Biggles Fails To Return by Johns W E

Author:Johns, W E [Johns, W E]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: RHCB Digital
Published: 2010-08-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The Cats of Castillon

Still hoping to see the girl in the blue shawl, Algy hastened up the hill to Monte Carlo, looked along the seats of the famous terraces in front of the casino, and walked through the spacious gardens to the main road that runs behind them, the road that runs through Mentone to the Italian frontier, only a few miles distant. Observing an open market on the left he turned into it, still seeking the girl in blue. There were many coloured shawls, but none of the particular tint he hoped to see. Several loungers were leaning against some iron railings, watching the scene, and he addressed them.

‘Bon jour messieurs. What would be my best way of getting to Castillon?’

‘To Castillon!’ cried two of the men together.

‘Yes.’

One of the men, looking at the sky as though invoking inspiration, exclaimed, ‘Now, why would a man go to Castillon?’

Algy moved uncomfortably. He had a feeling he was on dangerous ground. ‘It is just an excursion, to look round the place,’ he said casually, trying to pass the matter off as of no importance.

‘An excursion! Ah, well—that’s different,’ said another man, a swarthy Monégasque. ‘Nobody goes to Castillon, but if you take the autobus to Mentone, there is, I hear, a bus service once a day, some time in the afternoon, to Sospel, and the road passes at no great distance from Castillon. Doubtless the driver would put you off there if you asked him.’

‘Merci. And where do I catch the bus for Mentone?’

The man pointed to the steps of a church. ‘The bus leaves there at ten o’clock.’

Algy thanked the speaker, and glancing at the church clock, saw that he had more than an hour to wait, so he joined a noisy throng in a nearby café and made a breakfast of bread and imitation coffee. Just before ten, seeing people beginning to collect at the bus stop, he went over and took his place.

He found himself standing next to a dark, fierce-looking man, dressed in black, carrying a heavy shopping bag. To pass the time, and perhaps learn something of interest, he attempted to get into conversation with him, but received a rebuff so different from the usual courteous manner of the people that he was astonished. He said no more. The bus came in nearly an hour late, a circumstance that appeared to occasion no surprise among those who waited for it. There was a rush that packed it to suffocation, after which, with a crash of gears, the driver set off at a pace that made Algy close his eyes, although the other passengers continued to talk as though nothing unusual was happening.

Ten minutes later, in an avenue backed by tall white villas, evidently the outskirts of an important town, the bus was stopped by two Italian police. It was a bad moment for Algy, who thought they might be looking for him. But this proved not to be the case. The police merely made the

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