by W E Johns
‘I’ll do that. Now I’ll get these two characters along to the station.’
‘Before you go, stand by for a minute while I see if they were taking anything away with them.’ Biggles advanced to the aircraft and opened the cabin door. He stopped, staring. Then he turned and beckoned. ‘Come and look at this.’
A man, bound and gagged, was lying on the floor.
‘Great Scott!’ gasped the inspector.
‘You know him?’
‘Yes. It’s Werner, the farmer. What the devil —’
‘Let’s get him untied and perhaps he’ll tell us the reason for this,’ suggested Biggles practically.
The farmer was freed. ‘Thank you,’ he said calmly.
‘What was the idea of this?’ inquired the inspector.
‘They were taking me to Germany,’ answered Werner simply.
The inspector took a photograph from his pocket. It was an after-death portrait of the murdered man. ‘Do you happen to know who this is?’ he asked.
Werner’s face turned ashen. His eyes filled with tears. He bowed his head. ‘It’s my son,’ he said brokenly. He looked at the two prisoners. ‘You devils!’ he grated. Then he sank down with his face in his hands.
Said Biggles quietly to the inspector, ‘You’d better give him time to get over it. He can tell you all about it later. There’s no immediate hurry. I’ll leave it to you.’
‘What I don’t understand is how you got on to this business in the first place,’ said the inspector, looking puzzled.
‘I told you I had a tip-off.’
‘Yes. But from whom?’
‘You’ll be surprised. Do you know a house, near the wood where we found the body, known as Marsh Cottage?’
‘Yes. It’s the last house down the lane.’
‘That’s right. It’s occupied by a man named Stone.’
‘I’ve seen him about. Cuts reeds for thatching, I believe.’
‘He has a son named Robin, a boy of thirteen.’
‘What about him?’
‘He was the tip-off.’
‘You’re kidding.’ The inspector looked incredulous.
Biggles went on. ‘Some boys collect the names and numbers of locomotives. Some collect car registrations. Robin is right up to date. He collects planes. A stranger went low over his house, twice. He wrote to me saying he thought I ought to know about it. That’s what brought me here.’
‘Well I’m damned! Why didn’t he tell me?’
‘And if he had, what would you have done about it?’ challenged Biggles.
‘You get me there,’ confessed the inspector frankly. ‘Nothing. I’ve plenty to do without listening to the tales of little boys.’
Biggles wagged a reproving finger. ‘That’s where you make a mistake. Little boys today have big eyes and keep them wide open. Some of them know what goes on as well as we do.’
‘I’ll remember it.’
‘Which reminds me. I promised Robin I’d let him know the outcome of his information, and in view of what has happened I shall certainly do that. Now, while I’m on the spot seems as good a time as any. You may find his evidence helpful when this pair is brought to trial. We could do with more boys like him.’
‘I’ll have a word with him myself as soon as I’ve got these two inside,’ declared the inspector.
Biggles looked at his watch. ‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry.’
‘Why not? He won’t have gone to school yet.’
‘You won’t find him at home. I have an idea that the reward he’d enjoy more than anything would be a joy-ride in an aircraft. If I’m right I’ll give him one. He’s earned it.’
‘Meantime I’ll see Werner and get his explanation of all this.’
‘Good. I’ll come along tomorrow to hear it. See you then. Come on, Ginger.’ Biggles walked to the helicopter and took his seat.
It is hardly necessary to say that Robin got his joy-ride. Instead of looking up, he found himself for the first time looking down.
The whole strange affair was explained the following day when Biggles and Ginger saw the inspector in his office. Yet, in view of current events in Europe, it may not have been so remarkable after all.
Mr Werner’s story, which was unquestionably true, was this. He was a German who had been granted political asylum in England. Before that he had lived in East Germany where he had been an engineer engaged on space research. He had defected to the West, changed his name and settled in Suffolk where he had started a new life as a farmer, or, more correctly, a stock-breeder. The only person on the Continent who knew his address was his son, who had elected to remain in Germany because he was engaged to be married to a young woman there.
This son, who was a test pilot at the. Wolfschmitt Works, had managed to keep in touch with him. He had been under pressure to reveal his father’s address because the East German authorities had been anxious to bring him back to continue his research work. Seeing trouble ahead, he had recently let his father know that he was considering coming over to join him.
The secret police must have got wind of this, although the rest must remain conjecture. It seemed that two government agents, one of them a pilot, had got into his confidence with the object of getting his father’s address. They must have suggested that they should all escape together, using one of the new Wolfschmitt aircraft. The scheme worked. The three of them had flown over together. After crossing the coast, Mr Werner’s son must have revealed his objective, thus signing his death-warrant. The two agents, having got the information they wanted and having no further use for him, had shot him and thrown his body overboard. They would not want to land at Mr Werner’s farm with the dead body of his son on board. This was Mr Werner’s theory of what must have happened.
We can now return to facts. He told the inspector of how the two agents, pretending to be friends of his son, had tried to persuade him to return to East Germany with them, saying that his son had decided not to leave Germany after all. Werner, suspicious, had refused, whereupon the men had resorted to force, and would no doubt have succeeded in their mission had it not been for the inquisitive eyes of young Robin Stone.
Biggles had been wrong about the reason why the bull had been put back on the marsh. It was in the hope of escaping from the agents that Mr Werner had put the beast in the truck and driven to the marsh. This had failed. The agents went with him and forced him at pistol point to return to the farm.
It only remains to be said that murder was proved against the two agents and they paid the penalty. Robin provided a vital piece of evidence by describing how he had seen the body fall in the wood, although at the time he did not know what it was. Ballistic experts were able to prove that the pistol carried by one of the agents was the same weapon that had killed Mr Werner’s son.
So a rather dismal story ended. Thanks to the boy who watched the planes go by the Air Police were once more able to justify their existence.
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