Biggles Fails To Return Part 2

put in Bertie. 'Yes, by jingo, that's it. Ginger can be a Spaniard.'

'Doing what?'

'Sel ing onions. In the same way those chappies from northern France used to come over to England with their little strings of onions, the lads from Spain surge along the Riviera sel ing the jol y old vegetable.

Or if he likes he can be a bul fighter looking for work -they stil have bul -fights in the South of France.'

'Not for me,' declared Ginger. 'I might be offered a job. I'l sel onions.'

'Where are you going to get the onions?' inquired Algy.

'Plenty on the aerodrome. You forget our lads have turned market gardeners.'

'Okay, then we'l cal that settled. But we seem to have overlooked the most important thing of al . How are we going to get back?'

'By Jove, that's a nasty one,' muttered Bertie. 'I'd clean forgotten about the return tickets.'

'There's only one way,' a.s.serted Ginger.

'a.s.suming that Ducoste wil take us over, he'l have to pick us up again. We should have to fix a place and time. Natural y, we should al have to keep that date, whatever happened. If we don't locate Biggles, or find out what happened to him, in that time, the chances are that we never should. If we finish before that time we should just have to lie doggo until the plane came for us. We could flash a light signal to plane came for us. We could flash a light signal to Ducoste to let him know that it was okay to land.'

'I can't think of anything better than that,' admitted Algy. 'Of course, if we made a mess of things we shouldn't be there, anyway, in which case Ducoste would push off again. We couldn't ask him to hang about. Anything else?'

'That seems to be about as far as we can get,'

opined Ginger. 'When we get back to the aerodrome, are you going to let the others in on this?'

'No,' decided Algy. 'The whole squadron would want to come. We can't have that-the show would begin to look like a commando raid, or an invasion.

Angus can take over while I'm away. Wel , let's get along and put the proposition to the Air Commodore.

We can fix the details later.'

'What details?' asked Ginger.

'We shal need French money, forged ident.i.ty papers, and so on. Raymond wil get those for us if he approves the scheme.'

'If he does, when are we going to start?'

'Obviously, just as soon as we are ready,'

answered Algy. 'The sooner we are on the spot the better. We ought to be away by to-morrow night at latest.' He got up. 'Let's get back to the Ministry. I'm anxious to get this thing settled.'

Half an hour later he was laying the proposition before Commodore Raymond, who listened patiently until he had finished.

'You fel ows are al old enough to know what you're doing,' said the Air Commodore quietly, at the conclusion. 'But for the fact that you have had experience in this sort of deadly work I wouldn't consider the project. However, your previous successful operations do ent.i.tle you to special consideration. I must say, though, that I shal be very much surprised if I see any of you again until the end of the war-if then. By discarding your uniforms you wil become spies, in which case, it is hardly necessary for me to tel you, it is no use appealing to me if you are caught*1. I'm sorry if that sounds discouraging, but we must face the facts. I'l make arrangements with your Group for you to go on leave, and supply you with such things as you think you wil require, as far as it is in my power. I'l get in touch with Ducoste right away and tel him to telephone you at the squadron. He volunteered for the last show, at the squadron. He volunteered for the last show, and I have no doubt he'l do so again. He can have the Breguet. It wil be less likely to attract attention over France than one of our machines, and at the same time save us from using-I nearly said losing -one of ours. If he's caught he'l be shot, so don't let him down. Anything else?'

'Just one thing, sir,' requested Ginger. 'What is the name of the Italian businessman you mentioned, the fel ow at whose vil a the princess hoped to stay-the skunk who let her down?'

'The man is a retired Milanese banker named Zabani-Gaspard Zabani. His place is the Vil a Valdora, in the Avenue Fleurie. Why did you ask that?'

'Since, apparently, he is wel in with the Italian secret police, he may know how his betrayal of the princess ended. He might be induced to speak.'

A ghost of a smile crossed the Air Commodore's face. 'I see. As far as I'm concerned you can do what you like with him. He must be an exceptional y nasty piece of work. But while we are on the subject of the Italian secret police, be careful of a fel ow named Gordino. He is in charge of things on the Riviera.

He's a short, dark, stoutish, middle-aged man- usual y wears a dark civilian suit. He's got an upturned black moustache and a scar on his chin.

He looks rather like a prosperous little grocer, but don't be deceived by that. He's a cunning devil.'

'What a bounder the blighter must be,' murmured Bertie in his wel -dressed voice.

'Matter of fact, he is,' agreed the Air Commodore, smiling. He stood up. 'And now, gentlemen, if that's al , I must ask you to be on your way. I've a pile of work in front of me. I'l get Henri Ducoste to ring you later.'

'Thank you, sir, for giving us so much of your time,'

said Algy. 'We are grateful to you for being frank and for giving us this chance. Biggles shal know about it -when we find him.'

'Bring Biggles back alive and I shal be amply repaid,' returned Air Commodore Raymond. 'Good luck to you.'

Stil discussing the plan the deputation returned to the aerodrome.

At nine o'clock that night an officer in the uniform of the Fighting French Air Force walked into the anteroom. Ginger saw him first, and guessed at once who he was, although they had been expecting a phone cal , not a personal appearance. Nudging Bertie, he went to meet the visitor.

'Henri Ducoste?' he queried.

Smiling, the French airman nodded a.s.sent. He was a slim, dark young man, with straight, rather long black hair, and a shy manner. Ginger had visualized -not that the Air Commodore had given any reason for it-an older man. He judged him to be not more than nineteen.

Having introduced himself and Bertie, Ginger took his arm, saying. 'Let's get out of the crowd.' They went to the station office where Algy was busy clearing up some squadron matters to leave everything shipshape for Angus to take over. Henri was introduced.

'I have spoken with your Air Commodore,' he said in fair English. 'Better than the telephone, I think I come here and talk.'

'Much better idea,' agreed Algy. 'Sit down.

Cigarette? Did the Air Commodore tel you just what we had in mind?'

'Yes, he tel s me al you know, I think.'

'You know we want you to fly us to Monaco?'

'But yes.'

'How do you feel about it?'

Henri shrugged his shoulders. 'How you say?

Okay wiz me. I go anywhere. What does it matter?'

'That's the spirit,' returned Algy.

'Only with one thing I do not agree so much,' went on Henri, frankly.

'What's that?'

'I understand not quite this making of a landing at Californie, on the beach by Nice.'

'What's wrong with that?'

' Tiens! Tiens! We have use it one time. The Italian mens are not of the most clever, but they are not always the fools. They stop any more landings at Nice, I think. We have use it one time. The Italian mens are not of the most clever, but they are not always the fools. They stop any more landings at Nice, I think.

Perhaps there may be now the trench, the wire, or the big sticks of wood, to make a crash.' Henri shrugged. 'I don't know, but it would be good to make sure.'

'By Jove, you know, the lad's right-absolutely right,' declared Bertie. 'No bal y use busting ourselves right at the word go, or anything like that- if you see what I mean?'

'I see what you mean al right,' agreed Algy thoughtful y. 'It would be taking a pretty hefty risk to thoughtful y. 'It would be taking a pretty hefty risk to use this landing ground without first confirming that there were no obstructions. I always realized that, but I couldn't think of an alternative. Of course, once we were there we could check up, and if the place was al right we could use it to go home from.' To Henri he said, 'Can you think of a better plan?'

'There are two ways more,' announced Henri.

'Either we find another aerodrome or you use the parachute. There is no other aerodrome for many kilometres. Alors! Alors! I think it better to use the parachute.' I think it better to use the parachute.'

'That seems to be a sound argument,' agreed Algy, 'but I was given to understand that the country round Monaco was dangerous for parachute landings-rocks and ravines, and so on?'

' Oui Oui. But there are places where the rocks are not too close. I live al my life at Monaco. I know such a place. It is much nearer to Monaco than Californie, only three, perhaps four, miles. Regarde Regarde*2. Here is my map. I show you.'

Henri unfolded his map on the desk. 'Voila!' 'Voila!' he continued. 'Here we have Monaco. There are three roads. One, she go east to Italy. Two, she go west to Nice, Cannes, and sometime to Ma.r.s.eil es. Three, she go north, very steeply up the mountain, to the vil age of La Turbie. Behind La Turbie a road the most smal she goes to Peil e. On the left of the road, we have a wide val ey, many kilometres long. Men who make the farm in the val ey, they clear away al the big rock. You jump there and you make only four miles down the mountain to Monaco. And there is another thing I tel you. From La Turbie to Monaco you need not the road use. On it perhaps there are the soldiers and the police. See here.' Henri pointed on the map to a more or less straight line that ran from La Turbie to Monaco. 'That is the old mountain railway-very steep, very dangerous. One day the train she go down the mountain alone. Zip! Many people they are kil ed, so the railway she runs no more. But the line is stil there, and so when I was a boy we ascend to La Turbie by the iron rails. If you land in my val ey you can go straight down the line into Monaco and no one knows-no one see you. he continued. 'Here we have Monaco. There are three roads. One, she go east to Italy. Two, she go west to Nice, Cannes, and sometime to Ma.r.s.eil es. Three, she go north, very steeply up the mountain, to the vil age of La Turbie. Behind La Turbie a road the most smal she goes to Peil e. On the left of the road, we have a wide val ey, many kilometres long. Men who make the farm in the val ey, they clear away al the big rock. You jump there and you make only four miles down the mountain to Monaco. And there is another thing I tel you. From La Turbie to Monaco you need not the road use. On it perhaps there are the soldiers and the police. See here.' Henri pointed on the map to a more or less straight line that ran from La Turbie to Monaco. 'That is the old mountain railway-very steep, very dangerous. One day the train she go down the mountain alone. Zip! Many people they are kil ed, so the railway she runs no more. But the line is stil there, and so when I was a boy we ascend to La Turbie by the iron rails. If you land in my val ey you can go straight down the line into Monaco and no one knows-no one see you.

How's that?'

'Pretty good,' agreed Algy. 'But about the parachutes. We have things to carry; they are likely to get broken.'

'We can heave them over on a special brol y*3,'

suggested Ginger.

'Yes, of course. But what shal we do with the parachutes, Henri? Is there any place where we can hide them?'

Again Henri stabbed the map with an enthusiastic finger. 'Here on the Peil e road there are no 'ouses.

Only one. The stone wal s have al fal down. Put your parachutes inside and cover them with stones, and no one sees them. But it is so simple.'

Algy looked at the others. 'Henri has certainly got the right ideas. We'l take his advice.'

'I throw you down in good place,' promised Henri.

'I am a Monegasque. I know this country al over.' His eyes moistened, without shame, as only those of a Latin can. 'One day I go back and see my mother, and my little sister, Jeanette. My father, he is dead five years now.'

'And your mother stil lives at Monaco?' asked Algy.

'But yes.'

'Where? It might be possible that we could give her a message from you.'

'La-la? That would be the most marvel ous!' cried Henri. 'They know I go to the war and for them that is the end. They do not know if I am alive or dead. I dare not try to send the message, because if it is known I fly for De Gaul e perhaps they are put in a concentration camp for hostages.' That would be the most marvel ous!' cried Henri. 'They know I go to the war and for them that is the end. They do not know if I am alive or dead. I dare not try to send the message, because if it is known I fly for De Gaul e perhaps they are put in a concentration camp for hostages.'

'Where do they live?'

'At Monaco, on the rock-the old vil age. Number six, Rue Mariniere. It is the first little street opposite the palace. If you see them, say that Pepe'-Henri blushed slightly-'they cal me Pepe,' he explained.

'Say that Pepe sends his love and is of the best health, fighting for France.'

'We ought to be able to manage that,' a.s.serted Ginger.

'Let's have a good look at the map,' suggested Algy. 'It would be as wel to make ourselves absolutely au fait au fait*4 with the country.'

'I say, chaps, there's one thing we seem to have left out of the calculations,' put in Bertie. 'What about the jol y old princess?'

'What about her?' snorted Ginger. 'She was the cause of al the trouble. As far as I am concerned she can stay where she is, wherever that may be, or she can splash her own way out of the kettle of fish she put on to boil at Monte Carlo. Let's forget her.'

Chapter 3.

The Road to Monte Carlo The fol owing night, a little before twelve, Henri's Berline Briguet glided quietly at twenty thousand feet, on a southward course, over the grey limestone ma.s.s of the departement departement*1 of France known as the Alpes Maritimes. The air was stil , clear and warm, as it is at this pampered spot on three hundred days of the year. Far to the east the silver disc of the moon hung low over Italy, just clearing the peaks of the Ligurian Alps, which, like the edge of a saw, cut a jagged line across the sky. Into the west ran the deeply indented coastline of the French Riviera. To the south, glistening faintly to the moon, lay the age-old Mediterranean Sea, silent, deserted, centre of the bitterest wars of conquest since history began.

Henri nudged Algy, who sat beside him, and pointed ahead. ' Voila*2! Voila*2! ' he breathed. 'Monaco.' ' he breathed. 'Monaco.'

Algy could just make out a town of considerable size, standing, it seemed, knee-deep in the sea between two capes, one large, the other smal and blunt, like a clenched fist.

Henri named them. 'On the left, Cap Martin. On the right, the little one, the rock of Monaco, where I live when I am home. Between, on the hil , Monte Carlo.

The big white building, she is the casino. At the bottom of the hil on the right, the harbour, which we cal La Condamine. Now we go down.'

Henri circled, losing height, for several minutes, paying close attention to the ground. At last he level ed out and held the machine steady.

'Now you go,' he said sharply. 'We glide straight up the val ey. Au revoir Au revoir*3.'

' Au revoir Au revoir, and many thanks,' answered Algy, and went aft to the cabin in which the others were waiting. 'This is it,' he announced crisply, and picked up a bulky bundle from the floor. Opening the door, he tossed it into s.p.a.ce. 'See you on the carpet,' he said, and fol owed the bundle into the void.

As soon as the parachute opened he looked down, but it was stil a little while before he could make out the details of the ground below. The terrain al looked much the same, the mountains dwarfed by his own alt.i.tude. But presently he saw that he was his own alt.i.tude. But presently he saw that he was dropping into a long shal ow val ey, bounded on the eastward side by a slim road cut in the side of a mountain of considerable size, capped by an embattled citadel which he knew, from his study of the map, must be the fort on Mont Agel, overlooking the Princ.i.p.ality of Monaco.

A minute later the ground rose sharply to meet him, and he braced himself for the shock of landing.

He fel , but was soon on his feet, slipping out of his harness and rol ing the parachute into a bal . He sat on it for a little while, listening, then whistled softly.

The only other sound was the drone of the departing aircraft. An answering whistle came out of the moonlight; footsteps fol owed, and a minute or two later Bertie and Ginger appeared together.