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By H. Miller, et. al.,
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The wing commander raised his eyebrows. "I've never inquired. It's no business of mine. " "How the hell should I know? I've never asked him. I've only spoken to him once. He told me they were turning over the plant to light plane production. " "Yes. He served in the Boelcke staffel in nineteen-eighteen. " The wing commander frowned. " "I've nothing else to flog at the moment," answered Biggles imperturbably. " The wing commander shrugged. "He's a typical square-head. Prussian, I should say. About forty-five—tall, flaxen, blue-eyed, stalwart type, has one of those aggressive moustaches.
I'll decide later. " "All right. If you don't need me I'll push along. " With a nod the Wing Commander departed. "If we are going back to England we can just do it in daylight, if we start fairly soon," Algy pointed out. Biggles did not answer. He was staring through the window. Suddenly he made a dash for the door. He did not speak. After a startled glance the others followed, wondering what had happened. By the time they were outside Biggles was walking briskly along the tarmac to intercept a man in workman's overalls who had just left the vicinity of the two British aircraft.
But I've come a long way, and I might as well see what there is to be seen. You can stay here and talk to Wing Commander Howath. " Biggles beckoned to the others, who followed him out into the corridor. He closed the door. "Bad-tempered cuss," muttered Algy. Biggles did not answer. He had stopped before a door marked private. Under the word was the name, Kurt Baumer. "This must have been the test pilot's office," he said softly, as he tried the handle. The door opened and he went in. There was little to see.