by W E Johns
As it turned out his sense of direction was not at fault. The trees thinned, and there before them in a clearing, on a slope overlooking the sea, was the cabin, a small but solidly built hut of unsquared logs much as Tommy had described it. As they drew near his pace slackened. He stopped.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Biggles. ‘Something wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tommy replied slowly. ‘But I can tell you this much. Someone has been here since I last saw the place.’
‘How do you know?’
‘All this mess.’ With a wave of his arm Tommy indicated an untidy accumulation of cans, cartons and bottles that lay strewn in front of the house. The litter looked as if the empty containers had simply been tossed through the door, or out of the window, for here it lay thickest.
‘You think Mr Campbell may have been back,’ suggested Bertie.
Tommy shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t think so. I can’t see him doing this. When I was here he was most particular about everything being chucked in a hole that had been dug round the back for any rubbish.’
‘Let’s go in,’ Biggles said shortly. A quick step took him to the window. He glanced inside and went on to the door. It was not locked. He opened it and they trooped in. Tommy stopped with an exclamation. ‘Just look at this! Campbell didn’t do that! He kept the place so tidy you’d think a woman lived here.’
His words needed no explanation. The room, to use the common expression, was a pigsty. It was clear that whoever had occupied the place had not troubled to pick up anything that had fallen on the floor. Dirty foot-marks were everywhere. There was even mud on a chair as if someone had rested his feet on the seat. Strewn around the stove was a layer of wood ash. Cigarette ends were everywhere. The door of a cupboard hung ajar. Tommy opened it wide, exposing empty shelves. ‘This is where the stores were kept,’ he said in an astonished voice. ‘Not a sausage.’
‘It looks as if the next castaways won’t be as lucky as you were,’ joked Bertie. ‘The place must have been raided by a pack of wolves.’
‘Wolves don’t carry can-openers,’ put in Biggles curtly. ‘Don’t talk so much. This needs thinking about.’ Stooping he picked up a long cigarette end and examined it closely. ‘Do you know what brand of cigarettes Campbell smoked?’ he asked Tommy.
‘I never saw him smoke a cigarette. He always smoked a pipe.’
‘This is American. That doesn’t mean much. You can buy American cigarettes almost anywhere. Probably get them on the mainland. Tell me, Tommy: did Raulstein smoke?’
‘Sometimes. Not all the time. It was mostly cigars. I never saw him smoke a cigarette.’
Without speaking Biggles touched the butt of a cigar lying on the floor with the toe of his shoe.
‘So you think Raulstein has been here,’ guessed Ginger.
Biggles nodded. ‘Who else could it be? And he didn’t come alone. He had at least one other person with him, someone who smoked cigarettes. Apparently they were here for some time.’
‘What could they have been doing?’ Ginger said.
‘I’ll give you one guess.’
‘The launch that put in at Coopers Creek came on here,’ surmised Bertie.
Again Biggles nodded. ‘That’s how it looks to me. I don’t like this. The big question is, did they find what they were looking for? We’d better find out — and now, without wasting any more time trying to answer riddles. Come on, Tommy. Show us where you put the stuff.’
Tommy did not argue. Knowing what depended on him, it was with anxiety written on his face that he strode to the door and went out. He set off at a good pace, keeping parallel with the shore. Only once did he pause and that was to point to a spur of cliff that jutted out into the sea. ‘That’s the promontory where Raulstein first hid the stuff, like I told you,’ he said. ‘You can see the heap of rocks he piled on it.’
‘Keep going,’ requested Biggles.
Tommy walked on until he was a little way past the promontory; then his progress began to lose impetus. He faltered. Finally he came to a stop, staring, his lower jaw sagging with dismay. He turned shocked eyes to Biggles’ face. ‘Something’s happened,’ he blurted.
‘What? Out with it,’ demanded Biggles.
Tommy pointed. ‘That’s where I put the bag in a hole.’ He seemed to have difficulty in finding words.
‘You mean — under all that stuff?’
‘The stuff wasn’t there then.’
The stuff referred to was a sloping bank of earth and rock from which protruded at all angles the broken-off trunks of trees and a tangle of branches.
‘There must have been a landslide,’ stammered Tommy.
‘We can see that,’ returned Biggles evenly. ‘Where, as near as you can tell, was the foxhole?’
‘I— I don’t know.’
‘Charming,’ murmured Bertie.
Biggles went on. ‘You mean, it’s somewhere under this pile of muck?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pity,’ Biggles said. ‘Don’t worry, Tommy. I shan’t hold you responsible for a landslide.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tommy said miserably. ‘How was I to know this would happen?’
‘You weren’t to know. One never does know what’s going wrong, but you can rely on something to happen. I seem to remember warning you to be prepared for that. Now we know.’ Biggles lit a cigarette.
CHAPTER 9
UNWELCOME VISITORS
AFTER drawing on his cigarette while considering the chaos, Biggles said: ‘Can you form any idea at all, Tommy, of where the foxhole was?’
‘Yes, I think I might be able to do that,’ Tommy answered. ‘Although all the trees being swept down makes the place look different, you understand.’
‘Naturally. Well, it looks as if we’re in for a spot of navvy work. We haven’t time to start that today. We’ve no tools with us, anyway. There is this about it. If Tommy can’t find the hole, knowing where it was, Raulstein wouldn’t be able to find it — even if he knew the stuff was down a hole. Wherefore the bag must still be where Tommy tucked it. We have that consolation.’
Ginger put in a word. ‘Raulstein, having scoffed all the grub in the cabin, must have given up the search and pushed off.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ answered Biggles. ‘I’m afraid this is going to be a long job; still, it’s no use crying over tons of spilt earth and rocks.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s time we were getting back to the rendezvous with Fraser. He may give us a hand when we tell him what’s happened.’
‘Let’s hope he can get here, old boy,’ Bertie said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at the weather.’
The others, taken up with the dilemma presented by the landslide, looked around. Rolling in from the sea was a great blanket of white fog, blotting out everything behind it.
Biggles moved quickly. ‘Let’s get cracking,’ he said tersely. ‘There’s a chance Fraser may have seen this lot coming and dashed across to collect us before the cursed stuff smothers everything. Come on.’ He set off.
In the race that followed, it was obvious within five minutes that it would be lost. Before the party had covered a hundred yards, before the cabin was in sight, the advance waves of clammy moisture had overrun them, so that they had to grope to keep in touch.
‘Keep close,’ ordered Biggles. ‘Let everyone keep hold of the man in front of him, or the next thing someone may blunder over the edge of the cliff.’
He carried on for as long as possible, but eventually he was compelled to halt, the others pressing close. ‘It’s no use,’ he muttered. ‘We can do nothing in this, except perhaps get lost and end up in a bog or go over the cliff. There’s no point in trying to find the landing area, anyhow. Fraser won’t be there. He’ll have more sense than to take off in this. It’d take him all his time to find the island, never mind us. From the way it was travelling, by now the fog will have reached the mainland and he’ll be grounded. Our best bet is the cabin — if we can
find it. We shall have to wait for the stuff to lift, or disperse; that’s all there is to it.’
‘How long is it likely to last, I wonder?’ said Bertie.
‘As far as I’m concerned you’ll have to go on wondering,’ returned Biggles grimly. ‘I wouldn’t know. Till there’s another change in the wind, I suppose. I seem to recall reading that these fogs off the Newfoundland Banks, and we’re in that area, can last for weeks.’
‘Enchanting thought,’ breathed Bertie. ‘Pity Raulstein couldn’t have got adrift somewhere in the tropics.’
‘He didn’t, so you can forget the bananas,’ returned Biggles shortly. ‘Let’s try to get to the cabin and shut this stuff outside, or we’ll soon be as wet as scrubbers. Fraser will realize how we’re fixed. He’ll be over as soon as it’s possible.’
‘We should be able to hear him if he takes off,’ Ginger said.
‘I doubt it. This murk is thick enough to smother anything short of a clap of thunder. Take the lead, Tommy. You may recognize something. For goodness’ sake keep well clear of the cliff.’
They set off, walking slowly in single file, each man with a hand resting on the shoulder of the man in front of him. They marched in a world that had suddenly become, without the incessant mewing of the gulls, unnaturally silent. They, too, apparently, had departed, or sought sanctuary on the face of the cliffs.
As it turned out Tommy proved a good guide and the litter of rubbish round the cabin was reached without mishap. They went in. Biggles closed the door, and having wiped the accumulated beads of moisture from his eyebrows lit a cigarette. ‘Get the stove going, one of you,’ he ordered. ‘At least we have some logs. We might as well keep warm even if we’ve nothing to cook.’
There was no difficulty about this, and when it was done they settled themselves within reach of the warmth as comfortably as the conditions allowed. For a time nobody spoke. There was nothing to be said. No sound came from outside. The fog had brought with it an eerie hush as if a great blanket had been thrown over the island. Time passed.
‘I must say I find this pretty boring,’ remarked Bertie at last, having looked in vain for a can of food of some sort that had been overlooked by the previous residents. ‘It’s bad enough to be stuck on a perishing lump of rock without having to starve at the same time,’ he complained.
‘Sorry; my fault,’ growled Biggles. ‘I should have had more sense than to come on a jaunt like this without emergency rations. I’ve always made a point of doing that, but on this occasion it did seem unnecessary. I’ll never do it again.’
‘Fraser said he wouldn’t trust the weather,’ reminded Ginger.
‘I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have expected anything like this, or he’d have said so.’
Another long silence followed.
It was broken by Bertie. ‘Oh, here, I say, dash it all, can’t we do something?’ he complained. ‘It’s pretty deadly just squatting here blinking at the stove like a lot of bally owls.’
‘Do what?’ inquired Biggles. ‘Would you like me to tell the story of the Babes in the Wood?’
‘No thanks. All I know is, if someone doesn’t soon do something, I shall get the screaming willies.’
Tommy spoke. ‘There is one thing I might do.’
‘What’s that?’ inquired Biggles.
‘Instead of doing nothing, I might go back to the landslide to see if I could find something I noticed when I was looking for a place to hide the bag. There’s just a chance I might even find the foxhole. That pile of stuff may not be as thick as it looks.’
‘You’d never find the place.’
‘I don’t see why not. I found my way back here, didn’t I?’
Biggles considered the argument. ‘I’ll be surprised if you find anything. Still, if that’s how you feel, I suppose there’s no harm in trying. Okay. Please yourself. Keep clear of the cliff.’
‘I shall hear the waves down below.’
‘Try not to get in ‘em. Don’t get lost, that’s all I ask. Things are bad enough as they are without having to tramp round looking for you.’
‘I’ll watch nothing like that happens,’ promised Tommy, as he went out.
‘He hasn’t a hope,’ predicted Ginger lugubriously.
‘I can understand his anxiety,’ Biggles said. ‘The recovery of that bag means more to him than it does to us. His future depends on finding it. The confounded stuff really means nothing to us. To tell the truth it wouldn’t break my heart if I never saw it. I wouldn’t be surprised at that. I’ve never yet known a treasure hunt, for that’s what this is, go according to plan. It always looks easy, but it never is.’
‘Don’t fret, old boy,’ consoled Bertie. ‘It’ll all work out. You’ll see.’
‘I’m not fretting, but this waste of time is binding me rigid. Doing nothing always has rattled my nerves. Forget it.’
Another silence fell. This time a long one. An hour passed with hardly a word spoken. Two hours. From time to time Biggles got up and went to the door to study the weather conditions. They were always the same. Unchanged. Visibility nil. The fog filled the open doorway like a whitewashed wall.
‘What can the young fool be doing?’ he muttered once, after looking at his watch.
‘If you’re asking me, I’d say he’s got himself well and truly lost,’ replied Ginger gloomily. ‘Well, I’m not going out to look for him.’
It was not long after this that they were all startled by a sudden sound, short and sharp yet flat, as if muffled by the fog. Biggles sprang to his feet. ‘What the devil was that?’
‘Sounded to me mighty like a gunshot, old boy,’ answered Bertie calmly.
‘Tommy hadn’t a gun. If he had he said nothing to me about it!’
Bertie shrugged.
‘Even if he had a gun, what is there here to shoot at, anyhow?’ put in Ginger.
‘Had a crack at a fox, maybe,’ suggested Bertie, without conviction.
‘Don’t talk rot,’ snapped Biggles. ‘What would he want with a fox?’
‘Had a fancy for a fur bonnet, perhaps — you know, Wild West style.’
‘Or maybe thinking of something for the pot,’ offered Ginger.
‘I’m not trying stewed fox,’ stated Bertie. ‘We haven’t come to that yet.’
‘If it wasn’t Tommy shooting, and I don’t see how it could be, there must be someone else on the island,’ declared Biggles. ‘That’s the only answer. If—’
He broke off as from outside, near at hand, came another sound; a clang and a rattle as if someone had kicked an empty can. ‘Here comes trouble,’ he concluded sharply, feeling for the pocket where he kept his gun. He did not take it out. The door was burst open and Tommy appeared. He came in with such a rush that he stumbled and fell. His face was chalk white and there was a smear of blood on it.
‘Raulstein,’ he gasped wildly as he picked himself up. ‘He’s here.’
‘What!’
‘He’s not alone. There are others with him.’
‘What about you? Are you hurt?’
‘No. A scratch. That’s all. Raulstein shot at me. I felt the bullet sting my face.’
‘All right. Pull yourself together. Let’s have a look at it.’ Biggles examined the wound. ‘Nothing to worry about, but you’d better have a bandage on it to keep it clean,’ he decided. ‘What happened?’
‘I was on the landslide. They came on me from behind,’ explained Tommy, still breathing hard. ‘Three of ‘em. They had guns. Raulstein said he thought I’d be back. Then he wanted to know where I’d put the bag. I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about; but he wouldn’t stand for that. He said unless I produced the bag he’d shoot me. I didn’t really think he meant it. I thought he was bluffing.’
‘Why should he bluff?’
‘I reckoned he’d realize that if he shot me he’d kill his only hope of ever finding the bag, being as I was the only one who knew where it was. Of course, he couldn’t be sure of that; but he seemed to have deci
ded I knew. I don’t know why.’
‘The fact that you’d come back told him. For what other reason than to fetch it would you be here?’
‘Of course. I didn’t think of that.’
‘Never mind. Go on. What happened?’
‘I bolted. Made a dash for it, hoping to get in the fog before he could shoot. It was the only chance I had, because I knew that once he got his hands on the bag he’d shoot me anyway. So I ran. Somebody fired. I don’t know who it was. I didn’t stop till I got here. That’s all.’
‘How many of them were there?’ asked Biggles.
‘I saw three.’
‘We only needed this,’ put in Bertie, sadly.
‘They must have heard the machine; probably saw us land. Even if they didn’t see us, they’d guess you wouldn’t be here alone,’ Biggles said calmly. ‘Well, now we know who made a pigsty of the cabin.’
‘How did they get here?’ Ginger wanted to know.
‘That’s pretty obvious. After the launch had picked up Raulstein at Coopers Creek it came on here. It must still be here, tucked away out of sight, no doubt.’
‘We might have anticipated that and looked for it before we did anything else,’ Bertie said.
‘I didn’t overlook the possibility, but there wasn’t time,’ answered Biggles. ‘To cover the entire coast would have meant a walk of eight or ten miles over rough ground.’
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Ginger.
‘We’ve no choice,’ returned Biggles. ‘We stay where we are. Until this infernal fog lifts we’re anchored hard and fast.’
Any further discussion was cut short by a slight noise in the direction of the door. Everyone in the room looked round. A dark shadow stood framed against the fog in the open doorway. A man. He held a revolver half raised. No one needed to be told who he was. Vague shadows moved behind. No one in the room moved.
CHAPTER 10
RAULSTEIN GIVES THE ORDERS
RAULSTEIN moved slowly forward. ‘Ah! so there you are, Tommy,’ he said smoothly. ‘I thought I’d find you here. What you want to run away for? You might have got yourself hurt. These friends of mine are liable to act hasty like. Nice little party you have here, I see.’
