39 Biggles Goes To School

by Captain W E Johns

  Reaching the pond, Biggles stopped and looked at it thoughtfully. "If I wanted to get rid of something in a hurry, that's the place I should choose to put it," he remarked.

  "The track goes right on," Smith pointed out.

  "I know it does, but Dunnage could have thrown the rifle into the water without leaving the track. No one would be likely to find it in the pond by accident. Let's have a look."

  Keeping on the grass he followed the track, studying each footprint in turn. "Here you are," he said sharply, " He did something here. Look. That footmark has a twist in it. See how the nail marks slide sideways."

  "He might have slipped," suggested Smith.

  "He might," agreed Biggles, "but why should he ? He hasn't slipped anywhere else.

  Personally, with those nails in his boots I don't think he would slip. I'm not going past this pond without searching it. After all, Dunnage must have known he was getting near Hayford, and unless he intended giving the rifle to the publican or Siggins to take care of, he'd soon have to get rid of it. Personally, I don't think he'd care to go into the pub with the rifle on him."

  "Would he know Siggins was there ? " queried Smith.

  "My guess is that Siggins used to come to the village with his dogcart to wait for him.

  That's where they met after Dunnage had been poaching. That would save Dunnage walking home with the pheasants on him. If I'm right, it would account for why poor old Barnes never caught Dunnage on the Hertbury road. He told me he'd spent a lot of time on it, waiting for him."

  "How are you going to search the pond ? " asked Smith dubiously.

  "By paddling, of course. It doesn't look deep. If the rifle is there I shall feel it with my feet. Dunnage wouldn't be such a fool as to throw the rifle in deep water, where he couldn't get it again."

  "You'll get in an awful mess. The bottom looks all mud."

  "I can't help that," answered Biggles firmly, and sitting down began to pull off his shoes and socks. This done, he rolled up his trousers to above the knees and stepped gingerly into the water. He grimaced as his feet were submerged. "Phew I It's beastly cold," he muttered.

  The first thing he found was an old iron hoop. He threw it aside and carried on, working each portion of the pool systematically. He found two or three old cans, a broken lantern,

  a bent bucket and a china doll, all of which he discarded. Then he winced as his toe struck another object. Stooping, he groped in the mud, found the thing and held it up. It was a rifle with a skeleton stock, still folded. " That's it," he said in a voice brittle with excitement. Dropping the weapon, he splashed quickly to the bank.

  "Aren't you going to keep the rifle ? " exclaimed Smith in surprise.

  "Keep it ? Not likely."

  " Why not ? "

  "What would be the use of that ? Dunnage would disown it. As he isn't supposed to have a gun of any sort he'd swear it wasn't his. Then who could prove that it was ? No, the police will have to catch him with it on him."

  "How are they going to do that ? "

  ' By watching him. He won't leave the rifle there for ever. It's worth money. Besides, he'

  ll want it again, no doubt."

  Biggles said this sitting on the grass, wiping his feet with his handkerchief, which was soon a nasty, wet-looking mess. "Lend me yours, Smith, to finish off with," he requested.

  Smith obediently handed over a dirty piece of rag. "Don't get mud on it," he warned. "It's the only one I have."

  Biggles rubbed his feet, pulled on his socks, and got into his shoes. He had just laced them when a slight sound made him look up. A man was getting over the stile, less than a score of yards away. Biggles stiffened with shock when he recognised him. It was Dunnage. He managed to hiss " Cave ! " and then pretended to be looking for something in the grass.

  A choking, "Oh, my gosh ! " informed him that Smith had grasped the situation.

  Dunnage walked slowly forward. "What are you doin' here, you young devils ? "he growled.

  "We're just out for a walk," replied Biggles evenly.

  "Why ain't you at school, eh ? "

  "Because we've got a holiday," announced Biggles. Dunnage scowled. "Well, clear out—

  the pair of yer—before I puts my foot be'ind yer."

  "Yes, Mr. Dunnage," said Biggles meekly, for he suspected from the man's flushed face that he had been drinking, and he had no desire to argue with a drunken man. With Smith beside him looking thoroughly scared, he began to walk away in the direction from which they had come.

  Actually his brain was racing. That Dunnage might return so soon was something he hadn't reckoned on, and for a moment he was afraid that his scheme had come to nothing. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Dunnage still standing by the pond, watching them out of sight.

  "Do you think he's come to fetch the rifle ? " asked Smith, seeming to speak with difficulty.

  "1 can't think of any other reason why he should be there," answered Biggles. " Keep going. Don't look round. Wait till we get to the gate."

  By the time they had reached the gate with the

  briars on either side of it, Dunnage had turned away and was staring at the pond. Biggles crouched behind the briars, pulling the twigs apart for a better view of the field they had just left.

  "He'll see the mud has been stirred up," said Smith nervously.

  "He'll think it's the cattle," returned Biggles. "By gum ! I'm jolly glad he didn't come a minute or two earlier and catch me in the water."

  "Suppose he'd seen you with the rifle in your hand ? " suggested Smith. He swayed at the thought.

  Biggles was still watching Dunnage. "There he goes ! " he exclaimed. "He's in the pond.

  Didn't bother to take his boots off."

  "What are we going to do ? "

  "Wait to see if he gets the rifle. Then we'll watch which way he goes."

  There was no more talking for a minute. Stiff with interest the boys watched Dunnage groping about in the mud. They saw him stoop and lift the rifle out of the water. He washed it quickly and after a swift glance around put it into his trousers. He came out of the water, stood for a minute looking up and down, and then walked quickly away, taking the path that the boys had taken.

  "He's coming this way ! " Smith's voice cracked with alarm.

  "You're right," agreed Biggles, in an agitated whisper. "Let's push on to the next hedge.

  Keep low. We don't want him to see us."

  Bent nearly double, the boys sprinted to the next stile, scrambled over it, and, again getting behind the hedge, looked back.

  "He's still coming," panted Smith. " Let's go. I don't like this. He'll wring our necks if he spots we're watching him."

  Again the boys ran to the next hedge. Again they halted to look back. Dunnage was still coming on. Biggles spoke tersely. " I'll tell you what. If the police can grab him with that rifle on him, he's as good as on the gallows. I'll stay and watch where he goes. You run for all you're worth to the Head and tell him what's happened."

  "Why not go to the police—it's nearer ? "

  "No use. They won't believe you. They'll believe the Head. It wouldn't surprise me if he's already told the police what I told him last night. Go on. Don't stop for anything."

  "You watch out," gasped Smith.

  "Don't worry about me. I can race him if he comes for me."

  "He may shoot you."

  "He'll have to clean the rifle before he can use it. It must be full of mud. Go on. Don't argue."

  Smith needed no further pressing. Bending low, elbows in his ribs, he went across the field as if a bull was on his heels.

  Biggles watched for Dunnage to come into sight, when he, too, beat a retreat. And so it went on, Dunnage advancing and Biggles retreating, but keeping the man in sight, until Foxley Wood was reached. There Biggles was in some doubt as to what he should do for the best, because it was apparent that if Dunnage went into the wood he would lose sight of him altogether. No matter where he stood, the man might leave the wood on th
e opposite side, although the chances were, he thought, that Dunnage would carry on to the Hertbury road.

  Biggles had no intention of being caught in the wood by a ruffian whom he was sure had just committed one murder in it ; so he went on to the far side, and after waiting for a minute or two continued on to the Hertbury road. Reaching it, he again took up a position from where he could watch without being seen.

  When Dunnage had not appeared in a quarter of an hour it became evident that he had either stopped by the wood or gone into it. Biggles could think of many things that he might be doing. He might be lying low, waiting for darkness to return home. He might be hiding the rifle in another place, although it seemed improbable that he would choose a spot so near the scene of his crime. He might have stopped to clean the rifle, or to remove traces of his previous visit to the place—the footprints by the fence, for instance.

  More time passed and Biggles became really worried. Smith, by now, should have reached the school. The thought was no consolation to Biggles, who realised that if the police now appeared, while Dunnage was out of sight, the man might see them before they saw him, in which case he would either go into hiding or conceal the weapon which would be required to prove his guilt.

  Biggles was greatly relieved, therefore, when Dunnage now came into sight, striding towards the road as if he hadn't a care in the world. As Biggles realised, he no longer had the gamekeeper to fear.

  Keeping well below the hedge to avoid being seen,

  Biggles began to move slowly towards Hertbury ; but he had not gone far when who should he see coming towards him, with a purposeful stride, but Grumble, otherwise P.C.

  Grimble. In the far distance, a cautious spectator, appeared Smith.

  Biggles guessed what had happened. Smith had obviously not been all the way to school and back. He must have met Grumble and told him his story. He would naturally do that if he met the policeman, reasoned Biggles. But he felt that it would not do for Dunnage to see the policeman first, so he tore down the road in the hope of reaching Grumble before Dunnage got over the gate. In this he succeeded. " Hide ! Hide ! " he called. "He's coming ! "

  "What 'ave I got to 'ide for ? " demanded the constable belligerently.

  "Because if he sees you he'll either bolt or shoot you," panted Biggles. "The rifle's in his trousers. Hide, and jump out on him when he's close. That's the best way."

  Apparently the constable thought there was something in this argument. Anyhow, he followed Biggles' advice by getting clumsily into the ditch. Biggles strolled on a little way pretending to pick blackberries, but in reality looking sideways along the road. To his great satisfaction he saw Dunnage climb over the gate and saunter unsuspiciously towards the trap. Biggles could hardly breathe for excitement. He could see Smith standing, a lonely figure, in the middle of the road a long way away. He waved to him to come nearer. Smith waved back but remained where he was.

  Biggles was about thirty yards away when Dunnage drew level with the policeman.

  Grimble then rose like a pillar of authority, and advancing, said loudly: "I want a word with you, Dunnage."

  The poacher's eyes narrowed under their shaggy brows. " Wot do yer want ? " he grated.

  "Can't a man walk down the public road without bein' interfered with by a lousy copper ?

  "

  "I want to have a look at what you've got in your pockets," said P.C. Grimble, with all the confidence in the world, but, thought Biggles, rather foolishly.

  "Oh, yer do, do yer ? " rasped Dunnage.

  "Yes, I do," said the constable.

  Dunnage, apparently, had no intention of being searched, for with an oath he turned to run. But the policeman was ready for such a move ; he jumped forward, grabbed him, and spun him round so that they were face to face. Dunnage struck out viciously.

  Grimble struck back. Then the two men closed and stood straining and swaying on their feet, the poacher cursing, Grimble silent. Biggles ran in close, crying : "Where's your whistle, Mr. Grimble ?—give me your whistle ! "

  No doubt the policeman would have done so had he been able to ; but both his hands were occupied and the request met with no response.

  The end came suddenly, and it came in a manner that sent Biggles staggering back with a cry of dismay. Dunnage tore himself free by sheer brute strength. He leapt back. Then, in a flash, he whipped out the still-folded rifle, swung it, and brought it crashing across the policeman's head. Grimble's legs crumpled

  under him and he collapsed on the road. His helmet rolled off. He tried to get up, but fell again.

  Biggles, paralysed by shock and fear, could only stand and stare.

  "I'll get you for this, you little swine ! " Dunnage roared at him, his face convulsed with fury.

  Biggles turned and ran for his life.

  When he had gone a little way, not hearing footsteps behind him, he snatched a glance over his shoulder and saw Dunnage running the other way. He watched him climb a gate and run on towards Foxley Wood. Upon this Biggles dashed back to the policeman, who was trying, not very successfully, to get on his feet. Biggles helped him up. For some seconds Grimble could only stand swaying with a hand to his face, down which blood was running. "Where is he ? " he kept saying in a dazed voice.

  "He's bolted into Foxley Wood," Biggles told him. He picked up the helmet and returned it to its owner.

  "Chance of a lifetime and Igo and make a mess of it," groaned Grimble, although exactly what he meant by that Biggles didn't know. " Foxley Wood, did you say ? " asked the policeman.

  "Yes, Mr. Grimble."

  " Then I'm goin' after him," declared the constable, drawing his truncheon. "You be a good boy and run to the town and tell the Inspector what's happened."

  "Yes, Mr. Grimble. Mind you don't get shot." With this parting admonition Biggles sprinted down the road towards Smith, who was now coming slowly to meet him.

  "Did you see that ? " asked Biggles as they met. "Of course I saw it—d'you think I'm blind ? "cried

  Smith, who seemed near to hysteria. His face was as pale as death.

  "We've got to go to the town to fetch help," said Biggles.

  "Then let's go," agreed Smith. "I've had enough of trying to catch murderers."

  They started running down the road.

  "Did you see the Head ? " asked Biggles.

  "No, I met Grimble and told him," answered Smith as they ran on. "What did Dunnage shout at you ? " "He said he'd do me in," replied Biggles.

  "Did he say that ? " gasped Smith.

  "Something like it."

  Smith clapped a hand to his head with a deep groan. "Then we're done for."

  " Funk ! " sneered Biggles.

  Smith gulped. "I don't care. I'm going back to school," he declared, breaking into a sprint.

  Biggles kept on at a steady pace. He, too, was anxious to get back to school and safety, but he went to the police station first. He burst in like a whirlwind, to find the sergeant sitting at his desk talking to the Inspector and a man in plain clothes.

  Biggles wasted no time in preamble. Words poured from him in an unbroken spate. "

  Quick ! " he cried. "Dunnage has nearly killed Grimble—bashed his head in with a gun ; but Grimble is still after Dunnage. Dunnage has got the rifle that killed Barnes. He's gone into Foxley Wood. Mr. Grimble sent me to tell you he wants help."

  On this occasion there was no suggestion of hesitation on the part of the police. The sergeant's stool went over with a crash as he sprang to his feet. They all grabbed their hats. " Foxley Wood, did you say ? " was the only question the sergeant asked.

  "Yes," replied Biggles. He followed them out and watched them running up the road.

  Then he made his way back to school.

  Even then he had not grasped the full purport of what had happened, possibly because it did not occur to him that Dunnage might escape. He felt sure that the police would catch him. It was only when he learned, the following day, that Dunnage had got clear away, that he became awar
e of a sinking feeling in the stomach. The poacher's last words were still ringing in his ears, and Biggles did not doubt that, given the opportunity, Dunnage would carry out his threat.

  XIV

  RETRIBUTION

  ON reaching the school Biggles went straight to the Head's study and found Smith already there, having told the story of what had happened as a result of their investigations.

  It transpired that Smith had found the Head waiting at the gate, so anxious was he to know the outcome of their search. In view of Biggles' story overnight he had been in touch with the police, with the result that, as Biggles had suspected, P.C. Grimble had been sent along in the direction of Foxley Wood to watch out for the boys and make sure that they came to no harm.

  Biggles now gave the Head his own version of the affair, with the result that, to his dismay, an order was sent out recalling all boys to the school and, moreover, confining them to the school precincts until further notice.

  For this imposition Biggles and Smith were held by the school to be responsible, and for a little while their lives were made a burden to them. Then, some how or other, the truth leaked out, and then, of course, they were bombarded with questions, most of which they were able to answer because by this time it was known that a warrant was out for the poacher's arrest. It was the one topic of conversation in the town. Biggles, on his part, had no desire to go out, for he saw clearly the extent of his danger. In his mind's eye he could still see the expression of rage and hate on Dunnage's face as he ran away, and, knowing what the result of an encounter would be, took no risks. His most ardent prayer was that the police would soon catch the man and relieve him of this awful suspense.

  The police came to the school several times ; not only Grimble (with his head bandaged) and the sergeant, but a detective in plain clothes who, according to rumour, had come from London to prosecute the search for the murderer. Biggles was asked many questions, always in the Head's study, so that at the finish the police had a complete record of his part in the affair. The rest of the school knew this, and for a little while Biggles moved in a halo of hero-worship, which, however, did nothing to ease his anxiety. In his vivid imagination, Dunnage was always round the next corner, waiting for him. The fact that a police