Part 16 (1/2)

'Then he's okay after al .'

'He looks as though he could do with a top overhaul, otherwise he's al right,' a.s.serted Algy.

'The princess is here, too.'

'Wel , knock me down with a blanket! That's the tops!' cried Ginger delightedly, quickening his pace.

'Wait til you see the princess-she's a wizard.'

'I'm not interested in princesses,' declared Ginger casual y.

'She saved Biggles.'

'He saved her first, so what about it?' inquired Ginger. 'There's only one girl I want to see. . . .'

'Oh, good lor! Haven't you forgotten her yet?'

lamented Bertie.

Ginger glared. 'What do you mean-forgotten her?' he demanded harshly.

'What is is this?' interposed Algy. this?' interposed Algy.

'Henri's sister, Jeanette, has shot poor old Ginger to bits,' explained Bertie sadly.

Ginger tapped Bertie on the chest with an irate, and very dirty, finger. 'Listen, my n.o.ble comrade. . . .'

Algy stopped the argument. He could see trouble brewing. 'Al right, no more talking,' he broke in tersely. 'Wait til we get inside.'

This did not take long. Mario took Lucil e to a stable, promising to feed and water her. Ginger walked and Henri was carried, into the cel ar.

Biggles was up, and smiling. He greeted Ginger warmly, but was too concerned about Henri to go into immediate explanations. He asked the princess to examine the sick man, which she did with semi-professional ability, removing the bandages from his head to look at the wound. When she had finished, and had rebandaged Henri's head, she took Biggles on one side.

'He is bad,' she said. 'The wound is clean, and seems to be healing, but it wil take time. Also, he seems to be healing, but it wil take time. Also, he suffers from shock. This journey has made great demands on his strength. Only his wil kept him going for so long. What he needs is rest, and, of course, most of al , a doctor.'

'A doctor!' cried Biggles in dismay. 'There's no hope of that here-unless we hand him back to the police, and that, in the long run, would do him more harm than good. We shal have to do what we can for him here-at any rate, until we see how he shapes.

With one thing and another we're a pretty groggy lot.

How about you, Ginger?'

'Oh, I'm al right,' replied Ginger lightly. 'That hike across the mountains, coming on top of everything else, sort of emptied my reserve tanks, but they're fil ing up again now. You don't look as smart yourself as I have seen you look.'

'I'm on my feet, at al events,' answered Biggles, smiling. 'Let me introduce you to the Princess Marietta de Palma.'

The princess gave Ginger her hand, with a smile.

'Your commandant has often spoken of you during the long while we have been here. I am happy to meet his friends. Forgive me, now, I must get back to my patient.'

While the princess was making Henri as comfortable as possible on the bed recently vacated by Biggles, Ginger told his story. 'We were doing fine til we were nearly here, then poor old Henri began to fold up,' he concluded. 'Al I need is a rest, but I'm afraid Henri needs more than that. He pretended he was al right, and I didn't realize how sick he was until he col apsed. That mule track was no macadam highway.'

Mario appeared. 'I makka da soup, and da spaghetti alla Napoletana spaghetti alla Napoletana,' he announced.

The princess got up from the bedside. 'With food and rest he wil improve, but he real y should have a doctor. I wil help Mario with the soup.' She went up the steps to the kitchen.

'This is some princess,' remarked Ginger as she disappeared. 'She can nurse, and apparently she can cook.'

'Princess Marietta is the real thing,' declared Biggles. 'She's been wonderful.'

'Here, I say, this is getting a bit thick,' muttered Bertie, polis.h.i.+ng his eyegla.s.s furiously. 'First Jeanette, now a bal y princess. I don't hold with al these women in the party.'

'There are only two, so far,' returned Biggles blandly.

Bertie shook his head sadly. 'Women and planes don't mix. I once had a pal, a jol y good pilot, too, who walked straight into a spinning airscrew. He was looking at a gal who had just stepped on the tarmac. That's the sort of thing that happens-if you see what I mean?'

'Oh, go and play yourself a tune,' murmured Ginger.

'What would be more to the point,' suggested Biggles, 'let's get together and talk things over. But I'l tel you this,' he added. 'Since meeting Princess Marietta my opinion of princesses has touched a new alt.i.tude record.'

'Suppose we cut out this romancing and get down to bra.s.s tacks?' broke in Algy. 'We've got to get Henri a doctor, and we shan't get one here. We've also to get ourselves home, and that-forgive me if I appear pessimistic-doesn't look easy. Start thinking, somebody, and think fast.'

'Here's Mario-let's have some breakfast first,'

proposed Biggles, as Mario and the princess appeared with dishes, plates and cups.

'This war gets curiouser and curiouser-if you get my meaning?' remarked Bertie. 'A couple of days ago Mario tried to b.u.mp me into a gorge; now he's feeding me with soup. I'm al for getting back into the air where I can see where I'm going.'

'What about Biggles being saved by an enemy princess?' queried Ginger. 'That takes a bit of swal owing.'

'That's where you're wrong,' disputed Biggles.

'Princess Marietta isn't an enemy. She isn't even Italian. She's a Sicilian-so is Mario. Apparently there is a difference. Anyway, you wouldn't expect a princess to take orders from a puffed-up scal ywag of the Romagna-that's what the princess cal s Mussolini-who murdered her father. But shut up- here she is.'

Breakfast over, the dishes were col ected by Mario, who disappeared with them up the stairs. A moment later, as the others were about to settle down to talk, he reappeared, beckoning excitedly.

'Come,' he said. 'Many aeroplanes.'

They al hastened up the steps and fol owed the waiter into the open. It was now broad day. But waiter into the open. It was now broad day. But Ginger was not concerned with that. His nerves thril ed as he heard the familiar drone of aircraft.

'There they are, coming up from Italy-' said Biggles, pointing to the south east. 'One, two, three . . . twelve of them. Savoia flying-boats. Must be a squadron on the move. Wonder where they're bound for?'

'Part of the new occupation outfit, I reckon,'

suggested Ginger.

'They're losing height,' observed Biggles. 'They're already over Mentone so they're not going there. I should say it's Monaco, Nice, or possibly Cannes- there's a harbour at each place.'

For a few minutes they watched in silence, watched while the drone of the engines died away and the gliding angle of the aircraft steepened.