Biggles Hunts Big Game Part 6

"You're a pilot and you're looking for a job, eh? "

"Correct," answered Tug. He started to give his qualificatIons, but Black stopped him.

"We'll come back to that presently," he said. "I'd like to ask you one or two personal questions first if you don't mind?"

"Go ahead," requested Tug.

Black went on. "Please don't be offended, but from the way you worded your advertis.e.m.e.nt I rather gathered that you were short of money? "

Tug admitted that he wasn't exactly flush at the moment.

" Don't think me rude, and don't answer if you don't want to, but-just how short of money are you? " Tug c.o.c.ked a questioning eye. "Has that got anything to do with how I fly?"

Black offered a cigarette. "Yes, in a way, it has. Too many young fellows nowadays are apt to throw their weight about. That's probably the result of the war. But it doesn't make for amiable business 107 relationships. The point is this. When a fellow is really tight for money he is far more likely to do what he's told without arguing-and without asking too many questions. In other words, he is concerned with keeping his job. See what I mean?"

"Yes, now you put it like that," answered Tug. "I may as well be frank. I'm as near broke as makes no difference."

When Black spoke again his voice had dropped a tone, and had taken on a peculiar significance which Tug did not miss.

"May I take it that you wouldn't quibble about any work you might be asked to do, even though it was a trifle unusual -if there was real money hanging to it?"

Tug could see the way the conversation was drifting, and he tried to be helpful. There was no point in wasting time. It was evident that the sooner he let Black see that he wasn't particular how he earned his money, the faster they would get to the point. But he did not want to appear too willing. That might look suspicious.

"No," he said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't be too particular-that is, as long as it was a flying job."

" Quite so. What sort of salary had you in mind? "

"Depends on what I was asked to do," said Tug cautiously. "For a full-time flying job I should reckon on not less than forty pounds a month."

A ghost of a smile crossed Black's face. "What would you say to a hundred a month and all found? "

Tug grinned. "I shouldn't say anything. I should know I was dreaming."

"Well, dreams sometimes come true. Naturally, we should expect something for that."

"I should expect to do something for it," a.s.serted 108 Tug. "But don't get the idea that I'm dumb. When people offer more dough than they're asked for they've usually got another card to play. Do I guess right?"

Black nodded. "Dead right. I like the way you keep pace with an argument."

"What's the snag?"

"There's no snag. The extra money would be for doing just what you're told without asking awkward questions; and when you've done it, forgetting about it."

"Sounds easy," murmured Tug, sipping the tea that Black had handed to him. "Mind if I make another guess?"

"Go ahead."

"You've got some private freight you want carrying somewhere?"

"We're getting on fine," declared Black. "In fact, I think we've got far enough to put the rest of the cards on the table.

The sort of freight I'm interested in is sometimes difficult to get through customs. Now how do you feel about it?"

"The load I carry in my machine is no concern of mine-as long as I get paid for carrying it. I did my share of the dirty work in the war, but that cuts no ice now. If the government can't provide me with a pay load then I'll take what I can get."

"That's common sense," approved Black. "In times like these you have to help yourself."

"That's how I figure it," agreed Tug.

Black eyed him through narrow lids. "You're sure about this? I mean, there can't be any changing your nind when once you've started."

"I don't change my mind as easy as all that, and I 109 (ill.u.s.tration) don't quarrel with my bread and b.u.t.ter-not when it's got jam on it, too," declared Tug. "But I must tell you this. I haven't got a civil ticket. You'll have to give me time to get one."

"Don't worry about that," said Black easily. "We'll take care of that angle. When can you start?"

Tug looked up. "You seem to be in a hurry."

"We are. We've lost a couple of pilots lately; we're short-handed and the work's piling up. You may have to put in long hours for a start."

Tug flicked the ash off his cigarette. "What happpened to the two pilots? " he asked casually.

" They thought they could do better than work for us," answered Black evenly. "One thought he could sell something to the police, and the other aimed to get rich quick by telling a story to a newspaper. They both met with accidents.

One, who should have known better, walked into an airscrew when it was turning. The other was knocked down and killed by a car in Fleet Street. I hope you've got more sense than to do anything silly like that?"

"I should hope so," replied Tug. "But don't get the idea that you can give me the run around all the time. I'm not selling myself body and soul. I want some private life, once in a while."

"You do your job and you'll get it," promised Black. "When can you start?"

"Soon as you like. What's the job?"

"Simple and straightforward. For the time being we shall want you in North Africa. Ivan here will go out with you.

He's our chief pilot. He'll check up that you can handle the plane."

"What's the freight?"

"There isn't any, this time. There's an urgent 110 letter to go out, that's all. Can you start in the morning?"

"Sure."

"Okay then. You'll get your orders when you get to our Cairo office. Meanwhile, Ivan will ask you a few technical questions about your flying experience."

Tug turned to the third man present, who now spoke for the first time. His English was good and, strangely enough, considering that it was spoken with a p.r.o.nounced accent, embodied a lot of R.A.F. slang. Tug judged him to be a Pole who had served in the R.A.F. during the war. It was soon evident that he knew his job, too, for he put Tug through a short but comprehensive aero-catechism. He began with Tug's practical experience, flying hours, and the like, and went on to aero-dynamics, navigation, and air regulations. These questions Tug had no difficulty in answering, for they had been part of his everyday life for five years. There was only one uneasy moment, and that was when I van asked Tug what squadron he served in during the war. It was on the tip of Tug's tongue to say No. 666, which was Biggles' squadron, but he remembered in time and named the units in which he had served before joining Biggles.

When Ivan had finished he turned to Black. "Okay," he said. "I should say he's just the job."*

Black took a wallet from his pocket and slipped Tug a wad of notes. "There's fifty to go on with," he said. "And there's plenty more where that came from."

This Tug had no difficulty in believing. If these men were the counterfeiters Biggles was looking for, he mused, it didn't matter to them how much they paid him.

* "Just the job" is R.A.F. slang meaning exactly what is wanted.

111 "Where are you going now?" asked Black.

"Back to my hotel-unless you have any suggestion to make?" answered Tug.

"It's a bit out of the way. We like to have our pilots where we can get at them easily."

"And where you can see what they're doing, eh?" suggested Tug softly.

Black frowned. "Now don't get smart," he reproved. "But you can put it that way if you like. To save trouble we run a little place near Croydon where the boys can get together. You'll find it nice and comfortable. We call it the I.P.C.- that is, the Interrnational Pilots' Club. The address is, The Laurels, Upper Purley Walk. Make it your home when you're in this country. You might as well get your stuff together and take it down tonight. You'll be handy for moving off in the morning."

"Suits me," agreed Tug.

The two men got up. "Good-bye for now," said Black. " We'll see you later."

Tug nodded. Out of the corners of his eyes he watched the men thread their way through the tables towards the exit.

Near the swing doors it seemed to him that Black exchanged a meaning look with a heavily-built man, dressed in a navy blue suit, who was doing nothing in particular. Nothing was said, however. In fact, he was not sure that the incident had not been a trick of his imagination. Without a backkward glance Black and his tall confederate walked on and were quickly out of sight.

Tug waited for a few minutes, thinking things over.

Not a word had been said about Stellar Skyways, but he felt sure that Biggles' ruse had worked; at any rate, he was in touch with what was obviously a crooked 112 organization, so he had not wasted his time. Whether Black was connected with Stellar or not he would be worth following up, decided Tug. His first inclination was to call Biggles on the telephone right away and tell him of what had happened; but on second thoughts he concluded that a public call box was not the place. It would be better to go back to the hotel and put the call through from there.

A taxi took him home. Evening was closing in by the tIme he arrived, bringing with it one of those dismal semi-opaque fogs, that are the bane of London. He went up to his room, had a quick wash, and then came down to the large, gloomy Victorian hall, where the telephone was installed.

He had picked up the receiver and was waiting for the operator to answer when a slight movement at the far side of the hall caught his eye. He noticed this without any real interest because he was entirely taken up with what he was doing; but in an abstract sort of way he was puzzled; he was puzzled because the corner where the movement had occurred was occupied by one of those large, cIrcular hallstands, common in hotels, with numerous projections for the accommodation of hats and overcoats. There were plenty of coats and mackintoshes on the stand, and he thought it was one of them that had moved. But garments do not move of their own accord, and allowing his eyes to follow the coat downward he was not very surprised to see two legs. He observed that someone was standing behind the piece of furniture.

At this moment the operator asked for the number required, and Tug had to do some quick thinking. He dId not of course know who was behind the hallstand but he had a shrewd idea. To hang up now would look 113 suspicious. Yet, obviously, he could not ask for a trunk line, to call Delmar, as he had intended. On the spur of the moment he asked for the number of the garage where he kept his taxi, explaining that he had not dialled the number because the automatic system at the other end was out of order.

A garage hand answered. Tug told him that he had merely rung up to say that he was going away on a job and might not be back for a few days. He would look in and settle his account at the first opportunity. This done he hung up and went back up the stairs. No one had yet switched on the light, so on the first landing he stopped, and creeping back peeped down into the hall. A man was just stepping from behind the coatstand. It was the man in the blue suit whom he had seen at the Regency, the man with whom he had thought Black had exchanged glances. So he had not been mistaken after all, he pondered. He was not altogether surrprised. Obviously Black would not accept him on his own word straight away. He might have known that he would be watched, for a little while, anyway. He perceived for the first time that it might not be so easy for him to get in touch with Biggles as he had casually supposed. The man put on to watch him had only to hear him speaking to the Air Ministry, or Scotland Yard, and the game would be up. Not only that, he would be what is known in the American underworld as on the spot, for on Black's own statement the people for whom he worked made no bones about an occasional murder.

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With these thoughts in his mind Tug went along to his room, which was on the first floor, and locked the door behind him. He decided that it would be dangerous to use the telephone. The alternative was to write a letter. That should be easy, although it 114 would take a little longer to get word through to Biggles. He would drop the letter in a posting box on the way to Croydon. He had no notepaper, envelopes or stamps, not expecting that he would need them, but he found an old bill in his pocket, the envelope of which, bearing a penny stamp, had not been stuck up. That would do. The stamp didn't matter. Biggles could pay the surcharge.

He scribbled a note on the back of the bill telling Biggles what had happened. He said he was taking his lot to Croydon that night, but in all probability would be going straIght on to Egypt. Of his movements after that he knew nothing.

He had slipped the note into the envelope, which he had already addressed, and was licking the fiap when he heard the handle of the door move. For a second he waited, uncertain how to act. It was evident that someone had just tried the door, and he thought he could guess who it was. His main concern now was to get rid of the note which, should it be found on him would certainly cost him his life; if he was being followed as closely as this, he reasoned, he might not find it easy to dispose of once he left the room. Very quietly he opened the window, which he knew overrlooked the back yard-a concreted area occupied chiefiy by rubbish bins. The house boy was there, sitting on a box cleaning boots. Tug had seen him once before, and that was when the lad had carried his bag up to his room; and on that occasion he had been struck by his smart and obliging manner. The fact that he wore an old Air Training Corps uniform with corporal's chevrons on the sleeves, may have had something to do with this; in any case, it caused Tug to look upon hIm with favour. He decided that the lad was 115 to be trusted, so, cupping his hands round his mouth he called in a loud whisper, "Hi! Corporal!"

The boy's brush stopped in mid-air. He looked up. Tug held out the envelope and let it fall. "Post it," he said tersely.

"I'm in a jam."

The boy caught the envelope. "Okay," he called cheerfully. He glanced at the address and waved a hand. "It's as good as in the bag," he promised.

"Thanks," said Tug, and closed the window softly. As he did this there came a knock on the door. He went over and opened it. As he expected, it was the man in the blue suit.

As the man made a move to advance into the room Tug put a hand against his chest. "Not so fast, stranger," he said curtly. "You've come to the wrong room. I live here."

" It's all right. Mr. Black sent me along to see if I could give you a hand," announced the visitor casually.

"Then you can go back and tell Mr. Black that I don't need any help," returned Tug crisply. "I've packed a bag before and I know my way around."

"Okay-okay-nothing to get excited about," chided the visitor gently. "We're all in the same business, ain't we?"

"That depends on what business you're in," growled Tug, not a little relieved to know that his letter was on its way to the posting box. "Who are you, anyway? " he demanded.

"The boys call me Joe."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"Among other things I drive a car. I've got one outside. Black thought you might like to use it to run down to Croydon -save a taxi."

116 Tug was now more than ever glad that he had got rid of the letter. It was clear that he had taken what might turn out to be his only chance, for he had an increasing suspicion that Joe's real job was not to let him out of his sight. This proved correct, for as soon as Tug's bag was packed Joe remarked: "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"No hurry, is there?" inquired Tug. "I've got to pay my bill yet."

"Okay, then let's pay it," was the cheerful reply.

"How long is this going on?" asked Tug in a brittle voice, as they went down the stairs.

"Just until the boss is satisfied that you ain't likely to lose yerself in this big town," answered Joe frankly. "What's the matter with me-don't you like my company? "

"I've had better," returned Tug. "You know, I seem to have seen your face before."

"Shouldn't wonder at that," answered Joe. "My mug was in all the papers not so long ago, when I was in the army."

"I'll bet it wasn't in for winning the V.C.," sneered Tug.

"Nothing so difficult," declared Joe, grinning. "They caught me bringing in a few odds and ends of jewellery from Germany, when I was coming home on leave."

"What did they give you for that?"

"Six months-but I'm getting my own back-see?"

"Ah-huh. Sure I see," murmured Tug.

"You wouldn't blame me for that?"

"Not likely. After all, I'm in the same boat."

"Good for you-the more the merrier."

Tug paid his bill, after which they went out into the 117 street where, as Joe had said, he had a car waiting. In half an hour they were in Croydon.