he asked, as they shook hands.

Marcel grinned. 'But of course, mon ami. We wouldn't disappoint you. He is here.'

'Where?'

'In the booking hall. Come over and I will show him to you. I think he expects a friend on the London plane, for he has in his pocket two tickets for Prague.'

'Good work, Marcel,' acknowledged Biggles. 'At what time does the Prague machine leave?'

'At four-forty-five. Voila! There it stands, ready.'

'Go and get me two tickets, if it isn't booked to capacity. I'm going on that plane, too.'

Marcel looked pained. Not even one night in Paris?'

'I haven't time. This is serious, and urgent.'

Marcel's expressive eyes asked a question. 'What happens?' 'Have you had any men deserting from your army lately?'

Marcel shrugged. 'How would I know?'

'Find out a" but not now. I'll tell you all about it when I come back from Prague. Get me the tickets.'

'You want two tickets?'

'Yes. Ginger will go with me.'

As they walked into the main hall Marcel nudged Biggles. 'There is your man,' he said.

Following the direction indicated Biggles saw a nondescript individual with dark, restless eyes, a sallow complexion and a rather nervous manner. He was reading, or pretending to read, a newspaper; but his eyes, Biggles noted, did not linger on the printed page.

Marcel went off to get the tickets, leaving Biggles watching the man with the spotted tie.

Presently a curious thing happened; at least, it puzzled Biggles for a minute. The man he was watching looked directly at him, almost as if he had become aware that he was being scrutinised. Biggles saw him start slightly, before turning away, nearly dropping his paper in doing so. But again his eyes came back to Biggles. For a moment he fidgeted, obviously ill at ease. Then he appeared to reach a decision. After a glance to left and right he came near to where Biggles was standing, and said, in a low voice, speaking in German: 'All is well, I hope?'

Biggles was somewhat taken aback; but even as he automatically answered he realised what had happened. The man had noticed his spotted tie and had taken him for a member of the organisation for which he himself was working. This, up to a point, was the very purpose for which Biggles had adopted the tie; but he was hardly prepared for it to operate so soon, and so effectively. Too effectively, in fact; for it seemed to him at that moment that it was likely to be embarra.s.sing. For this reason he would have avoided further conversation had it been possible, but as it was not he resolved to take advantage of the incident if this could be done without arousing the man's suspicions. It should not be difficult, he thought, for the fellow did not strike him as being a particularly bright type. Thinking quickly, he decided that to end the conversation too abruptly might set the fellow wondering, and in the end do more harm than good.

Said the man: 'We travel together perhaps?'

'Perhaps,' answered Biggles. Outwardly his manner was casual; inwardly he had qualms, for he was afraid that remarks by the man might be pa.s.swords, to which he would be expected to return the correct answers.

However, the man went on. 'Are you under orders, or are you only returning home?'

'Orders,' replied Biggles. 'I go to Prague.' He felt safe in saying this, knowing that the man had tickets for that city. His presence in the same aircraft would now appear natural.

'So. I also go to Prague,' admitted the man.

'Like me, you are here to meet the London plane?' prompted Biggles.

'I have a fellow traveller on board.' 'And me.'

'One of the regulars, I suppose?'

'I'm no longer doing that work,' said Biggles casually. 'I have a more important man to meet. In Prague we shall meet at the usual hotel, no doubt?'

'I go to the Hotel Schweiz, in the Moldaustra.s.se.'

'That's right,' agreed Biggles. 'I may see you there.'

'You were lucky to get promotion,' said the man in a surly voice.

'I have been nothing but a Laufbursche (errand boy) for years. I was told there was money in the business, but what I get is hardly enough to live on.' The man spoke bitterly.

'Don't worry,' Biggles told him consolingly. 'Your turn will come. Take my advice and be more careful what you say. If I reported what you said it would mean trouble for you.'

Fear leapt into the man's eyes. 'Yes, I shouldn't have said it. I try hard at my work, but sometimes I feel it is not noticed.'

'I'll put in a word for you,' promised Biggles.

Danke schon.'

'Do you go with your man to the end of his journey?' inquired Biggles.

'No. Only to Prague.'

'These men must wonder where they are going.'

The man smiled unpleasantly. 'Those do, certainly, who are given fur coats.'

'That's what I think,' returned Biggles, his face expressionless.

The appearance of the London plane put an end to the conversation. The man walked nearer to the barrier while Biggles remained where he was until Marcel returned with the tickets. He took them from him. 'Don't wait,' he said quietly. 'We may be watched, and you may be recognised. I will get in touch with you later. Au revoir.'

'Au revoir, mon ami.' Marcel turned away.

Biggles walked forward, and seeing Ginger, joined him. He moved quickly, for he realised that the German to whom he had been speaking, seeing two pa.s.sengers wearing spotted ties, Ginger and Ross, might be puzzled. When Biggles greeted Ginger the man went over to Ross, who was looking about him, and any doubts about identification were settled.

'Any news?' Biggles asked Ginger, as soon as landing formalities had been complied with.

'Nothing,' answered Ginger quietly. 'I had a word with Ross coming over.

He still doesn't know where he's going. All he knew was, a man wearing a spotted tie would meet him here. That's the fellow he's talking to now I suppose.'

'Quite right. It was rather funny. We were both waiting here and the fellow noticed my tie. He spoke to me, but I didn't learn much.'

'Did you find out where he's taking Ross?'

'I already knew that. Marcel was here. He told me the fellow had two tickets for Prague.

But that's only the next hop. Apparently Ross goes on from there with someone else.'

'Do we travel with them?'

'Of course. I have two tickets for Prague in my pocket. Marcel got them for me. I told the chap that I, too, was expecting a friend on the London plane, and was then going on to Prague. He won't be surprised, therefore, to see us on board. That's the machine over there a" the Douglas with the Czech Airline markings.'

'You'll leave the Proctor here, then?'

'Can't do anything else. I shouldn't get far if I landed it at Prague.

The police would be on me like a ton of bricks.'

'You decided to take me with you?'

'Yes. This is where our troubles may begin. I may need help.' 'It'll be dark when we get there.'

'So much the better.'

'Where are we going to stay when we get there?'

'I shall try to get in at the Hotel Schweiz.'

'Why there?'

'Because that's where our friend over the way is taking Ross.' Ginger whistled softly. '

Good work. We shall still be able to keep an eye on him.'

'That's what I'm hoping. The big problem will be how to follow Ross when he's moved on again. I imagine he won't be long in Prague. But we can only deal with that when the time comes. Let's go over to the machine.

Here's your ticket. It'll be all right for us to sit together, but there can be no more talking to Ross.'

They moved on towards the aircraft bearing the 0 K registration letters of Czechoslovakia.

CHAPTER V.

Behind the Curtain.

It was dusk when the Douglas glided over the boundary lights of Ruzyn Airfield, the civil airport of the ancient Bohemian city of Prague.

There had been no developments on the journey. Indeed, Biggles and Ginger, who sat together, hardly spoke. The same might be said of Ross and his escort, who also sat together, although in that case conversation may have been handicapped by language difficulties. The remaining seats were occupied by ordinary-looking people, mostly men; but with so much political intrigue going on in Europe Biggles did not lose sight of the possibility that some of these were not so inoffensive as they appeared to be.

After landing, the usual formalities were observed. As far as Biggles was able to see there was nothing abnormal about this procedure; but knowing something of totalitarian methods he felt sure that hidden eyes were scrutinising the pa.s.sengers closely.

Approaching the Customs barrier he deliberately allowed Ross and his escort to go first, in order to keep his eyes on them; and in doing this he observed the first sign of under-cover behaviour. It was not conspicuous. Indeed, had he not been watching closely it would have pa.s.sed unnoticed. Standing behind the uniformed Customs official was a dour-looking civilian. As Ross put his bag on the counter, his companion's hand went to his tie, as if to straighten it. It appeared to be a careless movement: but it brought response. The civilian took a pace forward and touched the uniformed man on the arm. Forthwith the official, without even a question, put his chalk mark on the bags carried by Ross and his escort, who then simply walked on through the barrier.

Biggles, followed by Ginger, was next in the queue. They put their luggage on the counter. Biggles' hand went to his tie. For a split second his eyes met the hard gaze of the civilian watcher. Again the Customs man was touched on the arm. On the two pieces of luggage went the chalk mark.

Biggles picked up his bag and walked on. Ginger did the same. Not a word was spoken.

Not until they were walking through the reception hall did Biggles speak.

Then all he said was: 'Easy, wasn't it?'

Ginger, who apparently had not noticed this piece of by-play, answered: 'I don't get it.'

'Tell you later,' murmured Biggles.

Ross and his escort were now getting into a taxi. Biggles hurried after them. 'As we are going to the same hotel, do you mind if we share your cab?' he asked.

'Get in,' replied the German, in a flat voice that suggested disinterest.

Biggles and Ginger got in. What Ross was thinking of all this Ginger could not imagine.

The soldier's face was like a mask.

The cab rattled along over a greasy road between misty lights, for a slight drizzle of rain was beginning to fall.

All Ginger could think was, this is going too well; much too well. It can't last.

However, nothing happened. As usual, when strangers travel together, no one spoke.

The atmosphere created was stiff, and Ginger was relieved when the taxi at last pulled into the kerb outside a hotel that was clearly of the second, or even the third, cla.s.s.

Biggles said he would pay the taxi, which he did, and the time occupied by this allowed the others to enter the hotel just in front of him. The door opened into the usual small, gloomy vestibule, with a reception desk on one side, and, at the far end, a flight of stairs leading to the upper rooms. Old travel posters and notices covered most of the wall s.p.a.ce. A table littered with papers and magazines occupied the middle of the floor. A dusty aspidistra wilted in an ornamental stand in a corner.

A heavily-built, untidy-looking man, sat in shirt-sleeves at the reception desk. He looked up as the visitors entered and pushed forward the customary forms. Biggles heard him say to the man in front of him, speaking in German, 'Good evening, Herr Stresser. The same as before? So.

Number twenty-one.' As he spoke he unhooked a key and pa.s.sed it over.

Danke,' acknowledged Ross's escort, and thus Biggles learned his name.

Stresser filled in two registration forms with a facility born of experience while Biggles stood at his elbow awaiting his turn. The formality complete, Stresser and Ross picked up their bags and went on up the stairs. Biggles and Ginger then filled in their forms and showed their false pa.s.sports.

'A double room or two singles?' inquired the proprietor. 'Double,'

answered Biggles.

The man's eyes went to Biggles' tie, and then moved up to his face. 'Want to be on the same floor as Stresser?' he asked, evidently supposing them to be engaged on the same business a" which in a way they were.

'Yes.'

The man unhooked another key. 'Twenty-two. First floor. Turn right at the top of the stairs.'