Biggles stepped forward. 'I am, sir,' he said.

'Will you have the goodness to explain what all this means? Major Raymond has told me of the excellent work you have done since you have been in Palestine, and in view of that I am prepared to take a broad view, but I am very tired, and this business all seems very pointless.'

Biggles looked uncomfortable. 'I agree, sir, it does,' he admitted; 'but I had hoped to prove that my unusual request was justified.'

I believe it was on your intervention that stay of execution was granted in the death sentence promulgated in connexion with Sheikh Haroun Ibn Said, otherwise the spy, El Shereef. Frankly, Bigglesworth, we are prepared to give officers sent out here on special detached duty from the Air Board a lot of rope, but there is a limit as to how far we can allow them to interfere with ordinary service routine.'

'Quite, sir. I hope to repay you for your consideration.'

'How?'

'By saving you from the mental discomfort you would surely have suffered when you discovered that you had shot an innocent man, sir.'

Innocent man! What are you talking about?'

'The Sheikh Haroun Ibn Said is not El Shereef, sir.' Biggles spoke quietly but firmly.

'Good heavens, man, what do you mean?'

'What I say, sir. The whole thing was a frame-up-if I may use an American expression.

Sheikh Haroun is what he has always claimed to be-a good friend of the British. By causing him to be arrested and-as they hoped-shot as a spy, the German agent who handled the job hoped to achieve two ends. To remove a powerful Sheikh who was sincerely loyal to British arms, and at the same time lull you into a sense of false security by leading you to believe that you had at last put an end to the notorious activities of the spy, El Shereef. Sheikh Haroun Ibn Said, in his ignorance of western matters, was easily induced to wear a German Secret Service ring, and carry on his person incriminating doc.u.ments without having the slightest idea of what they meant. In short, he was induced to adopt the personality of El Shereef.'

The General's face was grim. 'By whom?' he snapped.

'By El Shereef, sir,' said Biggles simply.

The General started and a look of understanding dawned in his eyes. Silence fell on the room. What Biggles had just told him might not have occurred to him, but its dreadful possibilities were now only too apparent. 'Good G.o.d!' he breathed. 'Are you sure of this?'

I am, sir.'

'So El Shereef is still at large.'

'He is, sir.'

'Who is the man whom you flew into the British lines last night-Major Raymond has told me about it-this Hauptmann Erich von Stalhein. Has he any connexion with El Shereef?'

'He has, sir.'

'What is it?'

'He's the same man, sir-El Shereef.'

Another silence fell. The General sat staring like a man hypnotized, and so did his staff for that matter, although one or two of them looked incredulous.

'Why did you not tell me this before?' asked the General harshly. There was reproach and anger in his voice.

'Because there was a thing that I valued above all others at stake, sir,' replied Biggles firmly. Tor that reason I told n.o.body what I had discovered.'

and what was that?'

'My life, sir. I do not mean to be disrespectful, but German agents have ears in the very highest places-even in your headquarters, sir.'

The General frowned. 'I find it hard to believe that,' he said. 'Still, this story of yours puts a very different complexion on things. Von Stalhein, alias El Shereef, is still at large, and you want Sterne to help you run him to earth-is that it?'

'That is correct, sir.'

I see. I sent out a general call for him last night, but it begins to look as if he isn't coming. If he does come, I'll let you know.'

There was a sharp rap on the door, and the duty Staff sergeant entered. 'Major Sterne is here, sir,' he said.

ask him to come up here at once,' ordered the General. 'I'll speak to him first and tell him what is proposed,' he added quickly, turning to Biggles.

'Thank you, sir.' Biggles, after a nod to Algy, stepped back against the far wall.

The next moment he was watching with a kind of fascinated interest a man who had swept into the room, for he knew he was looking at one of the most talked-of men in the Middle East, a man whose knowledge of native law was proverbial and who could disguise himself to deceive even the Arabs themselves. Even now he was dressed in flowing Arab robes, but he clicked his heels and raised his hand in the military salute.

'h.e.l.lo, Sterne, here you are then,' began the General, as he reached over his desk and shook hands. 'You got my message?'

'Yes, sir,' replied the other briskly. 'I was anxious to know what it was about.'

It's about this confounded fellow, El Shereef,' continued the General. 'It seems that there has been some mistake; the fellow you brought in was not El Shereef at all.'

Biggles stepped forward quietly.

'Not El Shereef!' cried Sterne. 'What nonsense! If he isn't El Shereef, then who is?'

'You are, I think,' said Biggles quietly. 'Don't move-von Stalhein.'

The man who had been known as Major Sterne spun round on his heel and looked into the muzzle of Biggles' revolver. He lifted eyes that were glittering with hate to Biggles'

face.* ah,' he said softly, and then again, ah. So I was right.'

'You were,' said Biggles shortly, 'and so was I.' Von Stalhein slowly raised his hands. As they drew level with the top of his burnous, he tore the garment off with a swift movement and hurled it straight into Biggles' face. At the same time he leapt for the door. Algy barred his way, but he turned like a hare and sprang at the window with Algy at his heels. For a second pandemonium reigned.

Biggles dared not risk shooting for fear of hitting Algy or the Staff officers who tried to intercept the German; but they were too late. Biggles saw a flash of white as von Stalhein went through the window like a bird. He did not attempt to follow, but dashed through the door, shouting for the headquarter's guard. 'Outside, outside,' he shouted furiously, as they came running up the stairs. He dashed past them, raced to the door, and looked out. An Arab, bent double over a magnificent horse, was streaking through the village street. Before Biggles could raise his weapon horse and rider had disappeared round the corner of the road that led to Kantara.

Get my car, get my car,' roared the General. 'Baines! Baines! Where the devil are you?

Confound the man, he's never here when he's wanted.'

'Here, sir.' The chauffeur, very red about the ears, for he had been s.n.a.t.c.hing a surrept.i.tious cup of tea with the cook, started the big Crossley tourer and took his place at the wheel.

The General jumped in beside him, and the others squeezed into the back seats. There was not room for Algy, but determined not to be left behind, he flung himself on the running board.

'Faster, man, faster,' cried the General, as they tore through the village with Arabs, mangy dogs, scraggy fowls, and stray donkeys missing death by inches. The car, swaying under its heavy load, dry-skidded round the corner where von Stalhein had last been seen, and the open road lay before them.

A mile away the tents of Kantara gleamed pink and gold in the rays of the rising sun; two hundred yards this side of them von Stalhein was flogging his horse unmercifully, as, crouching low in the saddle, he sped like an arrow towards the hangars.

'He'll beat us,' fumed the General. 'He'll take one of those machines just starting up.'

It was apparent that such was von Stalhein's intention. Several machines of different types were standing on the tarmac; the propeller of one of them, a Bristol Fighter, was flashing in the sunlight, warming up the engine while its pilot and observer finished their cigarettes outside the Mess some thirty or forty yards away.

Von Stalhein swerved like a greyhound towards the machine. The pilot and observer watched his unusual actions in astonishment; they made no attempt to stop him.

At a distance of ten yards von Stalhein pulled up with a jerk that threw the horse on to its haunches; in a twinkling of an eye he had pulled away the chocks from under the wheels and had taken a flying leap into the c.o.c.kpit. The engine roared and the Bristol began to move over the ground.

'We've lost him,' cried the General. Then, as an afterthought, he added, 'Stop at the archie battery, Baines.'

The usual protective anti-aircraft battery was only a hundred yards down the road, the muzzles of its four guns pointing into the air like chimneys set awry as the crews sleepily sipped their early morning tea. But the arrival of the General's car brought them to their feet with a rush. A startled subaltern ran forward and saluted.

'Get that machine,' snapped the General, pointing at the Bristol that was now a thousand feet in the air and climbing swiftly towards the German lines. 'Get it and I'll promote you to Captain in to-night's orders.'

The lieutenant asked no questions; he shouted an order and dashed to the range-finder.

Mess tins were flung aside as the gunners leapt to their stations, and within five seconds the first gun had roared its bra.s.s-coated sh.e.l.l at the British machine. It went wide. The officer corrected the aim, and a second shot was nearer. Another correction, and a sh.e.l.l burst fifty yards in front of the two-seater. Another word of command, and the four guns began firing salvoes as fast as the gunners could feed them.

Tiny sparks of yellow flame, followed by mushrooming clouds of white smoke, appeared round the Bristol, the pilot of which began to swerve from side to side as he realized his danger.

Biggles was torn between desire to watch the frantic but methodical activity of the gunners-for he had seldom stood at the starting end of archie-and the machine, but he could not tear his eyes away from the swerving two-seater; knowing from bitter experience just what von Stalhein was going through, he felt almost sorry for him. A sh.e.l.l burst almost under the fuselage and the machine rocked.

'He's. .h.i.t,' cried the General excitedly.

'No, sir, it was only the b.u.mp of the explosion, I think,' declared Biggles.

Another sh.e.l.l burst almost between the wings of the Bristol, and its nose jerked up spasmodically.

'He's. .h.i.t now, sir,' yelled Biggles, clutching Algy's arm.

A silence fell on the little group of watchers; the roar of the guns and the distant sullen whoof- whoof -whoof of the bursting sh.e.l.ls died away as the Bristol lurched, recovered, lurched again, and then fell off on its wing into a dizzy earthward plunge. Twice it tried to come out, as if the pilot was still alive and making desperate efforts to right his machine; then it disappeared behind a distant hill.

A hush of tense expectancy fell as every man held his breath and strained his ears for the sound that he knew would come.

It came. Clear-cut through the still morning air, far away over the German side of the lines, came the sound as if some one had jumped on a flimsy wooden box, crushing it flat: the sinister but unmistakable sound of an aeroplane hitting the ground.

Biggles drew a deep breath. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'that's that.'

Chapter 22.

Biggles Explains That evening a little party dined quietly in the Headquarters Mess; it consisted of the General, his Aid-de-camp, Major Raymond, Algy, and Biggles, who, over coffee, at the General's request, ran over the whole story.

and so you see, sir,' he concluded, 'the unravelling of the skein was not so difficult as one might imagine.' 'But when did you first suspect that von Stalhein and El Shereef were one and the same?' asked the General.

It's rather hard to say, sir,' replied Biggles slowly. I fancy the idea was at the back of my mind before I was really aware of it-if I can put it that way,' he continued. 'I felt from the very beginning that von Stalhein was more than he appeared to be on the surface.'

'Why did you think that?'

'Because he was so obviously suspicious-not only where I was concerned but with any stranger that came to the camp. "Why should he be?" I asked myself, and the only answer I could find was, because he had more to lose than any one else on the station.

After all, a man is only suspicious when he has something to be suspicious about.

Something was going on behind the scenes. What was it? When I saw him dressed as an Arab-well, that seemed to be the answer to the question.

'He never appeared in that garb in daylight, and I am convinced that only a few people at Zabala knew what he was doing; he didn't want them to know; that's why he used to send the aeroplane to the far side of the aerodrome and slip out after dark when no one was about. The Count knew all about it, of course; he had to, and if you ask my opinion I should say that he wasn't too pleased about it-hence his att.i.tude towards me.'

Tut why should he feel like that?'

'Because he was secretly jealous of von Stalhein. He wanted all the kudos. Von Faubourg was vain and inefficient and it annoyed him to know that a subordinate had ten times the amount of brain that he had; he had sense enough to recognize that, you may be sure. And von Stalhein knew it too. He knew that nothing would please the Count more than to see him take down a peg. I will go as far as to say that I believe the Count was actually pleased when von Stalhein's plans went wrong. Take the business of the Australian troops, for example. Von Stalhein put that over to try to trap me; he merely wanted to see what I would do in such a case. When I got back and reported that the Australians were at Sidi Arish the Count was tickled to death because von Stalhein's scheme had failed; I could tell it by his manner. He was so pleased that he came round to my room to congratulate me. That showed me how things were between them, and I knew that I had a friend in the Count as long as I didn't tread on his toes; the more I upset von Stalhein-to a point-the better he was pleased.

'Take the business of when I dropped my ring near the waterworks. That was a careless blunder that might have cost me my life; even the Count couldn't overlook that, but he was quite pleased when I cleared myself for no other reason than that von Stalhein had told him that he had got me stone cold. If the Count had made the discovery it would have been quite a different matter. Von Stalhein sent Leffens out to watch me. Leffens was, I think, the one man he really trusted; he used to fly him over the lines until I killed him, and after that he used Mayer. He never knew what happened to Leffens, but he thought he did when he found one of his bullets in my machine. I've got a feeling that he tipped Leffens off to shoot me down if he got a chance, and that was why he daren't make much of a song when he found the bullet.

I had already thought a lot about Sterne, who as far as I could make out was playing pretty much the same game for the British, and there were two things that put me on the right track there. First, the shadow on the tent, and secondly, the fact that some one-obviously in sympathy with the Germans-arranged my escape. Who could it be? Who had access to British posts? Mind you, sir, at that stage the a.s.sociation was nothing more than a bare possibility. I could hardly bring myself to believe that it might be remotely possible, but once the germ was in my mind it stayed there, and I was always on the look-out for a clue that might confirm it. That's why I went to von Stalhein's room. I hardly admitted it to myself but I knew I was hoping to find a British uniform-or something of the sort. As a matter of fact I did see a Sam Browne belt in the wardrobe, but I could hardly regard that as proof; it might easily have been nothing more than a souvenir. But then there was the British hat in Mayer's machine! It may sound easy to put two and two together now but it wasn't so easy then. Would you have believed me, sir, if I had come to you and said that Major Sterne was von Stalhein? I doubt it.

Won Stalhein's scheme for the capture of El Shereef was a clever piece of work, there's no denying that; it shook me to the marrow. At first it took me in, and I'll admit it. But he overreached himself. He made one little slip-took one risk, would perhaps be nearer the truth-and it gave the game away. Then I saw how simple the whole thing really was.'

'Do you mean when you went and saw Sheikh Haroun?' put in the Major.

'No, I got nothing out of him,' declared Biggles. 'He behaved just as one would expect a well-bred Arab to behave in such circ.u.mstances. He closed up like an oyster at the bare thought of the British suspecting him to be a traitor, and he would have died with his mouth shut if I hadn't b.u.t.ted in. No, it was what I saw in your tent that gave the game away.'

'What was it?'

'The ring. Those rings are few and far between. They daren't leave spare ones lying about: it would be too dangerous. Yet they knew that one of those rings found on the Sheikh would be sufficient evidence to hang him. There was only one available; it was Leffens', and I recognized it-as, indeed, I had every reason to. That set me thinking, and I reconstructed the crime-as the police say. Yet I had to act warily. One word and we shouldn't have seen von Stalhein -El Shereef-call him what you like-for dust and small pebbles.'

'But he sent you over to try to rescue El Shereef,' exclaimed the General. 'What was his idea in doing that?'

It was simply another try-on; he wanted me to confirm that El Shereef had been arrested, and at the same tlme he hoped I'd make a b.o.o.b. He had nothing to lose. Suppose I had managed to "rescue" El Shereefor rather, Sheikh Haroun. The Huns would have asked for nothing more than to have had him in their hands.'

'Yes, of course, I quite see that. And by reporting that he had been shot you led him to think that we had been completely taken in.'

Exactly, sir. I went on playing my own game, and as it happened it came off, although he made a clever move to get rid of me. He never trusted me; he was no fool; he was the only one of the lot of them who spotted that things started going wrong from the moment I arrived. It might have been coincidence, but von Stalhein didn't think so.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, first of all the waterworks were blown up; then Leffens failed to return; then the Arab raid went wrong; then Hess got killed! Mayer crashes and gets his leg smashed-oh, no, sir, he wasn't going to believe this was just a run of bad luck. Something was radically wrong somewhere and he knew it. Whether it was anything to do with me or not, he would have felt happier if he could have got me out of the way. That's why he tried to get me pushed into the ground.'

'When?'

'The day I came over here to confirm that you had captured El Shereef.'

'What did he do?'

'He followed me over in the Pup-dressed as Major Sterne. He simply walked along the tarmac, told the flight-sergeant to put my machine in the shed and put another in its place-one which, of course, had no distinguishing mark on the top plane.'