On, on between trees and over scattered homesteads he roared in the maddest ride of his life. Cattle stampeded before him, poultry flapped wildly aside, and field labourers flung themselves flat before the demon that hurtled towards them like a thunderbolt.

All the time he was getting nearer home, raising his eyes every few seconds to watch the enemy machines overhead.

Five minutes pa.s.sed - ten - fifteen, and then a grim smile spread over his face.

'They've spotted me!' he muttered. 'Here they come!' He glanced at his watch. 'About five miles to go. They'll catch me, but with luck I might just do it!'

A wide group of many-hued bodies were falling from the sky ahead of him, but he did not alter his course a fraction of an inch, although he flinched once or twice as he tore past flashing wings and whirling propellers. He heard the rattle of guns behind him, but he did not stop to return the fire.

Out of my way!' he snarled as a fresh formation appeared in front of him. 'Turn, or I'll ram - Oh!' He caught his breath as an Albatross shot past his nose, missing him by inches.

A bunch of Fokker Triplanes tore into his path, but as if sensing the berserk madness of the lone pilot, they prudently swung aside to let him through.

He tilted his wing to enable him to clear a church spire that suddenly appeared in his path, and then twisted violently the other way to avoid a tall poplar.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed a swift glance behind him, and his eyes opened wide.

'What a sight!' he gasped. 'Well, come on, boys; I'll take you for a joy-ride!'

A sudden hush fell on the crowd on the tarmac at Maranique as the drone of a Bentley rotary engine was borne on the breeze, and all eyes turned upwards to where a Camel could be seen approaching the aerodrome.

Over the edge of the aerodrome the engine choked, choked again, and back-fired. The prop stopped, and the nose of the machine tilted down. The watchers held their breath as it became apparent that the Camel was in difficulties.

A long strip of fabric trailed back from the wing-tip, and a bracing wire hung loose from the undercarriage; one of the ailerons* seemed to be out of position, as if it was hanging on by a single hinge.

There was silence as the pilot made a slow, flat turn that brought him into the wind, and then sagged earthwards like a drunken man. A few feet from the ground he caught it again, and flopped down to a b.u.mpy landing.

A sigh of relief, like the rustle of dead leaves on an autumn day, broke from the spectators as the tension was relaxed.

Algy had started running towards the machine, * Usually a part of the trading edge of a wing, used to turn the aircraft to left or right by means of the control column.

but pulled up as Biggles was seen climbing from the c.o.c.kpit. In his hand he carried a camera.

A mechanic of the photographic staff ran out to meet him as if by arrangement, and relieved him of the instrument. Biggles walked slowly on towards the group, removing his cap and goggles as he came.

He was rather pale, and looked very tired, but there was a faint smile about the corners of his mouth. He changed his direction slightly as he saw Major Raymond and made towards him.

'Sorry, sir, but I shall have to keep you a minute or two until my photograph is developed: he said. 'But I've still got another quarter of an hour or so, I think?'

The major looked at his wrist-watch.

'Fourteen minutes: he said. Then his curiosity overcame him. 'Where have you been?' he inquired, with interest.

'I should prefer not to say, sir, if you don't mind, until the photo arrives: 'just as you like: Ten minutes pa.s.sed slowly, and then Flight-Sergeant Smyth appeared, running towards the crowd with a broad smile on his face. He handed something to Biggles, who, after a swift glance, pa.s.sed it to the major.

'Where is this?' said the staff officer, with a puzzled expression. 'I seem to recognize those buildings: 'Brussels, sir.'

'Brussels?' cried Wilks. 'I don't believe it! You couldn't carry enough petrol to get to Brussels and back!'

'Whether he could or not, this is a photograph of Brussels,' declared the major. 'And there are leaflets fluttering down over the Palais Royal. I can see them distinctly!

A yell from the Camel pilots split the air, while the S.E. pilots muttered amongst themselves.

'But how on earth did you do it?' cried the C.O. in amazement.

Ah, that's a trade secret, sir!' replied Biggles mysteriously. 'But I am going to tell you, because it is only fair to Lacey, whose a.s.sistance made it possible. We flew over together, and landed in a field about forty miles over the Line.

'He carried eight spare tins of petrol - four in his c.o.c.kpit and four lashed to his bomb-racks. He came back home; I refuelled and went on. I had just enough petrol to get back, as you saw.'

'But that isn't fair!' muttered Wilks.

Oh, yes, it is!' said the major quickly. 'There was no stipulation about refuelling!

'Do we get the gramophone, sir?' asked Biggles. 'You do!' replied the major promptly, and he handed it over.

Wilks' face broke into a smile, and he extended his hand.

'Good show, Biggles!' he said. 'You deserve it!' 'Thanks!' smiled Biggles. 'How about you and your chaps coming over to dinner tonight? We'll have a merry evening, with a tune on the jolly old gramophone to wind up with!'

For a moment Wilks looked doubtful, as though the mention of the gramophone gave him a nasty taste in the mouth. Then Biggles saw a sudden gleam flash into his eyes and a smile break out on his face.

'Right-ho!' said Wilks. 'We'll be along. Thanks very much!' And he swung away in the direction of his plane, followed by the rest of his squadron.

'H'm!' grunted Biggles, as he watched him depart. 'If I'm not mistaken, you mean mischief. I'll have to keep a wary eye on you, my lad!'

When Wilks turned up for dinner that night, only half his fellow-pilots were with him.

'Hallo!' said Biggles, as Wilks and his comrades walked into the ante-room, where the newly won gramophone was playing a lively tune. 'Where's the rest of your chaps? We expect you all!'

'They couldn't get away,' explained Wilkinson.

'Hard luck!' said Biggles. 'Can't be helped, I suppose. Well, come along - dinner's ready.' And he led the way into the mess.

Dinner was a merry affair. It seemed as though the visiting pilots were out to prove that no trace of soreness over their defeat in the gramophone contest remained. Good-natured banter was exchanged, and the room was in a constant uproar of laughter.

It seemed to Biggles that at times the laughter of the S.E.5 pilots was a trifle forced - as if they were deliberately making a noise to drown out other possible noises, and he chuckled inwardly. And he chuckled still more when he noticed Wilks taking furtive glances at his wrist-watch.

Suddenly Wilks noticed that Algy was not present, and he asked after him.

Oh,' said Biggles casually, 'he's got a stunt on I - '

He broke off as a sudden uproar came from the ante-room, and, pushing back his chair, he leapt for the door. Thrusting it open, he dashed out into a group of figures milling round the gramophone.

In the midst of the group was Algy, gallantly defending the gramophone, holding off the S.E.5 pilots who had failed to turn up for dinner.

'Two-sixty-six to the rescue!' yelled Biggles, dashing into the fray.

In a moment the affair was over as other pilots of No. 266 Squadron dashed to the rescue.

'So this was Algy's stunt!' said the crestfallen Wilks bitterly.

'It was!' chuckled Biggles. 'And it's the winning stunt! It's no good, my lad: he added. 'If you want a new gramophone you'll have to buy one. We won this, and we're jolly well keeping it!'

20.

TWELVE THOUSAND FEET UP!.

The aerodrome of Squadron No. 266 was deserted, except for a slim figure that sat, rather uncomfortably, on an upturned chock, as a Sopwith Camel, considerably damaged, landed and taxied up to the hangars - for officers and air mechanics were in their respective messes eating the midday meal.

The pilot of the Camel plane, Biggles, alighted slowly and deliberately. He removed the tangled remains of a pair of goggles from his head, shook some loose gla.s.s from the creases of his flying-jacket, and eyed a long tear in the arm of the garment dubiously.

Then he bent and examined the sole of his flying boot, the heel of which appeared to have been dragged off. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he took a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped away a quant.i.ty of black oil from the lower part of his face.

This done, he thrust the handkerchief back in his pocket and glanced sideways at Algy Lacey, who had deserted his seat in front of the sheds, and was inspecting the much-shot-about aeroplane from various angles.

'You seem to have been having some fun,' suggested Algy.

Tun, eh?' grunted Biggles, pointing to the shot-torn machine. 'If that's your idea of fun, it'

s time you were locked up in a padded cell!'

All right, don't get the heebie-jeebies!'

'You'd have the screaming w.i.l.l.i.e.s - never mind the heebie-jeebies - if you'd been with me this morning. Where's everybody?'

At lunch?

'That's all some people think of! If they'd do less guzzling and more - But why talk about it? Come on, let's go! I'll ring up Smyth from the mess to get busy on this kite!'

'Where've you been? You seem peeved about something: observed Algy, as they made their way to the dining-room.

If thirty Huns wouldn't peeve anybody, I should like to know what would!'

'Hallo, Biggles!' called Mahoney, from the lower end of the long trestle-table. 'Where've you been?'

Ah, here's another wants to know all about it!' replied Biggles. 'All right, I'll tell you. I'm going to knock the block off that hound Wilkinson!'

All right - all right, don't get het up! What's he done now?'

Biggles seated himself with slow deliberation, ordered cold beef from the mess waiter, and reached for the salad. He selected a tomato and stabbed it viciously. A small jet of pink spray squirted from it and struck Maclaren, the Scots flight-commander, in the eye.

Maclaren rose wrathfully to his feet, groping for his serviette.

'Here, what's the big idea?' he spluttered.

'Sorry, Mac: murmured Biggles apologetically. 'But how did I know it was so juicy?'

'Well, look what you're doing!'

'Right-ho! As I was saying - where did I get to? Oh, yes! Well, this morning, on my way out to the Line, I thought I'd drop in and have a word with Wilks and thank him for sending down that bunch of records for the new gramophone.

'When I got there I found them all in a rare state. It seems that the old Boeleke "circus,"

which has been away down south for the Verdun show, has come back, and planted itself right opposite Wilks' crowd, and they don't think much of it.

'Wilks said it was about time the Boeleke crowd had their wings clipped, and I told him that the sooner he got on with the clipping the better - there was nothing to stop him going right ahead. He turned all nerky and asked why we didn't do something about it, and so on, and so forth.

'To cut a long story short, he suggested that I should do the decoy act for them. The idea was to rendezvous over Hamel at ten-thirty, me at twelve thousand feet up, and all the S.

E. planes they could muster at eighteen thousand feet. I was to draw the German Albatrosses down, and our S.E.'s would come down on top of them.

Wilks was particularly anxious to have a crack from up top at the new fellow who is leading the Albatrosses - they don't know his name. That was about ten o'clock, and I, like a fool, said "O.K.", and pushed off.

'Well, I got up to twelve thousand over Hamel, as arranged, and hung about until I saw nine S.E.'s high up, pushing into Hunland, where I followed them, keeping underneath, of course.

'1 found the Boche circus all right, or, at least, they found me - put it that way! I don't know how many there were, but the sky was black with them. However, I thought I'd do the job properly, so I headed on towards them as if I was blind.

'The Huns didn't waste any time. No, sir! They came buzzing down as if I was the only Britisher in the sky, and every one was full-out to get me first.

It tickled me to death to think what a surprise-packet they'd got coming when old Wilks and his mob arrived. I looked up to see where Wilks' lot were, and was just in time to see them disappearing over the horizon.

'That stopped me laughing. At first I couldn't believe it, but there was no mistake. The S.

E.'s just went drifting on until they were out of sight. And there was me, up Salt Creek without a paddle. I'd aimed to bring the German circus down, and I'd succeeded.

Oh, yes, there was no doubt about that! There they were, coming down like a swarm of wasps that had been starved for a million years!

'There I was, and there was the circus! But having got 'em, I didn't know what to do with 'em, and that's a fact!'

'What did you do with them?' asked Batson eagerly.

He had only recently joined the squadron.

'Nothing,' Biggles said. 'Nothing at all. Don't ask fool questions. I came home: he went on, 'and I didn't waste any time on the way, I can a.s.sure you. I went back to Wilks' place.

Don't ask me how I got there, because I don't know. I half rolled most of the way, I admit, but the main thing was I got there.

And what do you think I found? No, it's no use guessing - I'll tell you. I found Wilks and his crowd playing bridge - playing bridge! Can you beat that?

'He looked surprised when I barged in, as well he might, and then had the cheek to say he thought I meant that the show was to be done tomorrow!'

'What about the S.E.'s you saw?' asked Mahoney.