Biggles Flies North

by W E Johns

  ‘I’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.

  ‘I 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.

  ‘After 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.

  ‘It’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

  ‘I 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.’

  ‘Better not go away until you’ve had a word with the Captain,’ advised Delaney.

  They stood still as a little procession passed them, carrying a body. They learned that it was McBain, and that he was dead. A bullet had gone through his heart, killing him instantly. Ferroni, with handcuffs on his wrists, was standing near the troopers, towards whom Delaney now continued his way.

  ‘You’ll find us in Arctic Airways shed if you want us,’ Biggles told him, as their paths separated, the airmen making for the Jupiter with the object of putting it in the shed. This they did, after which, over a hastily prepared meal, Ginger gave an account of his adventures at the cabin. When he had finished, the others, for his benefit, described what had happened in Fort Beaver.

  They were concluding the meal with coffee when Delaney and his superior officer entered. At the officer’s re
quest Biggles narrated the entire story of their adventures from the time they had received Wilks’s letter in London. The tale took a long time to tell, but both the officer and the constable listened breathlessly, particularly when Biggles related the events that had occurred near Angus Stirling’s cabin.

  ‘And what are you fellows going to do now?’ the officer asked, when at last the story was told.

  ‘As far as I can see our work is finished,’ answered Biggles. ‘The transfer which we got from Angus Stirling settles any doubt as to who owns the aerodrome, and now that there is only one line operating between Fort Beaver and Moose Creek, the goldfields people will be glad enough to use it. Anyway, they should be grateful for the recovery of that last consignment of metal, because, but for Arctic Airways, they would have lost it. I reckon that Canwell, when he hears what has happened, ought to give Arctic Airways a contract for handling all their freight.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ agreed the officer. ‘I know the chairman of the company; I’ll have a word with him about it at the first opportunity.’

  Which, in fact, he did a day or two later, with the result that the contract was soon forthcoming, as well as an offer of extra finance for spare equipment should it be required.

  And that is really the end of the story. Wilks implored the others to remain on at Fort Beaver and share the profits of his enterprise which had been so nearly wrecked, but Biggles was adamant in his refusal to tie himself to any one spot. However, they stayed on until Arctic Airways was reorganized on proper lines, which did not take very long, for Wilks found no difficulty in getting staff once McBain and his gang had been removed.

  Wilks flew the party back to Quebec in one of the two Jupiters the firm now possessed, and it was there that goodbyes were said.

  ‘Let me know how things go on,’ shouted Biggles from the deck of the ship that was to take them back to England.

  ‘I will,’ promised Wilks. ‘Thanks for coming over.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ grinned Biggles. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’

  THE END