Читать книгу Biggles of the Special Air Police - W E Johns - Страница 4

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Biggles’ first visit to the film studios—temporary buildings set up near the hangars on a privately owned Essex airfield—did nothing to arouse his enthusiasm. Everything about the place, the curious people and their high-pitched conversation, struck him as unreal.

“The story runs from the time of chariots to aircraft,” explained Gainsforth, as they walked round. “Actually, we’re having to work on the beginning and end at the same time, because Petersen leads the chariot team as well as doing most of the flying. Ah! Here he comes now.”

Biggles found himself shaking hands with a keen-faced, agile-looking young man of about his own build.

“Thea’s just coming along,” said Petersen. “I left her in the hangar doing something with the Messerschmitt.” He grinned at Biggles. “You must think this is a sort of madhouse. Still, on the whole, stunt flying is no more dangerous than test flying. Here comes Thea.”

It was with genuine interest that Biggles looked at the slim but rather masculine figure in flying kit that was moving towards them with an aloof yet purposeful poise. On being introduced, he came under the scrutiny of a pair of ice-blue eyes that seemed to appraise him with unnecessary candour.

When she spoke her voice was cool. “I am so glad we have a real war-pilot to advise us,” she said in perfect English, though with a slight American drawl. “It was only in those circumstances that I agreed to make the film,” she added, giving Biggles another glance, one that held a kind of cynical admiration.

Gainsforth broke in busily. “Okay, everybody. Let’s get cracking. I want to run over the scene where the Messerschmitt shoots up a line of dummy tanks. Max will fly the machine.” He went into technical details.

Biggles made some suggestions.

“That’s the stuff,” declared Gainsforth. “You’re going to be invaluable. Let’s go and have a look at the Messerschmitt, to make sure everything’s right, before Max takes off.”

“See you presently,” said the German girl, and walked away.

Gainsforth led the way to where the Nazi aircraft stood outside its hangar. As Biggles’ eyes rested on it, he stopped dead, staring.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gainsforth quickly. “Isn’t it the right type?”

Biggles pointed to a device painted boldly in black and gold on the side of the fuselage. It was an upraised gauntlet. “Whose idea was that?” he asked sharply.

Gainsforth laughed, unmirthfully, uncomfortably. “Oh, that? It gives the machine a sort of realistic individual touch, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” agreed Biggles coldly. “But what I want to know is, how did it get there?”

“The Art Department painted it—on my instructions. Ah! I see what you mean. You saw the original, didn’t you, that day at Marham, when you shot down that Boche pilot?”

“I did.”

“I kept the gauntlet as a souvenir.”

“Oh, you did! Where is it?”

“In my office.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“Okay.”

They returned to the office. Gainsforth produced a cardboard box and tossed it on the desk. “There you are,” he said casually. “It’s in there.”

Biggles opened the box. It was empty.

Gainsforth was walking away, but Biggles called him back, pointing at the empty box.

“That’s odd,” said Gainsforth, staring. “I kept it in that box.”

“Well, it isn’t there now,” said Biggles in a brittle voice. “What’s more, I didn’t think it would be.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Someone sent that gauntlet to me by post. Have you any idea of who could have done it?”

Gainsforth shrugged. “How should I know?” He smiled curiously. “You’re a detective. Work it out yourself. I must go. I can’t hold up production for a thing like a glove. Let’s go and watch Petersen. We can discuss the mystery later.”

“How many people have access to your office?” inquired Biggles, as they walked on.

“Lots. I don’t bother to lock it. Maybe you think I’m crazy, but that goes for most people who make films.”

Biggles said no more. He felt there was something odd about Gainsforth’s attitude; but it would, he thought, be unfair to upset the film simply because someone had sent him a Nazi gauntlet. He could not believe that the introduction into the picture of this sinister emblem was merely coincidence; but, if it was not coincidence, who was responsible and what was the real purpose of it? Gainsforth, he suspected, knew more than he pretended; but the man was obviously so taken up with his film that he was unwilling to start a discussion by divulging what he knew—if, in fact, he knew anything. Was someone, Biggles wondered, trying to sabotage the film, for political reasons? If so, how far was the saboteur prepared to go?

Biggles decided that before he did any demonstration flying he would get his ground staff to have a good look at the Spitfire—just in case there was any risk of structural failure.