I hope a bomb lands rights in von Stalhein's lap,' muttered Algy vindictively.

'That would be a pity,' protested Biggles reproachfully. 'It would take half the interest out of life.'

It would make life a thundering sight easier,' snorted Algy. 'I'm all for a quiet life, and this is not my idea of it.'

'By gosh! Look at that flak!' broke in Biggles. 'There's a chance that when von Stalhein tried to get through to Oslo he found all the wires engaged, giving air-raid warnings.

Hullo! There goes the first crump he went on quickly as the flash of an exploding bomb lit up the sky.

'Shall we stop and watch the raid?' suggested Algy.

'Not on your life. I was caught in one at Stavanger last night, and that will last me for a long time. Let's push on to Oslo.'

As they sped down the road Biggles gave Algy a brief account of his adventures since he last saw him at Narvik, and Algy described his, although having talked to Ginger, there was little that Biggles did not know.

By the time these notes had been exchanged they were running through the suburbs of Oslo. They were stopped only once, at a cross-roads, but the Gestapo pa.s.s worked as usual. Whether von Stalhein had been unable to get through to Oslo on the telephone, or whether his conversation, or the subsequent arrangements, had been upset by the raid, they did not know, but it was evident that the patrol knew nothing about the car being taken. As far as the occupants were concerned, as both were-or appeared to be-in German uniforms, there was nothing in their appearance to arouse suspicion.

Biggles guided Algy to the port, and thence to the lane from which he had watched von Stalhein and Brandt emerge from Gestapo head-quarters.

'This will do,' he said. 'Stop here. It's unlikely that anyone will touch the car. Let's walk.'

They got out of the car, closing the doors, and stood for a moment while they made a quick reconnaissance. Everything seemed quiet. There were a few soldiers about, and two storm-troopers were as usual on duty outside the Hotel Port. Biggles pointed out the building to Algy and told him what it was.

'Never mind about that-where are these planes you spoke about?' demanded Algy impatiently. 'I'm getting nervous.'

Biggles's eyes explored the harbour, but not a single machine could he see.

'They've gone,' he said simply.

'What!'

I'm afraid it's true. The last time I was here there were at least a dozen machines on the water. If it comes to that, there were also far more vessels here then than there are now.

Where the d.i.c.kens have they all gone? Something must have happened. Just a minute- you wait here. I'm going to find out what's going on.'

'How?'

'By walking across to those troops and asking them-or listening to their conversation. I'

ll also have a good look at the harbour and make sure that there isn't a machine available.

' Biggles walked away.

He was gone about ten minutes.

'Here, don't leave me like that again,' protested Algy when he returned. 'I can't speak German like you can, and if I'd been questioned by anybody I should have been sunk.

Well, did you find out anything?'

Wes. It seems that we've landed an expeditionary force-in fact, two or three as far as I can make out. The nearest is just south of Bergen. Another landing has been made at Trondheim.'

'How does that help us?'

It doesn't, unless we can get to one of those places. But it's worth knowing.'

'Did you find a machine, that's what I want to know?'

'No.'

'So what? We can't stay here. We've got to get some place, and before daylight, too. I'm nearly asleep on my feet, anyway.'

Biggles thought for a moment. The question is, dare we use the car?'

It's risky.'

'There's no doubt about that, but we shan't get far on foot-even when we've decided where to go.'

'How far away is Bergen?'

'The best part of a hundred and fifty miles, but I gather that the landing has been made somewhere south of the actual town, so the distance may not be more than a hundred and twenty or a hundred and thirty miles.'

That's a long way. How far is it to Ginger-to Fiord 21?'

About thirty miles farther on to the north. Our nearest point of contact with our people is Bergen. We might try getting through that way. If we can't, we'll go on to Fiord 21. We shall have to go on there sooner or later, anyway, to make contact with Ginger and let him know that we've got clear of Boda; but since Bergen is nearer, we might borrow an aircraft or get someone to run up to the fiord with a message for Ginger.'

'Yes, that sounds the best plan,' agreed Algy. Biggles nudged him. 'Just a minute. Don't speak while this fellow is going by.'

The man to whom Biggles had referred was in civilian clothes, and Algy a.s.sumed, not unnaturally, that he was a Norwegian. With bent head, as if deep in thought, he was walking quickly along the pavement. Not until he drew level with the car did he raise his head and look Biggles in the face.

Recognition was mutual and instantaneous. It was Brandt, the existence of whom Biggles had almost forgotten. He was, no doubt, on his way to his headquarters at the Hotel Port.

The German opened his mouth to shout, but the only sound that pa.s.sed his lips was a grunt. Biggles's left fist shot out and took him in the pit of the stomach; then, as his head jerked forward, Biggles right flashed up in a vicious hook t? the jaw. Brandt went over backwards; his head came into violent contact with the wall at the back of the pavement, and he lay still. The whole incident occurred in two seconds.

Biggles looked swiftly up and down the lane, then at Algy. 'This fellow knows me,' he said by way of explanation, for Algy, who had, of course, been unaware of this, had stared at the proceedings with amazement. 'We daren't leave him here,' went on Biggles tersely. 'Help me to get him in the back of the car.'

Not without difficulty, for Brandt was a heavy man, they bundled the limp body into the rear seat, from where it slid in a heap to the floor.

'You get in the back and take care of him,' ordered Biggles. 'I'll drive. I know my way about better than you do.'

As he spoke Biggles got swiftly into the driving seat. Algy jumped in behind. The doors slammed. The car shot out into the road and cruised up the main street.

'Where are you going?' asked Algy.

'We'll stick to our plan and make for Bergen. If we can't make contact with the British force there we'll push on to Fiord 21. I'd go right on to the fiord if I was certain we could get there, but now these landings have been made there's no knowing what we shall run into.'

'What are we going to do with this fellow? Are you going to take him with us all the way?'

'Not on your life. We'll dump him at some lonely place from which it will take him a long time to get into touch with Oslo.'

Biggles drove on into the night, heading north. For twenty miles he travelled at a cruising speed, careful not to attract attention to himself by fast driving; then, reaching a wild stretch of country, he stopped.

'We'll leave Brandt here,' he said quietly.

The German was now semi-conscious. That is to say his eyes were open, but he seemed dazed-as doubtless he was, for the blow he had received on the head was a severe one.

'Gestapo policy would be to b.u.mp him off, and so remove all risk of his setting the country on to us,' murmured Algy reflectively.

'Probably you're right, but Gestapo policy isn't ours,' returned Biggles briefly. 'Let's get on.'

Leaving Brandt half sitting, half reclining, against a rock where he would be seen by the first pa.s.ser-by when daylight came, they re-entered the car and continued their journey.

'We must he getting pretty close to Bergen,'

remarked Algy after a long interval of silence.

It can't be more than ten miles,' replied Biggles. If our fellows landed there, then there must be Germans here too,' said Algy thoughtfully. 'Hasn't it struck you as odd that there's no sound of a battle?'

'Yes, there's something funny about that,' agreed Biggles. 'However, we're likely to run into troops at any moment. If we do I'll ask them what's happening.'

Before long they reached the German forces. There was no need to seek them. The car was stopped by a patrol.

Biggles got out, his pa.s.s in his hand. 'It's all right,' he said casually. 'We've got orders to keep watch for suspicious characters. What's happening here?'

The German he addressed, a sergeant, did not question his presence there, or his authority. 'It's all over,' he startled Biggles by stating.

All over-what do you mean?'

'The British have gone.'

'Gone?' Biggles was flabbergasted.

Yes-we kicked them back into the sea.'

Biggles laughed, but there was little humour in his voice. 'Good work,' he said. 'Well, we'

ll get on. By the way, we're patrolling the coast northward; will there be any difficulty about getting through?'

If you keep straight on there may be,' replied the sergeant. 'There are barricades across the road and troops are moving. But if you take the next turning to the right it will take you right out of the battle zone.'

And if I turn left again farther on will that bring me back to the coast?' Biggles had taken out his map and was looking at it in the light of a headlamp.

'Yes, you could do that,' agreed the sergeant.

'Then we'll try it,' declared Biggles, folding the map and putting it back into his pocket.

He got into the car and drove on.

'Phew! That was a bit of a bone-shaker,' said Algy in a strained voice. 'I wonder what made our fellows withdraw?'

It's no use guessing,' returned Biggles briefly. 'We've got to get to Fiord 21 now, or we shall be in a mess. We've got to get there before daylight, too. There is this about it, we're not likely to run into any opposition so far north. You try to get a spot of sleep. Later on you can relieve me at the wheel and I'll have a map. The worst of these jobs is, one doesn't get time to eat or sleep.'

'Good thing we've had a bit of practice at it,' observed Algy, smiling weakly. He snuggled back, in his seat and closed his eyes.

Biggles drove on. He was tired to the point of exhaustion, and it was only by keeping a fierce hold on himself that he prevented himself from falling asleep over the wheel. He seemed to have been driving for an eternity. At last, as the grey of dawn stained the eastern sky, realizing that his endurance was at an end, he stopped the car and nudged Algy, who awoke with a start.

'Take the wheel,' said Biggles. 'I'm about played out.'

They exchanged seats, and Biggles sank back with a weary sigh.

It seemed that he had no sooner closed his eyes than he was being violently shaken.

'Brace yourself,' said Algy tersely. 'We're there-or as near as we can get to the fiord by staying on the road. What had I better do with the car?'

Anything you like-we shan't need it again,' muttered Biggles. 'Perhaps you'd better drive into that gully just ahead. n.o.body's likely to see it there, and it won't give rise to inquiries should the Germans come along.'

Algy obediently drove the car off the road into a narrow gorge, the sides of which were thick with stunted firs. They got out at once, closed the doors and returned to the road. By the time they reached it pink dawn had lighted the wild landscape, enabling them to see for a considerable distance, but to their relief no one was in sight. Some distance to the left lay the sea; nearer, a jagged ridge marked the crest of the cliff that hemmed in the fiord.

'Thank goodness,' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Biggles. 'If Ginger hasn't got into trouble we're as good as home.'

Walking briskly, they soon reached the ridge. Throwing themselves flat, for it was a nasty drop into the fiord, they looked down. Neither spoke, although Algy hissed through his teeth.

Ginger's machine was not there. But the fiord was not abandoned. On its placid surface floated a squadron of Dornier flying-boats.

Chapter 11.

Complications Biggles was the first to break the silence. He lay still, staring down into the fiord.

It looks as if I was not the only one who realized that this fiord would make a useful operating base,' he said bitterly.

'You're dead right there,' agreed Algy, gazing down into the fiord, which presented a scene of lively animation. In addition to the flying-boats there were two store-ships, from which were being unloaded war materials of many descriptions. A large green and brown camouflaged tent had already been erected on the one spot available, and into this the stores were being carried by several men. A little group of pilots sat on the rocks near the machines, smoking.

'What do you suppose became of Ginger?' asked Algy, after he had gazed at the scene for a few minutes.

'We can only guess,' returned Biggles slowly. 'If he was here when this crowd arrived they might have sunk him before he could get of the water. Not necessarily, of course.

He would certainly hear them coming, and by acting quickly might have got clear. On the other hand, if he came back and found this lot here, obviously he wouldn't land. From the fact that I can't see any trace of his machine, or any quant.i.ty of oil on the water, I'm inclined to think he got away. In that case, knowing that we intended coming here, he'd stick around. There need be no doubt about that.'

'Then where is he now?'

'He might be sitting in another fiord not far away, or he might have gone off to get a load of bombs to knock the daylight out of these Dorniers.'

'The question is, what are we going to do about it?'