by W E Johns
While this was being done Bertie went to the door and looked out. ‘There’s still a little fog hanging about,’ he reported. ‘But Angus looks like being right. I can see stars.’
‘Any sign of the gang?’ asked Biggles.
‘Couldn’t hear a sound. Without guns it’s hard to see what they can do.’
‘All the same, they’re a crafty, calculating lot, so don’t let’s get careless and take chances. If the weather does clear we can expect Jack Fraser over first thing in the morning. That means we’d better be on the move at the crack of dawn. Someone will have to go to the landing ground to meet the machine and put Jack wise as to what’s been going on here. There’s a chance that the fishing boat Tommy saw went on to Rankinton, so if the crew talked Jack would suspect that things here were not all they should be.’
The discussion continued. Bertie, Ginger and Tommy, all related their parts in the events of the afternoon, filling in the gaps, so to speak; so by the time the stories had been told, Biggles was up to date with the situation as it now stood.
‘As there’s nothing more we can do tonight, we might as well see about getting some sleep while we have the chance,’ he decided. ‘Someone will have to keep awake in case of accidents,’ he continued. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past those rats outside. They might even try to set fire to the cabin just for the mischief of it, so whoever’s on guard had better keep his ears open. You’ve all been out, so you must be tired. I’ll take the first four hours. The rest of you can arrange turns among yourselves. With any luck, by this time tomorrow we should be sleeping on the mainland — in beds. Speaking for myself, I shan’t be sorry to see the last of this dreary place. It might be all right for foxes; but as far as I’m concerned Angus is welcome to it. Whoever is on duty, see that I’m on my feet by half past four.’
In a few minutes everyone had settled down for the night, except Biggles, who remained in the chair he had occupied for so long, his pistol ready to hand on the plain wooden table beside him.
CHAPTER 16
A DESPERATE REMEDY
BIGGLES was asleep when it happened.
Angus was on guard duty, although the others were beginning to stir. Seeing the time was nearly four-thirty he went to the door to inspect the weather, and, as he said, to let in a little fresh air, the one small window having been left closed to keep out the fog. He removed the wooden bar and stepped out, looking up at the sky. He took only one pace, but no man ever came nearer to collision with death.
A fire-arm crashed. A bullet ripped a splinter from the door-post and went on across the room to bury itself with a vicious thud in the wall on the far side. Its line afterwards showed that although Angus had obviously been the target, it must have missed Biggles by inches.
Biggles sprang straight from sleep to swift movement. ‘What the—?’
Angus had already jumped back inside the room and slammed the door.
‘Who did that?’ demanded Biggles angrily, looking round the startled faces, obviously under the impression that someone in the room had accidentally fired his gun. Indeed, his next remark confirmed this. ‘Why aren’t you more careful? Someone might have been killed.’
‘The shot was fired by someone outside,’ explained Angus. ‘I opened the door.’
The others were still standing rigid, silenced by shock.
‘So they’ve still got a gun,’ Biggles said grimly. ‘But just a minute. I know I was asleep, but I can still hear that report. It didn’t sound to me like a pistol shot. I’d swear it was a rifle.’
Bertie spoke. ‘Whatever it was it knocks our ideas for this morning sideways. Anyone who opens that door will be asking for it.’
‘Apart from trying to kill Angus, they obviously intend to keep us cooped up in here,’ Ginger said. They want us out of the way, to leave them free to carry on with the search for the bag of gold and diamonds.’
‘But we can’t stay here all day,’ protested Angus. ‘What about Jack Fraser when he comes over?’
‘All right. Take it easy. There’s no need to get in a flap,’ Biggles said shortly. ‘This calls for some hard thinking. Where did the rifle come from? Had one of them carried one, we couldn’t have failed to see it.’
‘There might have been one on the launch,’ suggested Ginger.
‘In which case it would now be at the bottom of the deep blue sea,’ answered Bertie. ‘The darkie I sent ashore hadn’t got one.’
‘But if they hadn’t got a rifle when they came here, how could they have got one since?’ argued Ginger.
‘I wouldn’t know, and I shan’t try to guess,’ Biggles stated. ‘All that matters is, they’ve got one; and that being so is going to make things difficult — very difficult.’
‘But by keeping us penned up here, where will that get them?’ Bertie wanted to know.
‘It would enable them to get on with the treasure hunt unmolested.’
‘But they can’t do both, go treasure hunting and at the same time cover our door.’
‘One man would be enough to cover the door,’ Biggles answered. ‘The others could work on the landslide.’
‘That’s about it,’ agreed Angus. ‘If there’s only one man outside we should be able to deal with him.’
‘How?’ inquired Biggles, cynically. ‘Try opening that door and the sharp-shooter outside will see you and pull the trigger before you see him.’
‘It’s a fine day. I’m not spending it sitting here,’ declared Angus.
‘Let’s use our heads before we do anything else in a hurry,’ requested Biggles. ‘Getting shot isn’t going to help anyone. That gun-slinger outside, whoever he is, means business. He’s already demonstrated that.’ He thought for a minute, staring at the door. Then he got up, walked over to it, examined the chipped door-post and took a line from it to where the bullet had embedded itself in the opposite wall. He went on, speaking particularly to Angus. ‘Did you have time to form an opinion of the actual spot from which the bullet was fired? Did you, for instance, see the flash?’
‘No. All I can say is, it was pretty close. Not more than eight or ten yards, I’d say.’
‘Is my memory at fault, or am I right in thinking that extending the line of the bullet beyond the door, at the distance you reckon there’s a clump of dwarf birch?’
‘That’s right. I often thought of clearing it to open up the view, but I never got around to it.’
‘Then that’s probably where our trigger-happy gun merchant has tucked himself. You’ll remember that when Raulstein came here, he said he was posting a man to shoot anyone who tried to leave the cabin, although, as we know, he didn’t do that. That clump of birch may have been the cover he had in mind. This time he’s done it.’
‘What about it, old boy?’ inquired Bertie. ‘How do we shift him? Anyone opening the door is liable to meet a lump of lead coming the other way.’
Biggles agreed. ‘I have no intention of putting the matter to test. That is, I wouldn’t open the door and step out as if I was going for a stroll. That would be stupid. But that clump of birch isn’t very large, and I doubt if anyone in it would stay there if bullets started whistling through it. It won’t be Raulstein; we can bet on that. He’ll be all agog to get his hands on the swag bag. I can’t see him leaving that to his pals. Not likely.’
‘You’ve got something in mind,’ guessed Ginger.
‘I’m thinking it should be possible to get the door open without anyone exposing himself. If that could be done, we, from the inside, keeping out of the line of fire, could make things dashed uncomfortable for anyone squatting in the bushes.’
‘I see what you mean,’ Angus said. ‘I don’t mind opening the door.’
‘You’ve done it once.’
‘Yes, but then I didn’t know what was outside. Now I do I’d be a little more careful. I reckon I could throw that door wide open and get clear before anyone waiting could raise a gun.’
‘Feel like having a go?’
‘Sure.’
‘If you could do that, we from inside here could plaster the bushes with such a fusillade that anyone there wouldn’t be able to get out of ‘em fast enough. It wouldn’t be necessary to see him.’ Biggles glanced at the window, now grey with the approach of another day. ‘We shall soon have to try something, or Fraser will be here before we can warn him of what’s going on.’
‘Okay,’ Angus said. ‘Let’s have a bash at it. You get in position and I’ll open the door.’
‘This is a dangerous game and I must say I don’t care much for it,’ replied Biggles dubiously. ‘We shall have to be mighty careful or we’re liable to shoot each other. However, let’s have a go.’
Guns in hand, they took up positions clear of the line of fire from the suspected location of the marksman outside. Bertie stood hard against the door-post so that only his right arm and shoulder would be exposed when the door was opened. Ginger took up a similar position, crouching low. Biggles lay on the floor.
‘Okay, Angus,’ he said. ‘Go ahead. Jump well clear when you shove the door open so that we don’t hit you. Don’t you attempt to do any shooting. Leave that to us. All you have to do is leave us a clear view.’
‘Here we go, then,’ returned Angus, advancing to the door and putting out a hand to the latch. Very quietly he raised it and then stood posed to jump clear. ‘Right?’ he asked.
‘Right.’
In a single movement Angus flung the door open and sprang aside. The instant the door was open wide enough the guns inside the cabin were pouring salvos, blind, into the bushes. The noise in the confined space was deafening. Cordite smoke reeked. Mingling with all this, from outside came a loud cry and a crashing of twigs.
‘Hold it,’ yelled Biggles, and pistol raised he rushed out. He did not shoot. ‘There he goes,’ he cried, pointing.
The others joined him.
‘So that’s who it was, the poor silly ass,’ observed Bertie.
Running and jumping over obstacles was the Negro cook.
‘Okay, let him go,’ ordered Biggles, beating the bushes to make sure there was no one else there. ‘He’s only a tool of those supposed-to-be civilized rats. Raulstein will probably give him hell for leaving his post.’ He came out of the bushes holding up a rifle. ‘I wonder where they got this?’
‘Looks like an obsolete cavalry carbine,’ Bertie said.
‘That’s what it is,’ confirmed Biggles. ‘Magazine holds five shots,’ he went on, jerking out a spent cartridge, which, of course, put another in the breech. ‘Here, you might find this useful for killing vermin,’ he concluded, handing the weapon to Angus.
The conversation ended when from a distance, but approaching, came the unmistakable clatter of a helicopter.
‘I’ll get to the landing ground,’ Ginger said tersely, and started off.
‘Wait!’ ordered Biggles. ‘It sounds as if it might be coming on to the cabin.’
They watched, ignoring the fleeing Negro, who was soon out of sight. The ‘chopper’ swung into view above the treetops. It hovered, losing height. The pilot must have spotted them, for a streamer of rag, actually a handkerchief, came fluttering down from the cockpit. It hit the ground not far away. Ginger ran and picked it up. He came back disengaging a piece of paper that had been folded in it. ‘Looks like a message,’ he said, handing it to Biggles, who read aloud what had been written on the paper.
‘Watch out. Raulstein and his friends have guns. Am landing same place.’
Biggles frowned. ‘What does he mean by that? He says guns, in the plural. No doubt he wrote this in a hurry, but it’s a pity he couldn’t have been a little less vague. Does he mean fresh guns? No, he couldn’t mean that. How did he know Raulstein was here at all? He didn’t know that when we landed. Even if he knew he’d expect them to have guns. I don’t get it.’
‘What about the rifle?’ reminded Bertie. ‘They certainly didn’t have one when we first bumped into them, or we’d have seen it. How do you work that out?’
‘I think there’s only one answer to this,’ Biggles said thoughtfully. ‘That fishing boat must have put in here. One of the crew had a rifle and Raulstein bought it.’
‘But wait a minute, old boy,’ protested Bertie. ‘Such boats don’t carry rifles. They catch fish with nets or lines; they don’t shoot ‘em.’
‘I’m well aware of that. But let me finish. The boat went on to Rankinton. The crew talked about men on Marten Island and Fraser got to hear of it. Can you think of any other explanation?’
‘Frankly, no,’ admitted Bertie.
‘I can see one other possibility,’ put in Ginger, who stood listening. ‘The fishing boat might have picked up the gang and taken them to Rankinton, where they collected some fresh guns.’
‘In that case how did they get back here? They’re certainly here now.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Never mind. That’s enough guessing. No doubt we shall learn the answers from Fraser. You dash along and meet him.’
‘Where shall I find you?’
‘I’m going along to the landslide to see what’s going on there. The Negro went in that direction, so that’s where they’ll be.’
‘Shall I bring Fraser back with me?’
‘That’ll be for him to decide. Tell him the position.’
‘Okay.’ Ginger went off, running.
‘Come on,’ Biggles said to the others. ‘I’m not letting those crooks get away with the swag.’ He set the pace. There was no more talking. They hadn’t far to go.
Angus’s weather forecast was proving correct. The sun was climbing out of the sea into a cloudless sky, to banish the last traces of fog, which here and there clung like tattered muslin to the tallest trees.
CHAPTER 17
THE END OF THE TRAIL
BIGGLES took the nearest way to the scene of the landslide. This was along the top of the cliff. It also happened to be the easiest way, being open, the sullen trees that covered so much of the island having been unable to keep a foothold in the devastating winter gales.
They had covered about half the distance to the objective when he came to an abrupt halt. He pointed down to where the sea lapped the foot of the little promontory which had already played a part in the sinister events on the island. Moored close in, just off a scrap of rocky beach on which a dinghy had been drawn up, was a ship, a small, dark-painted vessel with two masts. It looked like one of the local fishing boats.
‘How about that?’ asked Biggles tersely.
‘It answers our questions,’ Bertie said.
‘Yes, but not all of them,’ returned Biggles. ‘I can’t see anyone on board. Does that mean the crew have been crazy enough to join Raulstein in this lunatic treasure hunt? I don’t believe it. There’s something fishy about this, in more senses than one. But let’s not waste time guessing. We should soon know the meaning of this.’ He hurried on.
Another hundred yards, rounding a small escarpment of rock, brought the landslide into view. Even before they saw it, a yell of triumph and a babble of voices gave reason to suppose that something exciting had happened.
Rounding the escarpment Biggles stopped. They all stopped. This is what they saw. Conspicuous on the rubbish of the landslide stood Raulstein, resting on a shovel, holding aloft a canvas bag.
‘That’s it,’ groaned Tommy. ‘They’ve found it.’
No one answered. All watched. Standing close to Raulstein were the two Americans. There was another person close, if not actually in the central picture. It was the Negro. For some reason not apparent he had stopped short of the party on the landslide. It may have been that he was reluctant to go nearer for fear of what Raulstein would say about him leaving his post at the cabin. If this was the cause of his hesitation he had good reason to be afraid, as events were soon to reveal.
Things moved swiftly, and as far as the watchers were concerned, unexpectedly, to a dramatic climax. A final one for the unfortunate black.
Suddenly Raulstein saw him standing t
here. He shouted something. What he said could not be heard, but as the Negro now walked on it was presumably an order to come closer, perhaps to explain his behaviour; why he had left the cabin. Whatever the reason the Negro did not stop, although his advance became more and more hesitant, until he stood in front of Raulstein. It seemed from his actions that he was trying to explain something, such as why he had run away. What he actually said will never be known. It threw Raulstein into a passion. His voice rose to a torrent of abuse. He appeared to lose control of himself. Then, even before the Americans could have suspected what he intended to do, he had snatched a gun from his pocket and fired it point-blank into the Negro’s chest. The unfortunate man staggered back, collapsed and rolled a little way down the slope before being stopped by a boulder. He lay still.
‘The dirty swine,’ growled Angus, and dropping on his knees took aim with the captured carbine. ‘Hold it,’ snapped Biggles. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Shoot that murdering blackguard.’
‘Don’t do it,’ ordered Biggles. ‘You’re not a public executioner. We’ll see he gets what he deserves.’
In the event, this time he was wrong. A furious argument had now broken out between the three men on the hill. What it was about could not be heard, but in view of what followed it would be reasonable to suppose that the Americans were protesting at the shooting of the Negro. After all, he was their employee. Of course, there may have been another reason behind the next move. The loot was there. Why share it between three?
Anyway, whatever the reason, still with the gun in his hand, Raulstein turned face to face with the American who wore the peaked cap. He may, or may not, have intended to use the gun; possibly only as a threat. He was not given the chance. In a flash the American had whipped a gun from his pocket and shot Raulstein, who dropped the bag he was holding, and falling, rolled down the slope in the wake of the man he had just killed.
