Biggles of the Interpol

by W E Johns

  ‘It looks pretty black,’ agreed Ginger. ‘And don’t forget Bowden’s service record wasn’t too good.’

  ‘Let’s glance at it from another angle,’ went on Biggles. ‘The only way a white man could get here, without making a long, difficult and dangerous journey, would be by air. Bowden was a pilot. All he needed was an aircraft. He knew young Renford. He knew he was mad on flying and had plenty of money. The suggestion of a record flight would find him a ready listener. Renford, too, has disappeared, and a reasonable assumption would be that it was his body found in the plane — for which, don’t forget, he paid.’

  ‘Could Renford have been party to the robbery?’

  ‘I’d say not. He was more concerned with flying than with pearls. He had plenty of money, anyway. All Bowden had to do was land on the sabkha, as we did, and leaving Renford to take care of the machine, walk on to the palace, get the pearls and make his get-away. I may be on the wrong track, but these factors all fit so well that we’re forced to these conclusions. If I’m right it was a devilish scheme, for he must have determined all along to kill Renford.’

  ‘Why did Bowden have to kill him?’

  ‘That’s pretty obvious. What actually happened in the plane we may never know. Renford, wondering what Bowden was doing, may have asked awkward questions. It’s my belief that from the outset part of Bowden’s plan was to kill him because that would serve two vital purposes. Not only would it dispose of a possible danger but it would appear as if he, Bowden, was dead. There would be no fuss, no bother. In a day or two the crash would be forgotten. All very simple, Why, we may ask, did Bowden clutter himself up with a parachute? Was he nervous? Not likely. It was all part of the plan. Renford had no brolly or the buckle, or the ring, would have been found in the crash. All Bowden had to do was shoot his partner and step out. No one would suspect murder, and no one would connect a jewel robbery in Arabia with an accident in Africa. Why should they? It was clever — devilish clever. It’s true I argued the question of identification with the chief, but in my mind I was sure that the body in the crash was that of Bowden. Which shows how easy it is to be wrong.’

  ‘You suspected something phoney?’

  ‘Not exactly phoney, and certainly not murder. I was curious about the alleged purpose of the flight in a machine that would have to perform a miracle to succeed. For the rest, one thing has led to another. We’ll now call on this Greek pearl dealer in Suakin. If Bowden knew him, as is not unlikely, as he once served here, he may have gone to him to sell some pearls for ready money, which he would need.’

  ‘That’s a wide shot.’

  ‘Not so wide as you think. If you look at the map you’ll see that the crash occurred not far from one of the few railways in that area, the line that runs from Atbara to Suakin and Port Sudan. That may have been a fluke, but as Bowden’s plan, as we see it, was so well thought out, I suspect it was not. He wouldn’t want to walk far across that sort of country.’

  ‘You believe that having shot Renford he jumped, leaving the machine to crash?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘He then made his way to the railway and boarded a train?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For Suakin?’

  ‘Yes, either because he knew a pearl dealer there or because he could board a boat to get him out of the country. We shall see. That’s enough talking. Let’s get cracking.’

  The short run to the African coast was soon made, and within two hours they were in the narrow street in the ancient port of Suakin wherein dwelt the man who bought the Sheikh’s surplus pearls. Finding the villa after a little trouble they were informed that he was at home, and were presently received by him in his office.

  ‘I understand, Mr Janapoulos, that you sometimes have pearls for sale?’ began Biggles.

  The Greek conceded that this was so. His manner was smooth and courteous.

  ‘We are interested only in the very highest quality.’

  Janapoulos made a gesture of regret. ‘I am sorry,’ he said sadly. ‘I am a poor man and cannot afford to deal in pearls of such value. A pity. Had you given me warning of your coming, or had you been here a few days ago, we might have made a transaction.’

  ‘You mean, you had some?’ prompted Biggles.

  ‘Some were brought to me. They were very fine. Too fine, much too magnificent, alas, for my small purse.’

  ‘May I ask who brought these pearls to you?’

  There Biggles may have been a little too abrupt, for the Greek’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘I make it a rule never to discuss my clients,’ he said curtly. ‘You will appreciate that.’

  Biggles conceded the point and went on another tack. ‘We are friends of the Sheikh Ibn Usfa. I believe you knew him.’

  ‘Indeed. I know him well. A noble gentleman, and a very good customer of mine.’

  Biggles spoke slowly, with his eyes on the man’s face. ‘Did you know that he has been murdered?’

  There was nothing false about the Greek’s consternation. His dark eyes filled with horror and the colour fled from his cheeks. ‘Murdered,’ he gasped. ‘Is it possible? How? By whom?’

  ‘That is what I am trying to discover,’ replied Biggles quietly. ‘In the hope that you will be frank with me I will be frank with you. We are detectives from London. We have just come from El Bishra, where we were told by the Sheikh’s son of your dealings with the Sheikh Usfa. It was thought you might help us.’

  ‘But how? What could I know?’

  ‘The Sheikh’s collection of pearls was stolen by the murderer. Now you will understand my purpose in coming to you.’

  The Greek’s agitation was almost painful to watch. For a moment he was unable to speak. Then he blurted: ‘But you don’t think that I—’

  ‘No — no,’ Biggles consoled him. ‘But you must understand that everyone in the district will be under suspicion until we arrive at the truth. I have been assured that your reputation is of the highest.’

  ‘I will tell you all I know, although that isn’t much,’ said the pearl dealer, moistening his lips. ‘Had you told me at the beginning—’

  ‘Never mind that,’ interposed Biggles. ‘Who brought these fine pearls to you? Was it a white man — an Englishman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Had you ever seen him before?’

  ‘Yes, but it was some years ago. I had forgotten him. He was an officer of the Royal Air Force, stationed here.’

  ‘Can you recall his name?’

  The Greek searched his memory. ‘It escapes me. Rew... Bow...’

  ‘Bowden?’

  ‘That is the name.’

  ‘How did you come to meet him?’

  ‘I saw him twice. The first time was at El Bishra, at the palace, where he was a guest of the Sheikh Usfa. We spoke of pearls. Later, he came to me here. He said one day, when he was finished with flying, if he bought a boat for pearl fishing would I buy his pearls.’

  ‘And you said yes?’

  ‘Of course. Pearls are my business.’

  ‘Yet when he came the other day, bringing some pearls, you did not buy them. Why?’

  ‘I have told you the reason. I could not afford such specimens.’

  ‘Was that the only reason?’

  ‘No. To be truthful I was a little suspicious when he would not tell me how he came to have them. One must be careful.’

  ‘In other words you suspected the pearls had been stolen?’

  ‘Frankly, I thought that might have been so. I wasn’t sure. I had no proof. I was puzzled because I hadn’t heard of any pearls being stolen, and here news travels fast.’

  ‘I can believe that,’ murmured Biggles. ‘So you bought none.’

  ‘I bought one, a small one, because this man Bowden was in urgent need of money. I have it here — in my safe.’

  ‘You didn’t recognize it as part of the Sheikh’s collection?’

  ‘No. As God is my judge. Why should I? I did not know the Sheikh Usfa’s pearls intimately. I
have never handled them. Besides, knowing that he would never part with his pearls was another reason why the thought did not occur to me that they might be his. Please, how could I imagine that a white gentleman would do such a thing as this?’ The Greek looked really distressed.

  ‘Where else could such pearls have come from?’ questioned Biggles, eyeing the man suspiciously.

  The Greek threw out his hands. ‘My dear sir, almost every sheikh along the Arabian coast collects pearls. This has been going on for centuries. Sometimes a dishonest diver will keep one, but he is soon found out. I did not trust this man Bowden; looking back I don’t think I ever did trust him entirely, and thinking he may have acquired the pearls by some illegal method I decided to put one in my safe in case inquiries should be made.’

  ‘How much did you pay for it?’

  ‘About five hundred pounds.’

  ‘About? Don’t you know exactly?’

  ‘No. It would depend on the current rate of exchange. The money was paid, at his request, partly in Egyptian pounds, partly in dollars, but mostly in French francs.’

  ‘You mean you paid him in cash — in notes.’

  ‘Yes. He asked for the money that way.’

  ‘That in itself must have made you suspicious.’

  The Greek shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Did he say why he wanted francs?’

  ‘No, but I thought I knew. A French boat, the Charbonniere, was due to call, bound for Marseilles.’

  ‘Did he take it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I watched him.’

  ‘Why were you so interested in his movements?’

  ‘I wanted to know where the pearls were going. It could have been to my advantage. Bowden asked me where he could best dispose of his pearls and I said of course in Paris. It is the great pearl market of the world. I gave him the name and address of the firm there, Cortons, in the Rue de la Paix, to whom I send customers with pearls too expensive for the local markets. In fact, I gave him a note of introduction. I could do that because Cortons know me quite well.’

  ‘And you get a rake-off on such sales?’

  ‘Certainly. Why not?’

  ‘No reason at all, Mr Janapoulos.’ Biggles picked up his hat. ‘Thank you very much for your assistance. You have been most helpful and I shall bear it in mind.’

  ‘This will not mean trouble for me, I hope,’ said the Greek anxiously. ‘I try to run my business honestly but sometimes it is difficult.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ returned Biggles dryly, as he went out into the street. ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’

  ‘What do you make of him?’ asked Ginger, as they walked away.

  ‘He’s all right,’ answered Biggles. ‘Anyway, as right as a dealer can be in this part of the world. He must meet some shady customers. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know where those pearls had come from, but he suspected they were “hot” and wouldn’t touch ‘em. That says something for his principles as well as his common sense, for it must have been a great temptation. It could also be true that he couldn’t afford to buy the lot, anyway, even if Bowden was prepared to sell, for the whole collection must be worth a million. Well, now we know that our theory about Bowden wasn’t far wrong we’ll push along to Paris. These coasting vessels are mostly slow so we should be in the Rue de la Paix before him.’

  Said Ginger, ‘I’m looking forward to the pleasure of seeing Bowden’s face when he finds us waiting for him.’

  ‘Remind me when we refuel at Alexandria to send a cable to Marcel, at the Sûreté, asking him to meet us at Le Bourget. As we can’t make arrests in France we shall need his help. I’ll ask him, too, to find out when this boat, the Charbonniere, is due at Marseilles.’

  ‘You won’t meet the boat there?’

  ‘No. He’s bound to go on to Paris, and I imagine he won’t waste any time. He’ll want to be rid of those pearls as quickly as possible. Even if he doesn’t go straight to Paris he’ll be somewhere in France and it shouldn’t take the French police long to find him. He won’t be expecting trouble.’

  ‘If I know anything he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering where his scheme came unstuck,’ opined Ginger. ‘It was all so simple, and so beautifully worked out, that even now I’m not sure where it went wrong.’

  ‘His one mistake was in buying an aircraft for a job it couldn’t possibly do,’ averred Biggles. ‘It may have been the best type for the purpose for which he really wanted it, which was a night landing in Arabia, but not for the purpose for which he said he wanted it — the Cape record. But let’s get along.’

  Marcel was waiting on the tarmac when the Proctor landed at the Paris airport.

  ‘What now, old dog,’ he greeted, cheerfully. ‘From the colour of your face you have been where the sun shines.’

  ‘As you had a cable from me from Egypt you knew that before you saw my face, so don’t swank your detective stuff on me,’ chaffed Biggles. ‘What about the boat I mentioned, the Charbonniere? Have you found out where she is?’

  ‘But certainly. She docks at Marseilles this morning.’

  ‘Good. That should give me time to tell you what this is about before we proceed to business. Let’s go to the buffet and have something to eat. We’ve nearly lived in the air for the past ten days, without regular meals, and I’m beginning to feel like a wet bus ticket.’

  At a table in a quiet corner of the refreshment-room Biggles gave his French colleague of the International Police Bureau the main facts of the case that had caused him to spend so much time in the air. ‘If I thought Bowden would go on to England I’d nab him there, but he may not,’ he concluded. ‘With money in his pocket he may stay in France, or for that matter, go anywhere.’

  ‘It would be safer to finish the business here,’ declared Marcel. ‘If you want him in England there should be no difficulty about an extradition order when we have this clever gentleman in the bag, as you call it. When you have finished eating like a starved dog let us go and see Monsieur Corton, of Corton et Cie. They are a big firm, very sound, and he will do whatever I ask. They have the best pearls in the world.’

  Presently a taxi took them to the famous Paris street of jewellers, and Marcel having presented his card at their destination, they were promptly shown into the office of the managing director, Monsieur Corton, senior. Having accepted an invitation to be seated, Biggles, at Marcel’s request, explained the situation.

  ‘What would you like me to do?’ inquired Monsieur Corton.

  Biggles laid on the desk the inventory and description of the stolen pearls. ‘If Bowden arrives here with pearls we can be sure of where he got them, but we must not make a mistake,’ he said. ‘This is my suggestion. When Bowden arrives, say that you will buy the pearls, but in view of their unusual quality it will take a little while to value them.’

  ‘That would happen in any case,’ asserted the Frenchman.

  ‘You can either ask Bowden to wait, or call back later at a time arranged. In his absence you will check the pearls to confirm that they are in fact those that were stolen. Should that be so you will telephone Monsieur Brissac at Police Headquarters where we shall be waiting. Not knowing exactly when Bowden will arrive we cannot stay here all day, and perhaps tomorrow as well, to interrupt your work. On receipt of your message we will come straight here, arrest the man and take him away.’

  Monsieur Corton bowed. ‘Bien entendu. It shall be as you say.’

  ‘Merci bien, monsieur.’

  With that they left and went to Marcel’s office, there to await what they could confidently expect to be the last act of the drama.

  Biggles thought it unlikely that Bowden would present his note from the Greek until the following day, but in that he was wrong. It may be that, as Biggles had predicted, Bowden was anxious to be rid of the pearls with the least possible delay, as in the circumstances would be understandable. At all events, shortly after three o’clock M
arcel’s phone jangled, and the famous jeweller informed him that the wanted man had called. He had gone away, and would return at five precisely to complete the sale if the valuation was agreed. The pearls, stated Monsieur Corton, were those described in the book of the late Sheikh Ibn Usfa.

  ‘That’s all we need to know,’ Biggles told Marcel. ‘We’ll be there to receive the gentleman.’

  ‘I will take two of my best men along in case he objects, as no doubt he will as the charge will be murder,’ said Marcel. ‘I do not like fighting with fists.’

  ‘He has a gun,’ warned Biggles, ‘and if I know the type he’ll use it. I want that gun. It should be a useful piece of evidence, for in my pocket is the bullet that killed his partner, Renford. The Sheikh was killed with the same weapon, no doubt.’

  A few minutes before five o’clock found them with the jeweller in his private office, making the final arrangements. With them Marcel had brought two plain-clothes gendarmes. These were posted in strategic positions as if they might have been customers, or shop assistants. Marcel was also in plain clothes.

  ‘I would like to have it from Bowden’s own lips, before witnesses, that the pearls are his,’ Biggles told Monsieur Corton. ‘You would oblige me, therefore, if you would put the question to him.’

  ‘I will do that,’ was the reply.