`He put towel under some sacks in the corner of office.'
Ginger was more than pleased about this piece of additional evidence—always assuming that the Indian spoke the truth, and he could think of no sound reason why he should lie. 'Of course, there is a way you can save your own neck if you like,' he went on insinuatingly.
`How?'
`By turning Queen's Evidence. You tell the truth to the police and maybe they'll let you off. If you don't tell all you know it makes you as bad as the actual murderer. Remember that when we get back to-morrow.'
The Indian started. His dark eyes sought Ginger's. 'Back —to-morrow?'
`Yes. You're coming back with me. What else did you think you were going to do?'
Again the Indian did not answer.
Ginger was not particularly concerned about the Indian's fate. What he wanted was all the evidence he could muster against McBain, particularly the gold that would prove his guilt, so he spent some time in planting in the Indian's mind the idea that if he confessed all he knew there was a chance that the law would take a lenient view of his association with McBain. He assured him that McBain would certainly be hanged, and in this belief he was sincere. 'If you won't tell me where the gold is, you'll jolly soon tell Constable Delaney when he gets his hands on you,' he concluded. 'For the last time, where is the gold?'
The Indian turned his face slowly towards the stove. Ùnder there,' he said simply.
Ginger could have kicked himself for not thinking of it; or rather, for overlooking such an obvious place. Looking at the stove now, he saw that it stood on a small piece of thin iron sheeting, which had probably been supplied with the stove. Seizing the upper part, he dragged it aside. He swept the iron sheeting away with his foot and a cavity was revealed. Reaching down, his hand came into contact with a small bag, or sack, of harsh material. He dragged it up into the room, and knew from its weight that it contained gold.
There were eight sacks, each tied and sealed. On the side of each one was printed in black letters MOOSE CREEK GOLDFIELDS INC. There was only one other thing in the cache, a small iron object, and for a moment he wondered what it could be; but when, on the base, he saw the brand of the Moose Creek company, he understood. 'A spare seal, eh?' he murmured. 'So that's how McBain was able to do the trick. And he came here to do it. Well, when we get back to Fort Beaver with this little lot several people are going to get a shock.'
The Indian said nothing. Ginger, having obtained what he wanted, had nothing more to say. The only thing that remained was for him to wait until daylight and then get back to Fort Beaver as quickly as possible.
The lamp had taken the chill off the room, but it was by no means warm, and although the Indian had recovered somewhat he looked far from happy. Ginger examined the wound in his arm; it was only a flesh wound, but sufficient to cause the Indian to lose a good deal of blood. which, with the exposure he had experienced on the roof, accounted for his weakness.
Ginger remembered McBain's fur coat. He did not need it himself, but it struck him that his prisoner would be more comfortable in it, so he lifted it from its peg intending to hand it to him. As he took it down, something sharp pierced his forearm, bringing an exclamation of pain and surprise to his lips. The object, whatever it was, seemed to be in the sleeve, so thinking that it was possibly a thorn, he examined the sleeve carefully in order to remove it. He was some time finding the object, but at length he located it in the turned-up fold of the sleeve. Taking it out, he regarded it for some moments in silence, an extraordinary expression on his face. He glanced quickly at the Indian, but the man's back was turned towards him and it was clear that he had not noticed the incident. Slipping the object quickly back into the turn-up of the sleeve, he spread the coat over the shoulders of his prisoner.
The night passed as slowly as any he could remember, but at long last the grey dawn for which he had waited shed its feeble light through the window. There had, of course, been no question of going to sleep with a dangerous character like the Indian in the room.
He went over to the window and looked out. Nothing moved. There was no sign of the wolves.
`Well, it's daylight and I don't see any wolves,' he told the Indian.
`The wolves go back into the wood at dawn,' was the cold reply. 'They not come out again now.'
`Well, come on; on your feet. We'll get along,' ordered Ginger.
The Indian pleaded to be left behind, to be given his freedom, swearing that he would never work for McBain again. But this was something Ginger was not prepared to grant.
He compelled his prisoner to help him to carry the gold across to the machine.
When the last of it was safely on board, he closed the but and made the Indian sit beside him in the Jupiter, reckoning that once in the air the Indian would be powerless to do any harm—unless he deliberately did something calculated to crash the machine and kill them both, which hardly seemed likely.
It took Ginger some time to start the engines, for they were very cold, but in the end he got them going, and just as the first rays of the rising sun flashed up over the horizon the Jupiter roared into the air on its return journey to Fort Beaver.
Had Ginger known what was happening there his cheerful confidence would have received a rude shock. As it was, he was so pleased with the success of his mission that he hummed softly to himself as the landmarks he recognized slipped away behind.
`They must have wondered what has happened to me,' he thought seriously.
At the Eleventh Hour
As WE KNOW, the others had more than once wondered what had happened to him. But now, as they stood under the fatal tree with the end so near, he slipped from their minds.
It was Biggles who knew first that the machine was coming; his keen ears picked up the drone of the motors before he saw it.
`Here comes Ginger,' he said, by which time others in the crowd had heard it too.
There was a quick babble of excited conversation. The immediate preparations for the hanging were temporarily abandoned, and several people pointed to the fast approaching Jupiter.
`Never mind about that,' shouted McBain. It was almost as if he sensed that the oncoming aeroplane was a danger to the success of his plans. Ferroni, who was him, raised his voice in a demand that the hanging should be proceeded with, but the attention of the crowd was distracted by the behaviour of the machine.
At first it seemed that the pilot was going to glide straight to the aerodrome and land, but at the last moment the machine turned suddenly, as if the pilot had observed the crowd and wished to see it at close quarters. Straight over the tree at a height of not more than fifty feet the Jupiter soared, and then went into a tight circle. The watchers on the ground could see the pale face of the pilot looking down at them.
`Come on; ain't yer never seen an airyplane before? Let's get on with the hangin',' roared McBain. But the noise of the Jupiter's engines so drowned the words that only those in his immediate vicinity heard them.
`What does he think he's up to?' Delaney asked Biggles, who was watching the side window of the control cabin.
Ì don't know,' he answered, 'but I rather fancy that he is going to throw something out.
Yes, he is,' he went on quickly, raising his voice, as a bulky object blocked the cabin window. 'Watch your heads, everybody.'
The next moment a dark object was hurtling downwards, turning slowly as it fell. There was a yell of alarm from the crowd, each member of which took steps to make sure that it did not hit him; only the prisoners and Delaney remained still, eyes on the falling object, which finally crashed to earth in the middle of the scattered spectators, but, fortunately, without hitting any one.
The actual moment of impact produced a curious effect: so curious, in fact, that it is doubtful if any one of the watchers had the slightest idea of what had happened. There seemed to be a sort of brilliant yellow flash, almost like a tongue of flame, which licked along the short turf for a brief moment before it disappeared. The phe
nomenon had occurred about ten or twelve yards from the tree.
`What the dickens was that?' ejaculated Algy.
`Goodness knows,' replied Biggles, who was still staring at the spot; he could see a small, buff-coloured object, and beside it a yellow streak. Then the crowd converged on it and it was hidden from his view. There was an excited whisper, almost a hiss, and then a shout went up.
Delaney had run forward with the others. 'Stand away there! ' he ordered crisply.
Curiously enough, the crowd gave way to him, as though it once more respected his authority. Mass hysteria is a strange thing; it can die down as quickly as it can arise; and thus it was in this case. It was as if the crowd had been shocked by what it saw on the ground.
Delaney perceived his opportunity, and was not slow in taking advantage of it. 'Stand clear! ' he snapped. 'Don't touch it, anybody. And that goes for you, too, McBain,' he went on curtly.
One of the first to reach the fallen object had been McBain, and he stared at it as if he could not believe his eyes. Delaney stooped and picked up something from the ground; it looked like a piece of torn sacking. 'Moose Creek Goldfields! ' he cried in an amazed voice. Then, a tone higher, he added, 'Boys, it's the Moose Creek gold! '
The words were received with a loud buzz of excitement, and every one pressed forward to see the pile of yellow dust that had burst from the bag when it had hit the ground.
Delaney placed two men on guard over the gold. They obeyed without question. Then he strode to where the prisoners were still standing, the ropes around their necks. The crowd, its anger melting in the face of this new mystery, surged after him.
`What do you know about this?' Delaney asked Biggles sternly.
`Not much more than you do,' replied Biggles. 'I suggest that you let the boy tell his story in his own way. Here he comes, now.'
Ginger, who by this time had landed, was, in fact, marching towards the crowd; and he did not come alone. In front of him, covered by his automatic, walked the Indian, draped in a long skunk-skin coat.
The crowd fell silent as it watched the approach of this curious procession. On all faces was astonishment not far from incredulity.
Straight through the crowd to where Delaney was standing Ginger marched his prisoner, the spectators forming a lane to allow them to pass. His eyes opened wide when he saw the dangling ropes and for whom they were intended.
`What's the idea?' asked Delaney, the words sounding strangely loud in the hush that had fallen.
Ì've brought back evidence to prove that my friends, who have been arrested for the murder of Mose Jacobs, or the theft of the Moose Creek gold, or both, are innocent,'
cried Ginger. 'I have brought back the gold,' he went on. 'Some of it you have seen.' He pointed in the direction of that which lay on the ground. 'The rest is in the aeroplane.'
`Where did you find it?' asked Delaney.
Ì found it under the floor of a cabin up on the edge of the bad lands—where the thief had hidden it until such time as it suited him to collect it. This Indian was left on guard over it, and he will tell you to whom the cabin belongs. It belongs to Brindle McBain.'
McBain, white with passion, pushed his way to the front. `What are you saying?' he snarled.
Ì'm saying that you stole the gold,' answered Ginger in a hard voice. 'Instead of flying it straight down here you landed at your cabin, broke the seals of the boxes, took out the gold, substituted lead which you had already prepared, and then resealed the boxes. Here is the seal with which you did the job.' Ginger handed Delaney the duplicate seal.
`That's a lie! roared McBain.
`We shall see,' retorted Ginger imperturbably. He raised his voice. 'Does any one here recognize the coat the Indian is wearing?' he asked.
A dozen voices answered: 'It's McBain's.'
`Do you deny that the coat is yours, McBain?' asked Ginger.
McBain hesitated. It was quite certain that he could not not deny it without proving himself to be a liar, for the peculiar white blaze on the coat would have identified it in ten thousand.
`This coat was in McBain's hidden cabin,' declared Ginger, taking the garment from the Indian and tossing it carelessly to its rightful owner, who caught it and flung it over his shoulder.
`Now,' continued Ginger, 'I want to recall something to the minds of those who were in the Three Star the night Mose was killed. Are the two men here who were sitting by the fire talking to Mose when I joined in the conversation?'
The two men pushed their way to the front.
`You would remember what Mose was wearing that night?' Ginger challenged them.
Ì reckon so,' they agreed.
`Very well. You will remember that after the row between my friend, Major Bigglesworth, who stands over there, and McBain, we went home. Mose and McBain were still there.'
`That's right. I was there myself, so I can vouch for that,' declared Delaney.
Àfter that, who went out first—Mose or McBain?' `McBain.'
Ginger turned to McBain. Did you ever, from the moment you left the Three Star, see Mose again?'
`No.' McBain's denial was emphatic.
Ginger nodded. 'I see,' he said. 'On the night Mose was murdered I believe I am right in saying that you were wearing the coat you now have on your arm.'
Again McBain hesitated. It was as if he suspected a trap, but could think of no way of avoiding it. He could not deny that he had worn the coat, for nearly every man present had been in the saloon that night, and must have seen him in it.
`Well, what if I was wearing it?' he snarled belligerently.
`Has any one else but you ever worn that coat—except the Indian who was wearing it when I arrived here?'
Again a moment's hesitation. The atmosphere was electric.
`Had anyone but you worn the coat it is likely that it would have been noticed, isn't it?'
prompted Ginger.
Ìt's my coat, and nobody else has had it—if that's what you're getting at,' grated McBain.
Ginger pointed to the turn-up at the bottom of the fur sleeve. 'Just feel in there and take out what you find,' he said quietly. 'And then, since you did not see Mose again after you left the saloon, perhaps you will tell us how it got there.'
Like a man in a dream, almost against his will it seemed, McBain's finger went down into the turn-up. The silence was such that every member of the crowd might have been holding his breath. A look of relief passed over McBain's face as he found what was evidently an insignificant object; with a short laugh he took it out and looked at it. As he did so his face blanched. Yet the object was simple enough. It was merely an opal-headed tie-pin.
`Does any one recognize that pin?' called Ginger loudly.
Had he said, 'Does any one not recognize that pin?' there would have been fewer to answer. Nearly every one present recognized it, and knew to whom it belonged—the murdered prospector.
Delaney raised his hand for silence. Then he took a revolver from the hand of a man standing near him. The man did not protest.
'McBain,' said Delaney, 'I reckon I know why you were so anxious to lynch three innocent men.'
The crowd surged forward, muttering ominously. Nor did it heed Delaney's orders to stand still. Possibly the fact that most of the men felt that they had been duped by McBain had something to do with it. Be that as it may, McBain evidently suspected what his fate might be and
it rather seemed as if he lost his nerve. Accompanied by Ferroni, with a wild rush he swept those who stood around him from his path, and drove a lane through the outskirts of the spectators, heading for safety.
`Stop! ' roared Delaney above the uproar, but the fugitives took no notice.
`Look out, they're making for the machine,' shouted Biggles. 'And the gold's in it. If you don't stop them they'll get away and take the gold with them.'
McBain and Ferroni were, in fact, running like hares towards the Jupiter, which was still standing out in the middle of the aerodrome where Ginger had left it. And
it seemed likely that they would have succeeded in their object but for an unexpected development.
From the far side of the aerodrome, riding at a gallop, came five uniformed figures.
Delaney yelled a warning. He had now reached the outskirts of the crowd, a position from which he dare use his revolver without the risk of hitting the wrong man, and although he emptied it at the fast retreating figures, the range was too long and the shots did not touch their mark. But they served another purpose, just as useful. They gave the oncoming horsemen at least an inkling of what was happening, as was revealed by the manner in which they swerved to cut them off.
McBain and his pilot swerved too, but they could not hope to compete with horses.
Seeing that they were trapped they both drew their revolvers and tried to shoot their way to the machine. They did succeed in emptying one saddle, but then a fusillade of shots rang out and McBain pitched face downward on the turf. Ferroni, evidently seeing that his case was hopeless, threw down his weapon and raised his hands above his head.
The crowd started running towards the new scene of action.
`Here, Delaney, haven't we been trussed up like this long enough?' asked Biggles reproachfully.
The constable took out his jack-knife and cut the prisoners free. 'That kid of yours was just about in time,' he said gravely.
'He usually is,' grinned Biggles. 'Who are these newcomers?'
`Captain Lanton and the troopers from Blackfoot Point,' answered Delaney. 'That mechanic of yours must have got through to 'em. Phew! What a report I shall have to make. You'd better not go away; the Captain will want to see you too.'
Conclusion
SUPPOSE you are no longer in any doubt as to who killed old Mose?' Biggles asked Delaney as they walked across the aerodrome towards the Jupiter, near which the crowd had reassembled.
`None whatever,' replied Delaney.
`Then in that case I assume we are no longer under arrest?'
`No, you're free as far as I'm concerned.'
`Then if it's all the same to you we'll get our machine inside its hangar, and tidy things up a bit. I suppose I ought to fly up to Moose Creek and tell them there that the gold is safe.'
16 Biggles Flies North Page 15
