"What a pity Angus chose this very moment to maze a break."
"That again may or may not be true," said Biggles. "My own view is, he has been put where we can't get at him. Obviously it wouldn't suit our plausible host to have him spill the beans to us about the place."
"In that case it's a pity we didn't carry right on and find Angus ourselves."
"Unless I'm barking up the wrong tree it was already too late when we got here," opined Biggles. "What I suspect has happened, is this. That negro overseer didn't like the look of us. He rode straight back here and told the Doctor about us—told him that we were looking for Angus Mackail. It may have been a mistake to let the fellow know we were looking for Angus—not that it would have made much difference in the long run.
Liebgarten would have met us anyway, and as we were on his property we could hardly refuse to state our business. As it was, I fancy that as soon as the Doctor learned that we were looking for Angus he sent that negro off with instructions to get him out of our reach, and then came over to delay us while his orders were being carried out. That's probably the real object of this hospitality—that and the fact that the Doctor wants us to keep us where he can see us. We saw that negro ride away, so if my guess is right that tells us the direction of Angus' farm, even though he may no longer be on it."
"But could this black foreman get Angus to leave—I mean, without using force ? "
"Quite easily, I should say. He would only have to concoct a tale about somebody wanting to see him. Why should Angus doubt it ? Make no mistake, though ; the reason why the Doctor doesn't use force is because it hasn't so far been necessary. He'll use it all right when other methods fail. This velvet glove stuff only lasts while it works ; experience has taught me that the softer the glove the harder is the iron fist inside it when the glove comes off, as it usually does, sooner or later. It boils down to this. Angus has been put away somewhere. That means we've lost the first trick, but it's too early to start kicking up a fuss. Our best plan now is to play the Doctor's own game. If he thinks he's got us fooled, so well and good. He'll soon get tired of having us here. Nor do I want to stay, if it comes to that. But just as it suits him to have us where he can see us, so does it suit me to have him where I can see him."
"Then everybody should be happy," observed Ginger without conviction.
"Let us say rather, everyone will pretend to be happy," corrected Biggles. "The thing that worries me most is the safety of the aircraft. Let's try looking at the picture from the Doctor's angle. The question he is asking himself, and it's a question he's got to answer before he can have any peace of mind, is this : how did we suddenly arrive here, out of the blue as it were, without him getting word of our approach ? He has the only boat on the river. He has the natives working for him. Yet here we are, right in the middle of his beautiful paradise. He may send scouts down the river to look for our boat, and if he does they may spot the aircraft. He may not. I tried to put him off doing that by saying that our boat was not waiting—which is as true as makes no difference."
"What's Liebgarten up to now do you suppose ? "
"My guess is that he's having a word with his negro henchman, asking him what he's done with Angus and making further plans to prevent us from getting in touch with him.
He may also remove beyond our reach any other British subjects who might seize the opportunity to tell us how they were tricked by that lying advertisement."
"Then what are we sitting here for ? Isn't it time we got busy ? "
"It is, really, but what would you have us do ? It's no use starting to run in circles round the valley, which, you may have noticed, covers a good many square miles. We should probably find nothing, get sunstroke, and show our hand to the Doctor. I'd like to see a little more of him before we break off what the newspapers call diplomatic relations. I must say those funny teeth and eyes of his give me the willies. I'm never sure whether he'
s looking at me or not. I want him to do some more talking—he may let something drop.
As a result of what I've heard already I have an increasing feeling that there's more going on here than meets the eye. When he was lamenting the lack of machinery, for instance, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he didn't get some, 'because, as we know, he's had enough money out of the people here to provide them with all they need. If he was genuine he'd do that. Then I thought again. He must be doing something else with that money, but he's not likely to tell us what it is."
"You haven't overlooked the possibility of his keeping it for his own use ? "said Ginger with gentle sarcasm.
"No," answered Biggles. "But somehow I don't think he is. How much does he want, for heavens sake ? He must have collected a tidy fortune already. Why stay here and risk losing the lot when he could quite well retire and have the time of his life ? No, there's another anchor holding him, and before I depart, if only to satisfy my curiosity, I'm going to find out what it is. We still hold one trump card. He knows nothing about Linton getting out so he may well think that we are what we pretend to be—casual callers. In that case he has every reason to think he's got us fooled. Quiet now—here he comes. Be careful what you say."
Liebgarten came back into the room mopping his face with a large handkerchief. "You're in the best place," he assured them. "It's most uncomfortably hot outside. I'm sorry to say I've been unable to gather any further news about your friend. I'm afraid he chose an ill-timed moment to go off somewhere. Had he wanted to go home, which I can hardly believe, he could have gone with you. No doubt you could have given him a trip less ardous than the one he will have if he tries to make his way through the forest."
Biggles saw the verbal trap and stepped over it. "Yes, it's a pity," he agreed. "He may not have gone far. As you say, he would hardly be likely to depart without coming to you to tell you his intention, and to say his farewells. He'll probably turn up again presently. In fact, I'm so sure of it that if you have no objection we will this afternoon walk down to his farm and wait for a while." Biggles smiled. "I'm looking forward to seeing his face when he walks in and sees us sitting there."
The Doctor chuckled, showing his metal teeth. "That should give him the surprise of his life. No, my dear sir, I have no objection. Why should you suppose that I might have ? "
Biggles smiled again. "Of course, I didn't seriously suppose that you would object. That was only my natural courtesy expressing itself." His tone had the merest suspicion of banter in it.
"I'd come with you and show you the place myself were it not that I have several things to do—things that should have been done this morning," said the Doctor. "But I'll send one of my foremen with you."
"That's very thoughtful of you, but there's really no need to do that," parried Biggles, who, nevertheless, had not supposed that they would be allowed to wander about the valley at will.
"No, it's better that you should have someone with you," insisted the Doctor. "The valley is extensive and you might easily get lost—or at any rate, waste a lot of time looking for the right farm."
Seeing that the Doctor had no intention of letting them go alone, Biggles submitted. "
Perhaps it's better as you say," he agreed. "But, naturally, I should be sorry if our visit here put you to any inconvenience."
"Please don't mention that word again, my dear sir," protested Liebgarten. "Anything I can do for you will be a pleasure. I am at your service—but there, even now I am forgetting my duties as host. Lunch is served. Let us go in."
Ginger threw a quick glance at Biggles, but he was already following the Doctor out of the room into an adjoining one, furnished as a dining-room, where lunch had been laid for four on a magnificent old carved table, black with age, with a surface that gleamed like polished glass. A big bowl of exotic fruits occupied the centre of it.
"You are expecting another guest I see ? " queried Biggles, noting the fourth place, as they seated themselves in chairs indicated by the Doctor.
"No. It was the place I had laid
for Mackail," was the sauve reply.
Ginger did not overlook the significance of this apparently casual remark. The Doctor had declared his intention of asking Angus to lunch, knowing perfectly well that he would not be there. Yet he had not omitted to provide a place to prove that the invitation was genuine. It revealed that their host was thorough in his scheming ; that he overlooked no detail, however small. It began to look, thought Ginger with a twinge of anxiety, as if Biggles had met an opponent worthy of his metal.
The meal was the last word in taste and service. The several dishes put on were choice, and the wine would have graced the table of a nobleman. Biggles ate little, drank little and said little. Ginger knew that he was thinking hard—not that he carried this to the point of discourtesy. But it seemed that the Doctor was doing some serious thinking, too, and the conversation was confined to generalities, the weather, politics, the state of Europe and America. As if by tacit consent the war was not mentioned, which strengthened Ginger's belief that Liebgarten was not only a German, as his name implied, but had Nazi sympathies. With the war over for some time, and many grievances adjusted, an ordinary German citizen need not have been so sensitive about it. With a Nazi it would be different. Defeat might still rankle.
As he finished his coffee Biggles reaffirmed his intention of taking a walk as far as Angus' farm, which they now learned was officially known in the valley as Section 23.
Numbers, averred the Doctor, were more easily remembered than names, and as the farms were laid out in numerical order the locality of any particular one could be found instantly on the general map in the Doctor's room.
Ginger suspected that the real reason for this was because otherwise the farms would be constantly changing their names owing to the deaths of the men who owned them.
However, he did not say so.
The Doctor would have had them wait until, as he put it, the sun had lost most of its heat
; but Biggles argued that the sooner he had done what he had come to do, the sooner would he be at liberty to dispose of his time as he wished. The Doctor did not press his point so they rose from the table and retired to the hall, where Ginger was not surprised to see the black foreman waiting. His manner was now very different from what it had been on the occasion of their first meeting—due, no doubt, thought Ginger, to instructions issued by the Doctor. He stood, sombrero in hand, smiling sheepishly, a trifle nervously, as if this was intended to convey an apology for his earlier behaviour.
"This is Pedro, one of my personal servants," the Doctor told them. "He knows the ground and keeps me informed of all that is happening."
"I'll bet he does," thought Ginger grimly. But here again he did not speak his thoughts aloud.
"He will be your guide to Section 23," went on the Doctor. "I would not advise you to wait too long. The infernal mosquitoes come up as the sun goes down."
Biggles thanked him for the warning. Actually, he had no intention of spending more time at the place than circumstances demanded, being quite sure in his mind that whatever else he found there he would not find Angus.
In this belief, as events were to prove, he was correct.
The walk to Section 23 occupied half an hour, being nearly two miles up-river from the central part of the colony. Pedro walked a little ahead, leaving his charges to follow ; which is not to say that he was careless of what they did ; far from it ; he looked round every few minutes either to make sure they were there or to observe what they were doing.
A number of men and a few women were working on their plots of land, although none was within speaking distance. Sometimes they stopped work to watch the passing of the strangers. Biggles made no attempt to get in touch with them, for one reason because he could not see how it would serve any useful purpose, and for another, he didn't want to upset Pedro. He felt sure that any attempt to leave the path would lead to argument which, at this stage, was better avoided.
There were huts, the so-called farms, at more or less regular intervals. Usually these were small, designed for a single man or a married couple ; but there were others obviously designed to hold several emigrants. On one of the rare occasions that Biggles spoke to Pedro it was to comment on these communal huts. He asked if Mr. Mackail occupied one of them.
Pedro replied in the negative. He said that Senor Mackail had a home of his own, one that he had built himself. He had been allowed to do so as a reward for his hard work.
Ginger was rather puzzled about the expression 'hard work ' ; but when they reached Section 23, as Pedro informed them, he saw at a glance that it was in better condition than most. True, the hut itself was crude. Built of rough timber it could hardly be otherwise. But not only had an attempt been made at a vegetable patch, a piece of ground of some two or three acres had actually been cultivated. A crop of grain had been raised, for the stubble was still there. Recalling what the Doctor had said about the grain and its disappearance he did some quick mental arithmetic. The crop, he thought, had been maize ; but if the yield was anything like in proportion with the area cultivated, then Angus must have harvested several bushels. That he had carried these away with him on his back Ginger was not prepared to believe, so for the first time a serious flaw appeared in the Doctor's statement.
He spoke to Biggles in a low voice. "Poor old Angus," he murmured. "He must have lost some sweat tilling that ground by hand."
"He may have had a definite object in view," answered Biggles meaningly.
" What object ? "
"He must have wanted that corn for a purpose or he wouldn't have raised it. One could think of several purposes, but the most obvious one is, he intended to get a stock of food together for a break-out."
"But he couldn't carry all the corn that he must have harvested here ? "
"He may have swapped some of it to other people for things that would be useful to him.
Or he may have established a number of caches along his route, enough to see him through the forest. There's also a chance that, like Linton, he got hold of a canoe."
"Then you really think he may have bolted ? "
"No, I don't. But I think he intended to. His one thought would be escape, and whatever he did would be to that end. The next few minutes may provide the answer. The absence of the corn means nothing. Liebgarten could
have had it moved to lend colour to his story."
Pedro had walked on to the hut and thrown open the door. After a glance inside he sat down on the doorstep and lit a cigarette with the air of a man who has done his job and has no further interest.
With mounting curiosity Ginger walked with Biggles to the hut and looked inside.
Biggles went on in, lit a cigarette, and then subjected the place to a searching scrutiny.
This did not take long, for there was only one room, which had been made to serve all purposes. A small door led to a lean-to, with a back exit, at the far side. It contained firewood. A straw-filled palliasse, raised a few
inches from the ground by boards across two logs, comprised the bed. There was a simple home-made table, and a similar hair. An old packing-case made a receptacle for odds and ends. On it stood a tin washing-bowl with a towel and razor beside it. A few rags of clothes hung from nails on the wall. One garment brought a lump into Ginger's throat—a pair of cut-down R.A.F. officer's slacks. These left no doubt as to the ownership of the hut, for on the seat was a patch of oil which Ginger recognised. He had been present when Angus had sat on a chock on which a careless mechanic had left a pool of lubricating oil.
There was really nothing else. A few sun-dried clay bricks, with an opening above to allow smoke to escape, made a fireplace. Over it a battered saucepan rested on two iron bars. A frying-pan hung from a hook. Primitive as the place was, it was clean. A few small photographs, fastened with thorns, decorated the walls. One of these, after a swift glance to make sure that Pedro was not looking, Biggles removed and put in his pocket ; but not before Ginger had caught a glimpse of it. It was a snapshot of a group of o
fficers taken outside No. 666 Squadron Mess during the war. Biggles, Ginger, Algy and Bertie were all in it.
Biggles looked at Ginger and made a grimace. "I hope the Doctor hasn't looked closely at that," he muttered. "If he has, then we're kidding ourselves. He must know who we are.
But somehow I don't think he can have seen it—it wasn't exactly conspicuous. Anyhow, it's better out of the way. There doesn't seem to be anything else. Let's go outside.", Pedro was still sitting on the step. He glanced up as they passed, but did not speak.
Biggles strolled on a little way until he judged they were out of earshot. Then, glancing round the landscape in a disinterested manner, he said softly. "Angus is still here."
Ginger started. "Are you sure ? "
"Certain." Why ? "
"Do you remember a talisman Angus used to carry ? "
"Perfectly well. It was a buckled Spandau bullet. It went through the engine cowling of his machine one day and fell in his lap without hurting him."
"Quite right. After that he wouldn't move without it." Ginger stared. "So what ? "
"It's inside, on a ledge. If Angus decided to go, I don't think he'd leave his razor or his photos. But if he did, there's one thing he would not leave behind, and that's his bullet."
35 Biggles Takes A Holiday Page 6
