Biggles in the Underworld

by W E Johns

  Caine’s lips moved. ‘So you — managed to — find me!’

  ‘That wasn’t very difficult.’

  ‘You know what happened?’

  ‘I can guess. We were at the farm last night shortly after you left. In fact, Bertie Lissie here, one of my chaps, was watching the farm when you came out in a hurry. I was coming up the hill in a car. I imagine it was you who nearly knocked me off the road.’

  Caine nodded. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t stop. Did you — get him?’

  ‘If you mean Nick Lazor, no. When he found himself trapped in the barn he set fire to it and bolted. The whole thing went up in flames — and of course, the plane went with it. Did it belong to you — or him?’

  ‘It was — mine.’

  ‘Too bad. But as I told you at the club, people who hob-nob with crooks usually get the dirty end of the stick at the finish.’

  ‘All right. You needn’t — rub it in.’

  ‘Was the plane insured?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bad luck. What about this so-called farm? Who does that belong to?’

  ‘Me. That is, it’s in my name. It was — Lazor’s suggestion. He said he could show me how to make some easy money.’

  ‘What made him turn on you?’

  ‘I told him what you said. That he was a crook. He didn’t like it. Lost his temper.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘I thought it might be something like that.’

  ‘Why does he carry — that ghastly — weapon?’

  Biggles smiled wanly. ‘There are different theories about that. Some say it’s to mark anyone who lets him down so that the underworld will know the victim isn’t to be trusted. The scar is known to crooks as Nick’s mark. Personally I think it’s a form of vanity. He thinks it’s smart. It’s the oriental streak in him coming out. The point is, how do you feel about him now you know what sort of a rat he really is?’

  ‘I’ll kill the little swine for what he’s done to me — after all I did for him.’

  ‘That won’t do you any good. You’d do better to let us deal with him. What exactly did you do for him?’

  ‘Ran errands for him — to France.’

  ‘That was naughty of you. I take it you were paid?’

  ‘Yes. But I really only did it for the fun of it. I have some money of my own — not much, but enough.’

  ‘Dangerous sort of fun, Caine,’ Biggles said reprovingly. ‘You knew he was a crook.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t think he was really bad.’

  ‘Well, now you know. Other people have made the same mistake. All I can say is you’re well shot of him. How did you come to meet him?’

  ‘First in Aden. He joined my squadron there. Then we met at the club he owns in Soho.’

  ‘You mean — he owns the Icarian Club?’

  ‘So he told me.’

  ‘And Nestos, the manager, is a friend of his?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Does Lazor live at the club?’

  ‘I don’t think so, although I believe he has stayed there.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘I don’t know. He has never told me. It was one day at the club I told him I had a plane. The next day he came to see me with a scheme, and I must admit I fell for it; chiefly, I think, because I liked him. He can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Other people have discovered that. A smooth tongue is his chief stock-in-trade. But let’s get down to brass tacks. Did he tell you he was a gaol-breaker on the run and the police were looking for him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know about a valuable pearl necklace that was stolen recently from the Barchester Hotel in London?’

  ‘No. I had nothing to do with that. This is the first I’ve heard of it. You think Lazor pinched it?’

  ‘We’ve reason to think so.’ Seeing that Caine was beginning to look exhausted under this questioning, Biggles went on: ‘We’d better be going. You can’t help us by giving us an idea of where Lazor might have gone?’

  Caine thought for a moment. ‘Now he knows you’re on his track he might have gone abroad.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By air. I’m not the only man he knows who has a plane.’

  ‘Indeed! How do you know that?’

  ‘One day not long ago a fellow landed on my private patch at Twotrees Farm. He brought Lazor down.’

  ‘What was this chap’s name?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t stay long and we weren’t introduced. Lazor simply referred to him as Tommy.’

  ‘What was the machine?’

  ‘One of the early type Moths.’

  ‘Did you notice the registration?’

  ‘No. I only saw the machine at a distance.’

  ‘You said just now that when you saw Lazor at the club he put up a proposition to you. What was it?’

  Caine was about to answer when the door opened and the doctor came in. ‘Sorry, but that must be enough for now,’ he said shortly. Looking at the man in the bed he went on: ‘He shouldn’t be talking at all until his wound heals. Give him a few more days and he can talk as much as he likes.’

  ‘How long is he likely to be here, doctor?’ asked Biggles, rising.

  ‘A week at least. Perhaps longer. It depends on how well the wound heals, and we can take the stitches out.’

  ‘Just one last question. Where will you go, Caine, when you leave here? I shall want to know where I can find you.’

  ‘I shall have to think about it. Probably to the flat.’

  ‘I see. Okay. I’ll see you again when you’re better.’

  ‘So you’re not going to arrest me?’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Not yet, anyway. What happens will depend on how you behave yourself. So long.’

  After they had left the hospital Biggles said to Bertie: ‘We didn’t get much out of him, but I think he told us as much as he knows. At all events, I think he’s now in the mood to co-operate.’

  ‘I should think so, too, after what the Sheikh has done to him,’ returned Bertie, grimly. ‘Where now?’

  ‘We’ll press on to the farm. I don’t expect we shall learn much there, but one never knows.’

  Half an hour later they were at Twotrees Farm. Biggles drove straight up the drive to the house. He was not surprised to see a police car outside the back door and the door open. Inside were two uniformed police officers, an inspector and a sergeant. They looked askance at Biggles and Bertie when they entered. ‘Who are you?’ the inspector wanted to know.

  ‘We’re from Scotland Yard,’ informed Biggles, introducing himself and Bertie. ‘Don’t let us disturb you. When I left my Chief this morning he said he’d be getting in touch with you. We merely wanted to have a look round. Do you mind?’

  ‘Help yourself. I don’t think you’ll find much here. How much do you know about this?’

  ‘Quite a bit. Matter of fact we weren’t far away when it happened.’

  ‘What were you doing here?’

  ‘We had a tip-off that Lazor, alias Nick the Sheikh, who got away from Dartmoor two years ago, might be here.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He got away.’

  ‘You should have left it to us,’ the inspector said shortly.

  ‘Had I known what I know now I’d have been only too delighted,’ returned Biggles, with a touch of asperity. ‘We were trailing a man whom we thought might lead us to Lazor. Lissie came here alone. When I didn’t hear from him I came down to find out what had happened. When I arrived on the scene he’d been trapped in a hay barn. When the Sheikh, otherwise Lazor, saw me he pulled a gun and used it. That’s what set the place on fire. The rick was burnt out. There was a plane hidden in it. I thought there might be one about. I run the Air Section at the Yard. That’s what really brought me here. That was after midnight and pitch-dark. To make a long story short, we lost sight of Lazor and at the finish he got away in my friend’s car.’

  ‘What’
s all this blood? Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘The man we were trailing came here. The Sheikh was already here. Apparently there was a row and the Sheikh got to work with his favourite weapon — a razor. The other man got the edge of it and bolted. This is how we found things when we came in. If you ever meet the Sheikh, Inspector, you’d do well to remember that razor.’

  ‘I’d like to see him try that on me,’ growled the inspector.

  ‘He might, at that,’ murmured Biggles. ‘Of course, this happened before we got here, so we don’t know the details. As it was in the early hours of the morning there wasn’t much we could do about it, so we went back to the Yard to report.’

  ‘One way and another you seem to have made a mess of it,’ observed the Inspector.

  Biggles smiled faintly. ‘As you say. But we haven’t finished yet. You see if you can do any better. By the way, last night there was an Alsatian here, which didn’t make things any easier. Where is it?’

  ‘We’ve packed it off to our kennels out of the way.’

  ‘What are you going to do about this mess, if I may ask?’

  ‘Oh, we shall proceed with our inquiries in our own way,’ replied the inspector airily.

  ‘Okay. Go ahead. We’ll just have a look round, and at what’s left of the plane, and push off.’

  ‘You won’t find anything. We’ve been over the place with a tooth-comb. However, that needn’t stop you looking, if that’s how you feel.’

  Biggles nodded, and began his inspection, which did not take long. As the inspector had said, there appeared to be little in the way of helpful evidence. When, watched by the two policemen, he had finished, he went out.

  As they walked towards the burnt-out barn Bertie questioned: ‘Did you notice anything?’

  ‘One little thing our friend the inspector may have overlooked,’ Biggles answered. ‘It may mean nothing or it may mean a lot. On the cover of the telephone directory someone had scribbled a number; presumably a phone number. I’ve memorized it. Caine may know what it means. Or the Sheikh may have written it. I’ll ask Caine if he knows anything about it.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything to the inspector about Caine.’

  ‘Why should I? He made it clear that he didn’t want any help from us. Aside from that, I don’t want him doing any high-handed stuff with Caine while he’s in the state he’s in. To upset him at the moment might do more harm than good. I’ll call and see Caine on the way home.’

  All they found at the barn, or where the barn had been, was its iron skeleton and a mass of cinders from which protruded the metal parts of the plane. This told them nothing they did not already know, so they wasted no time on it.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ Biggles said. ‘We’ll call at the hospital on the way. There’s just a chance that Caine may be able to tell us something about the telephone number. There is this about it,’ he concluded, tartly. ‘The Sheikh won’t do any more flying in this machine; so the chances are he’s still somewhere in this country. If we did nothing else here we cut off his escape by air, if that was the purpose of keeping an aeroplane here.’

  ‘He may not know what’s happened to it — I mean, if he went off in such a hurry that he didn’t notice the fire,’ Bertie pointed out. ‘In that case he might come back to have a look-see.’

  ‘He might, but I don’t feel like squatting here for days or weeks on the off-chance,’ stated Biggles. ‘Let’s press on.’

  CHAPTER 10

  STILL ON THE TRAIL

  Biggles headed for home via the hospital at Repford.

  On arrival he asked if he could see the doctor only to be told that he was out and wouldn’t be back until later in the day.

  ‘In that case I’d like to see the matron,’ Biggles said. ‘It’s important or I wouldn’t trouble her. I’m anxious to see one of your patients — Mr Caine. It’ll only take a moment.’

  There was a little delay, then the matron appeared. She seemed displeased at being taken from her duties, as was understandable, but when Biggles explained his purpose in returning so soon, she said she would find out if Mr Caine was willing to receive visitors. He was not to be upset. With that she went off, presently to come back to say it would be all right, but they were not to stay long. With that they were taken to Caine’s bedside. He was looking better.

  ‘Sorry to worry you again so soon,’ Biggles said apologetically, ‘but I want you, if you will, to answer a simple question. It’s about a number written on the telephone directory at the farm. It’s T.E. 79791. Does that mean anything to you?’

  Caine’s answer came without hesitation. ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Then it wasn’t you who wrote the number?’

  ‘No. Definitely.’

  ‘And you haven’t any idea whose number it might be?’

  ‘Not the slightest.’

  ‘Who else could it have been?’

  ‘It must have been Lazor. It couldn’t have been anyone else.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s the only person apart from myself who has been to the farm — anyway to the best of my knowledge.’

  ‘Do you ever remember him using the phone?’

  ‘No. But that doesn’t mean he never did use it. He might have made a call when I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Does that mean he was sometimes alone at the farm?’

  ‘Yes. Occasionally I found him there when I arrived. He had come to use the farm as if it was his own home. Frankly, I thought that was a bit of a nerve and I wasn’t too pleased about it. But what could I do? I didn’t want to upset him by reminding him that it was my house.’

  ‘So he would have used the phone in your absence!’

  ‘Of course. If I wasn’t there I wouldn’t know anything about it, would I?’

  ‘Obviously. Can you think of anyone he might have phoned?’

  ‘No. I suppose he knew other people, but he never said anything to me about them. He was secretive about anything personal. Sorry. I’d help you if I could.’

  ‘I see. Okay. So that settles that. Just one final question. Whose idea was the camouflaged hangar — the dummy hay barn?’

  ‘His.’

  ‘What reason did he give?’

  ‘He said it would be better if nobody saw the plane.’

  ‘Who did he think might see it?’

  ‘He said some official from the Ministry of Agriculture might turn up to check what stock I had at the farm.’

  ‘Why didn’t you keep any stock?’

  ‘I couldn’t be bothered with it. It would mean filling in forms and all that nonsense. When I took the place I thought of raising some cattle; but then I decided against it. They would have been in my way.’

  ‘When you wanted to land on the pasture?’

  ‘Exactly. My own landing ground was really the main idea in taking the farm.’

  ‘It would have been cheaper to join a flying club.’

  ‘I suppose so. But there were reasons why I wanted to be on my own.’

  ‘One last detail. You needn’t answer if you don’t want to. It’s only curiosity on my part. Why did you tell me you’d been chucked out of the RAF?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘You were discharged on medical grounds. Defective vision. I wouldn’t call that being chucked out.’

  ‘It came to the same thing.’

  ‘Was your sight bad?’

  Caine hesitated. ‘No. There was nothing wrong with it,’ he admitted.

  ‘So you faked a discharge. Why?’

  ‘It was an easy way to get out of the Service.’

  ‘Why did you want to leave?’

  ‘Frankly, to make more money.’

  ‘With the help of Lazor?’

  ‘Yes. He had some ideas. They sounded fun.’

  ‘But not so funny now.’

  ‘I was involved before I knew what sort of a man he really was. I had begun to suspect it before you told me at the Icarian.’

  Biggles got up. ‘Well, tha
t’s all. I shall keep in touch with you. Make haste and get well. When you are, keep clear of Lazor.’

  ‘You needn’t tell me that,’ replied Caine, in a hard voice.

  ‘Be seeing you,’ Biggles said as he departed.

  Outside, in the car as they moved off, Bertie said: ‘So we drew a blank.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. We still have the phone number and we know it wasn’t Caine who wrote it. Everything points to it having been written by the Sheikh.’

  ‘You’re sure Caine was telling the truth?’

  ‘As sure as I can be sure of anything in this world. Caine knows now just how he stands with the Sheikh. It may turn out that the Sheikh made the mistake of his life in putting his mark on him. Caine isn’t likely to forget that, or forgive it.’

  ‘How are you going to find out who owns the phone number we’ve been chasing?’

  ‘That shouldn’t be difficult. From the initial letters I think the Sheikh — assuming it was his work — must have made a long-distance call, in which case there’d be a record of it at the Post Office. There might be an easier way than hunting through the Post Office files.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By simply putting a call through to the number with which we’re concerned. That should tell us who lives at the other end of the line.’

  ‘Of course. What a silly ass I am. But hold hard, old boy. Isn’t that a bit risky? I mean to say, if the person who answers is a pal of the Sheikh’s he may smell a rat and put him on his guard.’

  ‘Yes. That’s possible, but as we’re pressed for time we may have to take that risk. As a matter of fact, thinking about it I have a feeling I should know those initial letters of the number. If my memory isn’t at fault I’ve used them myself at one time or another. However, we’ll deal with this little problem when we get back to the Yard.’

  They went on. Little more was said and in due course they arrived back at Headquarters to learn that there had been no developments in their absence. Biggles went straight to his desk and picked up the telephone. ‘Let’s see what the luck’s like,’ he said.

  ‘Meaning what?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘I’m going to call the number I found at the farm to see who answers it.’

  ‘Oh wait a minute, have a heart,’ protested Bertie. ‘How about wolfing a steak and a plate of chips before we play any more games? I’m tottering on my pins for need of something in the old fuel tank. Don’t you ever eat?’