Biggles Does Some Homework

by Captain W E Johns

  Turning to the others he went on: “This afternoon we saw three men in the spinney. We had plenty of time to have a good look at them. There’s just a chance we may find their mugs in our records. Let’s go and have a look.”

  They all went to the department where thousands of photographs of known crooks are filed and spent some time there; but it was without the result they hoped for. “Of course, they may have changed their appearance since these shots were taken,” Biggles remarked, as he closed the last book. “Professional crooks, knowing we have their pictures here, will go to a lot of trouble to do that, burning their fingers with acid to change the prints, plastic surgery and all that sort of thing. No matter. I have plans for tomorrow so we’ll pack up. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

  They were back in their own office when Inspector Gaskin one of the most knowledgeable officers in the Force who had often co-operated with them, came in. “I can’t find anything on this man you were asking about,” he said. “You didn’t give me much to go on and he may have changed his name.”

  Biggles nodded. “Could be. Thanks, chief.”

  “No trouble. What’s on the book?”

  “Murder.”

  Gaskin grimaced. “Let me know if I can be of any help.”

  “I will,” Biggles said.

  After the Inspector had gone Ginger remarked: “If you have plans for tomorrow would I be right in supposing you have an idea?”

  “You would, one that could keep us all busy for some time,” answered Biggles. “Let’s go home and talk about it. The Air Commodore has given me the go-ahead.”

  Later, after the evening meal, Biggles revealed his plans. “We have one or two lines to work on, which means there’ll be work for everyone,” he said. “There’s the spinney, this place Lotton Hall, and somewhere there must be a plane of some sort, probably still in one piece, because had it crashed we’d have been told about it. In fact, had there been a crash it would have been reported in the Press.”

  “So where do we start, old boy?” asked Bertie, mechanically polishing his monocle.

  “I’ll tell you,” replied Biggles. “Let’s take one thing at a time. After giving this conundrum a lot of thought I’ve come to the conclusion that the bag with the money in it was dropped for one of two reasons. Either the pilot flying the boodle had the bright idea of double-crossing his pals and grabbing it all for himself or he may have run into trouble. Anyway, something went wrong. The weather may have had something to do with it. Where’s the plane now? It must be on the ground somewhere. Algy, I’m giving you the job of finding it. First thing in the morning you’ll go to the meteorological office and find out exactly what the weather was like on the night of the robbery and the day or two following; cloud conditions, direction and force of the wind, the lot. That may tell us something. Having done that you’ll contact every landing ground within fifty miles of the spinney the object being to find out if an aircraft was in the air, or was brought in, during the period in question. Was anything wrong with it? Who was flying it? If it’s still at the same place and anything else you can dig up. Got that?”

  Algy nodded. “Okay, I’m with you.”

  “As it may be a long job you can work by telephone or by flying round the clubs,” went on Biggles. “If you get a clue waffle along and get the facts.”

  “That’s all clear. Leave it to me,” Algy said.

  Biggles continued. “That settles that angle. Now then. I’m still interested in that spinney. It’s a fairly safe bet that the people we saw there today will go back. They all have an interest or they wouldn’t have gone there. There’s a lot of money at stake and they’re not likely to abandon it without making another effort to find it. They must be wondering what on earth happened, and although they saw us there I see no reason why they should associate us with it. Wherefore I think we should keep an eye on the place. Bertie, I shall leave that to you. You can go down by car, and without leaving it too close take up a position from which you’ll be able to see anything that goes on. You may have to wait some time so you’d better put something to eat in your pocket. Be careful. Don’t forget that at least one of these toughs carries a gun.”

  “Any objection to me carrying one?” asked Bertie.

  “Please yourself, as long as you only use it in an emergency.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Biggles paused to stub his cigarette before he resumed.

  “Now for this place Lotton Hall,” he went on. “As it seems that’s where the taxi lives it must in some way be involved. How? To find out is likely to be the most difficult, and the most dangerous, job of all. For that reason I shall put two of you on it. That means you, Ginger, and Minnie. It might be an opportunity for him to practise his Indian tricks. I needn’t tell you what to do. Work it out between yourselves. Keep the place under observation but try not to be seen and don’t take unnecessary risks. What I said about Bertie and the spinney applies to you — perhaps more so. We’re up against a dangerous gang. Watch who comes and goes; what cars there are — that sort of` thing. It’s possible that the man we saw in the spinney, the one sporting an R.A.F. tie, may be there. I doubt if you’ll see him. He may be dead, in which case .there’ll be a body to dispose of. On the other hand, if he was only wounded he may still be alive. What he’s doing will of course depend on how badly he was hurt. Well, I think that’s about all. Any questions?”

  Ginger had one. “What are you going to do?” he asked, not unnaturally.

  “I shall stay in the office on reserve,” informed Biggles. “If anyone has anything to report he can ring me there. Or if I hear nothing I may run down about twelve noon to see how you’re getting on. That would save you dashing off perhaps some distance, to find a telephone. Now, as we look like having a busy day tomorrow I suggest we have an early night,” he concluded, getting up.

  Chapter Eight

  With the exception of Biggles who, having no need for haste went to the Air Police office at the usual time, after an early breakfast everyone else departed to begin the task that had been assigned to him.

  To save extra transport, for there were obvious reasons against using official police cars, it had been arranged for Bertie, in his private Jaguar, to give Ginger and Minnie a lift to somewhere within easy reach of Lotton Hall. There appeared to be nothing against this.

  They would know exactly where to find Bertie should the necessity arise. Or, when they were ready to return home they could wait by the Jaguar until Bertie arrived to collect them. They would find his car close to the spot where Biggles had left his on the previous day.

  In any case a Green Line coach operated on the main road. Should all else fail this would take them back to London. So there appeared to be no reason to use an extra car. Biggles was informed of this arrangement and agreed to it.

  It should be said here that at this stage of the proceedings he was really doing no more than seeking the evidence he needed to build up a case against the mailbag robbers. He was fairly sure he already knew some of them at least by sight. But this was not enough. He could prove nothing against them. Should he strike prematurely no doubt they would all be able to find a reason for being in the spinney where the stolen mail was found. The question of recovering the stolen mail did not arise because it had already been found.

  In this respect the case was an unusual one in that it was not a matter of preventing a crime or of recovering stolen property. By a pure accident the stolen mail had been found. But a man had been murdered and that was a much more serious offence. Which particular member of the gang involved had struck the fatal blow was not of first importance because according to law, when a number of persons have conspired together to commit a crime resulting in the death of someone the guilt rests on all those taking part.

  So, what was now happening was really this. The crime that had been committed was already half forgotten by the general public: but not by the police, who never close a case while a murderer is at large. In short, as
it now looked as if an aircraft had been used, to the Air Police had fallen the task of finding the villains; and more than that, evidence to convict them. Biggles was not looking for one particular man; he wanted the whole gang in the bag, if for no other reason than what they had done once they would probably attempt again. Most of all, of course, Biggles wanted the head man, the “brains” behind the organisation. The one clue he had uncovered, a slender one, was that he might be found at Lotton Hall. On this he was now working.

  Bertie, with Ginger and Minnie, set out for his objective, the spinney in which by a fluke the stolen mail had been found by a wandering naturalist. It was a fine, clear, autumn morning, so with the countryside looking its best he would not have asked for a more agreeable task, even though if it produced no result it might prove somewhat boring.

  He dropped Ginger and Minnie at a convenient distance from their scene of operations, Lotton Hall, and having reminded them where they would find his car, and the ignition key should they need it, he went on his way.

  Arriving at the spot on which he had decided he parked the Jaguar tight against the verge and continued on foot, cross-country, towards the spinney, for having once been to the place there would be no difficulty in finding it again. There appeared to be not a soul about, which suited his purpose. Not that he expected to see anyone.

  Indeed, to admit the truth, although he could see Biggles’ point in keeping the coppice under observation, in his heart he doubted if he would see any of the men they had previously encountered there. He could think of no reason why they should return to the spot.

  Anyhow, if he did see them there was no reason why they should see him. He was not looking for trouble; so should they turn up, as long as he could make out what they were doing it would obviously be wise to keep out of their way. There was really nothing more he could do, anyway. There was no question of taking them into custody.

  These, then, were Bertie’s thoughts as he trudged across the rough field to the group of trees that was his final destination. He had not decided exactly where to take up his position. One place seemed as good as another. Reaching the trees, after giving the matter some consideration he went on to get as near as possible to the side facing the estate of Lotton Hall, thinking that if he was to have any visitors it would most likely be from that direction they would come.

  The matter was resolved for him when he came to a half-fallen windblown fir tree, the fall of which had been arrested by its branches catching in the lower ones of an ancient oak. It seemed as good a place as any in which to wait. The surrounding undergrowth was fairly sparse so he would have a reasonably clear view for some little distance around. At all events, sufficient for his purpose.

  Finding the grass and bracken still wet from early morning dew he clambered up the sloping trunk of the leaning fir until he came to the part where the top was held by one of the lowest branches of the oak. There, finding a seat provided by a crutch he settled down to wait for whatever might befall. It seemed likely that he would have to spend the day there, probably to no purpose.

  He had occupied his perch for a little while and was finding some entertainment watching two young fox cubs playing when one of them stiffened, ears cocked. Then in a flash they had both gone.

  Bertie was still wondering what had alarmed them, because he found it difficult to believe that from his elevated position they could get his scent, when the question was answered. From no great distance

  away came the murmur of voices. Human voices. They sounded close enough to be in the spinney. This gave him a tinge of disquiet, because although it did not necessarily mean that the voices were those of the men who had been there yesterday it seemed more than likely that they were. It was to watch for them that he himself had been sent to the spinney. It looked as if Biggles had been right in thinking they would return. The uncomfortable thought struck Bertie that they might have been there all the time and had perhaps seen him coming. Or had they only just arrived? This was a question time might answer.

  At all events, he was thankful that he had put himself in a position in which he was not likely to be seen; for the last thing he wanted was a head-on encounter, which could serve no useful purpose and, in fact, would almost certainly defeat his purpose in being there.

  Listening all ears, to use the common expression, he waited.

  Sometimes the voices came nearer, sometimes they receded, as if the speakers — for there were at least two of them — were moving about haphazardly. Or were they looking for something? If so, it needed no great effort of imagination to work out what it was.

  Watching the ground below from his leafy bower, all doubts about the identity of the persons with whom he shared the coppice ended when into view came a party of no fewer than four men. They came to a halt under the very tree in which Bertie was ensconced; which, by accident or design was within a few yards of the tree under which the kitbag containing the stolen mail had been found.

  Of the party that now stopped and stood talking only one caused Bertie any surprise. And it was a very great surprise. For it was none other than the man who wore the R.A.F. tie. The man they had seen on the previous afternoon. Indeed, he was still wearing it. He also wore something else, something that had not been there on that occasion. It was a bandage round his forehead. This, at once, answered a question. So the man had not been killed when he had been shot at the roadside when he went back to his car. He had only been wounded, and obviously not seriously, since although he looked pale and ill he was already on his feet again.

  Another fact was evident. He was not there from choice. Or so it seemed. For he was being held by the arm by the heavy-weight type who had also been in the spinney the day before. True, the purpose of this may have been to support him, assuming he was still unsteady on his feet as the result of his wound. But to Bertie it looked more as if it was to prevent him from running away. The big man’s little partner on the previous occasion was also there.

  The fourth member of the party Bertie had never seen before. He was a well dressed, olive-skinned, paunchy little man who carried, and in fact walked with the aid of a shooting stick: that is, a stick with double handles at the top which could be opened when necessary to provide a seat. He now used it for the purpose for which it had been designed. He looked angry, tired and impatient.

  To some extent this applied to every member of the party. On arrival they had all been talking and the conversation now continued. The man who Bertie suspected was Zolton, the owner of Lotton Hall, said to the ex-R.A.F. man with some asperity: “Come on, where is it? How much longer are you going to keep this up. I’ve had about iv enough of this foolery.”

  “I tell you I don’t know where it is,” was the protesting reply, in a plaintive voice. “I’ve said so all along. That’s all I can say.”

  “Do you expect us to believe that?”

  “You can believe what you like but it’s the truth,” was the surly response.

  “You dropped it, didn’t you?”

  “I’ve said so.”

  “Then you must have seen where it fell.”

  “I can’t see in the dark. This is where I aimed for. The wind must have been tricky.”

  “Why drop it at all?”

  “I’ve told you. I had to get down somewhere. You wouldn’t expect me to be such a fool as to land on an aerodrome with that stuff on board.”

  “Then why not drop it nearer the house?”

  “It might have fallen on the road and been found by someone before I could get back. I thought this wood would be a better place. I didn’t think there’d be any trouble in finding it.”

  The little man who was known to carry a gun now produced it.

  “You know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t come clean, don’t you?” he said significantly.

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  The heavyweight boxer type now broke in. “Come on. We’re wasting our time,” he told the others. “Let the double crossin
g little skunk have it. No one’s likely to find him here.”

  “No, don’t do that,” pleaded the R.A.F. man desperately. “I’m as anxious to find the stuff as you are.”

  How this argument would have ended had it been allowed to run its full course is a matter for speculation. But it concluded abruptly, and Bertie was the cause, although it was not of his seeking. What happened was this. Two or three times the sloping trunk of the fir tree on which he was perched had moved an inch or two as if it was slipping, for which the extra weight on it may have been responsible.

  This caused Bertie some concern, but, luckily as he thought, the men below had been so taken up with their altercation that they had not noticed it. Afraid it might happen again Bertie decided to move his position a trifle. This proved to be a fatal mistake. Without warning the roots of the tree were tom out of the ground so that the entire trunk fell crashing to the ground, taking the oak branch on which it was resting with it. And, of course, Bertie, who landed in a shower of twigs, leaves and small branches.

  Naturally, the men below, seeing and hearing what was happening made a dash for safety, scattering like sparks from a blacksmith’s anvil. They did not go farther than was necessary. Having stopped, as Bertie slowly disentangled himself they stared at him with such expressions as would be expected in the circumstances.

  Bertie, unhurt although somewhat shaken, rose up brushing his clothes. Putting on his most famous grin he said: “What cheer! Sorry to barge in on you like this. Hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright. How careless can one be — if you see what I mean?”

  Zolton was the first to speak. “Where the hell did you come from?” he demanded, in a voice still stiff with astonishment.

  “I made so much noise I’d have thought you’d have noticed,” returned Bertie cheerfully.

  “What were you doing in that tree?” Zolton fired the question.

  “If you must know I was looking for a warga-warga bird,” informed Bertie, with a straight face.