Biggles Flies Again Part 2

returned Biggles.

"Come up to the map-room at the aerodrome tomorrow and I'll show you to within two hundred square miles, and that's as much as anyone can tell you," replied Wilkinson, "but don't you try doing anything foolish," he muttered darkly. "An Aymara Indian couldn't get across those hills, so it's no use you trying."

Biggles nibbled the end of a match-stalk reflectively. "It seems a pity," he observed slowly.

II.

The following morning he examined with interest the big map in the pilots' room at the aerodrome. A pencil line, drawn by Wilkinson, enclosed an oblong-shaped area roughly twenty miles long by ten miles deep.

"It's generally supposed that Estaban's estancia is somewhere about there, but, of course, no one knows for certain," he told them.

"I see," said Biggles vaguely. "Well, it looks rough country to me and I don't think I shall wear out any shoe-leather looking for Consuelo. Come on, Algy, we had, better run over the machine; she'll need an overhaul before we leave."

"Where's Smyth?" he went on, with a change of tone, when they were out of earshot.

"He's cleaning the machine. Why?"

"Good. Is the camera still aboard?"

"Yes.,, "We still have plenty of unexposed plates, haven't we?" "Plenty."

"Fine! Let's do a little reconnaissance."

A few minutes later the "Vandal" was in the air, climbing as quickly as possible for height. Progress was slow, for the aerodrome at Alto de la Paz is situated fourteen thousand feet above sea-level, considerably higher than the normal ceiling of a civil aircraft. For this reason Smyth had been left behind in order to lighten the load as far as possible, and with Biggles at the controls Algy was ready to operate the camera.

When they were five thousand feet above the aerodrome the pilot struck off at a tangent and headed towards the snowy crest of Mount Illimani. As they neared it he edged away towards the lower peaks on the right, but even so he had not much more than a few hundred feet to spare when he slipped across them and looked ahead for what lay beyond. Something struck the plane with the vibrating crack of a whip-lash, and a small round hole appeared in the lower port plane. Biggles grimaced, and made a mental note that Wilkinson had evidently spoken the truth about Estaban's bodyguard of snipers.

Once over the main range the ground fell away in an awe-inspiring series of lesser ranges. As far as the eye could see, the landscape presented a vista of serrated ridges of rock, torn and split by the torture of innumerable earthquakes, and Biggles realised for the first time the difficulty of his task. Something caught his eye and he changed his course slightly towards it. It was a lake, one of those peculiar to the Andean range, situated thousands of feet above sea-level. It was near the end of a large plateau, bleak and stony and broken by occasional patches of tola scrub.

"What a place!" he mused. And then a movement attracted his attention and he peered down intently. Sheep? No, llamas, he thought, and stared at a group of animals grazing on the edge of the plateau near the entrance of a small ravine. He pointed, and signalled to Algy to start exposing plates.

For half an hour he flew up and down at the same alt.i.tude until every inch of the plateau, the lake, and their environs had been covered by the camera, and then he turned his nose back towards the aerodrome.

For the rest of the day they worked hard, Biggles and Smyth developing and printing the plates, Algy mounting them up together on a large white card. When he had finished, a single photograph was made of the whole and a bird's-eye picture of the valley lay before them.

"If he's in the area Wilks marked out, he is here," said Biggles, laying a finger on the photograph, after a minute examination. "A lizard couldn't find a foothold anywhere else.

Here is the pa.s.s." He traced a faint wavering line with the point of his pencil. "From the machine it seemed to lose itself on the plateau, but you can still faintly see it in the photograph. Here it goes, straight across. Now look over here in the corner; notice how all these small tracks converge on that point, and that is where the llamas were. The vertical photograph only shows rock and a tiny fissure, but I should say the rock overhangs a canyon, and that is where Estaban and his friends must hang out. Do you think you could land the 'Vandal' on that lake, Algy?" he concluded abruptly.

Algy looked up in surprise. "Of course I could."

Biggles nodded. "The thing that worries me most, though," he said, "is whether you could get her off again. It's high up, remember, very high up, and on that flat surface with no wind the 'Vandal' might not unstick."

"She'll come off all right; there is plenty of room and we can dismantle everything we don't need for the job. What's the idea?"

Biggles leaned forward and whispered in his ear for some minutes; when he had finished Algy looked at him dubiously.

"I don't think much of it," he said, very serious for once. "Well, it sounds all right to me,"

replied Biggles. "Let's go and find Wilks."

They found him in his office, checking up and signing log-books.

"Have you got a parachute here, Wilks?" asked Biggles quietly.

"No. Why?"

"Oh, I just wondered:"

"Wait a minute. I believe there is a sample the Irvin people sent down some time ago. It was a special job, extra large, I believe, for high-alt.i.tude work, but we didn't buy any."

"Let's see it," demanded Biggles.

Wilks looked at him curiously. "What crazy scheme have you got in your head, now?"

he asked.

"Never mind that," replied Biggles. "Get me the brolly, and if your people hear any aviating tonight tell them not to worry. We are going to try an experiment if it's fine."

III.

With Algy at the stick, the "Vandal" nosed its way through the night, three thousand feet above the mighty Cordillera, and headed for the plateau. Biggles, looking out, could see the lake clearly, and waved the pilot on a course midway between it and the spot where he had seen the llamas. He stood up, and then started to climb out. Algy throttled back to stalling speed and waved his hand in silent farewell. Biggles remained poised for a moment and then disappeared into the black void below. The pilot turned in a wide circle back towards the aerodrome.

Biggles, plunging downwards, gasped in relief as the parachute opened and his harness took the strain. He looked around curiously. To the right lay the lake; below, the plateau was wrapped in profound darkness and merged into the mountains, whose razor-like peaks, hard-cut against the sky, encircled him. The silence was uncanny; only the distant hum of the "Vandal's" engines reached his ears, and a horrible feeling slowly crept over him that he was not falling, but was hanging suspended in s.p.a.ce from some invisible object. Suddenly the black floor of the earth seemed to spring up to meet him.

"Heck!" he gasped, as he sprawled headlong, and then staggered quickly to his feet. But there was no danger of being dragged; the air was still and the silk billowed softly to earth beside him. He removed his harness, folded the parachute roughly into a ball, and thrust it out of sight under a tola bush. He then unfastened a bundle from his shoulder and unwrapped the poncho he had bought in the market. This he donned, together with one of the round hats worn by the natives, and placing his revolver ready for instant action set off at a brisk pace in the direction of his destination. He made little attempt at concealment, but nevertheless he paused every few minutes to listen.

He had walked for perhaps twenty minutes when a light became visible ahead and he advanced more warily; presently he was able to discern that the light came from the open window of a large adobe building which stood at the entrance of the ravine they had marked down on the photo-map. A short distance beyond were several more dim lights and a group of low buildings, which he took to be the ranchos, or peons' dwellings.

Walking on tiptoe, every nerve alert, he sidled up to the rock wall of the canyon and stood for a moment staring into the darkness, ears strained to catch the slightest sound.

Faint voices and the noise of animals munching came from the direction of the ranchos; then somewhere near at hand a man began speaking in a loud voice. Biggles was surprised there were no sentries, and came to the conclusion that the bandit relied on those in the mountains to prevent the approach of strangers. Stealthily he crept nearer to the open window, which he could now see reached to the ground and opened on to the inevitable patio. Revolver in hand, he peeped in. Seated at a table in the centre of the room, on which were strewn the remains of a meal, were a man and a girl. The man had his back towards him, but the girl was facing the window, and after the first glance he had no doubt as to her ident.i.ty. She wore a black mantilla which covered the hair and was draped across the shoulders, enhancing the poise of the proud Castilian head.

The man was talking of ransom and the unpleasant consequences that would follow the refusal of her father to pay, and Biggles's nostrils twitched slightly as he listened and then advanced noiselessly across the room towards the unsuspecting man. , The girl did not move; she must have seen him, yet not by a single movement did she betray it.

"One sound, senor, and you die," said Biggles coldly. "Keep your hands upon the table."

The Bolivian's head turned slowly. His eyes looked straight into the muzzle of the gun in Biggles's hand and remained fixed on it, as if fascinated.

"Senorita, we go," said Biggles quietly.

"Donde, senor ?"

"To your father." Obediently she rose to her feet. "And you, senor, I hesitate to kill you, but I fear I must-unless you would prefer to accompany us?"

Estaban Martinez, accustomed to carry out the threats he promised, did not understand simple bluff. He drew a deep breath, opened his mouth as if to speak, saw Biggles's finger tighten on the trigger, changed his mind, and with an expressive shrug of his shoulders rose to his feet and walked slowly towards the window. Biggles relieved him of his knife and revolver and tossed them into a bush.

"One sound, senor, and I shoot," he murmured again as Estaban glanced reflectively towards the ranchos. "Let us go to the lake; it looks enchanting in the moonlight."

The bandit bowed and started off in the desired direction, with Biggles and the girl close behind.

They covered a mile in silence while the moon rose and flooded the plateau with silvery radiance. Suddenly Estaban laughed, making it clear that he apprehended no danger from the direction they were taking. It was not a pleasant sound, and the pilot hoped more than ever that his plan would not fail. They reached the edge of the water and he glanced at his luminous wrist-watch. It was only three o'clock; they would have to wait more than two hours for daybreak.

"How long do we stand here?" asked the bandit, after a while. "I have seen this view before; it becomes monotonous."

"I'll show you another presently if you will have patience-one you've never seen before," Biggles promised him with mock politeness.

"Tomorrow you shall pay for this," returned the bandit venomously.

"Wear this, senorita; it grows cold," said Biggles, handing the girl his poncho.

"Gracias, senor," she whispered, looking in surprise at the semi-military jacket he wore, and which he now exposed for the first time.

The pale glow of the false dawn flooded the eastern sky, faded, and was replaced by the first shafts of light of the true dawn. Slowly the lake turned from black to steely blue.

The snowy peaks of the Andean range which towered above them gleamed pink against a pale turquoise sky. The light grew stronger and the mountain tops a.s.sumed a more rosy hue in the crystal-clear atmosphere.

Biggles glanced towards the canyon and saw figures moving near the entrance. At the same moment he heard the distant hum of the "Vandal's" engines, and his trained eye picked out a tiny moving speck flas.h.i.+ng back the sun, light above the range. The bandit drew in his breath with a sudden hiss of understanding as the distant crackle of rifle-fire reached them.

"The reward offered for your person is the same, dead or alive," said Biggles pointedly, as the bandit crouched low as if to spring; "the choice rests with you." Out of the corner of his eye he saw mounted figures racing towards them from the direction of the canyon, and knew that they had been seen.

But Algy in the "Vandal" had seen them too. He flattened out over the water as near to them as he dared, and the keel of the amphibian cut a long line of creamy foam across the surface of the still water. Without waiting for the machine to finish her run he swung round and taxied swiftly towards them.

"In you go, senorita," said Biggles briskly, for the peons were less than a quarter of a mile away, and she waded out into the icy water without a moment's hesitation to where Algy was now waiting at the cabin door to receive her.

Estaban's lips parted in a snarl and he held his ground. "As you like," said Biggles coldly, raising his revolver and squinting along the barrel.

"Wait!" cried Estaban." "I go," and he followed the girl into the machine, with Biggles close behind. The amphibian surged out into deep water just as the peons reached the bank and raised their rifles. A volley of shots rang out and a bullet glanced off the engine-cowling with a shrill whang.

Algy shoved the throttle open viciously, and the "Vandal", gathering speed every second, roared across the lake in a cloud of spray. He was conscious of someone crawling into the seat next to him, but he did not look to sec who it was; with set face he was watching the opposite bank rush towards him, and still the machine did not "unstick". White-lipped, he jerked the control column back into his stomach; the "Vandal" lifted itself from the water with an effort and wobbled as if uncertain as to whether to go on or fall back again. For one ghastly moment he thought she was going to stall, but she picked up slowly and rose gracefully into the air. The pilot shuddered; only he knew how close they had been to disaster.

As they climbed slowly towards the peaks now gleaming dazzling white against a brilliant blue sky, he risked a glance at his companion, and started as his eyes met those of the girl. They smiled as their eyes met, and Algy looked towards the mountain ranges with renewed interest.

As they crossed over them several bullets struck the machine. One ripped through the instrument-board and the altimeter flew to pieces in a shower of splinters and broken gla.s.s. The girl did not even flinch, and Algy grinned his admiration as he throttled back and began the long glide towards the aerodrome.

As their wheels touched the ground Wilkinson and several officers ran out to meet them, only to stop in stupefied amazement when they saw who was sitting in the fiont seat with the pilot.

"Coffee for four and jump to it!" cried Algy, as he switched off. "The senorita is frozen."

"Make it for three," corrected Biggles, emerging from the cabin.

"Why for three?" asked Algy in surprise.

"Estaban won't need any," replied Biggles quietly. "He got his head in the way of one of those slugs as we crossed the mountains. Go and give the President a ring, Wilks; he must be anxious about his daughter."

CHAPTER 3.

THE BLUE ORCHID.

BIGGLES looked at his companion doubtfully as he stirred his coffee reflectively on the patio of the Hotel Guibert in La Paz.

"That's all very well," he said slowly. "We are heroes at the moment and Bolivia belongs to us if we want it. The President has asked us to join the Bolivian Air Force with any rank we like to name, but what about when the next revolution comes along? Don Jaime will lose his job, and so shall we; in fact, we should probably lose our lives as well trying to defend him, because we haven't been brought up to understand that a President is only a very temporary officer, and that unless he grabs what he can and then hoofs it, it is only a matter of time before the crowd kicks him out. Then again, Algy, old son, you can't go on flirting with Consuelo unless you intend marrying her. No, we had better get out while the band is playing jazz, instead of going feet first with the band playing the Dead March."

"And do what?" asked Algy disconsolately. "Go back to England and start an air-taxi show at Heston, or something like that? Not for me. I'm not aviating any ham-fisted pupils through London fogs if I know it."

Biggles turned to the waiter who had entered and halted respectfully a little distance away. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

The man hurried forward and handed him a card. "Professor J. T. Smilee, F.R.H.S.," read the pilot. "Where is he?-ah 1"

He rose to meet an elderly man with a short grey beard who had stepped forward from the shadow. "How d'you do?" said Biggles, smiling. "My name is Bigglesworth-were you looking for me?"

"My name is Smilee," replied their visitor. "I would like to have a few words with you, if I may."

"Do, by all means," replied Biggles. "You sound English. If you are, so much the better.

Take a pew and have some coffee-meet Mr. Lacey, my partner."

"Yes, I've just arrived in La Paz, and as the talk of the town is about your recent exploit I thought I would come and see you about an idea which may or may not prove to be practicable."

Biggles raised his eyebrows. "Do you mean something to do with flying?"

"Yes. You see, it is like this. I've come over from Para to look for something which I believe is to be found in the jungle some distance away from here. By travelling overland by mule, and by balsa down the rivers, it will take me at least six months to reach the spot, and get back. It struck me that it might be possible for an aeroplane to get there and return in a matter of only two or three days."

"I think you had better tell us the whole story," suggested Biggles; "then we can weigh up the proposition."

"Very well, but I warn you it will sound rather fantastic. I will be as brief as possible; the details can be discussed at leisure afterwards if necessary."

The professor produced a big briar pipe, filled it, and got it going to his satisfaction before he began.

"I am an orchid-hunter, or perhaps it would be better to say a collector, since I work for my own pleasure and not for profit; most of my finds go to Kew," he began. "The story opens some years ago when a native rumour got around in Para of a mysterious blue orchid that had been seen somewhere in the interior. The natives are learning to understand the value of these things. I believe the story actually started at Manaos, which is, as you know, some thousand miles up the Amazon, and it lost nothing in the telling by the time it had reached the mouth of the river. I made allowances for that. Six months ago a halfbreed picador de goma-a rubber-collector-working up the Beni river found a balsa-which is a local craft used for river transport-drifting downstream. In it was -well, what was left of a man. Examination of the effects revealed him to have been a Mr. F. Hutson, a well-known professional orchid-hunter; but that was not all. In his diary was a note to the effect that he had learnt from a Leco Indian where the blue orchid grew. He had made a rough sketch-map and had written a description of how to find the place. This was probably for his own use. Well, he found the flower."

"How do you know that?" asked Biggles quickly. "There was one in the boat with him-at least, there was a flower. It had shrivelled up, of course, and lost its colour, but the Curator at Kew, to whom it was sent, was unable to identify it with any known species."

"And that's what you're after?"

"Exactly !"

"But I couldn't land in the forest, if that's what you mean!"

"I am well aware of that," replied the Professor quietly, "but I understand your craft is of the type that can land on water. Is that so?"

Biggles nodded.