Capt. W. E. Johns - Biggles Secret Assignments (Biggles Omnibus 2)

CHAPTER I

An Alarming Proposition

The Honourable Algernon Lacey rose slowly from the easy chair in which he had been reclining, yawned, and took up a

position on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, hands thrust deep into the pockets of a well-worn pair of grey flannel trousers. A frown lined his forehead as he turned his eyes to where Ginger was lounging in another chair with every indication of bored impatience. 'Where the deuce is Biggles?' he inquired in a manner which suggested that he did not expect an answer. There was more than a suspicion of irritation in his tone of voice.

f you say that again I shall throw something at you,' answered Ginger coldly. 'How should I know?'

`He said that he would be back for lunch. He was emphatic about it.'

`He promised me that he would come to the flicks this afternoon the new flying film at the Plaza. It's now after three o'clock. He isn't given to saying what he doesn't mean, from which we can assume, I think, that he has run into somebody or something important.'

`That's true,' agreed Algy moodily. 'I hope he hasn't run into a bus, or anything like that.'

t wouldn't surprise me; the traffic is getting awful,' murmured Ginger in a resigned voice. 'I'm about sick of London. What did they say at the Aero Club when you rang up?'

`They said he'd been in, got his letters, and gone out again.' `He didn't stay there for lunch?'

h, well, it's no use fretting. Flicks are out of the question, anyway. He'll be along presently, I expect.'

Ginger's expectation materialized about a quarter of an hour later, when the door opened and Biggles walked in. He tossed his hat carelessly on a side table and, sinking into an easy chair, regarded Ginger gravely. 'Sorry about the flicks, Ginger,' he said in an expressionless voice. 'I couldn't get back.'

`That's all right, Biggles,' returned Ginger casually, but with a sidelong glance at Algy. '

We waited lunch for you until two o'clock. I suppose you've had some?'

Biggles pulled himself together. He looked up and smiled. 'Yes, thanks; I had an excellent lunch.'

`What did you have?'

Biggles ran his fingers through his fair hair. A puzzled expression crept over his face. '

That's funny,' he said. 'Dashed if I remember.'

`Where did you go?'

Biggles smiled again His hazel eyes twinkled. 'As a matter of fact I had lunch in a private room in Whitehall in an annexe of the Home Office, to be precise.'

Ginger nodded slowly, and flashed another glance at Algy. He looked back at Biggles. 'I get it,' he said knowingly. 'I don't bet, but I'd risk a small wager that Colonel Raymond was there.'

`You win,' smiled Biggles.

`Who else?'

`Sir Munstead Norton.'

`Sir who? Who the dickens is he?'

`Permanent Assistant to the Home Secretary.'

Algy whistled softly. 'So that's it, is it?' he murmured. 'Now we know why you were looking worried when you came in. What did they want?'

Biggles took a cigarette from his case, lit it, and flicked the dead match into the grate before he replied. 'They wanted me to do a job for them,' he said quietly.

`Not being altogether a fool I hope I had already gathered that,' muttered Algy with asperity. 'It's the only time Raymond stands any of us lunch.'

`Come now, he's a busy man,' protested Biggles. 'To be Assistant Commissioner of Police, Special Intelligence Branch, is no blind nut.'

The point is, have you taken the job on?' asked Ginger. `No not yet.'

`Why not?'

Biggles drew at his cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly. `Because,' he answered, slowly and distinctly, 'it is not a job to be lightly undertaken.'

s that why you looked fed up when you came in?'

`Not altogether. I may as well be frank. I am worried about you two. We've always been in on these jobs together, and I know it's no use trying to keep you out. But this time it

well it alarms me.'

`From which I gather that it involves a certain amount of danger,' put in Algy suavely.

Biggles looked him in the eyes. 'If I merely said yes to that I should be guilty of understatement,' he said simply. 'Suicidal would probably be a better word.'

Algy frowned. 'Good heavens! That sounds pretty grim.' `Grim it is!'

`Suppose you tell us about it?' suggested Ginger.

`That is my intention,' replied Biggles, knocking the ash off his cigarette onto the floor and putting his foot on it. 'I've only been giving myself a minute or two to settle down, to get the thing into some sort of order in my mind. I have permission to take you into my confidence, but it's hardly necessary for me to say this, but I was asked to do so

what is said between these four walls this afternoon must never be repeated outside them.

From that you will judge the matter to be of considerable importance. It is. The issue involves no less than the safety of the nation.'

`My word!' muttered Ginger.

Algy said nothing, but a grimace expressed his thoughts.

When Biggles continued his voice had dropped to little more than a whisper. 'Does the name Beklinder mean anything to you?' he asked. 'Professor Max Beklinder?'

Algy thought for a moment and then shook his head. 'No,' he said at last. 'I seem to recall the name vaguely, but I don't know in what connection.'

remember the name,' murmured Ginger, wrinkling his forehead. 'Isn't he an inventor of some sort?'

Biggles nodded. 'Professor Beklinder was the name of the man who invented Linderite, which is an explosive just about three times as powerful as anything previously discovered. That was only one of his inventions.'

`Queer name; what nationality is he?' asked Algy.

`Lucranian by birth, British by naturalization,' answered Biggles.

`Where the deuce is Lucrania?'

`You might well ask. I didn't know myself when the name cropped up. Apparently it is one of those little principalities, like Monaco and Liechtenstein, that linger on in Europe, officially independent and self-governing but in fact controlled by a powerful neighbour under whose military and economic protection they are allowed to survive. Lucrania is quite a small place, and is now almost entirely embraced by the new German frontiers.

There are narrow corridors into France and Switzerland. The language spoken is German. The country comprises a central plain surrounded almost entirely by mountains forming the natural frontiers by virtue of which it has managed to retain its so-called independence. So much for the country in which Professor Beklinder was born. Twenty years ago he was practising successfully, I understand as a doctor; but he got mixed up in a political intrigue and had to flee for his life. He came here, leaving his wife

who subsequently disappeared behind. I mention the wife for reasons which will presently become apparent.' Biggles lit another cigarette before he continued.

was saying,' he went on, 'that Beklinder, like most political refugees, came to England, where he soon settled down and made a name for himself as a research chemist, specializing in high-combustion explosives. Linderite put him at the top of the tree with our people, at whose invitation, about two years ago, he turned his abilities to the production of poison gas. Not a very pleasant occupation, you may say, but while other nations devote time and money to chemical warfare we must do the same. Beklinder apparently worked hard at his new job, so hard that he came near to having a breakdown. By this time, however, he had got on the track of a poison gas so deadly that he declared that the nation which alone possessed the formula could make itself master of the world by the destruction or terrorization of the others.

How far that is true, or an exaggeration, I am not in a position to judge; it is sufficient for me that our experts believe it. Very well. Encouraged by the departmental experts of this country he went on with his work. The secret was practically within his grasp when his health broke down. It became necessary for him to rest. And this is where the trouble started.