by W E Johns
‘So Caine’s been bleating,’ growled Thompson.
‘So will you bleat if one day you get the sharp edge of a razor on your face, as seems not unlikely the way you’re behaving.’
Thompson, now white-faced, made a gesture. ‘Okay. What are you going to do about it?’
‘That, to some extent, depends on you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You really want me to tell you?’
‘Yes. I have a right to know.’
Biggles shook his head sadly. ‘It’s extraordinary how people who break the law, when they’re found out, start talking about their rights. But let it pass. Very well. Let’s get down to brass tacks.’ Biggles lit a cigarette.
‘Let’s have a light on the scene,’ Thompson said, getting up and switching on the single electric bulb that hung down from the ceiling.
CHAPTER 12
THE TRUTH COMES OUT
When Thompson had resumed his seat Biggles continued: ‘You say you want to know what I’m doing about this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well. For the time being the answer is nothing. What I do in the future will depend on how far you’ve got yourself involved in the improper practices that have been going on from this airfield. That is something I shall learn in due course, with or without your help. That happens to be my job. I don’t go about making trouble, but when I find it I try to put it right. That’s what I’m paid for. Someone would have to do it, if not me. There’s a lot of funny business going on in aviation these days, now that crooks have discovered that aircraft can be made to serve their purposes. At this stage of our proceedings my advice to you is to come clean and tell me all you know.’
‘And if I refuse to talk?’
Biggles shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. Please yourself. Send for your lawyer if you like. You’re under no compulsion to incriminate yourself. But I’ll tell you this. I know enough already to have this place closed down and cancel your pilot’s licence. The man I’m after is Lazor. He’s wanted on several charges. You know, of course, that he’s an escaped prisoner. He got away from Dartmoor some time ago.’
Thompson stared. ‘I certainly did not know that.’ He spoke with difficulty, but with an emphasis that suggested it was the truth.
‘I believe you,’ Biggles said. ‘I would hardly expect him to tell you.’
‘This explains a mystery.’
‘How so?’
‘When Lazor first came to stay in the village he told me his name was Grey.’
‘He would hardly dare to use his real name — it had been too often in the newspapers,’ put in Biggles dryly. ‘How did you learn his real name?’
‘When he applied for membership of the club. By that time he knew what I was doing. We first got into conversation at the village pub. That was natural because he wore an R.A.F. tie. We don’t take just anybody, and for insurance reasons alone we have to be careful who we allow to use our machines. When he asked about joining the club he said he was a qualified pilot. To prove it he had to produce his logbook. It was in the name of Lazor. I asked him why he was calling himself Grey. He told me confidentially that it was because he had left his wife and didn’t want her to find him.’
‘And you accepted that?’
‘Why not? It sounded reasonable. His domestic troubles were no concern of mine.’
Biggles smiled faintly. ‘Lazor’s an expert at finding reasons for anything. Go on. Did Lazor give any reason for wanting to join your club?’
‘Not at first. That came later, when he learned I had a plane of my own.’
‘He had ideas of how it could be used to your mutual profit, no doubt?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he want you to do? You might as well finish the story,’ prompted Biggles.
‘He asked me to drop a message for him. This happened only recently.’
‘Where was this message to be dropped?’
‘In France.’’
‘He had a reason for that, too, I imagine.’
‘Yes. It was a birthday greeting for his girl friend. She lived on the edge of a big field near Berck, just the other side of the Channel. She’d be waiting to collect the message.’
‘By a message you mean simply a letter?’
‘No. It was a package. A present.’
‘What was in this package?’
‘I’ve no idea. I didn’t ask him.’
‘But you did as he suggested?’
‘Not yet. He only gave it to me a few days ago and I’ve been waiting for the right sort of weather. It would have to be done at night. I wouldn’t have risked a trip like that in broad daylight for fear of being spotted.’
‘So you knew this was an illegal enterprise?’
‘Of course.’
‘How was the girl to know she was to collect a message?’
‘If I blipped my engine she’d come out and show a light. I was to drop the packet as close to it as possible.’
Biggles shook his head. ‘You must have been crazy to take on such a job. It could have landed you in gaol.’
‘I know, but Lazor seemed such a decent fellow...’
‘I know — I know. The point is, have you still got this packet?’
‘Yes.’
‘That could be lucky for you. Where is it?’
‘Here, in my safe.’
‘Mind if I have a look at it?’
Thompson hesitated. ‘It isn’t my property.’
‘I doubt very much if it’s the property of the man who gave it to you, either,’ retorted Biggles, grimly.
Thompson took a bunch of keys from the drawer of his desk, went to a safe against the wall, unlocked it and took out a small brown paper parcel to which was attached a long black and white cotton streamer. As he walked back to Biggles with it in his hand, Ginger leapt to his feet staring at the window. Then, without a word he made a dash for the door and disappeared. He was away about a minute. When he walked back into the room Biggles said: ‘What was all that about?’
‘I could have sworn I saw a face at us through the window,’ Ginger explained. ‘When I went out I couldn’t see anyone. It may have been a shadow.’
Biggles did not comment. He was looking at the package which Thompson had handed to him.
Said Thompson: ‘As you know so much perhaps you know what’s in it.’ There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
‘I could make a guess,’ replied Biggles quietly.
‘What would you say?’
‘Some jewellery. Possibly a string of pearls.’
‘Pearls. What rot!’
‘Let’s see if I’m right.’ As he said this Biggles picked up a pair of scissors that lay on Thompson’s desk.
‘You can’t do that,’ protested Thompson.
‘Why not?’
‘It isn’t yours. As you can see it’s addressed to a woman.’
Looking at Thompson’s face Biggles said: ‘You’re sure you don’t know what’s inside this?’
‘How the hell would I know? I don’t open other people’s mail.’
‘It might be as well if you did — this sort of mail,’ replied Biggles, as he proceeded to cut open the package.
‘There’ll be trouble about this,’ declared Thompson.
‘You’re dead right, and you look like being in the thick of it,’ said Biggles coolly.
He removed the outer wrapping to reveal a small cardboard box. He opened it. Without speaking, from a nest of cotton wool he lifted a long pearl necklace. He held it up. Then, after a glance at Thompson’s face he allowed the pearls to fall back in the box. He put it in his pocket.
‘I’m taking charge of this,’ he stated. ‘It’s stolen property. Now you see what you were doing, how do you feel about it?’
‘I’d no idea...’ blurted Thompson, now as white as the proverbial lily.
‘Maybe not, but you must have known you were playing a dangerous game.’
‘It’s the first time, o
n my oath,’ declared Thompson. In a resigned voice he went on: ‘I must have been crazy. Okay. So I’m caught. What are you going to do with me? I suppose I’m under arrest!’
‘Not for the moment. But don’t try to run away. I shall want to know where I can find you.’
‘I live at the Green Man — the pub in the village.’
‘You live alone?’
‘No. With my wife.’
‘Very well. We’ll leave things like that for the time being. Now you’d better tell me where I can find Lazor. He’s dangerous, so after this you’d better keep clear of him.’
‘He’s here,’ muttered Thompson.
‘You mean — on the aerodrome?’
‘Yes. Or he was half an hour ago. I was just going to join him when you turned up. We were going back to the pub together.’
‘Was it to speak to him that you went out shortly after we came in?’
‘Yes. I went to tell him I might be held up for a few minutes.’
‘Did you tell him why?’
‘I had to give a reason for the delay. I said I had visitors.’
‘Did you tell him who the visitors were?’
‘I said two detectives had arrived from Scotland Yard.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘He told me to come back to you, but I was to refuse to say anything. You couldn’t force me to talk.’
‘Pity you didn’t tell me about this earlier. I imagine he’ll be on his way by now, leaving you to face the music.’
At this moment there came from outside a sound which was familiar to everyone in the office. It was the hiss and burst of noise made by an aero engine being started.
Two swift strides took Biggles to the window. It was now practically dark, but there was still just enough light for the Moth to be seen taxiing out to the runway.
‘Who’s in that machine?’ rapped out Biggles.
‘It must be Lazor. There’s no other pilot here except me.’
There was a rush for the door. By the time they were all outside the Moth was running tail up, on the point of taking off.
‘So we’ve lost him,’ snapped Biggles. ‘And I fancy you have lost your Moth, Thompson. How much petrol was there in the tank?’
‘Not much. Half an hour at the outside. I had her up this morning, testing. She was running low in fuel when I came in. That’s why I left her out, to be topped up later.’
‘I’ll see which way he goes,’ Ginger said tersely, and raced towards the Auster that had brought them down.
‘Wait!’ shouted Biggles.
Ginger ignored the order; but he may not have heard it above the noise of the Moth, now airborne.
Biggles started to run after him, but stopped when he saw Ginger was already in the cockpit with the engine running. He stood and watched the Auster take off, then returned to Thompson.
‘What are you going to do now?’ inquired Thompson cynically.
‘I shall stay here,’ Biggles said shortly. ‘I take it you have a car?’
‘Yes. But what good will that do you? You can’t chase a plane in a car.’
‘We shall see.’
‘See? How? What are you talking about?’
‘My machine is fitted with short wave radio.’
‘But we can’t receive signals here.’
‘No, I wouldn’t expect that; but they can be received by my staff pilots at the Yard. They can phone any news to me here. I’ll ring them and warn them what has happened, then they’ll be ready. What about you? Are you going to co-operate with me, or are you taking sides with Lazor?’
‘I haven’t much choice, have I?’ replied Thompson lugubriously.
‘No, you haven’t, unless you want to end up really in the soup. Tell me this. Do you know if Lazor has had any experience of night flying?’
‘Not to my knowledge. If he has, it wasn’t here. Why do you ask?’
‘Because, obviously, if he hasn’t he’s likely to break something, possibly his neck, trying to get back on the ground. I imagine there are no navigational aids in your Moth?’
‘Nothing like that. Just the usual instruments, that’s all.’
‘Then Lazor may come down no great distance from here. If my assistant goes down after him he’ll need help. After what’s happened Lazor will not only be dangerous, but desperate. It must have been he who was peeping at us through the window. If he saw you handing me the pearls you’ll have to watch your step, too, if you want to keep your face in one piece. I’ve told you what he’s done to Caine.’
‘Will your assistant be able to keep in touch with the Moth in these conditions?’
‘If he finds him and gets on his tail he’s not likely to be shaken off. But it’s time I got on the phone.’
They went back into the office. ‘You needn’t stay if you don’t want to,’ Biggles said. ‘I can manage if you leave me your car.’
‘I’ll stay,’ decided Thompson. ‘I want to know what happens to my machine. All the money I have in the world is tied up in that aircraft.’
‘If you’d been more careful in your choice of friends you’d have no cause to worry about it,’ Biggles pointed out with scant sympathy.
He put through a priority call to Scotland Yard and was soon telling Algy what had happened. ‘Ginger will know he can’t contact me here, but he’ll realize that if he speaks to you you’ll be able to tell me where he is and what he’s doing. You know my number here — 79791. I’ll stand by. You should be getting a signal pretty soon because when the Sheikh finds he’s running out of petrol he’ll be glad to get on the ground anywhere. There is this about it; he hasn’t enough petrol to get out of the country. Okay. Better tell your switchboard operator to keep this line open. It’s urgent and important.’
Biggles hung up. ‘All we can do now is wait,’ he told Thompson, lighting a cigarette.
‘I’ve been a fool,’ Thompson said bitterly.
‘I thought you might arrive at that conclusion,’ returned Biggles. ‘It’s a bit late in the day, but better late than never,’ he concluded cheerfully.
‘The weather’s pretty murky,’ observed Thompson from the window. ‘Do you think this chap of yours, Ginger, will be able to stick with Lazor?’
‘He should, but much will depend on the weather. He has the legs of him and he’s an old hand at this sort of exercise. If he should lose him he’ll come back here and tell me about it.’ Biggles stubbed his cigarette and lit another. Silence fell.
CHAPTER 13
MORE MYSTERY
For what must have been getting on for twenty minutes nothing happened. After looking at his watch Biggles commented: ‘If you’re right about the amount of petrol the Moth had on board Lazor must be getting near the end of his tether.’
Then the phone rang. It was Algy. He said: ‘Ginger has been through. He’s still tailing the Moth. He says it started off towards the coast as if the Sheikh might be making for France. Then something seemed to make him change his mind and he struck off on a new course northwest. He’s still on it, losing height. Cloud is breaking up from the west. Ginger says he doesn’t think the Sheikh has spotted him, but his flying is a bit erratic as if he’s not sure of himself. That’s all. Hold the line clear. I’ll come back when there’s more news.’
Biggles hung up and passed this information on to Thompson, who answered: ‘I’d have thought Lazor would have been able to give your pal the slip in the clouds.’
To which Biggles replied: ‘He might if he spots him. I’d say he’s too taken up with what he’s doing to bother to look behind him. No doubt Ginger will stick in the blind spot under his tail. Lazor will want to keep within sight of the ground, I imagine. With no artificial horizon or other blind-flying instruments he’s probably wise to do that, particularly if he hasn’t had much experience of night flying. If he found himself in heavy cloud anything could happen.’
‘So now he’s heading north-west,’ Thompson said. ‘Where does he think he’s going? What’s he looking
for? I’m thinking of what’s likely to happen to my machine.’
Biggles answered: ‘Maybe he’s simply looking for a safe place to get back on the carpet. No doubt when he left here he was only concerned with getting away from me. Wait a minute, though. North-west. By now he should be over Hampshire. He knows that country from visiting Caine’s farm. That could be his objective. He knows all about that landing field at Twotrees Farm. So do you. You landed him there at least once, to my knowledge.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Thompson. ‘He may be reckoning on hiding up in the house. I know there’s a stock of canned food there.’
The phone rang again. Biggles listened. Algy spoke, now in a voice brittle with excitement. He said: ‘Ginger says the Sheikh is trying to get down at Caine’s farm. He’s overshot twice... circling again for another try. Hang on.’ There was a delay, then Algy came back — with an exclamation. ‘He’s done it! He’s overshot again and piled up in the trees. Ginger’s going down to see if he’s hurt.’ Another pause. Then Algy spoke more slowly. ‘Nothing more coming through. I think Ginger must have landed.’
‘I’ll hang on to see if he comes back,’ Biggles said.
A minute passed. Algy said: ‘Nothing coming through. He must be on the ground.’
‘I’ll hold on,’ Biggles said.
Two or three minutes passed before he spoke again. ‘You still there, Algy?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Algy.
‘Still no news?’
‘Not a word.’
‘Okay. I agree, Ginger must be on the floor. He may be hurt. I’m going to the farm to find out what’s happened. Send Bertie along to meet me there. I may need help. That’s all.’ With that Biggles hung up. Turning to Thompson he said tersely, ‘I’m going to Hampshire. Twotrees Farm. It sounds as if there’s been a mess. Lazor’s crashed, and Ginger, my assistant, appears to have gone down to help him. When I was last at the farm the police were there, but they’ve probably gone by now, in which case there’ll be no sort of help within miles, I shall have to borrow your car.’
‘It would be quicker to fly down.’
‘In what?’
‘One of our Aiglets is serviceable, ready for the morning. Why not take it?’
