"That was Simmonds's camera," said Ginger. "I saw it when I was up here."
"Go on, Mishu," requested Biggles.
The Masai seated himself and resumed. That was all he had discovered at the scene of the murder. He had returned to the rest-house, and finding no one there, had hidden the things he had found. He had then behaved rather foolishly, he thought. He had gone to the village and told the headman of the murder, saying that there would be big trouble. He did this because he was well -known there, and he thought it would prepare them for the enquiries that would certainly be made. What he should have remembered, admitted Mishu ruefully, was that there had been poaching in the Game Reserve, and doubtless the people in the village knew more about it than they pretended, even if they were not the actual poachers—which he now believed they were. And it was for this reason, to shield themselves when the enquiries were made, that they had done what they had. They thought perhaps, it would be better if the body of Simmonds was never discovered. They would then pretend ignorance of what had happened to him. But he, Mishu, would tell his master, so they resolved to kill him in a way that would look like the work of a maneater.
Without any suspicion of this, Mishu, had accepted a drink of native beer, which must have had something put in it for he remembered nothing for a long time, and when he woke up, he was tied hand and foot with rawhide thongs. That night he was carried out to be eaten by the leopard that lived near the place of death. That was all. By what magic he had been found, and rescued, was beyond his understanding.
"We searched for you," Biggles told him. "When you could not be found we went to the village and asked questions. No one would answer, which made us suspicious, so we kept watch. There was no magic in it. Tell us, Mishu, where did this murder take place?"
"To The north," answered Mishu, "close to the frontier of the Sudan."
Biggles looked at Ginger. "That puts the Elephant in the clear. He couldn't have got as far as that in the time."
Mishu agreed. He was sure Cetezulu was not in the district or he would have heard of it. He thought it more likely that the murder was the work of poachers, who had been caught by Simmonds in the act.
"But according to the tracks there was another white man in the affair,"
Biggles pointed out.
Mishu admitted that he could not understand that. Sometimes bad white men came from the north to buy ivory, which the poachers dared not take to Kampala, Nairobi, or any other town. His late master, Major Harvey, had told him of this. He thought it unlikely, though, that such men would kill another white man.
"But that's obviously what must have happened," declared Biggles. "You say Simmonds was killed with a bullet, not with spears."
Mishu pointed out that some natives carried rifles, given to them by the traders from the north to enable them to shoot elephant, rhino and antelope.
"What was Simmonds doing with the camera?" put in Ginger. "Why leave it in the bushes?"
Biggles shrugged. "He may have been trying to get some good pictures of big game. Or he may have hoped to get shots of dead animals to prove that poaching was going on."
"That's more like it," declared Ginger. "Simmonds told me about the poaching. His trouble was, he could get no co-operation from the natives, which made it look as if they were concerned in it. It was almost impossible to get evidence. My guess is he brought that camera along in the hope of getting pictures which might secure a conviction"
Biggles looked at Mishu. "You say bwana Simmonds's tracks came from the bushes. From which direction did the other tracks come, and which way did they go?"
"They came from the east," answered Mishu. "And they went to the south-west. I followed them, but lost them on some stony ground."
Biggles examined the-camera. "There's a roll of film in this." He looked at the number shown in the red disc. "Seven have been exposed. They may tell us something. As soon as we've got a machine here someone can slip down to Kampala and get them developed. There's nothing more we can do for the moment, so we might as well see about getting some sleep. I'll take first watch, just in case anyone comes along and tries to make trouble."
Ginger did not argue. He lay down and was soon asleep, and he did not move until Biggles woke him up just before dawn to take his turn. As soon as the sun appeared he made tea, put out what food remained, and called the others to breakfast. Mishu, he noted, seemed no worse for his ghastly experience.
They had only just finished when the Mosquito arrived and Algy joined the party. The machine was followed shortly afterwards by the Proctor, which Bertie had flown up. Biggles told them what had happened in their absence, whereupon Algy offered to go back to Kampala in the Mosquito to get the films developed.
"Get back as quickly as you can," requested Biggles. "While we're waiting for you, we’ll go and have a look at the scene of the murder." He turned to Mishu. "How far away is this place?"
"A day's march, bwana."
"Then it won't take us long to get there in a plane," said Biggles. "Is there any place near where we can land?"
"Yes, bwana, the ground is all flat, although there are some bushes and a few trees. But beware of anthills."
"All right, let's try it," said Biggles.
Algy, taking the camera, was soon in the air. The others got into the Proctor which, under Mishu's guidance was not long reaching the scene of the crime.
There was, after all, little to be seen except a pathetic heap of stones that to Ginger served to make the place all the more lonely. Mishu pointed out the bushes in which he had found the camera. "That is the way the killer went," said he, pointing with his assegai towards the south-west. "From there he came." He pointed a little to the north of east.
"How many were in the party?" asked Biggles.
Mishu said he thought there was one white man with four or five porters.
Biggles considered the route in conjunction with his map. "They must have come from the region of Lake Rudolf," he said- slowly. "Beyond the northern tip of the lake is Ethiopia. I wonder ..."
"Much trouble comes from that place, bwana," said Mishu. "Many bad white mens come looking for gold and buy elephant tusks from black men in Uganda and Kenya. They hide because it is against the Government."
"I wonder if we could spot this hound who shot poor Simmonds," surmised Biggles, considering the landscape reflectively.. "He can't have got very far."
"He won't be expecting trouble, from the air," remarked Ginger.
"That's true—yes, by Jove!" murmured Bertie.
"Of course, this isn't really our affair," went on Biggles. "Our job is to find Cetezulu. But it goes against the grain to let this unknown thug get away with murder. Still, before we start anything we'd better go back to Latonga and see if Algy has found anything of interest in those photographs."
They returned to the airstrip. Algy came in soon afterwards, and he brought with him information that exceeded in importance anything for which they could have hoped. This took the form of some photographs, still damp, between sheets of blotting-paper. These made it clear at a glance that the unfortunate game ranger had secured the evidence he sought. Seven films had been exposed, and all had given clear, sharp prints that spoke well of Simmonds's ability as an amateur photographer.
The "first two prints were of the same subject, and showed a number of natives hacking the tusks out of a dead elephant. The two photographs had been taken from the same spot, but the position of those in the pictures had altered somewhat, so that between the two, most of the faces could be seen. Ginger recognised one of them instantly, and so, from their exclamations, did Biggles and Mishu. It was the headman of the village.
"No wonder he didn't want to talk," said Biggles grimly.
The next two prints showed simply the remains of a dead rhino, with its horns cut off. Vultures were feeding on it, but no human beings were there. The beast looked as if it had been dead for some time.
The last three prints were so dramatic, and so startling in what
they portrayed, that a hush fell on those who looked at them.
"By Jove! What d'you know about that!" murmured Bertie at last. "Talk about every picture tells a story."
"These certainly tell one, and it's an ugly one," said Biggles quietly.
"They were the last three films exposed," put in Algy. "I reckon they must have been taken just before Simmonds was shot."
"That's about it," agreed Biggles. "I'd say he got his photos, put the camera in the case and hung it up out of the way—which rather looks as if he was expecting trouble. Either he was spotted, or with more nerve, than sense, tried to make an arrest."
These photographs were all of the same subject. They showed a heavily-built white man, dressed, or even overdressed, for where he was and what he was doing. He wore crossed bandoliers. Field-glasses hung round his neck. A belt round his waist carried a heavy hunting-knife. A conspicuous feature of his face was a dark, rough beard. Two natives, carrying spears, dressed in ragged, ill-fitting shirts and trousers, stood on either side of him. Their faces were unlike those of the local people, several of whom were in the picture standing expectantly facing the white man. Between them lay some articles that left no doubt as to what was going on. They were four elephant tusks, two of them very small, and several rhinoceros horns. These, obviously, were about to change hands.
The picture showed the bargain being struck.
Biggles drew a deep breath. "Well, poor Simmonds certainly got something, though it cost him his life. Nothing could be more conclusive than this.
He must have tracked those natives to their rendezvous with the rascal who buys the stuff. I wonder who he is? Do you know this man, Mishu? Have you ever seen him?"
Mishu answered that he had never seen the man, but he had heard of him and knew him by description. The man, he said, was not altogether white.
He came from Ethiopia, where he had lived for some time. There was a story that the man had once been rich but had run away from his own country in Europe to live in Addis Ababa. Mishu thought the man had first come south into British territory looking for gold, but not finding any had started a traffic in illegal ivory, leopard skins and anything the people had to sell. He had had this information from Major Harvey, who had sometimes looked for the man but had never been able to find him.
"If he gets back across the frontier, there will be nothing we can do about it," said Biggles anxiously. "If we followed him there someone would set up a howl about violating other people's territory. However if we move fast we may be able to head him off before he can get back. If Mishu’s reading of the tracks is correct he hasn't started for home yet.
I'll make a cast towards Lake Rudolf in the Mosquito, for a start, to see if he does happen to be heading that way. Algy, you take Bertie with you in the Proctor and try your luck in the other direction. Grab plenty of altitude so that if the man sees you he won't suspect you're looking for him. For the same reason, if you spot him, carry straight on before you turn. On no account fly low over him. Keep in touch. I'll take Ginger and Mishu with me."
"Fair enough," agreed Algy.
In a few minutes both machines were in the air, heading for their respective beats.
Biggles reached the north-eastern territory at two thousand feet. He then throttled back to cruising speed and began a methodical search of the ground. For some time the only remark he made was to the effect that he thought they must be over the boundary between Uganda and the Sudan, although there was of course nothing to indicate it, the terrain on both sides being similar. The machine was now following the course almost due east,
looking at the map, Ginger observed that they must be within a hundred miles of Ethiopia.
Presently Biggles indicated a glittering streak of light that filled the horizon directly in front of them. "Lake Rudolf," he said.
Ginger turned his eyes back to the ground, paying some attention to an extended mark that had puzzled him for some time. It was not distinct enough to be a road, yet it was much too wide to be a game track.
Sometimes it faded out only to appear again farther on, always running eastwards in the direction of the lake. He noticed that it appeared to link up the occasional water holes. He asked Mishu what he thought it was, assuming that he had been over the ground. Mishu replied that it was a long time since he was there. He could not remember seeing it. It might be a cattle-track, although it would need many cattle to make such a mark on the hard ground.
"Surely that would depend on how often the cattle used it?" said Ginger.
"You may have got something there," stated Biggles. "The thing I can't understand is, there isn't a sign of life of any sort. I haven't seen a single head of game. In country as thinly populated as this one would expect to see plenty of antelope and wildebeest."
Here Mishu interrupted to say that if Cetezulu came that way there would not be many animals. He would need much meat to feed all his men. Apart from that, animals soon leave a district where they are shot at constantly.
This remark, made casually, presented to Ginger a possibility that had not occurred to him. "Look here!" he said in a voice of enlightenment.
"Could there be any connection between the Elephant and the man we’re looking for, I mean, could they all be part of the same gang?"
"I was just turning that over in my mind," answered Biggles. "It wouldn't surprise me. We've already decided that Cetezulu must hand over his looted cattle to somebody. According to Mishu, this fellow who killed Simmonds comes from Ethiopia. Maybe that's where the cattle go. The fellow with the beard might well do a bit of game poaching as a side line. But what's that I see ahead? Is it smoke?"
"It is smoke, bwana," confirmed Mishu. "There is, a camp—big camp. Many men."
"How very interesting," murmured Biggles: "We may be getting somewhere."
Ginger, peering ahead, saw that the strange mark that had been under discussion seemed finally to disappear into the vast area of jungle, swamp and river, that occurs where the frontiers of Uganda, Sudan, Kenya and Ethiopia, meet near the northern tip of Lake Rudolf. On the near side of this several fires were smouldering. A number of natives were moving about, but on the approach of the aircraft they stopped what they were doing and looked up.
"Have we struck the Elephant's hide-out?" questioned Ginger eagerly.
"I don't see any cattle," said Biggles.
"No white man there," put in Mishu. "If white man there he look up and we see whiteface."
"What sort of men are these, Mishu?" asked Biggles, flying straight on.
Mishu declared that from their dress they were men from Ethiopia. They had no business there. They had no right to cross the frontier. Only bad men would do that.
"This business is beginning to hook up," asserted Biggles. "That track could only have been made by cattle. What cattle? Obviously, the stolen cattle. There's no other explanation. This looks to me like the terminus of Cetezulu's long trail, the place where he sells his loot and then goes into hiding. All these Ethiopians now over the frontier must be part of the same racket. They wouldn't come here on their own account They've got a leader; and there's not much doubt about who it is."
"You mean the man who buys the poached ivory—the swine who killed Simmonds?"
"That's the answer," returned Biggles. "My guess is, the gang we can see below are the drovers waiting to take the cattle into Ethiopia."
By this time the Mosquito, after making a wide circle, was flying back over its course.
"If the cattle ever get as far as this, we should never stop them,"
remarked Ginger presently.
"I'm not particularly interested in the cattle," replied Biggles. "I want the men; Cetezulu, and this pale-faced murderer who, unless I'm off my bearings, has a date with him. I—"
"Wait a minute! Hold it!" interposed Ginger sharply. "Here's Algy.'' He listened for a minute or two, his eyes on Biggles's face.
"They've spotted him!" he announced.
"Who?"
"The poacher
. Just a minute! Go ahead, A1gy. Yes ... I've got it. Okay."
"Tell him to go straight back to Latonga," ordered Biggles. "We'll do the same."
Ginger passed on the order. "Okay, Algy—see you presently. We're on our way. So long."
"Good work," said Biggles, satisfaction in his voice. "Where did Algy spot him?"
Ginger answered. "He says the man has four natives with him. They've made camp beside a stream about twenty-five miles south-west of Latonga, between the northern limit of the bamboo swamp and a big, belt of elephant grass. They've got a tent pitched."
"Fine! We should be able to pick him up," said Biggles, pushing the throttle wide open.
"If the aircraft doesn't make him take fright and bolt into the swamp."
"I don't see why it should. He must suppose he's quite safe or he wouldn't be where he is. In the ordinary way it might take weeks for news of a murder to reach the Government. Game wardens are sometimes away for months at a stretch, so it wouldn't be thought odd if Simmonds didn't report to his headquarters for some time yet.
"You intend to grab this fellow, then?"
"I'm certainly going to try."
"What about the Elephant?"
"With a bit of luck well get him too. Why do you suppose that fellow, with a murder on his hands, is hanging about? Why doesn't he get across the frontier while the going's good? Judging from the photographs he's collected the native ivory. What's he waiting for?"
"The Elephant."
"That's my guess;" agreed Biggles. "More than the Elephant, he wants the stolen cattle. I don't suppose he pays the Elephant the full price for his herd. In Ethiopia a big herd would be worth a fortune. Once this fellow gets the cattle he won't sit around very long. That's why I'm going to have a crack at him now, instead of handing over the job to the police. And I'll tell you something else. The Black Elephant isn't far away. He must be about due. That's why. I'm hoping to get both these red-handed scoundrels in the bag at the same time."
44 Biggles and the Black Raider Page 10
