Part 10 (1/2)

Biggles made a running knot round the chimney. 'Down you go,' he ordered.

The rest was simple. Ginger went hand over hand down the rope and soon found himself on a flat surface. The relief, after the strain, was almost overwhelming. 'Biggles appeared beside him, and brought the rope down with a thud. They coiled it, picked it up, and advanced cautiously until another pool of gloom appeared. Still nothing could be seen distinctly, but below them was obviously the yard of the sc.r.a.p-metal merchant.

There was a little delay while a projection to which the rope could be fastened was found. Then Ginger went down, to stumble with a clatter on a heap of junk.

'Do you have to make so much noise?' muttered Biggles shortly, as he joined him.

'Sorry, but I can't see in the dark,' answered Ginger coldly, wiping filthy hands on his jacket.

Biggles buried the rope under a heap of rubbish. Then he looked at his watch. 'Five minutes to go,' he whispered. 'This way.'

They could see the street now a” or, rather, the position of it a” by the glow of lamps.

Getting to it without making a noise was another matter, for the place was strewn with old metal objects of every description, from tin cans, bedsteads and fireplaces to the bodies of ancient vehicles. However, the short journey to a low wooden fence that ran between the yard and the street was made without disturbance, and there a halt was called while Biggles, looking over the fence, made a quick reconnaissance.

'No sign of the cart,' he reported presently. The corner is just along to the left. There are two cars outside the shop, which means that either the place is being searched or Smith is being questioned. There are one or two people moving about, two of them standing by one of the cars, but they are too far away for me to make out who or what they are.

Police, probably. There's nothing more we can do except sit tight and wait for the cart.'

They squatted, Ginger praying fervently that the cart would be on time, and hoping every moment to hear the clatter of hooves. Instead, the sound that came to his ears was of slow footsteps approaching. That at least two persons were responsible was revealed presently by the murmur of voices. The footsteps approached at the dead-slow pace of men who were waiting for something.

Biggles touched Ginger on the arm and got into the back seat of an old wheelless car, the door of which gaped open. Ginger joined him. The footsteps came nearer. Two voices were talking in German. Ginger's nerves twitched as he recognised one of them. It belonged to von Stalhein. He was saying to his companion: '

But you don't know this man Bigglesworth. I do. I've been trying to pin him down for years, but he's as slippery as an eel.'

'We should have found him by now,' answered the other. 'We've covered all the likely places.'

'Exactly,' replied von Stalhein, sarcasm creeping into his voice. 'All the likely places.

You will never find this man by looking in likely places. He has a curious knack of appearing where one would least expect him. If you are sure that he must still be in Prague, the chances are that he is miles away.'

'All roads, airports, and even known landing grounds, are being watched.'

'If you ask my opinion, I'd say he's already on his way to Berlin.'

'Impossible!'

'I've stopped using that word where Bigglesworth is concerned.' 'But how could he know of our arrangements?'

'He could have got the information from Stresser.'

'Stresser swears he knows nothing of the man.'

'Then where did he get all that money?'

'His story is that he got it through a black market deal in Paris. It's possible. We know he was once mixed up with a gang that specialised in that sort of thing.'

'All right. Have it your own way,' said von Stalhein. The footsteps stopped. Then he went on: 'What is this place here?'

'It looks like a refuse dump.'

Was it covered?'

'No. At least, not as far as I know.'

'Why not?'

'How could they get here without being seen? Don't worry. If Bigglesworth was in that house he is still in it, for the simple reason that I've got all exits, back and front, covered.

Don't try to make me believe that this superman can fly like a bird.'

'It wouldn't surprise me to see him do just that,' answered von Stalhein in a hard, bitter voice. His companion laughed.

But it was not this that made Ginger stiffen suddenly. From somewhere not far away came the sound of iron-shod hooves on a hard road.

'What's this coming?' asked von Stalhein.

'A farm cart, by the look of it,' was the reply. Cynical humour crept into the voice. 'Are you expecting to find Bigglesworth inside it?'

'I've known more unlikely things than that,' rejoined von Stalhein grimly. 'I wouldn't let any vehicle leave this street without being searched.'

'Well, that is easily arranged,' said the other. 'We'll do it if it will steady your nerves.'

'd have this yard searched, too, in case he managed to slip out,' said von Stalhein.

The cart, moving at walking pace, drew nearer.

CHAPTER VIII.

A Ride in the Country.

Two pairs of footsteps now receded a little way, as if the men were going to meet the cart, which was coming up the street past the shop. A crisp order cut into the night air. The cart stopped.

What was said to the driver, or what the driver told the police, Ginger never knew; for at this juncture Biggles touched him on the arm and whispered: 'Let's get out of here. Now's the time, while attention is on the cart.'

There was no trouble in getting to the fence. Biggles followed this along to get as far away as possible from the shop, and then, climbing it, lay flat, close against it, until Ginger joined him. From there they wormed their way along to the corner. To Ginger it was the worst moment of all, for there was nothing between them and their enemies, and he expected every instant to hear the alarm given. The murk, which had made things so difficult on the roof, may have saved them from observation. Not until they were round the corner did he breathe freely. Looking about him he saw that they were in a narrow street running at right-angles to the one they had just left. They were, in fact, at a four crossways. Not a soul was in sight, although from somewhere farther up the street came the sound of music and singing a” emanating from a caf, he supposed.

Biggles crossed the street and stood in a doorway. 'We'll wait here for the cart,' he decided. 'Not knowing which way the driver will turn, we daren't go any farther.'

So they waited. They heard brisk footsteps on the pavement, followed by a good deal of noise in the sc.r.a.p heap, which told them that von Stalhein's advice about making a search was being followed. Then came the clip-clop of hooves, and the crunch of wheels announced that the cart had resumed its journey.

It did not stop at the corner. It went straight on. Perhaps the driver had been unnerved by what had happened. If so, he could hardly be blamed.

He may have had the wit to realise that if he stopped again the police would overtake him to ascertain why.

Realising that the cart was not going to stop, Biggles started off along the pavement, keeping more or less level with it, and as far as possible in the shadows. A short distance ahead a street lamp threw a pale radiance across both pavement and road. Ginger eyed it with misgivings, for, being still within view of the shop, although some distance from it, it obviously represented a zone of danger. But Biggles, it seemed, had no intention of crossing it. In an area darker than the rest, caused by some high buildings, he suddenly said, 'Come on,' and, darting to the rear of the cart, vaulted into it. Ginger did the same.