Part 7 (1/2)

'I'm quite sure you didn't,' returned von Stalhein, with a sort of grim humour. His eyes were now looking past Biggles' shoulder.

Biggles knew why. 'If you're expecting friends, we won't detain you.'

'As a matter of fact, I am rather busy,' said von Stalhein. 'We shall meet again, no doubt.'

'I have quite a lot to do myself,' murmured Biggles.

'So I imagine,' came back von Stalhein dryly. And with that he walked on briskly.

Biggles made for the exit. 'Pity about that,' was all he said to Ginger.

Ginger was watching von Stalhein over his shoulder. 'He's gone to the Police Bureau.'

'Of course. We've got about fifteen seconds to get out of this.'

Outside the building Biggles looked up and down. Not a taxi was in sight, but a number of private cars were parked on the opposite side of the road, which, at this point, being a terminus, widened to a broad area.

Without speaking he walked over to them. The doors of the first one were locked. The same with the second. It was a case of third time lucky.

The door of the next car, a big saloon, swung open. 'In you get,' he told Ginger crisply.

Ginger, his eyes on the exit of the building opposite, scrambled in.

As Biggles dropped into his seat and slammed the door, von Stalhein, with three police officers, appeared in att.i.tudes of urgency. They looked up and down. By the time they had turned their attention to the cars Biggles had his engine running. This, inevitably, called attention to it. The police started forward, but the car was now moving. 'Hold your hat,'

warned Biggles, and the car shot forward.

Ginger saw a policeman dash back into the hall. He pa.s.sed the information.

'Gone to the phone,' guessed Biggles. 'I'm afraid we've started something.'

'We shan't get far in a stolen car,' declared Ginger.

'We shouldn't have got anywhere had we waited for a taxi,' Biggles told him. As the car raced on he continued whimsically: 'There's one comforting thought when one is engaged on a job of this sort. One can do anything without making matters worse. From the moment we got the wrong side of the Iron Curtain we were booked for a high jump if we were caught. So the worst that can happen to us now is no worse than it was an hour ago.'

'An hour ago we had a chance of getting home,' reminded Ginger cuttingly, as Biggles swerved to avoid a careless cyclist.

'We've still got a chance.'

'I wouldn't call it a bright one.'

'Maybe we can do something to brighten it,' said Biggles lightly. 'Think how dull life would be if everything was always bright.' 'What foul luck we had to b.u.mp into von Stalhein.'

'Just one of those things, laddie. You can't expect jam on your bread all the time.'

On the outskirts of the city a policeman appeared in the middle of the road, arm raised. He realised just in time that this will not stop a car if the driver does nothing about it. Wisely, he gave it right of way. A bullet from his pistol whanged against some metal part of the vehicle.

After that Biggles went only a short distance. 'I think that's far enough,' he observed, and running the car against the kerb in a busy street, got out. 'Cars wear number plates,' he remarked. 'Fortunately, pedestrians don't have to, so we shall be safer on our feet.'

Ginger, too, got out. 'Where are you going to make for?' he asked, as they turned their backs on the car.

'I was just wondering the same thing,' replied Biggles. 'I think for a start we'll go back to the hotel.'

Ginger pulled up dead. 'Are you out of your mind?' he cried. 'Probably,'

answered Biggles sadly.

CHAPTER VI.

Money Talks.

For a little while they walked on, threading their way along the busy pavements. At last Ginger's patience broke down.

'What's the idea of going back to the hotel?' he demanded. 'Inside an hour the police will have contacted every hotel in the city to find out where we stayed last night.'

'That's how I reckoned it,' agreed Biggles. 'It gives us an hour to do what I have in mind.'

'And what's that?'

'Have a chat with Stresser a” if he's still there.'

'Stresser! Why not give ourselves up at the police station and have done with it?'

'We may arrive there eventually.'

'But Stresser! That's asking for it.'

'Possibly, but not necessarily. The point is, Stresser is the only man we know who may know where Ross has gone. If we lose touch with Stresser we've lost the trail. In a word, he is now a vital connecting link a” the only one we have, in fact.'

Ginger became mildly sarcastic. 'What makes you think he'll tell you what he knows?'

Biggles smiled. 'A feeling in my bones. I have in my pocket an argument which seldom fails with his type.'

'A gun?'

'Nothing so crude. Something much more genteel and effective.' 'What, then?'

'Money. If, as they say, money talks, a big wad can fairly scream.'

'But the man's a Communist!'

'So what? I have yet to meet a Communist who wasn't interested in money.

It's not having any that makes him a Communist. He wants some, and the only way he can think of to get it is, as he hopes, by getting his hands into the pockets of those who have.'

'Communists hate capitalists.'