bomber at short notice in a remote area of the world shows organisation of a quite menacing level. There's also the matter of stirring up gangs of Islanders to commit murder at his bidding.'

'He claims, of course, to know nothing about that,' put in the Air Commodore. 'That inspector you met went down to have a word with him, ostensibly to warn him that he might be in danger. Sidlington says it was probably raiders from one of the back villages. Suggested the plane might belong to a foreign power, intent on fermenting trouble.'

'How about Crazy Jim?'

'Safely in custody again and back in this country. We packed him on to a RAF. flight as soon as we could.'

'That was wise. He might have escaped again out there – or been silenced for good. Sidlington's bound to be worried about what he might say. And he'll know he's under suspicion now, even if he isn't sure just how much Ginger overheard.'

'That may also depend on what he's been told,' Ginger pointed out. 'Sam was supposed to have checked to make sure there weren't any eavesdroppers so he might hold back on some information to prevent himself getting into trouble. I think the attempt to kill me at the pit was spontaneous, not planned. Even the ambush may have been set up by Sam's friends without Sidlington's knowledge. He wanted any deaths to seem like accidents. Drowning was his bright idea.'

'Hence the attack by the river,' added Biggles. 'If we'd been swept away in that torrent and into the sea, our bodies might never have been found. But for Algy and Bertie that might have been the case.'

'And his department, so to speak,' Raymond continued, 'appears to be student unrest and miscellaneous assassinations. And who's going to suspect that the source of an incident in Europe or America is to be found in a remote island half the world away? Especially when they have the facility to transport people at will. This Crazy Jim's recent jaunt to the Western Pacific proves that. Fortunately that list you acquired should enable us to nip many of these schemes in the bud.'

Attention turned to Worrals and Frecks as they summarised their experiences.

'Unlike Inspector Bigglesworth,' Worrals ended, wryly, 'I don't even know what information I've returned with.'

'Some interesting holiday snaps, I hope,' said Steeley.

'Very interesting,' confirmed Raymond, 'but you were in grave danger at times – still are by all accounts.'

'No more than Inspector Bigglesworth by the sound of it,' cut in Worrals acidly.

'Yes, yes – quite so, quite so,' said Raymond hurriedly, 'but I'm still very relieved that you're both safe and that our rescue plans worked.'

'I'm pleased to hear about von Zoyton,' put in Biggles. 'I remember saying after our last encounter that he wasn't a bad chap at heart. Useful fellow to have around if there's any air-work to be done. Where is he by the way?'

'He should be back from Gibraltar this evening,' Raymond replied, 'and the information Miss Lovell brought with her is most useful, detailing a number of names that can be pursued. But our chief treasure is the film Miss Worralson took of da Silva's papers, all the more valuable, since it appears that he is unaware that they have been seen.'

He looked at Worrals gravely.

'You took an incredible risk there, my girl,' – Worrals seemed about to explode – 'but the results have been invaluable. We still haven't fixed identities for all these Shakespearean names yet. Cordelia is still a puzzle and the Ides of March sounds particularly ominous. Nevertheless, thanks to you we know infinitely more about this organisation and its plans than we did before. Even the codes they use are in our hands now. '

'Don't forget Steeley,' Worrals pointed out. 'He set me up and brought me out afterwards.'

'My pleasure,' said Steeley, gallantly.

'Significantly,' Raymond remarked, 'no complaints have been received from the Portuguese authorities about English ladies stealing aircraft or escaping from custody and being helped to evade the police by a British seaplane. Obviously Captain Pereira prefers not to be the subject of official attention.' He smiled faintly. 'So, despite your best efforts, ladies, our relations with our oldest ally remain unimpaired.'

Copper, who was nearest, fed a huge log on to the fire, which was starting to flag. It revived immediately.

'I suppose our Mr Silver ain't related to this Portuguese geezer,' he commented, sitting down again.

'He has been identified as the other man with da Silva in the framed picture Miss Worralson photographed,' Raymond confirmed.

'Silver and da Silva,' snorted Copper. 'We were slow working that one out, my oath we were.'

'Silva in Latin means a wood,' Biggles pointed out. 'Similar sound but very different meaning. A case of a little knowledge getting in the way,' he added, ruefully.

Gimlet spoke.

'What about this information Trapper overheard after he had rescued Miss Lovell?' he queried.

'Yes, I was coming to that,' said Raymond. 'Perhaps Troublay would summarise that for us.'

'There isn't very much,' admitted Trapper. 'Once the young couple had released everyone, they went off to send a radio message from their car. There was no thought of pursuit. As I expected, they thought we were miles away by then. While they were gone, someone asked if they would still be going ahead and their leader – the one who had been interrogating Frecks – mentioned the name of an RAF, base in the Midlands and joked that they'd still be able to make its Boxing Day go with a bang. Then the others returned with news of a carload of reinforcements on the way and I thought I'd better rejoin Frecks before things became unhealthy.'

'You were only just in time,' said Frecks earnestly.

'Troublay's initiative has borne fruit,' Raymond said. 'We warned RAF. Bisington to be on extra alert and gave a general warning to other stations. I learnt over lunch that they apprehended an intruder whose plan was clearly to sabotage one of our latest jet fighters. The man escaped, unfortunately, with the assistance of armed accomplices but at least the attempt has been foiled.'

He turned to Trapper.

'Good work, Troublay,' he acknowledged. 'All the progress we have made in this country has been thanks to your special skills. Captain King's team has been performing wonders on the home front.'

Cub's report came last.

'I don't seem to have achieved very much,' he apologised, when he had finished. 'While you've had all the excitement, I've just been for a bit of a cruise. Instead of locating the enemy, I was picked up by the authorities.'

'I don't see how you could have done any more,' said Gimlet, re-assuringly. 'This Jens seems to be a good man doing a difficult job for his country. Can't really fault him for his conduct.'

'These two fishing boats you saw in the night,' probed the Air Commodore. 'Did it strike you that the Faroese vessel might be on its way to a rendezvous with the Russian trawler?'

'I did wonder about that, yes,' agreed Cub.

'You did well to jot the names down,' continued Raymond. 'We've been able through Interpol, to trace the owner of the Faroese ship – a man called Pedersen – Olaf Pedersen.'

'Oh,' gasped Cub. The others looked at him, expectantly.

'Is the name familiar?' asked Raymond.

'It's just some comment made to Jens when I showed my passport; something about 'could be a relation' and then a laugh. Pedersen is like Petersen – and Peters.'

'By Jove,' said Gimlet, 'so it is.'

'So you think it might have been this Pedersen who told Jens to suspect any British visitors looking around of being connected with our trawlers,' said Raymond, thoughtfully.

'I can't see why they would have made the remark otherwise,' said Cub. 'They reacted as if it was some kind of coincidence and it wouldn't be that simply because of Pedersen's fishing interests.'

'And from what you've said,' put in Biggles, ' your being snatched by those fishermen and presented to Jens wasn't part of the plan at all.'

'No. Jens realised that Simmonsen had acted illegally and was trying to hush the whole thing up. Obviously the Faroese fishermen had been tipped off to keep their eyes open and he acted on the spur of the moment.'

'Then that means that Pedersen doesn't know you were on Jens' vessel when he stopped the Russian trawler and spotted his own boat later,' Raymond considered.

'Not if Jens was successful.'

'Then he may have achieved exactly what he wanted to avoid. Thanks to your over-hasty kidnapper, you may have given us an important lead.'

Biggles laughed.

'It's just like wartime when we'd fly over a wood where there were troops hiding. There was always one of them that would take a pot shot at us and betray their presence, whereas if they'd all stayed hidden, we'd never have suspected they were there.'

'What we have discovered,' said Raymond, summarising, 'is that we are up against ruthless opponents whom, despite our best efforts, we have been prone to underestimate. Hence today's precautions. One key thing is that we now have four identities to work on: Villiers-Silver, Sidlington, da Silva and Pedersen. And we may have a fifth later,' he added, enigmatically.

There was a silence. Wilks returned to see if they wanted more coffee. Biggles stood up and moved over to the window. A road passed the base the other side of the perimeter fence. A car struggled by in a flurry of snow as Biggles watched. Just inside, an airman, huddled up against the cold, patrolled with a watchful alsation.

'Looks secure enough,' said Biggles, returning to his seat, 'but the quickest way in is always through the front door.'

'Or from the air,' added Steeley. 'You wouldn't turn away a plane in trouble, I suppose.'

'We try to stay alert,' smiled Wilks. 'No-one's successfully infiltrated the place while I've been here.'

There was a sharp rap on the door and, before Wilks could say anything, it opened to reveal a tall man, immaculately dressed but with greying hair, standing on the threshold. He stepped inside, walking with a slight limp.

'Who the . . .' began Wilks but Biggles stopped him.

'Wilks,' he began, 'I'd like to introduce an old enemy of mine, and more recently a friend, Erich von Stalhein, who has just strolled straight through your security checks without a whisper.'

Wilks shook hands like a man in a daze.

'How did you manage it?' he asked.

'It was simple,' said von Stalhein in his clipped precise manner. 'I drove up in a taxi, told your guards I had come to the special meeting you had organised, refused to say with whom, since I felt that was confidential, and apologised for being too late for lunch because of the dreadful weather.'

'So, there you are, Wilks,' said Biggles, turning to him, 'see how easy it can be to bluff your way through if you act with complete confidence.'

'Von Stalhein knew about the meeting, though – from you, obviously. No outsider would have been aware of it.'

'We hope not,' put in Raymond seriously, 'but we can never be totally sure. Had von Stalhein been up to mischief, you would now have a problem on your hands. And the people we are up against have proved to be remarkably resourceful so far.'

'I'll give orders that no other visitors are to be admitted to the base without my specific permission.'

He rang through from a phone in the corner of the room and issued the instruction.

'It happens that the man you allowed in was bone fide,' he stressed, 'but we can't be too careful.'

Then the voice from the other end caused his expression to change to one of bewilderment, moving to deep concern.

'What other chap?' he snapped. The others became suddenly attentive. 'When was this, before or after the man with the limp? . . . I see. Right – full security alert. Contact all sections and give the description. Top priority.'

He rang off and rubbed his hands across his face. Suddenly he was perspiring. He turned to face the room.

'Another man entered the base, claiming to be coming to a meeting,' he informed them, ' ten minutes before von Stalhein.'

'Well,' said the Air Commodore, musing to himself it seemed. 'I wonder how the devil they managed that.'

'Take Trapper with you,' said Gimlet as Wilks made to leave the room.

'Right,' said Wilks. He looked back wanly. 'We'll find out how efficient our intruder seeking procedure is now. Never needed it before.'

'Some of us better stop here,' said Raymond, 'and make sure he hasn't got into any of these upper rooms. Von Stalhein managed it without any trouble.' His brow furrowed. 'You didn't see anyone outside the door or on the stairs as you came in, von Stalhein,' he added, anxiously.

'No.'

'Then he didn't overhear our discussion,' said Raymond with relief.

'What's your procedure?' asked Biggles as they descended the stairs.

'We're all allocated certain areas to search,' Wilks replied. 'We have drills from time to time to ensure that we know our own areas particularly well. Actually, since most of you are strangers, you'd better keep with me or my chaps will think one of you is the offending party.'

'Good thinking.'

'Don't blot out the tracks,' warned Trapper. 'They should be quite clear in the snow.'

Only two people had walked in from the gate since the snow had come. Trapper discerned that one had a limp, which immediately suggested von Stalhein, so they followed the other tracks, which, being less distinct, showed they had been made earlier, with more white flakes already beginning to obscure them. Trapper noted the pattern of the soles and guided the others unerringly towards the hangers.

'Go wiv a bang,' recalled Copper. 'There's a bomb in the offing 'ere, swelp me if there ain't.'

To her disgust Worrals had been left in the room, together with Frecks, Raymond and von Stalhein.

'You are civilians now,' pointed out the Air Commodore, gently when Worrals protested. 'This is a matter for the Air Force and the Police.'

'Steeley isn't police, nor are Gimlet King and his men,' she pointed out with asperity.'

'Well, some of us had to stay,' said Raymond feebly.

Drawing a Luger, which he had also managed to bring on to the base, von Stalhein proceeded to search the other upstairs rooms with the methodical thoroughness that had always marked his activities. He was some time and came back to announce that he would stay in the corridor, since it gave a good view of some of the area outside. Worrals gazed out of their own window, seeing once more the dog handler going by.

'Don't expect there'll be much of a scent in all this snow,' she commented.

A car swished past. She watched it carefully, not so much with any special grounds of suspicion as a general air of alertness, since there seemed nothing else she was to be permitted to do. She was there for some moments when a new development drew her attention.

'Any luck old man?' a cultured voice asked from outside the door.

'No,' came von Stalhein's curt reply.

'Unlikely to come over here, surely.'

Von Stalhein grunted but inside the room Frecks, who had just picked up her handbag, furrowed her brow in thought.

'That voice,' she said, 'I'm sure I've heard it recently.' She went over to the door and opened it. An Air Force officer stood there, about to descend the stairs. Frecks was about to step back but stopped.

'Hey,' she cried.

The man looked over his shoulder for an instance and then continued his descent, quickening his pace. It took a second for full recognition to come to Frecks but that was all. The vulture eyes were all the confirmation she needed. It was the man who had interrogated her days earlier.

'Stop that man,' she called out urgently.

Without pausing he pulled out a gun and fired at her. She flung herself to the floor as he did so but still felt the passage of the bullet close to her arm. He fired again but this time von Stalhein's Luger answered and the man tumbled down the final stairs to finish in an untidy heap at the foot, dropping his gun in the process.

Cautiously Frecks raised her head, hearing the urgent tones of Worrals' voice behind her.

'Frecks – are you all right?'

Frecks picked herself up, somewhat gingerly.

'Yes,' she said shakily, gazing at a bullet hole in her handbag. 'I wasn't hit but it was uncomfortably close.'

Worrals looked meaningfully at Raymond.

'This is what comes of you keeping us out of danger, is it?' she said with scathing sarcasm.

Von Stalhein had descended the stairs, his Luger trained on the intruder, who was making painful efforts to stir. Blood seeping from his right shoulder showed where he had been hit. Next moment Wilks and his party dashed in.

'Got him, by Jove,' said Bertie, regarding the figure with satisfaction.

'Relieve the men on the gate and bring them here,' Wilks ordered. An officer sped away. 'Make sure this is the fellow they meant,' he added to the others.

Two airmen soon appeared.

'That's him,' one confirmed immediately. 'He was wearing a coat before, though.'

'He was carrying a briefcase too,' said the other. 'Where's that?'

Wilks turned to the man, still clutching his shoulder and trying to stand.

'Where is it?' he snapped.

Despite his pain, the man laughed harshly.

'That's something you'll have to find out,' he said, wincing as he did so. 'But don't worry. You'll know exactly where it is soon enough.'

'Take him to the hangers,' suggested Trapper, softly.

The man's expression changed dramatically.

'Good idea,' said Gimlet, sharply. 'Bring that man along, Corporal.'

'Aye aye, sir,' said Copper, acknowledging his former rank.

'That's if it's all right with you, sir,' Gimlet added, turning to Wilks and the Air Commodore.

'Go ahead,' invited Wilks. 'I'll come with you.'

'We don't want too many with a bomb about to go off,' Gimlet pointed out. 'Copper and I should be able to cope.'

Wilks, though, as commanding officer, insisted on going with them and was able to help with the task of half dragging, half carrying the man, who was crying out, partly in pain from his wound, partly in terror. They trailed a ragged path through the snow towards the hanger to which Trapper had traced his steps earlier and went in.

'Now where is it?' demanded Gimlet.

'There, there – by that plane,' gasped the man, almost incoherent with fear and gesturing with his unharmed arm to the nearest Hunter. Without hesitation Gimlet ran towards it.

'Under the wing,' called Wilks.

'When's it going off?' growled Copper to his prisoner. 'I'll put you beside it if you don't tell me.'

But the man had fainted.

'What a hero!' Copper sneered. 'Okay when it comes to bullying women but 'e's not so 'ot when 'e's on the receiving end.'

He gazed towards Gimlet as he marched out of the hanger, a capacious briefcase by his side.

'Look at 'im,' he added, trying to mask his obvious anxiety. 'Setting off as if 'e's just late for the office.'

'Why doesn't he run?' Wilks fretted.

'Doesn't want to take a chance on jolting the bomb, I expect.'

Some of the others had come out to join them, all eyes riveted to the lean lonely figure striding away from the building. Soon the snow obliterated him. No-one spoke. Dull daylight was ending and a winter twilight was setting in, making visibility still more restricted. Accustomed as he was to Gimlet's qualities, Cub still found himself marvelling at his old C.O.'s iron nerve and apparent imperturbability. In the tense silent moments, he felt he could hear his own heartbeats thudding into his ears. Oblivious to the falling snow he and the others had stepped outside to stare impotently into a remorseless white veil.

When the explosion came, its huge crump softened by the snow and seeming to echo behind them seconds later, it was as if they had been wakened from a trance. The immediate intake of breath was universal, then they were running, running forward, running desperately, Cub and Copper outstripping the rest with Trapper close behind.

The sight they were praying to see soon met them: Gimlet, strolling back as if he had been engaged in nothing more exciting than an afternoon walk.

'You okay, skipper?' called Copper.

'This suit'll need dry-cleaning,' complained Gimlet. 'The blast from that damn bomb knocked me over. Disgusting business. Who's with the prisoner?' he added as the others joined them.

'Oh,' said Wilks, cut short as he was about to begin congratulations, 'we were so concerned about you that . . .'

'Someone go and check,' snapped Gimlet and Trapper and Cub ran off immediately.

'Close run thing, what,' said Wilks, obviously much relieved.

'Not really. I could hear it ticking most of the time. Gave me the chance to find a soft spot for it. Damn thing stopped after I let it go. Just got far enough away. Busted up your bushes I'm afraid. Had twigs all over me at one stage.'

Cub came running back.

'He's gone,' he called.

Copper swore.

'Foxing all the time,' he said. 'Who'd 'ave thought it?'

Unlike most of the others, who, after milling round irresolutely for a while, had drifted off to the hangers, Biggles had returned to the warm room. Worrals and Frecks were there with the Air Commodore, and von Stalhein joined them.

'So that's Gimlet,' said von Stalhein, sitting down. 'I heard his name during the war. It inspired fear. He and his commandos were a menace to us in France. A brave man. And a little harder than you, I fancy, Bigglesworth.'

'Had to be in his job,' said Biggles. 'But since our visitor might have killed Frecks moments before, I've no qualms about the way Gimlet treated him.'

'Not to mention his earlier conduct,' added Frecks. 'His is one face and voice I'm not likely to forget in a hurry.'

'A good job you remembered them now,' said Raymond, softly. 'Wonder where he got the uniform from. Strolled in here as calmly as you like.'

'Not quite calmly,' said Biggles. 'I'm not sure he actually planned to come in here. Once he'd planted his bomb he'd want to be away. I think Wilks' search parties were coming too close. They'd spot a stranger in uniform if we wouldn't. He'd put on the bold front, of course – the only way he'd get away with it – but I think he came up here looking for a place to lie low for a while. Instead he ran into the one person who had more cause to recognise him than most.'

'Biggles!' Worrals called from the window. 'Come here a second, would you?'

'What's the problem?' asked Biggles, moving across.

'That car just going by – I'm sure I saw it not so many minutes ago.'

'Hmm – blue Triumph Herald. I think I've seen it too – just before von Stalhein arrived. Looks as if our visitor has friends and transport in the offing.'

'Did you see its number?' asked Raymond.

'Too far away,' said Worrals. 'And it was all snowed over anyway.'

'Yes, I'll bet it was.'

Biggles moved towards the door.

'Think I might go for a walk,' he decided, 'outside the perimeter fence. See if there's anything interesting there.'

'I'll come with you,' offered Worrals. 'I need some air. Besides, a man and woman together may seem less suspicious.'

'Romantic even,' suggested Frecks. 'Two lovers, oblivious to the elements, lost in each other.'

'You watch too many films,' Worrals complained and she and Biggles went to collect their coats.

'Should be an easy enough trail to follow,' said Wilks when they were all back at the hanger. 'His wound wasn't faked. There's spots of blood every few yards.'

'Yes, he won't have got far,' said Algy.

'These are heavy footsteps,' Trapper contributed, following the trail. 'He is staggering, I think.'

'I'm glad to see Tug and Angus again,' Biggles said as he and Worrals trudged through thickening snow. 'Two of the best.'

'They were a welcome sight,' Worrals agreed, 'but it was Steeley who worked wonders when we were up against it. A pretty elaborate contingency plan but, my word, it was needed.'

She laughed suddenly.

'And if Captain Pereira had only let us alone,' she added, ' we'd have come home with only half the info.'

'Your friend Frecks has had an exciting time,' Biggles assessed. 'Shot down, shot at, abducted – Raymond certainly knows how to look after a girl!'

'What about you?' queried Worrals. 'Attacked by machetes, bombed, in danger of drowning in a wild river – you've had your moments too.'

'Well, let's hope there aren't many more of them. I'm getting too old for all this.'

'That's what Steeley said. Doesn't stop you doing it.'

Biggles smiled faintly.

'No,' he conceded, 'it doesn't. And, by the same token, presumably you knew what to expect when Raymond rang.'

'I wasn't cut out to be a shorthand-typist,' Worrals agreed.

They crossed the road, feeling less conspicuous with trees and bushes beside them and straining to see any sign of the car they suspected could still be around.

'Do you think they knew about our meeting?' asked Worrals, 'or is it just a coincidence that he turned up here with his little present?'

'Not just here,' reminded Biggles. 'Trapper alerted us to their plans for Bisington so they've obviously targeted other bases as well. They'd have guessed there was some sort of meeting here by the number of non-military planes arriving but it's clear that fellow didn't know Frecks was in the offing or he'd never have given himself away like that.'

'That's what I thought. Hallo,' she added suddenly, lowering her voice, 'there it is.'

Stepping away from the road, they edged carefully forward behind a ragged bramble that afforded a modicum of cover. Snow accumulating on their coats also helped them to blend with the white background. Biggles stopped and crouched down, tapping Worrals on the shoulder as he did so. She followed suit. Across the road two shapes were bent against the perimeter fence. As Biggles and Worrals watched, the men stood up and returned to their car.

'Move back,' whispered Biggles urgently, and they withdrew to take up positions behind a solid old oak. For a moment or two nothing happened. The bleak scene seemed unalterable, as if painted on a card. An uncanny silence prevailed, sinister and expectant, waiting for some signal to change.

It was shattered by the noise of an explosion and before Biggles could whisper his concerns about Gimlet and Wilks another came from much closer, scattering snow and debris either side of them.

The car had evidently kept its engine running, for it moved up to what was now a hole in the fence. As it did so, Biggles moved forward again and at an angle that would take him towards its rear.

'Stay here,' he said to Worrals as she began to follow, 'there might be shooting.'

'I can shoot.'

'Not without a gun you can't – and I've only got the one.'

He completed his manoeuvre without being seen, partly because the attention of the men was concentrated on the area beyond the gap. Two of them waited by it whilst a third remained behind the wheel, staring forward.

Worrals could see all this as she fumed impotently behind the tree, though she had to admit that there was no sense in making herself a possible target for nothing. The snow eased, allowing her to see more clearly and witness a scene springing into abrupt activity. She saw a man, staggering towards the fence, clutching his arm, with five or six others in pursuit. It was obvious that they would catch him and the men waiting, who had started to move through the gap to his assistance, leapt back again. Both had drawn guns and were taking aim when a snap shot from Biggles, which whined off the top of the car roof, caused them to spin round. One fired hastily at him, now dangerously exposed, whilst the other turned to send a shot through the hole in the fence. The man trying to escape stumbled and fell. The man who had fired at Biggles jumped into the car, which turned violently, bumping on the grass verge in the process. The third man tried to join it but another shot from Biggles caused him to slip and sprawl on the road, whereupon, with vehicles suddenly approaching from the base, his companions drove off, sending Biggles diving out of the way as they snapped a shot in his direction.

With the car gone and figures now appearing at the fence, the remaining man dashed across the road. He pointed his gun at Biggles, now struggling to regain his feet but Worrals, devoid of other weapons, sent a well-directed snowball to burst on his ear and distract him. The man turned and, clearly unaware of where this new missile had come from, plunged straight towards the tree. As he passed it, Worrals flung herself on his back, clutching at his neck and causing him to fall. An elbow in the face sent her reeling but the huge figure of Copper emerged to complete the capture with one well-aimed blow.

Meantime two staff cars had sped past Biggles as he debated what to do. Gimlet joined him.

'Gad, it's cold weather for this kind of business,' he said, conversationally.

'I'm relieved to see you. We heard the explosion. Any casualties?'

'Only some bushes – and my suit in a mess.'

'How's the prisoner? I didn't expect to see him running free.'

'He'll survive. No thanks to his friends, though. That shot was meant to kill him.'

They looked over to where Copper and Trapper were escorting their dazed captive with Worrals walking behind them.

'A resourceful lady, Miss Worralson,' Gimlet observed. 'That snowball may have saved your life.'

'I'm glad we followed up our hunch,' said Biggles. 'Well, there's not much we can do about the pursuit so we might as well go inside again.'

Before he could take a step, however, the squeal of a skidding, braking car came from the direction the three vehicles had taken, culminating in the distant crunch of a collision.

'Take that man inside, Copper,' Gimlet ordered briskly and then, with one glance across the road to ensure that the recaptured escapee was well attended by airmen, he and Biggles rushed away, followed, a second later, by Worrals and Steeley, who had just joined her.

It took a few minutes to reach a bend of the road, where two wrecked cars scarred the snow on either side with the RAF. vehicles safely parked nearby, their occupants hovering around the crash. As Biggles drew closer, he noted that it was a police car that had been hit, though fortunately its two occupants seemed no more than dazed by the encounter. The Herald had careered into a tree. An ambulance and another police car arrived.

'Obvious what happened,' said Gimlet. 'Our uninvited visitors tried to take the corner too fast and skidded into the police car coming the other way. Well, it's stopped them escaping.'

An inspector emerged from the newly arrived car. Biggles went over and introduced himself and together they watched the injured men being carried to the ambulance.

'They'll need to be guarded,' Biggles said, 'not to prevent them escaping – I'm sure they're in no shape for that at present – but to stop anyone silencing them. This is a ruthless organisation that does its best to ensure that its members don't talk if they're taken prisoner.'

'I'll see to it,' the inspector promised.

'Well,' said Biggles, turning to the others, 'things are under control here so I think it's time to return to that fire – if it hasn't died from neglect.'

'Yes,' Gimlet agreed, ' I'm beginning to feel decidedly damp.'

'Those two looked hors de combat for a while. I hope we get more out of the man Worrals captured.'

'Depends how hard Copper thumped him,' said Worrals.

'Hard I hope,' said Gimlet. 'Dashed bad form to hit a woman. How are you by the way?'

'Okay, I think – though I'll have a bruise to match Frecks' now.'

'I'm grateful for your snowballing prowess, by the way,' acknowledged Biggles.

'She's good with onions, too,' chuckled Steeley. 'It argues a mis-spent youth.'

'Don't give all my secrets away,' smiled Worrals.

At a brisk pace, they returned to the base.

'I'm afraid it was my doing, calling up the local police,' admitted Raymond, when they were all settled in the room again. 'I thought it might be useful to have them in the offing if there was an enemy vehicle in the vicinity.'

'Well, they certainly stopped our visitors from getting away,' said Biggles. 'We just have to make sure they stay around for a while. Neither of them is saying anything at present. Our bomber is hopping mad at the attempt to permanently silence him but he's still saying nothing. Wilks has a couple of airmen guarding him while the camp doctor takes that slug out of his shoulder. Our other beauty just glares at us and demands the right to speak to his solicitor.'

'We could put them together and observe the results,' suggested Gimlet. 'It could be entertaining and maybe informative.'

The resurrected fire was blazing merrily, a welcome sight for those who had spent time out in the snow. Wilks was about to arrange another round of coffee when the phone rang. He answered it.

'What!' he said, surprised. He turned to the others. 'An aircraft,' he explained, 'asking permission to land. Who on earth would be up in this weather?'

Evidently mindful of Steeley's comment earlier, he spoke into the phone again.

'Tell him to identify himself,' he ordered.

There was a pause, then he looked up.

'Says his name's Marcel Brissac,' he told them, 'of the French Air Police.'

Biggles' face broke into a smile.

'Relax then, Wilks,' he advised. 'It's one of ours.'