Part 13 (1/2)

A vice-like grip closed on Biggles's left arm.

Algy stared at the proceedings helplessly.

”But I picked this up on the beach-”

”Yes, quite so,” agreed the detective. ”Are you coming quietly or-?” He tapped his pocket significantly.

”But this is a scandal,” protested Biggles indignantly. ”I was just going to hand that package to the Traffic Manager.”

”Of course you were,” smiled the officer. ”Come on, now; get going.”

In a daze the two airmen were quietly led through a few idle sightseers in the main hall to a big saloon-car that stood at the entrance.

”I ” stammered Algy.

”I shouldn't talk. Wait till you get to the Yard; you can do all the talking you like then,”

suggested the officer tersely.

It was nearly dark as the car threaded its way through London's traffic. Rain had started falling in earnest and it seemed to Algy that he had never seen a more depressing spectacle. Soon, for the first time in their lives, the two airmen looked at the gloomy portal of New Scotland Yard, London's famous police-headquarters. A policeman was on duty at the door.

”In you go,” said the detective shortly, and still in a daze the two pilots filed past the doorkeeper into a hall. It took them a couple of minutes to realise they were alone.

”Where's that detective chap?” Biggles asked the doorkeeper irritably a few moments later.

”They said they were going to put the car away,” was the reply.

It may seem strange, but it took Biggles several seconds to realise that this procedure was not in accordance with what he understood to be the normal method of dealing with suspected persons at police-stations. He returned to the constable on duty.

”What did you say Inspector Myhew said?” he asked. ”Inspector who?”

”Myhew.”