Biggles Makes Ends Meet

by W E Johns

  It rather looked, reasoned Biggles, as if the Dakota had called at the Nicobars. The circumstances would fit the case. When the Count had learned by radio that the Halifax was not at Kutaradja it had dropped in at its base to report. Then a radio signal had been sent by someone to say the machine was there, whereupon it had taken off and come on, bringing somebody with it. Who was the somebody? Was it the head man—the Colonel of whom Tidore had spoken?

  Biggles moved a little nearer for a closer look at the stranger when he left the buildings.

  He had not long to wait. The man came out, the Count and Vandershon with him. They stood talking. Biggles watched. The stranger, he observed, did most of the talking. His face was lean, his expression hard and his manner decisive, like one accustomed to command. A clipped moustache supported a general military appearance. Biggles was still too far away for details but he could see enough to be able to recognize the man again.

  Still talking they walked slowly to the Dakota. The pilot took his place. The two passengers got in. The machine took off. Biggles lit a cigarette. Vandershon looked round, saw him and came over. His expression was serious. “You are right about their interest in you,” he announced. “I’m now more or less on their pay-roll.”

  “How so?”

  “They left a thousand rupees on my desk for me to send a radio signal immediately should you return here.”

  “To what address?”

  “No address. A private wavelength. They said their operator would pick up the message.”

  “You accepted the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “For what reason could I refuse without arousing their suspicions? I thought by accepting I could be of more help to you.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your co-operation. What did you make of that man who did most of the talking? Have you ever seen him before?”

  “No. He speaks like an American—a tough one. What I don’t understand is why, after crossing from Ceylon, they didn’t need petrol.”

  “I think I can answer that one. That lot have a private dump, one that was left by the Japs, or the Americans, on one of the Nicobars. It called there on the way here to fill up, and to collect the man we’ve been talking about.”

  “No wonder they can afford to be independent if they have an unlimited supply of petrol and oil.”

  “It’s that, I fancy, which makes their racket possible, in that it saves them from landing at intermediate Customs airports. I’ll shed these togs you lent me and we’ll go to the buffet for a drink while we’re waiting for my assistant to come back. I’d rather that clerk of yours didn’t see us too much together.”

  They were still talking when the Halifax returned, made a circuit and came in.

  Biggles got up. “Well, I’ll push along. I’m much obliged to you for your help and in due course I’ll see it’s reported to the right quarter. If ever I can do anything for you call me at Scotland Yard. Bigglesworth’s the name. Be careful. To this bunch murder is all in the day’s work.”

  “I’ll watch it.”

  “Good-bye.” They shook hands. Biggles went to the machine, got in, took off and turned north-east.

  “Where are you going?” asked Ginger, surprised.

  “Kuala Lumpur.”

  “But you’re going the wrong way.”

  “I know. It’s for the benefit of that station clerk who will, I fancy, be watching us.”

  “Ah-huh! How did you get on?”

  “What I’ve learned was worth waiting for even though the Count did turn up, with a man who might be the boss—the man they call the Colonel.”

  Not until the dark coastline of Sumatra was a blur behind them did Biggles turn south-east. Then, with the sun well up, and a blue sky above, the aircraft headed down the Malacca Strait on the four hundred mile run to the rendezvous with Algy and Bertie. As they travelled, Biggles passed on the information he had gathered.

  Said Ginger: “ Now that we know the gang has its own fuel dump Algy’s wasting his time asking questions at official airports.”

  “As things have turned out, yes.”

  “Kutaradja was on his list. What if he goes there asking questions about us?”

  “I’ve thought of that. I was on the point of asking that friendly Dutchman to say, if Algy looked in, that we’d gone on. But I decided against it. The airfield we’ve just left is dangerous ground and I thought it better if no one there knew we had another card up our sleeves—the Otter. Already Vandershon knows more than is good for him, since at least one member of his staff is on the gang’s pay-roll.”

  “How about sending out a signal to all the airports along the coast telling Algy to keep clear of Kutaradja— that we’re on our way to Kuala?”

  “Too dangerous. The message might be picked up by the wrong people. So far no one knows of our connection with the Otter and I’d rather leave it that way. Algy will probably do the airfields in Malay before he crosses to Sumatra, anyway. It’s less risky to chance that than use radio.”

  Two hours later they landed on the busy aerodrome of Kuala Lumpur, in Malay, to find that Algy had not yet arrived. This did not surprise them, for, as Biggles pointed out, he would hardly expect them across so soon.

  “No matter,” he said. “We shall have to wait. There’s no desperate hurry. Let’s have some lunch.”

  CHAPTER VII

  THE COLONEL DROPS IN

  THE Otter arrived the next day, from Penang, having of course, learned nothing en route, for reasons which became apparent to Algy and Bertie when Biggles told them about the secret petrol dump which, except for odd occasions, made it unnecessary for the Dakota to buy fuel.

  Sitting in the shade on the terrace of the airport restaurant, overlooking the landing ground, with iced drinks at hand. Biggles told all that he and Ginger had learned in Ceylon and at Kutaradja, which took some little time.

  “That brings us up to date,” he concluded.

  “I say, old boy, you have had a time,” remarked Bertie.

  “What’s more to the point, what happens next and where do we go from here?” questioned Algy.

  “That,” replied Biggles, “is a question not easy to answer ; and as you can imagine, we’ve done a lot of talking, and I’ve done a lot of thinking about it, while we were waiting for you. If we can bring the whole thing into focus maybe someone will get an idea.” He sipped his drink.

  “What we’re faced with now,” he resumed, “is not so much piracy, which may not happen again now Tidore is scuppered, as smuggling in a really big way. Moreover, unless it’s scotched it’ll get bigger. These rackets always do if they’re successful. Until recently there were two gangs working the same ground, and as always happens they got in each other’s way. Tidore got the dirty end of the stick, and we can now regard his lot as being out of the picture unless they can find another leader.”

  “All that remains, therefore, is to bust the other ring,” put in Algy.

  “That’s plenty to go on with,” asserted Biggles. “According to Tidore it has world-wide ramifications, and while that may be an exaggeration it must cover much of the Orient. It would obviously be futile to try to round up a mob of agents, spies, spivs and operatives, scattered in every port and airport from China to India. You can’t kill an octopus by lopping off the tips of its tentacles. You must go for the brain, which in this case, if our information is correct, is on one of the uninhabited Nicobar islands. This dump may have given birth to the racket in the first place, and, with almost unlimited stores, simplifies its operations if it doesn’t actually keep it going. The loss of this base would certainly make things more difficult for the organizing brain behind it, if for no other reason than its transport would be forced to use official ports and airports for petrol and oil. There’s at least one ship in this, don’t forget, as well as an aircraft.”

  “How are you going to bump off a bally island, old boy—if you see what I mean?” inquired Bertie, polishing his eyeglass.


  “We haven’t quite come to that,” returned Biggles. “The big snag is, while we’ve learned a lot, so far we’ve no actual proof of anything. What are this lot smuggling? How? Where? Apart from the gold that was pinched in transit we haven’t a clue. That’s hardly enough to justify an official raid on the island even if we knew which one it was. At present we don’t even know that.”

  “It shouldn’t take us long to find out,” put in Algy.

  “Unofficial action, by which I mean taking the law into our own hands, might well lay us open to criticism, and possibly start an international rumpus. Again, to go off at half cock would simply put the enemy on his guard. We’ve got to be sure of our ground before we do anything drastic. Really, I ought to go home and put the matter to the Air Commodore.”

  “That would merely tie our hands. He’d do nothing without proof,” argued Algy. “If the story became official it would leak out, and that’d make things even harder for us.”

  “The insurance people ought to know about Tidore, anyway,” stated Biggles. “There’s no question now of an insurance claim. He was smuggling gold—in oysters. Imagine it. What customs officer would open an oyster straight out of the sea to check it for contraband?”

  “Yet it came unstuck, laddie,” reminded Bertie.

  “It came unstuck, not through any official action, but because one of Tidore’s men tipped off the rival gang. That’s the only explanation of that. The Count as good as admitted it. It’s the risk any master crook must always take.”

  “Forgive me, old warrior, but it seems to me that you’re losing your nerve,” said Bertie, sadly.

  “What gave you that idea?” demanded Biggles.

  “In the old days you’d have pushed this beastly island off the map and left people to argue about it afterwards.”

  “These are not the old days,” returned Biggles coldly. “What are you suggesting I do? Start a war? There are enough already.”

  “We could totter round, landing here and there, until we dropped on the right one—you know the sort of thing,” proposed Bertie.

  “We should soon be tottering if we tried that,” returned Biggles sarcastically. “Get this in your head. These islands now belong to India, and they wouldn’t thank us for poking our nose in.”

  “Not even if we pointed out that they’re the chief sufferers from this illicit gold traffic?” queried Ginger.

  “No. All the gen we have at present is hearsay, from a man who was a self-confessed smuggler. That wouldn’t be worth much in any court. We’ve got to catch this Colonel chap with the goods on him, so to speak.”

  “We shan’t do that sitting here.”

  “We shan’t do it anywhere if we step off with the wrong foot.”

  “The island’s the place to go,” declared Bertie. “I’m all for roaring over in a cloud of steam to find out what’s going on.”

  “Which island? We don’t know yet which one it is.”

  “That is a bit of a bore I must admit,” conceded Bertie. “But there aren’t all that many. According to that nice big Admiralty chart the chief produced for us there are only seven or eight uninhabited. It wouldn’t take us long to give them all the once over. I still think that’s the drill, old boy.”

  “How are we to spot the right one ? Tidore said the place is camouflaged, and war-time camouflage isn’t easy to see through. If it was it’d be no use putting it up. I’m not sitting here trying to make difficulties. I’m merely pointing them out. A night flight might reveal something. If the enemy thinks he is sitting pretty he may become careless enough to show lights. But the less flying we do there the better. The islands are off any regular route. There’s no airport. So if an aircraft takes to flying up and down it won’t take the Colonel long to work out why. With no refuelling facilities there we shall have to operate from Malay or Sumatra, which means a run of four or five hundred miles out and back every time. Another detail we’d do well to bear in mind is, the Nicobars happen to be in the middle of the Indian Ocean cyclone area.”

  “Think of some more snags,” suggested Algy.

  “No. I think that’s about the lot. As we shan’t get anywhere sitting here, as Ginger has so smartly pointed out, what I’ll do is this. Call it a compromise. It’d be an awful sweat to go all the way home, and I can’t see that it’d do much good if I did. I’ll slip down to Singapore and ask the Governor’s secretary if I may send a report to the Air Commodore in the Diplomatic Bag. That should produce an answer in a week or ten days. Having done that I’ll come straight back. Tonight—or rather, early tomorrow morning before it gets light—we’ll do a round tour of the islands in the Otter to get the general lay-out. We may see something. If we can locate the island, while we’re waiting for the Air Commodore’s reply we might have a closer look at it. He’s bound to want to know more about it. How is that?”

  Everyone agreed that the plan was sound.

  Ginger started. “Take a look at what’s coming in,” he invited, in a curious voice.

  Aircraft had been coming and going constantly, military as well as civil, but no notice had been taken of them. Biggles turned in his chair. Everyone looked. The green Dakota was making an approach run with the obvious intention of landing.

  Biggles smiled faintly. “Well—well. They seem to be as busy as we are.”

  “What are you going to do? asked Algy.

  “Do? Nothing. By this time they’ll have seen the Halifax so they know we’re here. In fact, I’d bet my boots they knew we were here within minutes of our landing.”

  “You don’t think their arrival is accidental—a coincidence?”

  “I do not. They have radio as well as us. Somebody has told them we’re here. If, as I now suspect, they have a spy at every airport between the China coast and India, they’ll always know where we are. That machine went home. I saw it go. It hasn’t waffled all the way back here merely to put in flying time. This promises to be interesting.”

  “You think it has come here deliberately to have a word with us?” said Algy.

  “With me. They don’t know anything about you— at least I hope not. It would be as well they didn’t know. Move to another seat. And you, Bertie. Stay close if you like, but pretend you’re nothing to do with us. Wait a minute! You might make yourselves useful. There’s a boy over there taking photographs of planes. Offer him some dollars for a photo of anyone who gets out of that Dakota. Better still, borrow the camera. If they come over here try to get a photo of the group. You might manage it from the palms behind us. Be careful, though—very careful.”

  Algy and Bertie moved off.

  The Dakota landed and taxied in. Two men stepped out.

  “That’s the Colonel himself, with the Count,” murmured Biggles. “This surprises me. It must be something important to bring him out.”

  The two men went into the reception hall. They were soon back, looking around.

  “The Count has spotted us,” said Biggles. “They’re coming over. Play casual, as if we don’t care two hoots about ‘em. Leave the talking to me.”

  The two men made no excuses. They strode straight to the table where Biggles and Ginger were sitting. The Colonel put a hand on the back of the chair Algy had just vacated.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he inquired, curtly, with an accent that caused Ginger to place him as an American.

  “Why should I? The chairs don’t belong to me,” answered Biggles, coolly.

  The two men sat. The Count tilted back his panama and lit a cheroot. He offered his case to Biggles. “Cigar, deah man?”

  “No thanks.” Biggles lit a cigarette.

  The Colonel turned a pair of cold grey eyes to Biggles’ face. “I understand your name is Bigglesworth.”

  “Correct. Sorry I can’t return the compliment.”

  “I’m Colonel Black.”

  “Of what—er—army? United States?”

  The question was ignored. “It has been brought to my notice that you’re interested in my business.�
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  “It seems to me that you’re interested in mine. I didn’t invite the confidence of your friend, the Count, in Jaffna. Nor did I invite you to join me at my table here. If you have something more to say, I’m listening. But don’t take too much time over it.”

  “Very well. Why did you go to Tidore?”

  “To check a claim he made on a London insurance company for ten thousand pounds. It’s no secret. I told your friend that in Jaffna.”

  “Ten thousand! He had a nerve.”

  “Not enough, apparently, for the dangerous game he was playing.”

  “My friend here gave you all the information you needed. Why didn’t you go straight home with it. Why did you come here?”

  “He told me a wild tale about some oysters but he gave me no proof.”

  “Didn’t you believe him?”

  “I’d say it’s a question as to who was the biggest liar, Tidore or your friend.”

  The Count smiled, flashing his white, gold-filled teeth.

  “Why have you come here?” demanded the Colonel.

  Biggles hesitated, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “My answer to such an impertinent question should be, that’s no business of yours. But that would not be strictly true—would it?”

  “What do you think my business is?”

  “Smuggling. Possibly with a little gun-running and slave traffic thrown in.”

  “That’s blunt.”

  “I’m a blunt man. A bird that flies with rooks can’t grumble if it’s mistaken for a rook. And what goes for rooks goes for crooks. But suppose we quit tossing bouquets to each other. We’re both grown up. You came here to say something to me. Out with it.”

  The Colonel considered the question. “I’m not a man who likes violence for the sake of it.”

  “I had an opportunity of observing that in Tidore’s garden,” returned Biggles, with biting sarcasm.

  “I only resort to such methods when all others fail. Tidore had been warned.”

  “About what?”

  “To keep out of my way.”

  “Since he was first in the field he would be justified in thinking you were getting in his way.”