Biggles thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘I suppose I had better, although you will remember that I warned you that I do not like disclosing my plans. In this case, however, you have a right to know. It was all very simple. You see, my responsibility for the gold did not begin until it was put into my machine. I took precautions to make sure that nothing could happen to the machine on the ground, and further safeguards to prevent interference in the air. Any attempt at a robbery would therefore have to be made over the other side. An attempt was made. It so happens, however, that there is a false bottom to the fuselage of my machine—a little matter I arranged with the makers before delivery. When I started there were a number of boxes in the secret compartment—we’ll call it that—each one identical with those containing the gold. They were filled with lead. In the air, my assistant reversed the position of the boxes. Those filled with lead were stacked in the cabin, and the gold was put into the false bottom. When I arrived at Bourget, those containing lead were pulled out and put into the bank van. After it had departed, the real boxes were taken out by my assistants, put into a taxi, and driven to the bank to await my arrival. Which was a good thing, because the bank van had been commandeered by the crooks, who now find themselves in possession of a nice little lot of metal normally used for the manufacture of gas-pipes. That’s all there was to it.’

  ‘But my dear Bigglesworth, what you did was most irregular. Suppose—’

  ‘Well, suppose what?’

  ‘Fancy putting all that gold into an ordinary taxi! You might have lost the lot.’

  ‘You’re dead right, I might—very easily,’ agreed Biggles emphatically. ‘As it happens, I didn’t, so I don’t see what you’ve got to complain about.’

  ‘I’m not complaining, but as a business man—’

  ‘Business, my eye,’ snapped Biggles. ‘It’s not by adopting regular business methods that we shall outwit these crooks. They understand those. It’s the irregular ones that will baffle them.’

  ‘The Insurance people would raise a nice storm if they knew about it.’

  ‘I imagine they’d have raised a bigger storm if the gold had been pinched,’ retorted Biggles. ‘Who’s going to tell them about it, anyway; are you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Cronfelt slowly. ‘But you can’t pull off a trick like that more than once,’ he added. ‘Next time the crooks will ransack the machine for the real stuff.’

  ‘With your permission we’ll leave next time until it happens, shall we? May I point out that I’ve done what I was asked to do, so these discussions as to what might have happened, or what might happen in the future, are all very futile.’

  Carstairs sprang up. ‘By Jove!’ he cried, ‘I’ve just remembered. You’ve saved us, Bigglesworth, and I for one am grateful, for they were hammering the firm to pieces on the Stock Exchange.’

  ‘Yes, by heaven,’ cried Cronfelt. ‘I’d forgotten that. This is where we step in and make a nice profit.’ He darted to the tape machine, but after one look he swung round with a queer expression on his face. ‘This is very odd,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘Half an hour ago our shares were down to five pounds; now they’ve jumped up to over eight. It must be known that there’s been no robbery. Have you told anybody, Bigglesworth?’

  ‘I mentioned it to Miss Carstairs as I came through her office, that’s all. Personally, I don’t see why the fact that there hasn’t been a robbery shouldn’t be known just as quickly as the rumour that there had been one. A lot of people seem to be taking an interest in your affairs, Mr. Cronfelt.’

  Carstairs had rung the bell, and all three men turned as Stella came in.

  ‘Have you told anyone what Bigglesworth told you as he came in?’ inquired Cronfelt, before her father could speak.

  ‘Not a soul.’

  ‘Have you seen the tape?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’ve seen that our shares have jumped from five pounds to more than eight pounds? Can you account for that?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ answered Stella frankly. ‘On the strength of what Major Bigglesworth told me I rang up my father’s brokers and bought five thousand shares at bottom price. I assume that the Stock Exchange realized from that, that the robbery was only a rumour; hence the soaring price. I was tempted to sell out again at eight pounds, which would have shown a profit on the deal of fifteen thousand pounds, but on second thoughts I decided to hold on to them and leave the decision to my father.’

  ‘That’s splendid,’ cried Carstairs delightedly.

  Biggles stood up. ‘Well, gentlemen, if that’s all I’ll be getting along,’ he said. He turned to Cronfelt, who was looking at him with an extraordinary expression on his face. ‘By the way, Mr. Cronfelt,’ he added, ‘you haven’t told me yet who told you there had been a robbery.’

  ‘Why, what does it matter?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a matter of interest,’ replied Biggles lightly.

  ‘It was the manager of the Bank of France, of course. Naturally, he rang me up at once.’

  ‘Ah,’ breathed Biggles. ‘He would—of course. I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘I begin to perceive that Colonel Raymond did not exaggerate your qualities,’ Cronfelt called after him as he went towards the door.

  ‘Oh, and by the way,’ smiled Biggles, ignoring the double-sided remark, ‘our friends who snaffled the lead are likely to regret it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There is an ounce of ammonal5 fixed inside the lid of each of the stolen boxes. The lad who pulls the first one open is likely to take a short flight through the roof.’

  Cronfelt started, and a heavy frown settled on his face. ‘What!’ he cried. ‘Good gracious, Bigglesworth, you can’t do things like that.’

  ‘Can’t I? You don’t know me yet.’

  ‘But that’s barbarous.’

  ‘Not at all. We didn’t invite them to take the boxes, did we? People who take what doesn’t belong to ‘em can’t very well complain if the thing doesn’t turn out to be what they thought it was, can they? My idea was to discourage them from meddling with our belongings. Get ‘em guessing. Nothing like rattling the enemy, you know. You can get me on the ‘phone if you want me—goodbye.’

  As he rang for the lift a hand was laid on his arm, and turning he looked into the face of Stella.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m glad you’re working with us, after all, and I shall have more confidence in you in the future,’ she smiled.

  ‘That’s fine,’ returned Biggles, as he stepped into the lift. ‘But don’t get an exaggerated idea of my ability. This is only the first round, remember.’

  * * *

  1 Single-seat fighter with twin machine-guns synchronized to fire through the propeller.

  2 A local disturbance of air currents causing rough or uneven flying.

  3 French: Yes, Sir, that is it.

  4 The French Criminal Investigation Department.

  5 A high explosive.

  Chapter 3

  The Second Round

  At half-past eight the following morning Biggles was going over the Cormorant carefully with Smyth when Algy called to him that Colonel Raymond was on the telephone. Accordingly, he hurried to the small compartment that had been match-boarded off from the rest of the hangar to serve as living accommodation, and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello, sir, you’re an early bird, this morning,’ he greeted the Assistant Commissioner of Police.

  ‘It’s the early bird that catches the worm, you know,’ was the cheerful reply.

  ‘Not always. Sometimes he catches a slug—in the back of the neck,’ contradicted Biggles. ‘But what’s the news?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve rung up to ask you. What happened yesterday?’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime, but not over the ‘phone.’

  ‘I see. Now look; I’ve a fellow coming down to see me this morning whom I’m anxious you should meet. Do you mind if I bring him down?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t come here, if you don’t mind,’ answered Biggles quickly. ‘I don’t want anybody to know that I am in direct touch with you.’

  ‘What shall we do about it then?’

  ‘What time is the chap calling on you?’

  ‘Nine-fifteen.’

  ‘Suppose I run up?’

  ‘That would be splendid.’

  ‘Right, sir. I’ll be with you about nine-thirty or thereabouts.’

  ‘Excellent; I’ll leave instructions for you to be brought straight up to my office. Goodbye.’

  ‘Good-bye, sir.’ Biggles hung up the instrument and turned to where the others were regarding him with curiosity.

  ‘What’s in the wind now?’ asked Algy.

  ‘Nothing important. Raymond wants me to meet some fellow—in connexion with this business, I imagine. You’d better stand by while I slip along. If any messages comes through from Cronfelt or Carstairs, ring me at Scotland Yard—Colonel Raymond’s office—but don’t tell anyone where I am.’

  ‘Good enough.’

  In a few minutes Biggles was on his way, and shortly before the arranged hour he steered his Bentley out of Whitehall into the courtyard of the famous police headquarters. A constable, who had evidently been on watch for him, took him at once to the Assistant Commissioner’s office.

  Colonel Raymond shook hands cordially, and then introduced him to a small, neatly dressed man who was looking at him with undisguised interest. ‘I want you to meet Sir Guy Brunswick,’ he said. ‘Brunswick, this is Major Bigglesworth.’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Biggles, shaking hands.

  ‘Sir Guy, by the way, is head of the General Transportation Insurance Corporation,’ explained the Colonel.

  Biggles started slightly. ‘I see,’ he answered slowly, wondering vaguely how such an insignificant-looking man could hold down such a responsible position. But when Sir Guy spoke, he knew, for there was a steely quality in his voice that revealed a shrewd, purposeful character.

  ‘I don’t think we need beat about the bush, Bigglesworth,’ he began. ‘We are the insurance brokers to the firm for whom you are working, but Colonel Raymond knows that our interest in these gold shipments is national as well as financial. We have watched the sequence of events leading up to the present position with interest, as you will have no difficulty in believing. We have been faced with difficulties, very great difficulties, but now, with you on our side, we believe that things are shaping the way we want them to go. You see, your present employment is not due to chance.’ A ghost of a smile flitted across the speaker’s rather pale face. ‘It was I who suggested to Carstairs that he should consult Colonel Raymond, in order to provide the Colonel, who had already mentioned you to me, with the necessary excuse to introduce you into the—er—scheme.’

  ‘Sounds like a neat little plot,’ observed Biggles.

  ‘Call it that if you like. We—’

  ‘One moment, sir, before you go any further,’ broke in Biggles. ‘I hope you are not going to suggest that I act in any way detrimental to the interests of my employers, or put over what is aptly called in the United States a “doublecross” by divulging to you, or anyone else, the inside activities of our business.’

  Sir Guy Brunswick threw a swift glance at Colonel Raymond.

  ‘Either I work for them, or I don’t,’ went on Biggles bluntly. ‘If I do, then nobody else comes into the picture.’

  ‘Quite right. Naturally,’ replied Sir Guy Brunswick, rather uncomfortably. ‘All I want to tell you is this. The Colonel here does not altogether agree with me, but I believe—nay, I am sure—that these gold robberies are part of a scheme of far greater magnitude than you suspect. Raymond thinks that they are being carried out for personal gain. I prefer to believe that they have their root in the very foundation of some European Power, for gold is king, and a nation without gold in its cellars to-day is in a sorry plight. Every nation in the world is out to collect gold, by fair means if possible, but there may be one or two who are not particular as to the means they employ to acquire it. They would stoop to any means.’

  ‘Why not say foul means, and have done with it?’

  ‘I will. Foul means.’

  Biggles rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment or two. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said looking up. ‘But what has that got to do with me?’

  ‘Just as much as you like to make it,’ replied Brunswick sharply. ‘Now listen, Bigglesworth; I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do, and you can please yourself what you do about it. Run this gang of crooks to earth, or point out to me the man who is at the head of it—or the chief operator in this country—and I’ll make you a present of a cheque for ten thousand pounds. That is a personal matter between ourselves. To that sum my firm will add another five thousand.’

  Biggles drew a deep breath. ‘That’s a lot of money,’ he said quietly.

  ‘It is, but if it ever finds its way into your pocket you will have earned it, if I know what I’m talking about,’ returned Brunswick grimly.

  ‘Well, we’ll see what we can do about it. If—’ Biggles broke off as the telephone whirred sharply.

  ‘It’s for you, Biggles,’ said the Colonel, after he had picked up the receiver.

  Biggles took the instrument from him. ‘Yes? Oh, it’s you, Algy. What’s the trouble?... I see... I’ll be right along... Cheerio.’ He rose and picked up his hat. ‘I must get back,’ he said. ‘I’ve a little matter to attend to right away,’ he added, turning towards the door.

  ‘Yes, I had an idea Parkinson’s Bank might ask Cronfelt & Carstairs if you could take a shipment over for them to-day,’ said Brunswick quietly, selecting a cigarette from his case.

  Biggles swung round, frowning. ‘You seem to be very well informed, sir,’ he said coldly.

  ‘So I ought to be, considering we are insuring the bullion,’ returned the baronet brightly. ‘I suppose you know that your employers have circulated the leading London bankers and bullion brokers to the effect that their subsidiary company, Biggles & Co., are open to accept charters of gold and precious stones?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Then I’m glad to be able to give you some information.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, something of the sort was part of the original arrangement, so there was no reason why they shouldn’t,’ declared Biggles.

  ‘I didn’t say there was, did I?’

  ‘It’s a big consignment, I understand?’ went on Biggles, ignoring the thrust.

  ‘We’ve covered just over thirty thousand pounds’ worth of gold; the insurance was effected late last night.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘I see,’ he said softly. ‘Well, I’ll see about moving it. Good-day, sir—keep your chequebook handy. Good-bye, Colonel; I’ll let you know if anything important transpires.’

  ‘And let me know if you want any help,’ replied Raymond anxiously. ‘Don’t underestimate this gang; remember, you don’t know who you are up against.’

  Biggles threw him a curious smile. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said quietly as he went out of the door, ‘but I have an idea.’

  As he drove though the aerodrome gates he met a private van coming out, and guessed that the bank had delivered the shipment of metal.

  ‘You’ve been a long time,’ growled Algy, as Biggles pulled up sharply in front of the hangar, near to where the Cormorant was standing with propellors ticking over.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ replied Biggles morosely. ‘I was longer with Raymond than I thought I should be, and every blessed traffic signal was against me coming back. No matter; we’re all ready to start, eh?’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, we’re not,’ Algy told him. ‘There’s been a mistake. The bank rang up in a bit of a panic just now to say that one of the bullion boxes had been left behind by accident. Apparently the packers found that the ingots wouldn’t go into the specified number of boxes; there was one over, so they’ve put it in a box by itself, and are rushing it down by a special car; but they told me to tell you that you can please yourself whether you wait for it or not. It isn’t vitally important, so if the delay is likely to cause inconvenience, we can go without the odd box.’

  ‘I see, but we may as well wait. How long since they rang up?’

  ‘About twenty minutes or so. The car had already left, so it should be here any minute now.’

  ‘Good enough; I’ll slip my things on. I don’t like hanging about with all this gold on board, so don’t leave it—keep your eyes on it.’

  ‘I think we’re pretty safe; the bank’s taking no chances. Take a look.’ So saying, Algy walked over to the Cormorant and opened the cabin door.

  Sitting in the seats were two uniformed policemen.

  Biggles nodded to them and closed the door again. ‘You’re satisfied they’re—what they look like?’ he inquired sharply.

  ‘You bet your life I am. As a matter of fact, the bank told me that two policemen had been detailed to accompany the gold and stand by it until we were in the air. They were inside the van when it came; locked in with it. The bank official who brought the Bill of Lading told me they were locked in when the last box of gold was put inside; he had to unlock the door to let them out.’

  ‘O.K., laddie. That’s good enough. Hello, this looks like the other box arriving.’

  A Daimler saloon had swung round the corner and was heading straight for the waiting aeroplane.

  ‘Major Bigglesworth, sir?’ inquired the driver respectfully, as the car pulled up with a jerk.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Biggles.

  ‘I have a box to deliver to you; will you please sign for it?’

  Biggles glanced at the box, saw it was sealed with the bank seal, signed for it, and watched it put aboard with the others. Then he put on his flying-jacket and climbed into the cockpit.

  ‘Engines O.K., sir,’ called Smyth.

  ‘Then tell the coppers they can get out—unless they feel like a trip to Paris.’

  But the policemen laughingly got out and watched the machine sail serenely into the air.

 

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