Captain W. E. Johns - Another Job for Biggles

Chapter 1

Conference at the Yard

"COME in, Bigglesworth. Sit down."

The speaker was Air Commodore Raymond, administrative head of the Special Air Section, New Scotland Yard: and the man to whom he spoke was Sergeant Bigglesworth (known to his friends as Biggles) his chief pilot, who had just entered the room.

"I've some news for you," informed the Air Commodore, a curious smile hovering about the corners of his mouth.

"Go ahead, Sir," invited Biggles sombrely. "I can take it."

"For your pains you've been promoted."

Biggles started. "I've been what!"

"Promoted."

"To what?"

"Detective Air-Inspector, which, incidentally, is a new rank at the Yard."

Biggles stared. "Suffering Icarus! " he breathed. "That's terrific. When Bertie learns this he'll swallow his monocle. May I ask who did this to me?"

"The Commissioner himselfno less."

"Don't think me ungrateful, Sir, but it would have been better to stick to plain Sarge; it isn't such a mouthful," said Biggles sadly. "Do I have to do anything extra for this spot of elevation? Too much responsibility has already washed out the sense of humour that once enabled me to aviate with a light heart."

"Not necessarily," replied the Air Commodore smiling. "Are you still very busy?"

"I think I've about got things buttoned up," answered Biggles.

This conversation related to the work on which he had for some weeks been employed. The Treasury, agreeing reluctantly that the police force would have to move with the times, had at last sanctioned a grant of money for the formation and equipment of a Special Air Unit, whereas hitherto the Air Police had had to rely on the Air Ministry for its machines, maintenance and service. The money did not run to a special airfield, but it was sufficient for the hire of a private hangar at Gatwick Airport, with the usual offices, and one or two aircraft for general work, mostly types from the R.A.F Obsolescent List. It was, of course, out of the question for the Unit to maintain the many types, large and small, land, marine or amphibious, which its highly specialised work in different parts of the world might from time to time demand; but the difficulty had been overcome by the appointment at the Air Ministry of a Liaison Officer who was authorrised to let the Police have on loan any particular type required.

It was on the organisation of this Unit that Biggles had been working; and there had been a lot to do,' from the engagement of mechanics, who had been enrolled as policemen, to the fitting of two-way high-frequency radio, for direct communication between pilots and their headquarters, and police cars on the ground.

" I've got my oId flight-sergeant, Smyth, in charge of the ground-staff,"

Biggles told the Air Commodore. "There'll be a twenty-four hour service in the radio room. So through it, you should be able to get in touch with us instantly, whether we're in the air or on the carpet. I hope, too, always to have an officer on duty, with an aircraft standing by, for any urgent job that may turn up."

The Air Commodore nodded. "Good! We're getting on. I'm arranging for a special code for you, so that I shall be able to speak to you, or with your ground-staff, without the rest of the world listening to our conversation."

That should be useful," agreed Biggles. "There's just one thing though. I hope the Commissioner doesn't get any funny ideas, on account of this new set up, of turning us on to routine jobs. The day I'm put on traffic-control over Epsom Downs on Derby Day my resignation wIll be on your desk. I can find something more entertaining than counting queues of cars on cross-roads."

The Air Commodore laughed. "I don't think it'll come to that. We've already got that angle covered." He picked up a single loose cigarette that lay on his desk and offered it. "Have a cigarette to steady your nerves?"

Biggles looked at the cigarette frowned and then lifted his eyes to the Air Commodore's face. "What's wrong with it?" he queried suspiciously.

"What makes you think there's anything wrong with it?"

"Because when one has a box at one's elbow it isn't usual to offer a visitor a second-hand sample," answered Biggles.

The Air Commodore laughed again. "True enough," he agreed. "You're living up to your new title."

Biggles took the cigarette, examined it closely, smelt it and handed it back. "Looks all right, except that it doesn't carry the maker's name,"

he observed. "Did you really want me to smoke it?"

"No. You might enjoy it but it wouldn't be good for you."

" What would it do to me?"

The Air Commodore put his fingers together and

gazed at the ceiling. "After a few draws you would sink back in a peace that passes the understanding. Wonderful music, melodious beyond imagination, would caress your ears as you wandered in an exquisite dream-world. You would then become a giant, floating on clouds to a world where pain is unknown and life an eternal harmony of joy."

Biggles sighed. "That's just what I've been looking for all my life. May I have a thousand?"

"Unfortunately I've only got one."

"Who handed you that paradise story?"

"A man who has smoked one of the cigarettes."

"Dope, eh?"

"Sort of."

"Sounds fascinating."

The Air Commodore nodded slowly. "It may sound fascinating, but I didn't send for you merely to excite your imagination. I sent for you because we're up against a menace that might, if it is allowed to run wild, turn the world upside down. I'm hoping you may be able to make a helpful suggestion."

"Do you mean this is a flying job?"

The Air Commodore hesitated. "I don't know. It may be. I can't make up my mind just what sort of job it is, and that's a fact. It may be in your line, or it may not. I'll tell you about it, then you tell me."

"Do you mind if I get my boys down?" requested Biggles. "It may save me from going over the story again for their benefit. If this case is to be handed to us I'd like them to get the facts from the start. As a matter of detail, Algy Lacey is away. I've given him a week's leave, and he's gone sailing somewhere on somebody's yacht."

"I see." The Air Commodore reached for his intercom telephone. "Please ask Air Constables Lissie and Hebblethwaite to come to my office," he told the operator.

A minute later they came into the room, and after Raymond had told them to be seated, he went on:

"I've just been having a word with Detective Air Inspector Bigglesworth and he thought you ought to be here to listen to the rest of the conversation."

There was a short silence. Then, in a thin voice, Ginger asked: "Who did you say?"

"Ah! Of course, you didn't know about your Sergeant's promotion,"

murmured the Air Commodore.

"Promotion! Jolly good," burst out Bertie. "I say, you know, not before it was due, if you don't mind my saying so." He walked over to Biggles and held out his hand. "Jolly good show old boyabsolutely top hole.

Congrats and all that."

Biggles smiled as he shook hands with Bertie and Ginger in turn.

"Thanks," he said.

"All right. Now that's over let's get on," resumed the Air Commodore, pushing the cigarette box forward. "I was just saying, we've a rather nasty job on hand, and it's a bit difficult to know where to start. I take it you've all heard of marijuana?"

Biggles answered. "I have, although I've never made actual contact with it."

The Air Commodore went on. "To botanists, marijuana is merely a plant indigenous to Central