54 Biggles of 266 by Captain W E Johns

Author:Captain W E Johns
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-01-21T00:00:00+00:00

mumbled Biggles, as he took a quick glance around to get the lie of the land.

The poultry coops were in a small paddock about a hundred yards from the farmhouse and its outbuildings, which, in turn, were nearly a quarter of a mile from the village.

There were several fields near at hand in which an aeroplane might be landed with some risk, and as far as he could see, not a soul was in sight.

So much was he able to take in at a glance. There was no wood, or any other form of cover, so concealment was out of the question. The raid would have to be made in the open and depend entirely upon speed for its success.

"Well, it's no use messing about," he thought, and, cutting his engine, glided down into a long, narrow field adjoining the paddock. He had a nasty moment or two as the machine bumped over the snow-covered tussocks and molehills with which the pasture was plentifully besprinkled, but kicking on right rudder just before the Camel ran to a standstill he managed to swerve so that it stopped not far from the low hedge which divided the field from the paddock.

He was out of the cockpit at once, and, with his eye on the farm, ran like a deer towards the turkey, which still appeared to be watching the proceedings with the greatest interest.

It stood quite still until he was not more than ten yards away, but still on the wrong side of the hedge, and it was only when he began to surmount this obstacle that the turkey's interest began to take the form of mild alarm.

"Tch—tch!" clucked Biggles gently, holding out his hand and strewing the snow with imaginary grains of corn. But the bird was not so easily deluded. It began to sidestep away, wearing that air of offended dignity that only a turkey can adopt; and, seeing that it was likely to take real fright at any moment, Biggles made a desperate leap.

But the turkey was ready: it sprang nimbly to one side, at the same time emitting a shrill gobble of alarm. Biggles landed on all fours in the sodden grass.

"I ought to have brought my gun for you," he raged, "and then I'd give you something to gobble about, you scraggy-necked —"

His voice died away as he gazed in stupefied astonishment at a man who had appeared at the door of the nearest poultry house—which, judging by the fork he held, he had been in the act of cleaning.

If Biggles was surprised, it was clear that the man was even more surprised, and for ten seconds they stared at each other speechlessly. Biggles was the first to recover his presence of mind, although he hesitated as to what course to pursue.

Remembering that he was in occupied Belgian territory, it struck him that the man looked more like a Belgian than an enemy.

"Are you German?" Biggles asked sharply, in French.

"No, Belgian," replied the other quickly. "You are English, is it not?" he added quickly, glancing apprehensively towards the farmhouse.

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