by W E Johns
‘Oh charming,’ murmured Bertie. ‘If they go on at this rate they’ll finish the job for us.’
‘They’ve got fresh guns from somewhere,’ Biggles said. ‘We shall have to watch how we go. They’ll fight rather than give up those jewels.’
‘Well, that’s all right with me, old boy, if that’s how they want it.’
‘I’m thinking of that boat. If they can get to it we’ll lose them, and the jewels.’
‘I could pick them off from here,’ offered Angus helpfully, tapping the carbine.
‘I’m tempted to accept your offer, but as a policeman, unfortunately, I can’t take the law into my own hands.’
At this stage of the proceedings the inevitable happened. They were seen by one of the Americans. He touched the other on the arm and pointed. Had the men not been so taken up with their own affairs the spectators must have been seen earlier.
‘This is where we step in,’ Biggles said, and took a pace forward.
A voice shouted: ‘That’s close enough. Stop there and you won’t get hurt.’
Biggles walked on, Angus beside him, Bertie and Tommy close.
‘You heard me,’ shouted the voice. The speaker picked up the canvas bag which Raulstein had dropped.
‘Throw down your guns,’ ordered Biggles.
The order was ignored. Biggles did not expect it to be obeyed. The two men, guns in hand, their eyes on Biggles’ party, began to move sideways down the hill towards the sea.
‘They’re making for the boat,’ surmised Biggles. ‘We’ve got to stop them. If once they get to sea they may get clear away.’ He too began moving towards the sea to cut them off.
One of the men fired a shot. But the range was too wide for effective pistol shooting and the bullet smacked into a rock.
‘Better let me stop ‘em before one of us gets hurt,’ urged Angus.
Biggles hesitated. It seemed the most sensible thing to do, but he still did not feel justified in going to extremes.
‘As far as we know they haven’t broken the law,’ he pointed out.
‘Rot. One of ‘em shot Raulstein. Isn’t murder breaking the law?’
‘He could plead self-defence. It could be true. Don’t forget Raulstein had shot their man.’ Raising his voice, he again called to the two men, still moving steadily, if cautiously, towards the edge of the cliff. ‘Pack it in. You can’t get away.’
The answer was two quick shots. Then the men broke into a run, obviously intending to shoot their way to the boat.
‘To heck with this,’ growled Angus. ‘I’m not standing for being shot at. I’ll stop ‘em.’
Biggles might have agreed, but a fresh development now occurred to put a different complexion on the situation. The fugitives stopped. The reason was not hard to find. Coming from the opposite direction appeared three men, hurrying as if they had heard the shooting. One, easily recognized by his uniform, was Jack Fraser, the Mountie. He carried a rifle. With him was Ginger and another man, a stranger, dressed in dark blue trousers and guernsey, fisherman style. This trio also stopped.
Fraser called. ‘Throw down your guns. Any more shooting and I shall open up. And I’m not kidding.’
While the two Americans held a brief conversation Biggles said: ‘That’s better. They’ll have more sense than to fight it out against rifles, with odds of three to one against them.’
Apparently the two men thought so, for they dropped their guns, and the jewel bag, and raised their hands in submission.
Fraser advanced. Biggles’ party did the same. All arrived together.
One of the Americans said: ‘What’s the big idea? You ain’t got nothing against us. We’re United States citizens, so you’d best be careful.’
Fraser answered: ‘I’m taking you to Rankinton where maybe you’ll be able to explain why you stole this man’s boat.’
‘We only borrowed it for the day. We were taking it back,’ protested one of the Americans.
‘Anyhow it wasn’t us who took it, it was Raulstein,’ said the other.
‘You were with him. That makes you party to the theft.’ Fraser looked around. ‘Where is Raulstein? We’ll hear what he has to say about it.’
‘I don’t think you will,’ put in Biggles. ‘He’s dead.’
‘How come?’
Biggles pointed to one of the Americans. ‘This man shot him. I saw him. There are two other witnesses.’
‘What else could I do?’ countered the American. ‘You must have seen what happened. He was going to shoot me. As it was he’d already shot my cook.’
Fraser looked at Biggles. ‘Is this true?’
‘More or less. Could be. I couldn’t hear what was said. I only saw the shootings. The two bodies are over there on the hill. It’s time someone had a look at them. They may not be dead.’
‘We’ll see,’ Fraser said. ‘Pick up those guns, Ginger. What’s in that bag?’
Biggles answered. ‘The jewels.’
‘Bring that along, too.’
With the presence of the sailor now explained, the entire party moved along to the scene of the shooting. Fraser knelt to examine the bodies. It did not take long. ‘They’re dead,’ he announced, getting up. ‘We’ll deal with them later. The first thing is to get back to Rankinton.’ He looked at the Americans. ‘You’re under arrest. Don’t talk now. When we get across to the mainland you can make a statement if you feel like it. Don’t try to get away. You haven’t a hope. Here on this island you’d starve to death.’
‘How are you going to take them across?’ inquired Biggles.
‘In the boat. I shall go with them, with the owner. You can come with us if you like, unless you’d rather take my machine home. Can you fly a helicopter?’
Biggles smiled. ‘I think so. I’ve done it before.’
‘Okay. Then you do that. I’ll see you at the airfield. You can take Angus with you. Ginger has told me about him. You might as well take the jewels with you. Everyone else will come with me.’
‘Fair enough,’ agreed Biggles.
‘You needn’t worry about us,’ said the American who wore the yachting cap. ‘We shan’t give no trouble. We can explain everything. I shall have a few questions to ask. Why someone set fire to my launch? It set me back five thousand bucks.’
‘We can talk about that later,’ Fraser said curtly. ‘When we get to the mainland we’ll get everything sorted out.’
Nothing more was said. Biggles picked up the jewel bag and the party broke up, Biggles and Angus making for the helicopter, the rest going on to the boat.
As they passed the cabin Biggles asked Angus: ‘Anything here you want?’
‘Nothing. As I feel now I never want to see the place again. I’ll decide later what to do about my foxes.’
That was all. They went on to the helicopter and a quarter of an hour later Biggles was parking it in its usual place on the landing strip. And this, broadly speaking, was the end of what had turned out to be an ugly affair.
Later, in the Blue Dolphin, with the prisoners under lock and key pending transfer to Newfoundland, notes were compared and some unexplained details sorted out.
What apparently had happened after Bertie had set fire to the launch was this. The fire, as had been surmised, had been seen by the fishing boat returning to harbour at Rankinton. It had picked up Raulstein and his companions who, it turned out, had been associated with him when he had once operated in America. Their explanation of the fire was that it had been an accident. (They could hardly tell the truth without awkward questions being asked.) They were landed at Rankinton where they had booked rooms for the night at the Blue Dolphin, presumably without any intention of using them — unless they had changed their minds afterwards.
At all events, having had a meal, their next step was to go to the local gunsmith where they had bought three second-hand revolvers and an old cavalry carbine, which makes it evident that they had every intention of returning to Marten Island. Not being in a position to buy a boat,
they had the audacity to steal the very boat that had rescued them, no doubt planning to sail away in it when they had finished at the island.
Unfortunately for them the theft was seen by a boy night fishing from the wharf. He ran off and told the owner, who told Fraser what had happened. Thus the Mountie learned that Raulstein was back and had been on the island, although of course he didn’t know what had happened there. Inquiries revealed that Raulstein and Co. had provided themselves with weapons. Fraser could guess why. The boat had been taken for a return trip to the island in the hope of getting the jewels. That was as much as Fraser, who had been grounded all day by fog, needed to know. As soon as visibility made it possible, having scribbled a warning note to Biggles, he had taken off, taking the owner of the boat with him to identify his property. Before landing he had dropped the note by the cabin as already recorded. He could not say more because he knew no more. He was simply concerned to let Biggles know that armed crooks were on the island. Biggles of course knew all about that, but he was not to know how the crooks had got fresh guns.
What followed needs little explanation. Fraser had landed. Ginger had met him, and as they hurried to the cabin put him in possession of all the facts up to date. Hearing shots, they had gone on in the direction from which they were coming, with what result we know.
There was a delay of a few days before Biggles was able to start for home. He had to go to Police Headquarters in Newfoundland and there make a sworn statement of evidence of all that had happened on Marten Island, to which the others bore witness. As the authorities already knew his purpose in visiting the island, there was no difficulty about this. Eventually he was able to get away, taking the jewels — still in the canvas bag — with him, and made the return trip across the Atlantic without further incident.
What happened to Tommy? He had to stand trial, of course, for his part in the robbery, but in view of his subsequent behaviour the judge took a sympathetic view and he was discharged with nothing worse than ‘Bound Over’. The fact that the police did not press their case may have had something to do with it.
The jewels were returned to the shop from which they had been stolen. As a police officer Biggles could not claim the reward that had been offered for their recovery; and Tommy, of course, was not in a position to do so.
Biggles was content with the congratulations of his Chief and Tommy went home to a happy family.
What happened to the two Americans, left in custody in Newfoundland, Biggles never knew. He never troubled to find out. He merely remarked to the others that he hoped they had seen the last of Labrador. What they had seen was enough, and best forgotten.
Bertie agreed, observing that he hoped jewel thieves would in future hide their swag in more agreeable climates. ‘Give me islands where if you feel like a snack you can nibble a brace of pineapples or sharpen your teeth on a jolly old coconut — all that sort of thing, if you get my meaning.’
Eyes twinkling, Biggles nodded. ‘I see exactly what you mean. I must try to arrange it.’
With Jack Fraser and Angus Campbell, contact is renewed once a year by an exchange of Christmas greeting cards.
THE END
