Biggles Investigates

by W E Johns

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It won’t be necessary to bring a doctor. What will be needed is an ambulance and some strong stretcher bearers to carry the body to the road. Be as quick as you can. I’ll have a cigarette and do some more thinking.’

  ‘When you’ve handed over do we go home?’

  ‘Of course. I can’t see any point in staying here. Besides, I want to be in the air tomorrow morning as soon as it’s light enough to see what we’re doing.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll press on.’

  ‘If you see young Robin hanging about, watching from a distance as he may be, tell him to go home and stay there. His job is to watch for the plane.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Ginger departed.

  Biggles watched him as far as the road and saw the car move off. The cattle, still grazing peacefully, had moved farther away. There was no sign of the bull. Then, finding a wind-blown tree, he sat on the stump and lit a cigarette. There was little he could do. He noted a broken branch above the body where it had crashed through before striking the ground. That was all.

  He had been sitting there for the best part of an hour, deep in thought, with the light beginning to fade, when he was brought to his feet by a strident bellow. He knew what had produced it. Keeping under cover, he hastened to the edge of the wood on the side from which the noise had come. From there he saw the bull. It was ambling towards the cattle apparently having just arrived on the scene.

  From where had it come? Biggles’ eyes, roving swiftly over the landscape, found the answer. A van with tall sides, such as is used for transporting animals, was moving off inland, away from the marsh. It was too far off for him to see the number plate, but he noted the colour, dark green. It was either a new vehicle or had recently been painted.

  The next question that came automatically was, why had the bull, which had not been there at the time of his arrival, been put back with the cattle? Was there any significance in that? It would now certainly keep people away from that area of the marsh. Was that the purpose? The animals were at a safe distance from him, so having no further interest in them he was returning to the body when a hail took his eyes in the direction of the road.

  There he saw three vehicles standing. They were an ambulance and two cars, one of which he recognized as his own. Men were getting out, and from their hesitation to advance they had obviously seen the bull. However, they soon came on, walking at a brisk pace with their eyes on the danger, which appeared not to notice them. Ginger led. Then came two uniformed police officers. These were followed by two men carrying between them a rolled-up stretcher.

  Biggles waited for them to join him, when Ginger quickly introduced the police as Inspector Carlow and Sergeant Brown. Both were big, healthy-looking countrymen. For a moment or two they gazed at the body.

  Said Biggles: ‘Naturally, you’ll be wondering what brought us here, so I’ll tell you.’

  ‘I understand you’re special police from the Air Section at Scotland Yard,’ returned the inspector.

  ‘Correct. We had a tip-off that an unidentified plane had been seen more than once over this part of the coast, so we came along to check for places where an unauthorized landing might be made. There seemed no point in worrying you about it, and anyway, it called for aviation specialists. We’re pilots ourselves.’

  ‘I understand that,’ replied the inspector, in a friendly voice.

  ‘Frankly, I wasn’t expecting anything like this, and my first thought of course was to let you know,’ went on Biggles. ‘It’s now up to you to take what action you think necessary. I haven’t touched anything, but I hope you’ll let me have any information you pick up which might help me to trace the plane from which this poor devil was thrown.’

  ‘You say it’s murder.’

  ‘Couldn’t be anything else. The man was shot through the head, so his body must have been put overboard.’ Biggles smiled wanly. ‘You find the murderer. I’ll find the plane. Between us we might find both.’

  ‘Do you know anything at all about this man?’

  ‘Not a thing. I’ve never seen him in my life. I know no more than you. I’ve had a look round. There are no footprints, so it’s reasonable to suppose no one has been here since the body landed. You can see the wound in his head. From the scorching of the hair I’d say he was shot from a distance of inches. You can see from the way the body has gone into the soft ground that it must have been dropped from a height. It came through this tree, smashing some branches.’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘This is a new line to me. It comes to something when bodies start dropping out of the sky. Have you got any theories?’

  ‘None. There’s the body. The man who dumped it there could be half-way across the world by now. I said could be. Planes don’t leave tracks, so we don’t know where he went.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. Where do I start looking for a clue?’

  Biggles shrugged. ‘You might find something in his pockets that would tell you who he is and where he came from. Not that that would be much help if the plane was a foreigner.’

  ‘Well, I might as well take the body and see what I can make of it,’ decided the inspector, without enthusiasm. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘As far as I can see at the moment all I can do is fly over in the morning and look for traces of the plane.’

  ‘I wish you luck,’ returned the inspector. ‘The air seems a queer place to look for traces of anything.’

  ‘You never know what you might see from the air,’ answered Biggles. ‘A plane can’t stay in the air all the time. Eventually it has to come down. And where it comes down it sometimes makes a mark. I can cover a lot more ground from the air than you can on the ground.’

  ‘Yes, I reckon you can,’ conceded the inspector. ‘What would you be looking for?’

  ‘The plane. Possible landing grounds. Wheel tracks in the grass.’

  The inspector looked incredulous. ‘Do you reckon to find ‘em?’

  ‘One never knows. I may not have to look far.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘The plane that unloaded this body didn’t want to land with it on board. It must have been in a hurry to get rid of it. That suggests it hadn’t much farther to go. Have you ever been up in a plane, Inspector?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I have.’

  ‘Would you like to?’

  The inspector looked surprised. ‘With what object?’

  ‘To have a look at your territory from a new angle. I was thinking; you know the district better than I do. I shall be along in the morning in a police helicopter. I could pick you up. You could tell me who lives where, and so on.’

  ‘Yes, I could do that. Where would you pick me up?’

  ‘Here. Say, about daybreak. Five-thirty.’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Now I’d better be getting along.’ The inspector turned to the stretcher bearers. ‘All right, you fellows, get him to the ambulance.’

  As they all walked to the road Biggles said: ‘If you find anything of interest in the pockets you can tell me in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ The inspector kept glancing at the bull. It was looking at them, but it did not move. ‘What’s that damn bull doing here?’ he muttered.

  ‘Keeping people at a distance, maybe,’ answered Biggles lightly. ‘Do you know who it belongs to?’

  ‘Must belong to a feller named Werner. He farms all this land. Why?’

  ‘Nothing much, except that we shall be flying over his ground in the morning.’

  The inspector looked hard at Biggles, but he said nothing, probably because they had now reached the road.

  There they parted, with the police following the ambulance, and Biggles and Ginger cruising along behind. It was nearly dark.

  ‘Did you see Robin?’ asked Biggles presently.

  ‘Yes. As you suspected he was watching from a distance, behind some rushes. I had a word with hi
m. I told him we had found the thing that fell off the plane, but I didn’t say what it was.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I told him to go home and stay there. I said his job was to watch for the plane. If he saw it, or heard it, he was to run to the nearest phone and tell us. I gave him our number. I also said we might fly over in the morning. If we did a circle near his house he’d know it was us.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Have you any ideas?’

  ‘One or two, but they’re pretty vague.’

  ‘Where did that bull suddenly come from?’

  ‘That’s one of the things I’m hoping to find out. All I can tell you is, it arrived in a green cattle truck. There may be nothing to it, but it would be an effective way to discourage people from going near that wood.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ returned Ginger slowly. ‘What was the idea of asking the inspector to come with us in the morning?’

  ‘In the first place, as I said, he knows the ground. Then again, we shall be operating over his district. And finally, there’s just a chance we may need help. I have a feeling that that plane, if it’s still here, isn’t far away. According to Robin its wheels were down, presumably ready for landing. Nor have I forgotten that one of the crew carries a gun and doesn’t mind using it; for which reason I shall carry one myself tomorrow. You’d better do the same.’

  The following morning, at the appointed time, the air police helicopter dropped lightly on the marsh close to where Inspector Carlow’s car stood on the track. The inspector and Sergeant Brown had got out and stood waiting. There had been no message from Robin, so it was assumed he had not seen the mystery plane.

  The weather was fair, one of those quiet, still mornings, that promise a fine day, although at the moment visibility was not as good as it might have been on account of a slight ground mist that hung over the damp ground. This, it could with confidence be supposed, would soon be dispersed by the rising sun.

  ‘Well, did you find anything interesting on the body?’ was Biggles’ first question to the inspector.

  ‘Nothing to shout about. We have the bullet. It was lodged in the skull. There was nothing in the pockets, so they must have been emptied by the murderer, which makes identification practically impossible. We think the man was a German. Anyhow, his clothes were made of German stuff.’

  ‘Have you told the Press about this?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought it would be better to wait till we’ve had a look at things.’

  ‘Quite right. What you tell me suggests, although it doesn’t prove, that the plane came from Germany. Well, let’s get on. I can’t take you both, but I’ll tell you what, sergeant. I shan’t travel fast, so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t follow us, or keep an eye on us, from the road.’

  This was agreed.

  ‘What exactly are you going to do?’ the inspector wanted to know.

  ‘First I shall fly out over the sea a little way and then come in following the natural landmarks, which is what the pilot of a small civil aircraft, not on a scheduled flight, would probably do. That windmill, for instance. Of course, it can’t be guaranteed, but I hope by doing that to be on the same course as the plane we’re looking for. It would be expecting too much to hope to see it, so all we can do is look for signs of it; by which I mean a field in which it could have landed or a building large enough to house an aircraft. If it’s still here it could be camouflaged, so watch for anything that looks unusual or out of place. We might see wheel tracks. Those of an aircraft are usually wider than those of a surface vehicle and they begin in the middle of a field, not at the gate. With the dew still on the grass they should show up plainly from the air. You understand, Inspector, this is our job, and we’ve done it so often that we know the routine; but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have a go at air spotting. I shall keep low. Tell me if you see a green cattle truck.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but one was on the marsh yesterday and I saw nothing else moving.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ promised the inspector, who seemed to be entering into the spirit of what for him was a novel operation. ‘If you see anything suspicious what will you do?’

  ‘Land and have a close look at it.’

  The inspector looked worried. ‘I’ve no warrant.’

  ‘Don’t let that worry you. If everything is as it should be no reasonable man would complain about the police doing their job. Only a man with something to hide, or be afraid of, would be likely to object. And by the way, as the man we’re looking for has already got a murder on his hands, we can expect him, if we’re lucky enough to find him, to be really nasty. Remember, he carries a gun. Now let’s see what the luck is like.’

  ‘Are you relying on luck?’ questioned the inspector, dubiously.

  ‘On a job of this sort one has to rely on it a little, but not entirely,’ answered Biggles, smiling faintly. ‘It’s only fair to say that in a case like this we have advantages over you earth-bound coppers. We can see over a lot of ground at the same time. There are no obstacles in the air to get in our way, and we can move fast. Another thing that may strike you as odd, and this we have learned from experience: crooks who employ aircraft are not suspicious of other aircraft. Perhaps it’s because they imagine that by using what to them may be a new form of transport they feel they’re safe. They don’t realize that coppers can fly too. Anyway, they take less notice of another aircraft than they would of a police car if it rolled up. But let’s press on.’

  Biggles got in and took over the controls. Ginger sat beside him. The inspector got in behind and the ‘chopper’ whirled its way towards a sky now showing patches of blue.

  The machine first headed out to sea a little way and then, turning inland, took up a course over the pile of shingle in line with the windmill with the wood between. This took it near the back of Robin’s home, and Ginger nudged Biggles when he saw a small figure in the garden, face upturned.

  Biggles smiled but all he said was: ‘We shall have to give him a joy ride one day.’

  The aircraft, at a height of never more than four hundred feet and proceeding slowly, flew over the now sinister wood and, beyond it, a strip of marsh. In front now stretched miles of typical, flat East Anglian countryside, some of it grassland, some under cultivation and some open heath of bracken with a sprinkling of silver birches. Most of it therefore could be ignored and attention concentrated on and around the big pastures. A few of the fields were very large. Here and there was an isolated cottage. Standing on a slight knoll, overlooking a large, well-cropped meadow, although there was no stock on it, a red brick farmhouse with extensive outbuildings was conspicuous.

  ‘That’s Werner’s place,’ said the inspector, from behind.

  ‘There’s the green cattle truck in the yard,’ added Ginger, and then grabbed the side of the machine to steady himself as the helicopter yawed steeply.

  ‘By thunder! And there’s the thing we’re looking for,’ snapped Biggles, as it did so.

  It is unlikely that no one was more surprised than he at that moment. Indeed, the way he spoke made that evident. Although he was looking for signs of it, the last thing he expected was to see the plane standing in the open. Yet there it was, near the farmhouse, close to the boundary hedge of the big field, with its airscrews flashing. This could only mean that it was about to take off.

  What the inspector, unaccustomed to flying, thought of the next minute, we do not know, but it is likely that he thought his end had come. The machine went over on its side, straightened, and then dropped — well, fast, if not quite like the proverbial stone.

  There was no time for explanations — not that any were necessary as far as Ginger was concerned. He realized as well as Biggles that if the aircraft below them got off the ground they would have no hope of catching it. The only way to prevent that from happening was to block it, to land close in front of it.

  This is what Biggles did, putting the
helicopter on the ground within fifty feet of its nose. ‘Come on, Carlow,’ he shouted, and flinging open the door jumped out.

  Simultaneously two men sprang out of the other plane.

  What Biggles had said about aircraft not being associated with police was demonstrated when one of the men shouted furiously: ‘Fool. What are you doing?’ making it clear that he had not grasped the situation.

  Biggles quickly disillusioned him. ‘We’re police officers and I have some questions to ask you,’ he announced curtly, striding forward.

  The appearance of Inspector Carlow, who was of course in uniform, must have confirmed this.

  The two men reacted swiftly. One started to run. Ginger dashed after him. Biggles made for the other who, seeing him coming, snatched an automatic from his pocket and fired. But Biggles, seeing the weapon, had jumped sideways and drawn his own. ‘Drop it,’ he rapped out. The man hesitated. He looked round for his companion, and seeing him on the ground with Ginger on top of him, shrugged and threw down the pistol.

  The inspector, his expression grim, walked forward and snapped handcuffs on his wrists. ‘You’ll be sorry you did that,’ he growled.

  At this moment the police sergeant, who must have kept in close touch with the helicopter in his car, came racing across the field. He gave Ginger a hand with his prisoner, who was still trying to resist. Handcuffs put an end to that.

  Biggles returned his gun to a pocket and looked at the inspector with a queer smile. ‘You see what I meant about luck,’ he said dryly. ‘Another minute and this machine would have been away. You need more than brains to judge things as fine as that.’

  The inspector nodded. ‘What now?’

  ‘You’ve got your prisoners. I’m putting their aircraft under arrest. You could help me by posting a constable to guard it until I get instructions from my Chief as to what he wants done with it.’