Biggles ran up to Bertie saying, ‘Which way did he go?’
Bertie pointed to the doorway. ‘Out.’
Biggles shouted: ‘Watch the outside, Ginger,’ and ran on to the door.
Bertie followed closely.
CHAPTER 8
PAUSE FOR SPECULATION
When Biggles and Bertie reached the open door they were confronted by an outside world of deep night. It was pitch-dark. They could see nothing.
‘We’ve lost him,’ muttered Biggles. ‘He could have gone anywhere. I’ve made a mess of it.’
‘Not as far as I’m concerned, old boy,’ Bertie said warmly. ‘You arrived in what they call the nick of time. Much obliged and all that.’
‘Forget it.’ Biggles took a few steps forward.
‘Careful,’ warned Bertie. ‘The blighter’s got a gun, don’t forget.’
A beam of light appeared round the end of the stack. It was followed by Ginger. ‘What goes on?’
‘He’s got away.’
‘Who?’
‘The Sheikh. I suppose you didn’t see which way he went?’
‘I didn’t see anything.’
‘Could he have gone to the house?’ Bertie said.
‘Not a hope. That’s the last place he’d make for knowing he’d be trapped inside.’
‘He may have made a dash across the field to find my car.’
‘Did he know you had a car?’
‘I told him,’ Bertie had to admit.
‘Why?’
‘I had to explain how I got here. I’ll tell you about that later, when we have time to talk.’
‘We saw your car. We left ours at the same place.’
‘We’d better go across,’ Ginger said. ‘We’d look a bright lot of Charlies if we found ourselves stuck here without transport.’
‘You’re right.’ Biggles started off across the field.
They had not taken twenty paces when from the far side of the field came the sound of a car being started up. Its lights came on. They moved down the lane.
‘There he goes,’ Biggles said bitterly. ‘The Chief will take a dim view of this when I have to tell him how we let him slip through our fingers.’
‘What about the phone in the house?’ reminded Ginger. ‘We know it’s working.’
‘What about it?’
‘We could put out a general call for the car to be stopped. He couldn’t get far.’
‘Unless he’s a bigger fool than I take him to be, he won’t try to get far in a police car,’ returned Biggles tersely. ‘Anyhow, we don’t know which one he’s taken. We’d better find out. I only hope he hasn’t interfered with the one he’s left. If he has we’re in for a nice long walk — what the...?’ He spun round as from behind them came a sudden sound of crackling.
For a moment nobody spoke. Words were unnecessary. From the inside of the dummy haystack, through billowing smoke, came the orange glow of fire.
‘A lovely finish to a brilliant night’s work,’ observed Biggles with biting sarcasm.
‘Hadn’t we better do something about it?’ said Ginger urgently.
‘Do what?’
‘Phone the fire-brigade, for instance.’
‘Before it could get here the place would be a heap of ashes. There’s nothing we can do about it. It’ll have to burn. That’s all there is to it. After what’s happened the Sheikh wouldn’t be likely to come back here, you can bet your sweet life on that.’
‘What about the plane?’ Bertie sounded shocked at the idea of leaving it to destruction.
‘I wouldn’t go into that inferno for any plane — not even my own,’ stated Biggles vehemently.
‘What could have started the fire?’ Ginger said wonderingly. ‘Was somebody smoking?’
‘The Sheikh fired a shot as he bolted,’ Bertie said. ‘That must have done it. I saw sparks. I told the fool not to use a gun in there with all that loose hay about. He realized the danger, too. That was why he switched to his razor.’
‘Let’s congratulate ourselves that we got out when we did,’ Biggles said grimly. He went on: ‘And now, as far as I can see we might as well go home and forget about it.’
‘Before we start there’s one thing we ought to do and that’s ring Algy to let him know we’ve found Bertie and we’re on our way,’ Ginger suggested. ‘He might as well pack up and go to bed instead of spending the rest of the night sitting by the phone.’
‘Yes, we could do that,’ Biggles agreed without enthusiasm. ‘We’d better confirm before we do that we still have a car. Ginger, you might slip across to make sure one of the cars is still there. You’ve got the torch. We’ll wait here.’
‘Okay.’ Ginger departed at a trot.
While he was away Bertie gave Biggles a quick and concise account of his night’s work. ‘I’m pretty certain it was Caine who came here and went off again,’ he concluded.
‘In that case we may have seen him on the road,’ returned Biggles. ‘He, or some lunatic, nearly collided with us.’
‘If the plane really belonged to him he’s going to be sick when he comes back and learns what’s happened to it.’
‘He may not come back.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because at the first opportunity the Sheikh will get in touch to tell him to keep clear. At least, it seems to me that Caine is more likely to spend the night in London, where he has a flat, than come all the way back here. Of course, there may have been somebody else here about whom we know nothing.’ Biggles told Bertie of the bloodstains, about which of course he was quite ignorant. ‘That’s a mystery we still have to solve,’ he said.
‘The Sheikh may be making for Caine’s flat now,’ surmised Bertie.
‘I doubt it. He’s bound to have realized by now that Caine did too much careless talking at the Icarian Club. How else could we have known about this place? No. It’s my guess that the Sheikh will keep clear of Caine for a while. Goodness only knows where he’ll go. He may have another hideout, and that could be anywhere.’
‘One thing’s certain, old boy, he won’t use this plane to make a getaway abroad.’ Bertie said comfortingly. ‘There can’t be much of it left by now.’
The rick was now a glowing pile of embers.
Ginger came running back. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘He’s taken Bertie’s car. Ours is all right. I tried it.’
‘Fine. Then we can nip into the house and phone Algy.’
‘Watch out for the dog,’ reminded Ginger as they walked briskly to the farmhouse.
Actually, the dog seemed thoroughly scared, and did not move from its position on the far side of the room. It may have been the smell of blood that had upset it. Some dogs react that way; it seems to frighten them. As for Bertie, when he saw the mess — for the first time, of course — he whistled softly through pursed lips. ‘Oh I say,’ he murmured. ‘What have some naughty boys been up to here?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ Biggles said, going straight to the telephone. He was to know the answer sooner than he expected. Within minutes, in fact.
He put through the call to Algy. ‘Biggles, here,’ he said when the call was answered. ‘This is simply to let you know we’ve found Bertie. He’s all right. We’re bringing him home right away. What’s that? What did you say?’
Then followed a long period during which the others could only guess what Algy was saying, for of course they could not hear him; but they were able to judge from Biggles’ expression that there was news; indeed, startling news. Then Biggles broke in with: ‘Can you give me the number? Good. Just a tick while I make a note of it.’ He wrote something on the back of an envelope which he took from his pocket. Then he said: ‘As we’re not far away we shall go on there, although at this hour of night we may have difficulty in getting in. If we do we shan’t be back for some time, so you’ll have to expect us when you see us. Okay. Let’s leave it like that. So long.’ He hung up.
‘What was all that in aid of?’ inquired Bertie.
‘Tighten your safety belts,’ Biggles answered. ‘You’re not going to believe this. Algy put out the call I suggested for a wounded man and a bloodstained car. The car has been found. It’s outside the cottage hospital at Repford, not far from here. It’s a Jag. It belongs to Caine. He’s inside with a six-inch gap in his face. Or he had. It’s just been sewn up. Needed twenty stitches. He says it was an accident. He slipped and fell on a carving knife he had in his hand. He can tell that to the marines. We know better.’
‘Sounds like the Sheikh’s been busy with his razor,’ Bertie said dryly.
‘Of course. What else? Carving knife my foot. I’m not wearing that.’
‘I heard voices raised in the house as if two men were having a row,’ informed Bertie.
‘Strewth!’ exclaimed Ginger. ‘If that was Caine’s Jag that nearly knocked us for six as we came up the hill, it’s no wonder he was in a hurry.’
‘I begin to see a glimmer of light,’ stated Bertie. ‘This fits with what I saw when I was watching the house. After the row inside one of the men dashed out and went off like a bat out of hell. That must have been Caine’s second visit. I’d say, as you thought, that when Caine left the flat in Town he came here. Then he went back again to London.’
‘That’s when he must have come to the club,’ surmised Biggles.
‘Why come here, then go back?’ queried Ginger.
‘I can only think he came here to see the Sheikh,’ Biggles said. ‘It looks as if the Sheikh sent him back to Town — to the club, in fact. Why? He must have had some object. Just a minute. I think I’ve got it. He sent him back to the club to look for me. I’d make a guess at the reason. He sent him to find me in order to say what he had told me about having a farm, and a plane, was all rot. That, in fact, is what he did say. I wondered at the time why he had changed his tune. He went out of his way to make me believe that what he had previously told me was a lot of nonsense. He’d had a drink too many and had been blowing through his hat.’
‘How did the Sheikh know what Caine had told you?’ questioned Ginger.
‘Caine may have been fool enough to tell him. In my own experience he’s a careless talker. There’s no doubt the Sheikh knew he was talking to me last night. If he didn’t see us together himself, then Nestos, the club manager, may have told him. I saw him watching us. I’ve had a feeling all along that somehow he came into the picture.’
‘It begins to add up,’ put in Ginger. ‘Let’s say the Sheikh sent Caine back to undo the mischief he’d done by talking too much. He was to say it was all a lot of hooey. Then what?’
Bertie came in again. ‘Having done what he’d been ordered to do, Caine came back here. I saw him. At least, I thought I saw him, although as it was dark I couldn’t swear to that. But this still doesn’t explain why the Sheikh should go for him with a razor.’
‘You make a point there.’ Biggles thought for a few seconds. ‘I’ve got it. Or I could make a guess at the reason for that. I did some plain speaking to Caine at the club. Feeling he might not know the sort of man he was associating with, I as good as told him he was a crook. My idea was, in the first place, to give him a chance to break it off. Secondly, I thought after he’d done that he might come clean and talk.’ Biggles shrugged a shoulder. ‘Of course, if he was daft enough to repeat what I said, when he came back here, and challenged the Sheikh to his face, so to speak — and he was quite likely to do that — I can imagine the Sheikh losing his temper. There may have been a fight in which the Sheikh went for his razor and Caine got the sharp edge of it. When Caine realized what had happened, his natural reaction would be to get his face seen to before he bled to death. When he got to a doctor he’d have to account for being in such a mess, hence the carving knife story. But this is largely guesswork. I shall try to see Caine right away, although if he’s been on the operating table the hospital may object. They won’t be pleased at having a visitor at this hour of night. However, it’s worth trying. Caine may now be willing to talk, and so give us an idea of where he might look for the Sheikh. Easy on your oars while I phone the hospital to find out if they’ll let us see Caine. Algy has given me the number. It’s no use going there if they won’t let me in. It’ll have to wait till tomorrow. But the place isn’t far away and there’s no point in sweating all the way back to London if we can carry on while we’re practically on the spot. I’ll see.’ Biggles picked up the telephone and put through the call to the hospital.
When a duty nurse answered, having said who he was, he asked to speak to the Night Sister. Presently he was talking to her. After listening for a minute or two he said: ‘Very well, Sister. Thank you,’ and hung up. Turning to the others he went on: ‘Nothing doing. She says we’d better leave it until tomorrow. We wouldn’t get much out of him tonight. He’s very weak, nearly having died from loss of blood. They only saved him with blood transfusions. Now he’s been given a sedative to keep him quiet; which means he’ll be half doped. Apparently he arrived in a highly excitable state from shock, which I can well understand. So that’s it. We shall have to wait.’
As they walked to the door Biggles continued: ‘Tomorrow he may be fit enough to make a statement, so perhaps it’s better this way. When he’s had time to think, and realizes I gave him a fair warning, he may be ready to tell us the truth about what’s been going on here, and maybe come across with all he knows about the poisonous little viper who stung him. Let’s get along. We shall feel better tomorrow ourselves after we’ve had some sleep. It’s been a long day.’
‘What about the local police?’ queried Ginger. ‘Isn’t it time they were told about this? They’ll be sore if they think we tried to keep this business to ourselves.’
‘Tomorrow will do for that. After I’ve seen the Air Commodore. He can tell ‘em. Then they can have a look at Twotrees Farm and make what they can of it. I wish ‘em joy. I may want to have another look at the place myself, in daylight. Someone will have to take care of the dog, anyway, pretty soon. We can’t just leave the poor brute to starve. Let’s press on home. I’m tired.’
CHAPTER 9
A SLENDER CLUE?
The morning following the dramatic events at Twotrees Farm saw Biggles in the private office of his Chief, waiting to report and ask for instructions in respect of the local police in whose county they had been operating. They were entitled to an explanation. (Later it was learned that they had found the car in which the Sheikh had made his getaway less than five miles from the scene of the fire.)
When the Air Commodore, had listened to all Biggles had to say his only remark was: ‘So you lost him. Pity.’ He was referring of course to the Sheikh.
‘I’m afraid so, sir,’ answered Biggles sadly. ‘Short of shooting him I couldn’t stop him. Had I known for certain that he was at the farm I would have tackled the business differently. The man I expected to find at the farm was Caine. Apparently they were both there.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘The first thing, I think, is to go to the cottage hospital at Repford to see if Caine is well enough to talk. He may tell us what happened at the farm last night and perhaps give us a clue as to where the Sheikh may have gone. Until we get a line to work on we shan’t get far. After what’s happened I can’t imagine the Sheikh going back to the farm; nor is he likely to go to Caine’s flat here in London. Maybe it’s as well that the plane, which was kept hidden at the farm, was burnt out. He may have been hoping to use it to make a dash to the Continent.’
‘How about the club? Would he go there? We could organize a quick raid.’
Biggles shook his head. ‘Knowing what he knows now, that’s the last place he’s likely to head for.’
‘All right. I’ll leave it to you,’ said the Air Commodore. ‘You go and have a word with Caine and see what you can get out of him. You might find him willing to talk. When you’ve done that you might go back to the farm to see if you can pick up anything there. By the time you get there you’ll probably find the local polic
e in charge. They’ll have to be told what you were doing there. I’ll have a word with the Divisional Inspector and put him in the picture.’
‘How much will you tell him — so that I’ll know how much he knows?’
‘I shall merely say we had a tip-off that the Sheikh, on the run from Dartmoor, might be there.’
‘Okay, sir.’
Biggles left the room, and returning to his own office selected Bertie to go with him, first to the hospital at Repford and then on to the farm, about which, as a result of his overnight reconnaissance, he knew more than any of them. They were soon on their way, and mid-morning found them at the hospital asking after the condition of the man who they hoped would be able to assist them in their inquiries — to use the customary expression.
They were told Caine was now fully conscious and out of danger, although still weak and suffering from shock. The house doctor, in view of who they were, agreed to allow them to see his patient, but asked them not to get him excited nor to stay for very long. ‘He’ll get over it, but of course he’ll be scarred for life,’ he concluded.
‘Is the wound consistent with what he said about falling on a carving knife?’ asked Biggles.
‘Since you ask me, it looks more as if he intended to cut his throat with a razor and lost his nerve,’ returned the doctor, with grim humour. ‘It was a clean gash.’ He then took them to the private room in which Caine had been found a bed. ‘Not too long,’ he requested softly as he left them. ‘What with the stitches and bandages he may find it difficult to do much talking.’
They found Caine propped up in bed with pillows. He looked dreadful, not that much could be seen of his face for bandages. However, his eyes flashed recognition.
‘Hello, Caine,’ began Biggles cheerfully, taking a chair beside the bed. ‘I thought I’d look in to see how you were getting on. I shan’t worry you to talk much if it hurts.’
Biggles in the Underworld Page 7
