by W E Johns
‘There was nothing sinister about him that I could see,’ put in Algy. ‘The reverse, in fact, I would have said he was merely a bit of a twit.’
‘You may be right,’ conceded Biggles. ‘But let’s look at it like this. If Bertie is right about Clarence being the fellow who accosted him, with what was obviously a bribe, in the Savoy garage, it sticks out a mile that he must have had some crooked business in view. Bertie, are you sure this Clarence was the same man?’
‘Absolutely, old boy,’ Bertie declared positively. ‘You need have no doubt about that. I knew him instantly.’
‘Okay. Let’s agree Clarence is a crook. Apparently he is closely associated with his brother, even if he doesn’t actually live with him. That means his lordship must know what his brother is up to. That would make him a crook, too. I wonder, is Clarence really his brother? Algy, where did you get your information about Lord Malboise?’
‘From the obvious place. I looked him up in Burke’s Peerage.’
‘Was there anything about him having a brother?’
‘Not a word.’
‘You might look him up in Who’s Who. There may be more about him there. It usually names the heir to the title.’
Algy took the heavy reference book from the shelf and flipped through the pages. This took a minute. Then, stopping, he said, ‘Here we are, Malboise. The Honourable Clarence Edgar Brindon. Brindon Park, Sussex. Family name, Brindon. Formerly of Chateau Malboise, Normandy, France.’ Algy paused and then went on quickly in a voice tinged with excitement. ‘Hold your hats, chaps, and listen to this. Served R.A.F. 1939-45 War. Squadron Leader, Special Air Service. Made frequent flights to Occupied France. Mentioned in dispatches, 1944.’ Algy looked up.
There was a short silence. Biggles was staring wide-eyed. ‘Well — well,’ he said softly. ‘Now we seem to be getting somewhere. So that’s how it goes. Clarence must be a pilot, or he was in the war. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hold a civil licence. Funny, I can’t remember ever having heard of him.’
‘You probably wouldn’t if he was working for Intelligence, dropping and picking up spies, and that sort of lark — if you see what I mean,’ Bertie pointed out. ‘As we know, names weren’t used.’
‘True enough,’ murmured Biggles. ‘No doubt Clarence knows how to handle a chopper. He must also know France like the back of his hand. This gives us a new angle on the whole affair.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Algy asked the question.
‘I’ll tell you one thing I’m going to do,’ Biggles replied tersely. ‘I’m more than ever determined to see what’s inside that building that puzzles me.’
‘How are you going to do that? The doors will be locked, that’s for sure, and there are no windows.’
‘There’s a skylight.’
‘How do you propose to get to it?’
‘There are such things as extending or telescopic ladders, usually made of light metal.’
‘Does this mean you’re going to stroll through a park stinking with dangerous animals?’
‘Unless you can think of any other way to get to it. Flying is out. The place is too close to the house.’
‘When are you contemplating this crazy frolic?’
‘It would be stupid to attempt it in broad daylight. The job will have to be done in the dark. We might as well have a crack at it tonight. It will mean going down by car.’
Bertie came in. ‘Who are you going to take with you on this moonlight picnic? You’ll need someone to hold the ladder, and all that caper — if you get my meaning.’
‘It won’t be you,’ Biggles answered, shortly. ‘If we ran into Clarence he’d recognize you as the chauffeur he spoke to at the Savoy. It had better be Ginger. He kids himself he has a way with animals — tame ones, anyway. Algy can drive us down. He knows the way.’
‘How about accepting his lordship’s invitation to call and have a glass of sherry; I mean, before you start tiptoeing through his wild beast show?’ suggested Algy.
‘That can come later. First, I want to see what’s in this place without windows. We’ve got to get some definite evidence before we can move; and we shall have to be mighty careful how we go about it. You can’t go around arresting peers of the realm on mere suspicion.’
‘What sort of evidence are you hoping to find?’ asked Ginger.
‘Frankly, I don’t know,’ confessed Biggles. ‘If we could get proof that illegal flying has been going on from Brindon Park, it would be something to go on with. I had one or two ideas on the way home, but this latest development has thrown them out of gear. One thing I thought of doing was to ask Inspector Gaskin to let us know instantly if there was a big-scale robbery anywhere that looked as if it might be the work of the master-mind we’re looking for. I could then make a bee-line for Sussex in the Auster to watch for a chopper in case one should be involved. With a helicopter Clarence could go anywhere any time he liked. Nobody takes any notice of a chopper nowadays. After his war-time sorties Clarence must know every yard of the coast of northern France. Maybe that’s how the stuff now being nicked is getting out of the country. I’ll speak to Gaskin, anyway. We can keep that idea in mind for another experiment after we’d had a closer look at this edifice in Brindon Park. That’s enough for now. Let’s have some lunch and then get organized for tonight. To make sure you’re all clear about the programme, I’ll recap. Algy, you’ll take us to the Park by road. Park the car near the wall and wait till Ginger and I come back. If anyone comes along asking questions you can say you’ve run out of petrol and your friend has gone to fetch some. That’s the drill.’ Biggles stubbed his cigarette and got up.
‘What time do we start on this jaunt?’ Ginger asked.
‘Not too early. I’d like to arrive a little before dawn, before the moon has set. That gives us time for a nap before we go into action.’
‘Are you going to tell the Air Commodore about this?’ Algy queried.
‘Not on your life. He’d probably squash it with both feet. You know how he feels about us doing anything outside regulations. With a noble lord involved he’d throw a fit. He’s a bit old-fashioned where titles are concerned.’ Biggles grinned. ‘Fortunately, we’re not. Let’s go. We’ll drop in the photos we took this morning, to be developed on the way out.’
It was a little before midnight when, using Biggles’ own car, the party detailed for the operation drove quietly out of London bound for Sussex. Algy, knowing the way, was at the wheel, Biggles sat beside him, and Ginger occupied the back seat with the equipment. This consisted merely of a light metal telescopic ladder and two torches, one for each of those who were going over the wall.
Ginger, who had dozed on and off all the way down, was brought to attention by the car bumping over rough ground. It stopped. Looking out he saw they were on a wide grass verge, with overhanging trees, near a high brick wall. Seeing Biggles get out he followed with the equipment.
‘Sure you can find your way?’ Algy said anxiously.
‘Having seen the place from the air, I’ve got my bearings from the lodge,’ Biggles assured him. They had passed the lodge, with the gates closed and the house in darkness, as they had run for some distance beside the wall. There was not a soul in sight. All was quiet.
‘Don’t move from here or we may have a job to find you when we come back. We shouldn’t be long,’ were Biggles’ last words to Algy, who had remained in the car.
The ladder was extended and rested against the wall. Biggles and Ginger went up. From the top the ladder was pulled up and used to descend the far side. When they were down, as it would be needed again when they reached the final objective, it was closed again for easy transport.
They found themselves standing in utter darkness. The moon had not yet set, but its light was diffused by a thin layer of high cloud and insufficient to penetrate the tops of the trees, now in full leaf. Fortunately they were beeches, so there was no undergrowth. Dead leaves rustled under their feet.
‘Y
ou bring the ladder while I go ahead,’ Biggles said softly. ‘I think we can risk a light while we’re in this belt of timber,’ he went on, switching on his torch, ‘we’re not likely to meet anyone here. We shan’t need a light when we get to the open ground.’
They moved off, cautiously and in silence, and without trouble or difficulty advanced to a point from which they could see, through the low-hanging branches, pale moonlight shining on the open grassland. Here, as so often happens, there was a fringe of bushes, brambles and the like. Biggles switched off his torch, and as he stepped forward there came a reminder of the sort of place they were in. Something crashed in the bushes as if it had been disturbed. They stopped. Biggles’ light flashed on again. There was nothing there. He switched off.
‘What was it?’ Ginger said, in a voice that was not too steady.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Biggles told him curtly.
They went on, only to halt again as suddenly the silence was shattered, close at hand, by a howl, ending in a series of sobs so horrible that instinctively Ginger clutched Biggles’ arm. ‘What on earth...’ he gasped.
‘Hyena,’ snapped Biggles. ‘Apparently another of the zoo specimens his lordship allows to run loose in his park. What’s the matter with you? You’ll get me nervous, too, if you go on like this.’
‘Sorry,’ Ginger said contritely.
‘Surely you’ve heard a hyena laugh,’ Biggles went on irritably. ‘That’s what they call that hellish row. The laughing hyena is the name.’
‘Whoever thought that one up must have been joking.’ Ginger declared.
‘We needn’t worry about him. There he goes.’ Biggles pointed to a hunchbacked beast loping across the open field. ‘He’s not likely to interfere with us, nor with the buffalo unless one falls sick. Let’s keep going. This way. The building’s over here.’ He struck off at a tangent.
Presently they could see the place they had come to investigate. It stood to one side of the open ground with the belt of trees rising behind it. Biggles stopped to survey the scene. All lay silent and still under a misty moon. There was not a movement anywhere.
‘I can’t see the buffalo,’ breathed Ginger.
‘So much the better,’ Biggles answered. ‘We can do without them. They must either have moved off or maybe are sleeping under the trees.’ Again he moved on. But before he’d taken half a dozen paces he was hurled aside and thrown to the ground with some violence. Ginger ran to help him.
‘Stand still,’ snapped Biggles, sitting up. ‘Don’t move a yard. Phew! That was something I didn’t expect to find here.’
‘What was it?’ Ginger’s voice was brittle with anxiety.
‘Nothing serious. A hot wire. Electric. Just enough juice to give anything a shock that came into contact with it. I saw it. Got hold of it to lift it to get under it.’ Biggles got up. He went on. ‘It’s the device used by some farmers to keep cattle within certain bounds.’
‘But why here?’
‘Something to do with the buffalo, I imagine. It may be switched on only at night. Anyway, no one has any right to be here, so if someone gets stung he can’t complain. Let’s keep going. We’re losing time. Crawl under the wire. It’s only a single strand. Don’t let the ladder touch it or you’ll get a shock.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes. I’m okay. The shock was only slight, but it caught me on one foot.’
Beyond the wire they were on the open grass, but as they moved towards the objective they kept near the trees for the dark background they provided. Biggles walked in front. Ginger followed close behind with the ladder. It need hardly be said that he kept a watchful eye open for the buffalo, which he felt sure could not be far away; however, he could not see them, although in the slight ground mist that was beginning to rise that was hardly to be expected unless they were close. In this way, without any more surprises they came to the building that was the object of the expedition.
Biggles took the ladder, extended it and rested it against the brick wall. It was just long enough to reach the roof. ‘This shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes,’ he said confidently as he prepared to mount it. ‘You stand here and keep cave. I don’t think anyone is likely to be about at this hour, but if you should see anyone moving let me know.’
He went on up the ladder.
Ginger took his place at the foot, facing the open field, lying flat and grey in the dim light. Not a sound broke the eerie silence.
CHAPTER 7
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PARK
Ginger, wide awake now and with nerves alert, concentrated on his task, his eyes roving over the field from one side to the other for as far as he could see in the uncertain light. In particular he gave his attention to the direction of the house, from where, he thought, danger might possibly come.
From time to time slight sounds from above suggested that Biggles was moving on a tin roof, or more probably corrugated iron, as in fact, he discovered later, it was. The pre-dawn air struck damp and chill. The dying moon was well down. Already the stars were dim with the approach of another day. Only the brightest lingered in the sky. He waited for some time, wondering what Biggles was doing. The business was taking longer than had been anticipated and he could only assume some difficulty had arisen.
Suddenly his nerves stiffened, his eyes focusing on one particular spot directly in front of him. Something was moving. Something dark and bulky. Gradually it took shape and he saw it was a buffalo. Just one. Alone. It was moving slowly but steadily towards the spot where he stood. Presently vast sweeping horns told him it was an old bull. Distorted by the half-light it looked enormous. There was nothing particularly hostile about its manner, but there was a menacing quality in the slow but deliberate advance, as if it had a purpose. Ginger stood absolutely still, hoping the beast was unaware of his presence, and so might stop or turn aside.
In this he was to be disappointed. The massive beast came on, occasionally snatching a mouthful of grass. Nearer and nearer it came. Ginger became really alarmed. He knew the moment it noticed him, or perhaps caught the human taint in the air, from the way it stopped abruptly, head thrust forward. It stamped a foot and snorted. Then it came on again, rather faster than before. Knowing he had been seen, Ginger waved his arms, making uncouth noises. These had not the slightest effect. Still the animal came on.
Ginger kept his head, although he felt that at any moment the brute might charge: but when it was no more than twenty yards away, and blew through its nose, he realized he couldn’t stay where he was. To run would be fatal. He couldn’t hope to reach the trees before being overtaken. But something would have to be done. He took the obvious course; in fact, the only course. He went up the ladder. From the top he looked down. The buffalo had stopped and was looking up at him. He went on towards Biggles, whom he could see lying on the sloping metal roof beside the skylight, to let him know what had happened.
He must have made some slight noise, for Biggles looked round at him and muttered irritably. ‘What the devil are you doing up here? I was just coming down. I told you to—’
‘I know what you told me,’ Ginger snapped back, his nerves on edge. ‘I had to come up.’
‘Why?’
‘I was joined by a buffalo, and I don’t think it liked me.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘Standing at the bottom of the ladder. You’d better think again about going down.’
‘Damnation take the beast! We can’t stay here. It’ll start to get light at any minute. If someone came along, if he didn’t see us he’d see the ladder.’
‘We can wait a bit. The beast may move off. Have you found out what you wanted to know?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘The glass is frosted. Opaque. I can’t see a thing inside. The torch simply makes a blur. But I can tell you this. People who will go to all this trouble must have something to hide. All I want to do now is get back to the car.’
&
nbsp; ‘I’ll see if that old devil is still there.’ Ginger lowered himself carefully down the roof to a point from which he could see the ground. The buffalo was still there, still gazing up, showing no signs of moving. He crawled back to Biggles. ‘It’s still there,’ he reported. ‘The trouble is, it knows I’m here.’
Biggles looked at the sky towards the east, now showing clear signs of the coming day. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said angrily. ‘Algy will be wondering what the deuce we’re playing at. The next thing will be he’ll come along to find out what’s happened to us. We shall have to think of a way out of this mess.’
‘I’ll tell you one thing we might try,’ offered Ginger.
‘Tell me.’
‘I could pull the ladder up and pass it to you. You could put it down the far side, where the bull couldn’t see us. We could then make a dash for the trees before he’d rumbled what we were doing.’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘It might work, although I must say I’m not wildly enthusiastic about it,’ he decided. ‘We’ll give the animal a minute or two longer to push off. Then, if it’s still there—’ He broke off and raised a hand. ‘Listen!’
Through the hush of dawn, from afar off, came the sound of an aircraft.
‘Chopper,’ Ginger said succinctly, recognizing the unmistakable clatter made by such machines.
‘That settles it,’ Biggles stated, staring at the sky. ‘It’s getting lighter every minute. There’s a chance the chopper may be coming here. If it does, and it comes over low, we shall be spotted lying here. If the pilot of that thing lands, even if he didn’t spot us he couldn’t miss the ladder leaning against the wall. There’s only one thing for it. We shall have to do what you suggested; get off here and make a run for the trees. Pull the ladder up and push it to where I can reach it. Careful how you go. Fall off this perishing roof and we shall be in a right mess.’
