Biggles Takes it Rough

by W E Johns

  ‘Before this business on the beach I had two schemes in mind,’ replied Biggles. ‘I was trying to work out which was the better, when I realized it was raining and that answered the first question for me. It seemed there were two main courses open to us. We could either wait here for the enemy to show up, or we could take the bull by the horns and go to look for them, starting at the castle. I was inclined to adopt the former method, and as a matter of fact I still am, for two reasons. Firstly, we’re in no great hurry, and secondly, I’d like to hear what Algy has to say when he gets back before we show our hand. To tackle the castle openly has this disadvantage. As there’s no cover round it, the enemy would almost certainly see us coming and either go into hiding or make preparations which might be unpleasant, possibly starting a war which I’d prefer to avoid.’

  ‘We’ve got guns,’ said Rod belligerently. ‘This is my property, so I’d be within my rights in evicting trespassers.’

  ‘Evicting them is one thing. Shooting ‘em is another. Our guns are for self-defence only, and there’d be a fine old stink if we started littering the place with bodies — maybe including our own. We’ll delay that as long as possible. This business may come to a show-down at the finish, but until your uninvited guests start cutting up rough I’d rather play the game the soft way.’

  ‘In this rain we could probably get to the castle without being seen,’ remarked Ginger.

  ‘True enough, but we’d get soaked to the skin. In the ordinary way I don’t mind getting my shirt wet, but in our present circumstances I’d rather keep it dry. Sleeping in wet clothes wouldn’t make life here any more comfortable. Anyway, we can do nothing in the dark. Let’s wait for daylight, when we may get an idea of what the weather’s likely to do, before we make a final decision. As soon as it’s light enough to see what we’re doing, before I do anything else I want to have a look at the beach. There may be something to give us an inkling of what went on there in the early hours.’

  ‘Like you say,’ agreed Rod. ‘I think the smaller fish are about ready, so we might as well get ‘em inside us. We can leave the big guy to get cold and have it later on.’

  The trout, served on Bertie’s plates, were voted excellent, and, well fed, everyone was in good heart when the grey light of dawn came creeping through the open doorway. The drizzle persisted, although it was now no more than a thick clammy mist which would be just as wetting as rain. The sky was obviously still heavily overcast, or else the clouds were down to sea level, but a slight breeze promised to move them in the not too distant future. The sea-gulls appeared and began their daily quest for food.

  ‘Better douse the fire, now, Rod,’ requested Biggles. ‘It might be putting up enough smoke to be seen should the air clear suddenly.’

  When the light became a little stronger he took the binoculars and went out, saying he would now take a chance on the rocks to get a view of the entire beach. He was not away for very long. When he came back he said: ‘There’s nothing there now. At least, I couldn’t see anything from the top of the rocks. I doubt if it’s possible to see the castle from here, but you might take the glasses to the ridge, Ginger, to see if you can make anything of it. You might get a rough idea of the general conditions. Visibility seems to be improving a bit, and as this front seems to be coming in from the west the castle may be in the clear before we are.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ginger took the binoculars and went off up the bank.

  The air was still thick, but when he reached the ridge he found visibility better than he expected. As Biggles had anticipated, the clouds to the west were thinning sufficiently for a few feeble, very watery, rays of sunlight to break through; but they were still ominously dark, promising more rain. He could not see the castle, which was still in mist. The intervening ground presented the usual bleak and dreary picture. He waited, and his patience was rewarded when the sun broke through for a moment to reveal the grey silhouette of the castle. He raised his glasses. A movement near it caught his eye and he concentrated on it. Then the break in the clouds closed up again and everything was blotted out.

  Deciding he had seen all there was to see for the moment, he turned to go back to the house. This, of course, brought him facing the sea. Looking out over it, certainly not expecting to see anything, he stopped in his tracks when his eyes picked up a single object on the dark water, conspicuous for that reason. It was a boat, or to be more precise, a sail. One sail, quite small, which could only mean a small boat. He realized it was too far out to be seen from the house. It was only his height that enabled him to see it. There could be no doubt about what it was, and he put up his binoculars. They told him nothing more, and even as he watched the object faded into the murk.

  He made his best time down to the house. ‘There’s a boat in the offing,’ he announced crisply.

  Biggles sprang up. ‘What sort of a boat?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I can only tell you it carried a sail. In fact, that was all I could see. If you asked me to guess I’d say it was a small fishing-boat. You wouldn’t see it from down here. I was just below the ridge. It’s gone now, anyway. I only caught a glimpse of it as it disappeared in a rain squall.’

  ‘Could you judge which way it was going?’

  ‘Had it been coming towards the island it would have remained in view, so I imagine it was going away from us.’

  ‘Towards the mainland?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Biggles lit a cigarette. ‘That’s very interesting. Of course, the boat could have been fishing, although it seems unlikely it would be out here on its own in this sort of weather. Against that, it might explain the noises we heard on the beach during the night. That’s more likely. If that boat landed here it wasn’t fishing, you can bet on that. At least, I can’t think of any reason why honest fishermen should risk damaging their boat by landing on a place like this in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Unless some guy was on the beach to show ‘em a light,’ said Rod softly.

  ‘I think you’ve got something there,’ answered Biggles. ‘If you’re right that boat must have been expected. In other words, the men on the boat met someone here by appointment. That would explain the voices on the beach; but it’s not much use trying to guess what it was all about. With any luck we shall know that in due course. Could you see the castle, Ginger?’

  ‘I was able to get a short glimpse of it during a break in the clouds. Which reminds me. Seeing the boat put it out of my mind. I could see a horse.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A horse. Well, call it a pony.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a deer?’ put in Rod.

  ‘Oh, have a heart,’ protested Ginger. ‘Where do you think I’ve been all my life that I don’t know the difference between a horse and a deer? The beast I saw wasn’t wearing spikes on its head.’

  ‘It might have been a hind. They don’t carry antlers, either.’

  ‘The animal I saw was close against the castle. It looked to be grazing. Would a wild deer of any sort go close to a house?’

  ‘Most unlikely if the house was occupied.’

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake let’s not argue about it,’ broke in Biggles. ‘Ginger says it was a horse, and he should know the difference between a horse and a deer by now. Would any horses, which might have gone wild, be left here when the people departed, Rod?’

  ‘Not being here at the time I couldn’t say for certain, but I wouldn’t think so. They’d take all their livestock with them. No doubt the folks who once lived here had ponies because it wouldn’t be practicable to use the sort of mechanical transport that was available at the time, even if they could afford it.’

  ‘Hm,’ murmured Biggles. ‘We seem to be learning quite a lot just sitting here. It’s something to know the enemy needs transport, so they’ve brought in a horse — or a pony. On a place this size that would hardly be to ride on themselves. It must be to carry something. But what? I give it up. The rain has stopped, so let’s take a stroll along the beach. We m
ay learn something else. Someone had better stay on guard. Bertie, you take a turn. Before we start you might slip up to the ridge to see if there’s any sign of life.’

  Bertie, who had been washing in a pool between the rocks, dried his hands and face and polished his eyeglass. ‘Fair enough.’

  He took the binoculars. In a few minutes he was back. ‘Not a bally thing in sight,’ he reported.

  ‘What about that horse?’

  ‘There’s no horse near the castle now.’

  ‘Maybe now the weather’s cleared it’s been put out of sight,’ conjectured Biggles. ‘Anyone feel like coming to the beach with me?’

  Rod and Ginger said they’d go.

  ‘Keep your eyes open while we’re away,’ Biggles told Bertie. ‘We shan’t be long. Have a look round from the ridge from time to time. If you see anyone about give us a whistle.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘And don’t leave the camp.’

  ‘Not me, old boy, not me,’ promised Bertie.

  CHAPTER 5

  VISITORS, WELCOME AND UNWELCOME

  LEFT alone, Bertie did not sit down and gaze at the sea. Had any of his friends been watching, they might have wondered what he intended to do that caused him to move in such a purposeful manner.

  First he found and uncovered the haversack which Rod had said contained his spare fishing-tackle. This, it will be remembered, had been deposited with some other things in a corner of the living-room. Examining the contents, a smile of satisfaction crossed his face when he produced what he had expected to find. A spare spool of fishing-line. Not the oiled silk line which is actually used for casting, but the less expensive braided line, known as ‘backing’, which gives the line extra length, fills the reel and is put on next to the spindle.

  With this in his hand he went to the rear of the house and the rubbish dump. There, after a little searching he found what he was looking for, a small but heavy piece of old metal a few inches long and not quite so wide. This evidently suited his purpose, for he took it to a small heap of bracken which he kicked aside to expose a rather horrible mess consisting of the heads and entrails of the fish he had cleaned overnight. With a short piece of the line he tied the largest head securely to the piece of metal. Having tied the full length of line on to this, he was ready for action.

  With the bait dangling he went down to where some rocks overhung the sea, and choosing a place where the water appeared to be deep, threw out the lure and allowed it to sink to the bottom. He then tied the other end of the line round a rock and the operation was complete. It had taken only about five minutes.

  It would not have required the services of a detective to work out the object of this performance. He was trying, more in hope than confidence, to capture a lobster. He did not seriously want a lobster. Merely from what he would have called a ‘whimsy’ he thought it would be amusing to see the faces of the others, when they returned, to find he had managed to catch a lobster. A little fishing could do no harm, and it would, he thought, relieve the tedium of what looked like being a dull day.

  He had of course no intention of allowing this to interfere with his duty, so he now hastened to the house for the binoculars and with these in his hand he went off up the bank to the ridge. Here, lying flat, he made a thorough scrutiny of the castle and the stretch of uninspiring landscape that separated him from it. He went over the ground, both near and far, and was neither surprised nor disappointed when he failed to see any sign of life other than an occasional herring gull drifting past. He looked for Ginger’s horse, but could not see it. The glasses explored the top of the castle for smoke, but without result.

  He waited. The weather had improved a little, although the best that could be said of it was, it had stopped raining; but great cloud formations were piling up, and under them the moor looked dark and dank. After waiting for a little while, becoming weary of a landscape so depressing, he returned to the harbour and his fishing.

  Taking the line in his hand, he tested it for weight, and having decided there was something on the end pulled it in quickly, hand over hand. Disappointment awaited him. Clinging to the bait there was indeed a lobster, but as it was only about six inches long it fell far short of his ambition. Taking it off the bait, he threw it back into the sea and moved the fine to another spot.

  Again he ascended the bank and from the top resumed his task of keeping the castle and the ground under observation. He could still find nothing to give him an interest. The air was fairly clear, but there were still patches of mist hanging about. Again he waited for some time, but becoming bored with the whole business he returned to his line to see if luck had come his way. Having tested it, he pulled it in slowly and carefully. The bait broke surface, and he saw to his disgust that he had caught not a lobster but a crab. It was of fair size, but this was not what he wanted. The creature dropped off just as he lifted it clear and promptly made for the sea; but he grabbed it across the back of its shell and held it while deciding whether to keep it or throw it back.

  As he stood there with the creature weaving its claws and legs at him, a voice near at hand said: ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Bertie turned, and found himself facing not one man, or two, but three. One was wearing an ordinary suit, with a raincoat over his arm as if he had just stepped off a train from London. The others were different. Both were roughly but warmly clad with heavy tweed jackets over thick jerseys that came up to their throats. Both wore gum-boots with trousers tucked into the tops. They were standing on the rocks not more than ten yards away.

  Trying not to show his astonishment, still holding the crab, Bertie inquired coldly: ‘Were you talking to me?’ Naturally, he was wondering how the men had got there without him seeing them. It seemed impossible that they had walked across the open moor.

  The men moved closer. The one in the town suit answered in a hard voice: ‘You heard what I said. What are you doing here?’ There was no trace of a Scots accent.

  Bertie frowned. ‘What the deuce has that got to do with you?’ he demanded curtly. ‘I might ask you that question.’

  ‘Is your name Macaster?’

  ‘My name is no concern of yours, you impudent fellow,’ retorted Bertie frostily. ‘I don’t like the look of you. Go away.’

  One of the other men spoke, and there was no doubt about his nationality. ‘He’s no’ a Macaster.’

  ‘I asked you a question,’ went on the first speaker, in a harsh voice. ‘You haven’t answered it yet.’

  ‘If you’re going to wait for an answer you’re likely to be here a long time. All I have to say to you is, mind your own business.’

  ‘So that’s how you feel. Unless you’re as daft as you look, you won’t try giving me any of your lip.’

  What Bertie’s answer to this, if any, would have been, will never be known, for at this juncture the scene turned to comedy — at least as far as Bertie was concerned — when the crab took a hand. Literally. Bertie’s hand. Bertie may have forgotten what he was holding. Or in his resentment at the way he was being questioned he may have become careless. At all events, the struggling crustacean managed to get a claw round one of his fingers.

  His reaction was natural and instantaneous. With a yell he swung out the arm concerned to get rid as quickly as possible of the creature that had fastened itself to the extreme end of it. In this he succeeded. The crab, suddenly subjected to centrifugal force beyond its experience, was flung off the hand. It flew through the air and, although this was purely accidental as far as Bertie was concerned, would have hit his questioner in the face had the man not ducked and taken a quick step backwards. Anyone would have done the same thing. But the rocks, wet from the recent rain and slippery with seaweed, were not the place for sudden ill-considered movements. His feet skidded, and after a vain attempt to recover his balance he sat down with a squelch in a pool of water. The crab ended its short flight in the sea.

  Bertie smiled broadly. Indeed, he laughed.

&
nbsp; The man, glaring at him, swore luridly.

  Bertie spoke with studied seriousness. ‘You’ll get your backside wet if you sit there much longer,’ he advised. ‘Don’t you know better than to go near a man when he’s fishing?’ he added, quizzing the man through his monocle.

  Slowly, and obviously very angry, the victim of the accident got to his feet, and tried, not very successfully, to wring the water out of the seat of his trousers. ‘So you think this is funny?’ he growled.

  ‘Funniest thing I ever saw in my life,’ asserted Bertie, still smiling.

  ‘You won’t think it’s so funny by the time I’ve finished with you.’

  ‘Neither will you think it’s funny when the boys in blue get here,’ said Bertie, as an idea struck him.

  There was a stiffening in the attitudes of the three men.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked the leader, in a different tone of voice.

  ‘You heard me. The Navy’s likely to arrive any time now, so you’d better toddle along before they ask you what you’re doing here. This is private property, you know.’

  ‘And what’s the Navy going to do?’

  Bertie’s imagination rose to the occasion. ‘It could be they’re going to use the old lighthouse, or the castle, for target practice. It wouldn’t surprise me if they established a missile base. From what little I’ve seen of it this would be just the job.’

  This piece of information had the desired effect. It was followed by a brittle silence. The three men looked at each other. Possibly because what Bertie had said was feasible, they obviously took it seriously, so seriously that for a minute they were at a loss for words. Then the leader said to his companions: ‘Bah! He’s lying. Forget it.’ But he spoke without conviction.

  Again there was a pause in the conversation, and as it persisted a distant noise came faintly through the air. It was the sound of an aircraft, and, at least to Bertie, unmistakably a helicopter.

  This did not bring him relief. Not for a moment did it occur to him that it could be anyone other than Algy, returning earlier than had been expected. He wondered what the effect would be when the machine landed on the beach. It would certainly put a different complexion on the situation. For some minutes he had expected to see the others appear over the rocks, having concluded their investigation of the beach, and wondered vaguely what effect that would have. Now, hearing the aircraft, they would wait for it to land. This, to Bertie, was unfortunate, and he waited with some anxiety for the outcome of the affair.