Chapter 18.

How the Rendezvous Was Kept Nothing of interest occurred during the short swim, which was carried out with greater regard for quiet than for speed. Biggles and Ginger breasted the water together, leaving an ever-widening V to mark their pa.s.sage across the tranquil face of the harbour.

A silvery flush spreading upwards from beyond the distant Italian alps proclaiming the approach of the moon; reflected in the water, it caressed the ripples as they receded diagonal y on either hand to lap at last against the quay.

Reaching their objective, they pul ed themselves up on the rusty buoy to rest for a moment to listen, and wring the brine from their hair and eyes. Then Biggles grasped the mooring rope, and bracing himself, drew the big aircraft gently towards him. The rope coming within his reach, Ginger also pul ed, hand over hand, until the cabin was level with the buoy.

'That's it, hold her,' breathed Biggles, and reached for the door.

As he did so a medley of sounds occurred on the sh.o.r.e. They began with a shout, which was fol owed by a number of short blasts on a whistle. Footsteps could be heard, running. Someone rapped out orders in brittle Italian.

Ginger looked with askance at Biggles. He could think of only one reason for the alarm-that they had been seen. 'They've spotted us,' he said in a low voice.

Biggles looked around and then focussed his attention on the customs-house, where a number of men could be seen a.s.sembling as if for a parade.

Lights appeared, both moving and stationary.

'No, it isn't us,' he said. 'Those fel ows are not carrying rifles. It must be some sort of guard turn-out.

Listen.'

Someone appeared to be shouting names. An order was given. The party turned to the right.

Another order, and the men began marching along the Quai de Plaisance. By this time sounds of activity could also be heard on the Quai de Commerce opposite.

'I don't get it,' muttered Ginger. 'What is there on the Quai de Commerce?'

'Coal bunkers and gas-works mostly. It's the commercial side of the port. I don't know what's going on, but I don't think it has anything to do with us. Let's keep going. Give me your torch.'

Biggles opened the door of the aircraft and stepped inside. He switched on the torch, and deflecting the beam downwards, started to make a survey of the cabin. The light moved only a short way, then stopped.

Ginger, entering the aircraft behind Biggles, saw a sight both unexpected and disconcerting. Using an Italian Air Force tunic as a pil ow, on a bunk lay a man, dressed in trousers and a shirt. He was awake.

He had half raised himself on his elbow and was blinking into the glare. He had obviously been sleeping; awakened by the door being opened, he looked dazed at what must have seemed a strange intrusion. Suddenly he appeared to realize that he was in danger, for, letting out a yel , he started to get off the bunk.

Two swift strides took Biggles to him, gun in hand, whereupon the man, evidently a member of the crew, sat down again, stiff with fright.

Biggles tried him first in French, then in English, but the man apparently knew neither language. With a ghost of a smile he murmured to Ginger, 'Snag number one.'

'What are you going to do with him?'

'You keep an eye on him while I have a look at the c.o.c.kpit,' answered Biggles. 'I shan't be a minute.'

He went forward.

Ginger made signs to the Italian, by tapping his gun, that he would be wise to remain quiet. He could hear someone shouting, but who it was and what it was about he did not know.

Presently Biggles came back. 'I think everything's al right,' he said. 'We'd better get rid of this chap- we don't want any more pa.s.sengers.' He looked at the Italian and indicated the door.

The man needed no second invitation. He was out like a shot, making for the sh.o.r.e at a fast overarm stroke. Biggles cut the cable. As he came back into the cabin and closed the door a searchlight was switched on. The beam did not fal on the aircraft, but swept across the water near the harbour mouth.

'It was that fel ow shouting that did it,' muttered Ginger savagely.

'Possibly,' answered Biggles calmly. 'Come on, let's get away.' They went through to the c.o.c.kpit and took their places.

When the twin engines came to life the noise, after the silence, was shattering. Biggles sat with one hand on the master throttle and the other on the control column, giving the motors a chance to warm up, until the searchlight swept back and came to rest on the machine, flooding it with radiance. Looking out of a side window, just beyond the beam, Ginger could see people running about on the quay.

'I think it's time we were moving,' he remarked.

'Our engines have sort of stirred things up.'

'I rather expected they would,' replied Biggles, smiling. 'Stil , I don't think they dare to do much shooting here for fear of hitting the other machines.

Al the same, we'd better be getting along.'

He eased the throttle open. His face was expressionless as his eyes focused on the narrow harbour entrance beyond which lay the open sea.

The flying-boat began to surge forward, increasing its speed as he advanced the throttle. Fifty yards from the harbour entrance it was skimming the water, flinging clouds of spray on either side.

water, flinging clouds of spray on either side.

'We've done it!' shouted Ginger triumphantly.

Biggles did not answer. His body suddenly went rigid. With a quick movement he leaned forward to bring his face nearer to the windscreen.

Dazzled by the light, which was playing on the side of the machine, for a moment Ginger could see nothing; then he made out a black bulk, seeming to fil the opening through which they must pa.s.s. He realized at once what it was. High masts left him in no doubt. A vessel of some sort was coming in.

Instantly he understood the commotion on the quay.

The ship had been signal ed, and arrangements were being made for its reception. From their low position they had been unable to see it. He went cold with shock. In the tricky light he found it impossible to tel just how far away the ship actual y was, but it looked horribly close.

Biggles thrust the throttle wide open. The engines bel owed. Spray flew. The hul quivered. The aircraft tore on to what seemed certain destruction. Ginger sat stil , petrified. There was nothing he could do. He stared at the black silhouette as though it had mesmerized him.

'Unexpected snag number two,' said Biggles, through set teeth.

Now it had seemed to Ginger, when he first saw the vessel, that it was actual y coming into the harbour, but as the aircraft raced on he perceived that this was not the case. It was close, but, natural y, so near the harbour, it was travel ing dead slow. The impression that it was travel ing fast was created by the high speed of the aircraft, and as it turned out, the destroyer-as the vessel now revealed itself to be-was stil a cable's length*1 from the entrance.

Biggles could not turn, of course, until he was out of the harbour, otherwise he must have col ided with the sea wal . Neither could he take off, for the machine, running on a flat surface without a wave to give it a 'kick' into the air, was only just beginning to lift. He might have cut the throttle, in which case the machine would have slowed up, so that the force of impact, when the col ision occurred, would have been trivial. But that would have ended any chance of escape. So he raced on, stil on ful throttle, and as he shot through the harbour mouth he kicked on ful right rudder. There was nothing else for it, for by this time the black hul was towering above them. Even time the black hul was towering above them. Even so, it was a desperate expedient. The aircraft yawed so violently that Ginger clutched at the side, thinking they were going right over. The port wing came down on the water with a smack, flinging up a cloud of spray that blotted everything from sight. He braced himself for the shock of col ision which he stil thought was unavoidable. Instead, the aircraft righted itself; the spray disappeared aft, and the machine, on a new course, shot past the destroyer with a few feet to spare.

He had another shock when he saw that there were three ships-two destroyers, and what he took to be a tanker. The fact that they were in line ahead had prevented the two rear vessels from being seen.

For the same reason there was no risk of col ision with them, for the aircraft was now travel ing diagonal y away from them. Ginger let out his pent-up breath with a gasp, but stil he did not speak. A sidelong glance revealed Biggles stil sitting as though nothing untoward had happened.

But the incident was not yet over. From the leading destroyer a searchlight stabbed the night. It found them at once. The sh.o.r.e searchlight joined in, and the aircraft, and the water round it, were transformed to polished silver. A moment later al vibration ceased, and Ginger knew they were airborne.

As the Savoia started to climb more searchlights thrust long white fingers into the starlit sky. Lines of tracer bul ets*2 glittered in the beams. Bursting shel s began to tear the sky with flame. Biggles pushed the control column forward for speed, and then zoomed high, leaving the searchlights below him. For a few minutes he flew on, turning first one way then another to mislead the gunners. Then, suddenly, he laughed aloud.

'By gosh! I thought we were into that leading destroyer. We can't grumble, but it was foul luck. It shows how the best scheme can come unstuck- one can't make al owances for that sort of thing. Just imagine it. I don't think there has been a ship in that harbour for days, yet those blighters had to come in at the very moment we chose to go out. Had they been one minute earlier, or we a minute later, there would have been an almighty splash.'

'You're tel ing me,' muttered Ginger.

Biggles chuckled. 'I'l bet that skipper's using some language.'

some language.'

'He was probably struck dumb, like I was,' growled Ginger. 'By the way, where are we going?'

'I'm trying to lead those sharpshooters to believe that we're heading out to sea,' returned Biggles. 'I daren't turn too soon or they'd know we were coming back. I think it's al right now.'

He turned in a wide half circle. The roar of the motors faded, and the flying boat settled down in a steady glide towards the nearest point of land-the tip of Cap Martin, now visible in the light of the moon some miles to the north. Ginger did not fail to notice the wisdom of Biggles's choice in the matter of time.

They had worked under cover of darkness when they most needed it; now they had the light of the moon to enable them to pick up Francois' boat.

'Have you noticed the petrol gauges?' inquired Biggles.

Ginger admitted that he had not.

'Take a look.'

Not knowing quite what Biggles meant, but aware that there must be a reason for the remark, Ginger looked at the instrument panel. Then he understood.

The tanks were less than quarter ful .

'What a mob,' he muttered, in a voice heavy with disgust. 'Fancy being in port al that time and not fil ing up.'

'Perhaps they couldn't,' replied Biggles drily.

'Maybe it was because they were short of juice that they put in at Monaco. Since the machines were due to leave in the morning, obviously they were expecting to refuel before then. If that were so it would answer several questions. That was a tanker just gone in. I'd say that's what they were waiting for -hence the activity on the Quai de Commerce. It didn't occur to me to look to see if anything was coming, but the Italians were evidently expecting the ships. Not that it matters now. Can you see the boat?'

Away to the left searchlights were stil quartering the sky, seeking the aircraft, but Ginger wasted no time on them. Concentrating his attention on the sea off Cap Martin he made out a smal black speck.

'There she is!' he cried. 'They've made it.'

Biggles did not answer, but devoted himself to the difficult task of putting the flying-boat on the water in moonlight made deceptive by the waving arms of searchlights. Ginger said no more, knowing that it was no time for talking. He sat quite stil , his eyes on the little boat that grew steadily larger and more definite in outline. Occasional y the water reflected a distant burst of flak, and he wondered vaguely what the Italians were shooting at. He had a curious sensation that this was not real y happening-that he was watching a film.

They were now low enough for the shimmer on the water to break up into isolated ripples, and the conical hil s behind Cap Martin rose ever higher as the flying-boat continued to lose height. As it neared the sea its nose lifted a little, and then, as Biggles flattened out, Francois' boat was hidden behind the sweeping bows. There came a splash. Spray flew.

Another splash that was drawn out into a long hiss.

Powerful brakes seemed to hold the Savoia back.

Rocking a little it came to rest.

'Get the door open,' ordered Biggles crisply. 'Ask Algy for my uniform-I'm none too warm.'

Ginger opened the door. A searchlight was groping dangerously close, and in the reflection of its light he saw the Bluebird Bluebird skimming over the dancing ripples towards the machine, leaving a creamy wake to mark its course and reveal that it was running under power. It was about a hundred yards away. skimming over the dancing ripples towards the machine, leaving a creamy wake to mark its course and reveal that it was running under power. It was about a hundred yards away.

Ginger waited, keeping an anxious eye on the questing beams, some of which were now raking the water. He supposed that the machine had been picked up by the sound-detectors-or it might have been the throb of the Bluebird Bluebird's powerful engine.

The motor-boat surged alongside.

'Nice work,' cal ed Algy.

'Nice work yourself,' answered Ginger. 'Make it snappy-we've sort of stirred up things where we've come from. If one of those beams. .h.i.ts us the Italians wil start throwing things.'

Chapter 19.

Farewell To France As if to confirm Ginger's prediction a deflected beam swept over them, halted, came back, and then held them in a flood of blinding radiance.

'Biggles wants his kit!' shouted Ginger. 'He's flying in his pants.'

'Coming up.' Algy threw a bundle aboard, and Ginger, with a shout to Biggles, tossed it into the cabin.

The pa.s.sengers fol owed. First, Henri was lifted in.

He was fol owed by his mother, sister, and the princess. Biggles, who had managed to get into his slacks, appeared, cal ing for Francois.

'If you'l take my advice, Francois,' he said, as the others came aboard, 'you'l run that boat into Mentone. Say you were lobstering when the row started and you made for land to get out of the way. If they question you you can tel them that you saw a flying-boat pick up a party of people from Cap Martin. Adieu. Adieu. I'l see that your good work is put on record.' I'l see that your good work is put on record.'

'Come back after the war!' shouted Francois. ' Au Au revoir. Au revoir revoir. Au revoir, milord, et bon voyage et bon voyage*1.' With its propel er churning, the motor-boat backed away, turned, and sped like an arrow towards the land.

As Ginger slammed the door a shel screamed overhead and flung up a plume of water a hundred yards beyond. He hurried through to the c.o.c.kpit and saw that Biggles was back in his seat. Glancing out of a side window he observed little tongues of fire spurting from the sombre ma.s.s of Mont Agel. More shel s screamed.

'Let's get out of this,' he told Biggles.

The motors roared; the aircraft raced seaward, tearing a long white scar across the face of the water.

Ginger waited for the aircraft to lift before he spoke again. 'It's annoying to be so short of juice,'

he remarked. 'Where are you making for?'

'Algeria.'

Ginger started. 'Strewth! Why Algeria?'

'Our chaps are there-or at least I hope they are.

There's nowhere else within range of our petrol. I'm by no means sure that we shal get to Algeria, if it by no means sure that we shal get to Algeria, if it comes to that. If we make it, we ought to arrive about dawn. Take over while I get into my tunic.'