'But I'm not a professional spy,' protested Biggles vigorously.

'My dear Bigglesworth, you yourself have seen what Germany is doing in Norway.

There's black treachery for you, if you like. We've got to fight the enemy with his own weapons, if only for the sake of the Norwegians.'

Thus spoke the Colonel. It was a subtle argument that he put forward, put in such a way that Biggles could hardly refuse.

All right,' he said at last, wearily. 'How am I going to get into touch with you when I have something to report?'

'Leave that to me,' said the Colonel quickly. 'I can't tell you now. Arrangements will have to be made, but you'll get further instructions in due course. Get back to the aerodrome and learn all you can about the enemy's movements.'

'Just one request,' put in Biggles. 'I feel very much on my own up here; if you could get Lacey and Hebblethwaite somewhere handy, somewhere where I could reach them in emergency, I'd be grateful. As you know, we always work as a team, and I need a little moral support, anyway. If they hear nothing they'll be worried to death about me.'

I'll get them within striking distance of you at once,' promised the Colonel without hesitation. 'As a matter of fact, knowing things were warming up, I brought them home from France yesterday, since when they've been waiting on the East Coast ready to slip across in case you needed help. They can be over in a couple of hours.'

'But how can I make contact with them?'

I shall have to think about that, but I'll arrange something immediately, don't worry.

Good luck. I mustn't hold the line any longer.' The Colonel rang off.

The Vice-Consul heard Biggles' end of the conversation, of course. He shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

'Bad luck, old man,' he said quietly. 'But you must admit that Colonel Raymond is right.

It is on such chances as this that wars are sometimes won or lost. How do you propose getting back into Norway?'

I think the easiest way would be for you to refuse to accept responsibility for me,'

suggested Biggles readily. 'In that case the Swedes will soon have me back across the frontier.'

The Vice-Consul nodded and pressed the bell. The two policemen came back into the room.

I have had a conversation with this-er-applicant,' said the Vice-Consul coolly. 'He may be telling the truth, but he has no means of proving it, so in your interests as well as mine I'd rather not accept responsibility.'

'You'll leave him with us to deal with then?' said the senior of the two police.

'Yes, I'm afraid no other course is open to me.' The officer tapped Biggles on the arm. '

Come,' he said.

Obediently, Biggles followed.

Half an hour later he was gently but firmly shown across the frontier back into Norway.

He made no demur. It would have been a waste of time even if he had wanted to stay in Sweden. For a while he walked slowly down the road, but as soon as he was out of sight of the frontier post he quickened his steps and made his way to where he had left the motor-cycle. It was still there, so he dragged it out and recovered his swastika armlet from under the saddle. Deep in thought, he started the engine. Reaching the main road, he turned away from the frontier and headed back towards Boda, back towards the enemy.

He had no difficulty in getting back-his swastika flags saw to that. As he dismounted near the clubhouse Kristen hurried towards him.

'h.e.l.lo,' he said curiously. 'Where have you been?' Only for a ride,' answered Biggles casually. 'Why?' 'Baron von Leffers has been asking for you.'

Biggles nodded. 'I'll report to him at once,' he said quietly.

Chapter 4.

Cross-Examined Biggles found von Leffers in his office. He was not alone. Two other men were there.

One was the man whose motor-cycle he had got; the other was an elderly, hard-faced civilian whose pugnacious jaw, gimlet eyes, and arrogant bearing bespoke an official of importance. His grey hair had been cropped so short that he appeared to be completely bald. Biggles guessed to what department he belonged before he was introduced.

Baron von Leffers stared at Biggles stonily. 'Leutnant Hendrik, this is Oberleutnant Ernst von Hymann,' he said curtly, waving a hand towards the stranger. 'He is a senior officer of the Gestapo. He wishes to speak to you. You have kept him waiting.'

I'm very sorry, sir, but I didn't know he was here,' returned Biggles contritely.

To his infinite relief the Commandant did not ask where he had been. He left it to the Gestapo officer to continue the conversation.

Von Hymann invited Biggles to be seated, and then stood up, legs apart, to face him squarely. In some strange way he reminded Biggles of a mangy bulldog. When he spoke his voice was brittle.

'Leutnant Hendrik,' he began, 'earlier to-day when you were interviewed by the Commandant of this aerodrome you gave him certain particulars of your flying career. Among other things you said that you had been a pilot in America, and more lately in Canada. Is that correct?'

'Quite correct, sir.'

As you may have heard,' continued von Hymann, 'we make a point of checking up on every statement made by aliens. You, as a Norwegian, come into that category.'

'But -'

'We shall get on faster if you leave me' to ask the questions.'

Biggles bowed.

'You further stated that when you were in Canada you were employed as an air pilot.'

'Correct.'

And you were once employed by a firm called Arctic Airways located at Fort Beaver?'

'Quite right.'

Von Hymann crouched like a wild beast about to spring.

'We have been unable to confirm that you ever had any connexion with Arctic Airways.'

Biggles remained calm. 'To whom did you go for your information?'

Our agents in Canada have been through the official records. We also have newspaper reports of the scandal in which the company was involved.'

'You mean the stealing of the Moose Creek gold?' Von Hymann relaxed slightly. 'Well, you do at least know something about it,' he conceded. 'Yes, that was what I meant.'

Biggles had, of course, flown for Arctic Airways, so he knew all about the incident, as well as the company's affairs. But it had been under his own name, so he could understand why the German agents in Canada had failed to find any particulars of a pilot named Hendrik. However, since he, Biggles, knew all about the company, and all that he had said concerning it was true, he was not unduly alarmed by the cross-examination to which he was being subjected. But then he did not know what it was leading up to.

Von Hymann continued. 'In the reports concerning Arctic Airways we can find no record of a pilot by the name of Hendrik.'

'That's quite likely,' remarked Biggles coolly. 'It is unlikely that any record would be kept. Pilots were always coming and going. I imagine that the only ones whose names were noted in the files were those mentioned in the newspapers in connexion with the gold robbery'

'Can you name the pilots chiefly concerned?'

The atmosphere in the room was now tense, and Biggles perceived what was coming. He had just been asked a leading question, for if it were true that he had flown for Arctic Airways he would-or should-be able to name the pilots.

'Certainly,' he replied easily. 'Arctic Airways was run by a fellow named Wilkinson, an Englishman who established a base aerodrome at Fort Beaver. The trouble started when a fellow named McBain tried to grab the aerodrome, bringing with him two pilots and two German transport planes. His pilots were both ex-crooks. One was named Sarton and the other Feroni.'

Von Hvmann nodded. 'What about Wilkinson's pilots?'

Biggles thought for a moment. 'There was a chap named Graves-he was killed, I remember. Then there was Lacey, and-oh yes, a lad named Hebblethwaiteor some such name.'

Anybody else?'

Biggles saw the trap clearly now, but his expression did not change.

'Yes, there was another fellow-a fellow with a curious name-Tigglesworth-or was it Nigglesworth?' 'Was it Bigglesworth?'

Biggles started. 'That's right-funny name.' 'You must have seen something of him?'

Biggles's pulses were beginning to beat faster. He didn't like the trend of the conversation, but he still hoped there was nothing serious behind it. One slip, though, and he was lost. An expression of anxiety on his face would be noted at once by the cold eyes that were fixed on his in unwavering intensity.

Oh, yes, I often saw Bigglesworth,' he admitted.

'Would you know him again if you saw him?'

I should think so. Of course, this Arctic Airways business happened some time ago, but if he hasn't grown a beard or anything like that, I think I should know him at once.'

'Could you describe him?'

'More or less. He was a slim fellow with fair hair-rather sharp features. As a matter of fact, he was about my build.'

Von Hymann glanced at a paper that he held in his hand. 'He must have been very much like you.'

Biggles smiled. 'n.o.body has ever mistaken me for him,' he observed lightly. 'Why all this about Bigglesworth-do you know him?'

Von Hymann ignored the question. Instead, he asked another.

'Do you know what became of him subsequently?' Biggles shrugged. 'How should I? I believe he went back to England, but I wouldn't swear to it.'

The German's manner became grim. 'I'll tell you what he did. He returned to England and set up as a free-lance pilot, and while he did a certain amount of casual work, in reality he was the British Intelligence Service's chief flying agent.'

Biggles made a grimace. 'I shouldn't have thought that was much in his line-he always struck me as being a nervous sort of fellow.'

'It seems that it was very much in his line. Not long ago he was in Finland. We now have reason to believe that he has transferred his unwelcome attentions to Norway.'

'You mean-he is actually in Norway?'

'This morning he was seen in Os...o...b.. one of our agents.'

'Why didn't you pick him up?'

'Unfortunately the agent lost him in the crowd-the fool.'

Biggles nodded. 'Pity. But what has all this got to do with me?' he asked.

'I will tell you. The man who saw Bigglesworth has dashed back to Berlin to get further particulars about him from Hauptmann von Stalhein, who has had more to do with him than anyone else.

In the meantime, he is the only man on my staff who could recognize Bigglesworth if he saw him, so I want you to go into Oslo and see if you can find him. We've rounded up a lot of suspects; if he isn't among them you had better search the hotels and the streets until you find him.'

I don't care much for this sort of thing. I really wanted to do some flying,' protested Biggles as cautiously as he dared.

'There will be time for that later. At the moment you are under my orders. Go to Oslo at once. You can stay at an hotel. If you see Bigglesworth, don't let him out of your sight.

Call the first soldiers you see and have him arrested. You had better take that armlet of and put it in your pocket for the time being, so as not to attract attention to yourself.'

'Very well, sir. But if I don't wear an armlet will the soldiers accept my orders? Isn't there a risk of my being taken into custody myself?'

I was prepared for that.' Von Hymann took a small, square card from his pocket. It was printed in red and black, and bore the number 2001. 'That is a pa.s.s, signed by myself,'

continued the German. 'It will take you anywhere without question. While you are working for me you will not use your name; use your official number.'

Biggles noted the number and put the Gestapo pa.s.s in his pocket. 'Suppose I want to get into touch with you, sir?'

'My head-quarters are at the Hotel Port, on the waterfront.'

'If I don't find Bigglesworth at once, how long do you want me to go on looking for him?'

'Until you hear from me again.'

'Very good, sir. I'll attend to it, but-if I may be allowed to say so-I hope you won't keep me on the job too long. As a pilot, naturally, I'm anxious to get into the air, in which respect I should be useful, for I know the country pretty well. Moreover, as you know, I have had experience of flying over similar country and in similar weather conditions in northern Canada.'

'I'll bear it in mind,' returned von Hymann crisply. He turned to the Commandant. 'Have you any questions for Hendrik?'

'No.'

'That's all then.'

Biggles risked a last question, for the information would be valuable to him if he could get it. 'What is the name of your man who knows Bigglesworth?' he inquired. 'I ask because it might be a good thing if we met some time, and compared notes.'

'Brandt.'