by W E Johns
Everyone looked surprised.
Gaskin frowned. “What’s the idea wasting time?”
“I don’t really want any jackdaws’ eggs,” said Tommy.
“Neither do I,” Biggles told him. “You might find something else in the nest—you never know.”
“All right,” agreed Tommy, without enthusiasm, and set off up the tree.
Almost at once, with a flapping of wings a jackdaw burst out and flew away. After a short silence, Tommy, now hidden by the branches, called: “I can see the hole.” A minute later there was a shout and he could be heard coming down so fast that Biggles warned: “Careful—you’ll break your neck. There’s no hurry.”
Tommy dropped the last ten feet. His face was flushed with excitement. He thrust a hand in a pocket and then held it out. “Look!” he cried triumphantly. On his grimy palm lay a glittering bracelet and a solitaire diamond ring. “They were in the nest,” he explained breathlessly.
Smiling, Biggles looked at Gaskin. “Now we know how the necklace got in the tree.”
Gaskin stared. “How the devil did you know this stuff was in the nest?”
“I didn’t know. I thought there might be something there. Tommy said there was a jackdaws’ nest in the tree. Daws are great birds for collecting anything that shines or sparkles. The bird that picked up the necklace must have got the thing tangled on a snag and left it there. The daws must have been on the job at the crack of dawn, as birds usually are. You know what they say about the early bird catching—”
“Quit fooling,” growled Gaskin. “What about the rest of the stuff?”
“It’s likely the man waiting here found it. But he must know he hasn’t got it all. Don’t worry, he’ll be back. He’s not likely to give up looking for swag that must be worth every penny of ten thousand pounds, knowing it must be about here somewhere. He isn’t far away. Probably gone off to get some breakfast. We shan’t have long to wait. As he might be here at any moment I suggest you get organized.”
“What do you mean—organized?”
“Place your men round the field, under cover, to intercept him whichever way he runs when he sees the game’s up and makes a bolt for it.”
“Yes,” agreed Gaskin. “That’s it.”
Arrangements were soon made. Tommy was sent home to be out of danger should the man, or possibly men, show fight. (It was learned later that he watched events from behind a hedge.) The constables were put in position. Biggles moved some distance from Gaskin, nearer to the aircraft, taking Ginger with him.
As Biggles had predicted, after everyone was in his place they had not long to wait. A man appeared from under the trees on the side of the field nearest to the road, apparently having got through the boundary hedge. Without the slightest hesitation he began quartering the field, his eyes searching the ground. Such was his confidence that he did not stop when Gaskin, who was of course in plain clothes, walked towards him. Only when Biggles and Ginger showed themselves did he pause for a moment as if in doubt. Then he carried on with his quest.
Said Gaskin casually as he neared the man: “You lost something?”
The man stopped. “No,” he answered with equal nonchalance. “I was hoping to pick up a few mushrooms.”
“What sort of mushrooms?” inquired Gaskin.
“What d’you mean? What sort? There’s only one sort.”
“Like these, for instance?” Gaskin held out a hand on which sparkled the bracelet and the diamond ring.
Considering the shock he must have had the man retained his self-possession remarkably well. “Where did you find those?” he asked. But his voice was now strained.
The Inspector wasted no more time. “I’m a police officer—” he began, but that was as far as he got.
In a flash the man was racing back in the direction from which he had come.
He had no hope of escape. The constables converged to cut off his retreat and he offered no resistance, presumably having decided to rely on bluff. “What’s all this about?” he protested harshly.
“Better come quietly,” advised Gaskin.
“You’ve nothing against me,” was the reply. “I’ve as much right to be in the field as you have. Like I told you, I was only looking for a few mushrooms.”
“Then why run away? See if he found any mushrooms,” Gaskin told his men grimly.
With one constable holding the man the other went through his pockets. He produced several pieces of jewellery and the crushed remains of what had been a small white box with a streamer attached.
“Looks like your flying pal made a mess of things,” observed Gaskin coldly.
The man looked dumbfounded, as he had reason to be. “How—how did you get on to that?” he stammered in a dazed voice.
“Let’s say a little bird had something to do with it,” replied the Inspector. Then, with a change of voice: “All right,” he told his men. “Take him away.”
When the prisoner and escort had gone he turned to Biggles. “You didn’t seem surprised when the boy showed us what he’d found in the nest.”
“I wasn’t. In fact I was half prepared for it. What had happened here last night, or in the early hours of the morning, had become pretty obvious. The man who threw the packet out of the plane didn’t hit the tree with it, as I thought at first he might have done. The thing fell in the field all right, having been torn open by striking some part of the aircraft, with the result that the jewels were scattered on the grass.”
“How did you work that out?”
“What else could have happened? There was nothing under the tree where Tommy found the necklace. Had the packet struck it and burst open the rest of the jewels would have been on the ground— and the container, unless it had got caught on a branch. But there was nothing. Just the necklace, hanging on a twig. How could it have got there? As it couldn’t get there without help, somebody, or something, must have put it there. The man in the field wouldn’t do it, so I was left with only one possible explanation—the jackdaws which Tommy had told us were nesting in the tree. Knowing these birds have a mania for collecting anything bright I thought the nest worth investigating. That’s all there was to it.”
Gaskin nodded. “You make it all sound nice and easy the way you put it now. When I get back to the Yard I’ll check to make sure we’ve got the lot, in case there are any more bangles lying about on the grass. Well, that seems to be all.”
“Not quite all,” disputed Biggles. “I have an interest in the plane that flew the stuff over.”
“Don’t worry about that. The man we’ve got will squeal when I get to work on him. I know the type.”
“Okay. In that case I’ll leave it to you,” agreed Biggles. “Let me know as soon as you can if you get a line on that plane and the man who flew it.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Then we might as well get along home,” concluded Biggles, walking towards the Auster. “I can’t see any mushrooms and I think we’ve done enough birdsnesting for today. The jackdaws did us a good turn so they deserve to be left in peace.”
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