by W E Johns
After several false trails, and stops to consult the map, Biggles brought the car to a halt in a lane which ran up a steep hill. From it branched off a tree-lined track; but the existence at the entrance of broken stone pillars suggested that the track was, or had been, a drive leading to a house of some size. Biggles got out and looked for a notice board, a name, or some other means of identification; but he failed to find one.
‘I think this must be it,’ he told Bertie, returning to the car. ‘There can hardly be two big estates here. If this drive leads to a house it shouldn’t be far away. I’ll walk along and have a look.’
‘Want me to stay here with the car?’
‘You can’t very well stay here. There isn’t room for another vehicle to pass should one come along. I think you’d better move on a bit to one of those places where the lane has been widened to allow for two-way traffic. You shouldn’t have to go far. Or if you’d rather you can back down to that field gate we passed on the way up.’
‘I’ll go on a bit,’ decided Bertie. ‘I don’t feel like backing two hundred yards or more down this hill with a sharp bend in it.’
‘Please yourself,’ replied Biggles. ‘I shan’t be long. When I come back I’ll walk up the hill till I find you.’
‘Right-ho.’ Bertie slid into the driving seat and went on up the hill.
Biggles walked between the crumbling pillars, and carried on along what may once have been a gravelled drive but was now a mossy track, through tall bracken, with trees and shrubs rising from it. There was not a sound; not a sign of life of any sort, and more than once in the darkness under the trees he had to stop to peer ahead to see what was in front of him. He regretted he had not brought the torch that was kept in the car. He had not expected anything quite like this. However, he carried on, making the best time possible in the circumstances.
It was some minutes before he saw with some relief that he was nearing his destination. A light could be seen through the low-hanging branches of the trees. Going on he saw more clearly what he had been looking for; what he had expected to find. A large mansion house. It was not possible to make out details, because all he could actually see was the silhouette against the sky. There was no proof that this was Hallstone Towers, but a tall castellated structure at each end suggested it might be. The drive ended, widening, at an ornate canopy over the front door. One light only was showing. The one he had seen. It came from a room on the ground floor and was no more than a slit, a few inches wide, as if curtains had been carelessly drawn. It reflected faintly on the metal parts of a car drawn up near the door.
Biggles considered the place. He could see as much as was necessary. Advancing with caution, keeping near to the overgrown evergreen shrubs that bordered the drive, he went close enough to recognize the car. It was the Bentley. So he had come to the right house. This was Hallstone Towers, and it was at once clear that Sir Humphrey Trethallan’s fortunes had not improved with the years. The general impression created was one of melancholy neglect. The drive in front of the house was rutted and overgrown with weeds. What had been a garden was a jungle of briars and nettles. The whole building, what could be seen of it, was well on the way to dilapidation. Part of the guttering had broken loose and was sagging. A broken window had not been repaired.
Biggles was about to turn away, for he had no intention of calling on the owner and he had seen all he needed to see, when someone must have moved across the room with the lighted window. The shadow crossed the slit where the curtains did not meet. Thinking it would be interesting to see who was in the room, and it seemed this could be done without much risk of discovery, he moved closer to the window. Passing the car he put a hand on the bonnet. It was warm. But he already knew that it had been out: to Bodmin. Reaching the window he inched his head forward until he could peep round the frame; or, more correctly, the curtain.
He saw at a glance that the room, a large one in proportion to the house, was not furnished in a style that might have been expected of a place of such size. In fact, there was very little furniture; no carpet, no ornaments, not even a picture on the walls, which were panelled. In a word, it was in keeping with the outside; all of which suggested that the prosperity of Hallstone Towers had reached its lowest point ever.
There were two men in the room, standing one each side of a small table on which stood a bottle, a siphon, two glasses and a sheet of paper. They were in earnest conversation, but it was not possible to hear what was being said. It looked as though something on the paper was the subject under discussion. One of the men was the owner of the establishment; Sir Humphrey Trethallan. That was to be expected, and Biggles recognized him instantly. Only a few hours earlier he had spoken to him on the main road when the Bentley had stopped to offer help.
The other man he did not know. Or for a moment or two he thought he did not know. He was well dressed, even smartly, in grey flannel trousers, a sports jacket and a bow tie. There was, however, something vaguely familiar about his face, and while Biggles stared at it, searching his memory for identification, the man moved his head a little so that the single light in the room fell on it from a different angle. With the change came recognition; and shock; a shock that froze Biggles to the stiffness of a statue.
The man was Lewis. ‘Cracker’ Lewis; the time-serving criminal who had just escaped from Dartmoor.
Biggles was not unaccustomed to surprises, but this one took his breath away. He could hardly believe his eyes, as the saying is. What could such a man be doing there?
He did not try to find the answer. That could wait. Moistening his lips, which had dried under the shock, he backed away. Once at a safe distance he retreated hurriedly down the drive.
He had not reached the junction with the lane when he heard a car start up behind him. It could only be the Bentley. Within a minute he saw the flicker of its headlights in the trees as it came down the drive. He flung himself into the bracken beside the track and covered his face except for his eyes. He remained motionless as the car went past. There were two men it. Those he had seen in the room. Sir Humphrey was driving.
As soon as the car was out of sight he was racing after it, not of course with any hope of catching up with it, but, if possible, to see which way it turned on reaching the lane. In this he failed; when he reached the junction it was out of sight. He ran on up the hill, and had to cover nearly a quarter of a mile before he came to Bertie waiting in their own car. ‘Has a car come past here?’ he panted, breathless after his dash up the hill.
Bertie, looking startled, sat up abruptly. ‘No. Nothing has come past here.’
‘Then it must have turned the other way. Get the car turned round. I don’t suppose we can overtake it now but we can try.’
‘What car is it?’
‘The Bentley. Don’t talk now. Get cracking. Make for the Bodmin road.’ It took a minute or two to turn the car in the narrow lane, to face the direction from which it had come.
‘Steady down the hill,’ warned Biggles, ‘This is no time or place to have a pile-up.’
Nothing more was said until, after one or two halts to check the signposts, the car was on the main highway. The A30. Then, with the open road in front of them and very little traffic Bertie was able to put his foot down. Biggles peered ahead through the windscreen. Two or three cars were overtaken but none was Bentley.
‘I’m afraid we’ve lost it,’ muttered Biggles. ‘It must have gone the other way.’
‘Had you any reason to think it was coming this way?’
‘None whatever; but without giving the matter serious thought I assumed it was making for the moor. I hadn’t much time to think.’
‘What happened?’
‘When I got to the house the Bentley was standing at the front door. I was on my way back down the when I heard it start up. Another minute and it went past me. When I got to the junction with the public road it was out of sight, so I’d no means of knowing which way it had turned. I thought it might have gone up the hill, bu
t apparently it didn’t. I then thought it might be making for Bodmin Moor, but it seems I was wrong again.’
‘It might still be in front of us.’
‘Could be. But I thought it might stop when it got the moor. Ginger should be able to tell us if it went past him. All right, Bertie, you can take it easy now. Stop when you come to the place where we left him.’
‘Who was driving the Bentley — Sir Humphrey?’ asked Bertie, taking his foot off the accelerator.
‘Yes,’ answered Biggles grimly. ‘But he wasn’t alone. He had a passenger, and I was more interested in him than in the driver. They were both in the house when I got to it. I saw them through the window. Here we are. This is it. Pull in close.’
Bertie stopped the car with two wheels on the verge. Biggles sprang out. ‘Ginger,’ he called.
Ginger rose up out of the heather.
‘Have you seen that old Bentley go past here?’ rapped out Biggles.
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course. I haven’t left the side of the road. Several cars have gone past, but no Bentley.’
Biggles drew a deep breath. ‘That settles that then. It must have gone another way. Pity.’
‘What’s all the fuss about, anyhow?’ asked Bertie. ‘Is it something to do with the passenger in the car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who was it? Did you know him?’
‘Too true I knew him. Fasten your safety belt. You’re not going to believe this. It was “Cracker” Lewis.’
Silence.
Then Bertie said. ‘Oh no. It isn’t true. Are you sure about this?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense!’
‘It’s got to make sense, and it will when I’ve had time to think about it. I have a glimmering already.’
‘But dash it all, old boy, I mean to say, how could there possibly be anything in common between Sir Humphrey and that nasty little gaolbird?’
‘I can think of something.’
‘Like what?’
‘Money. A little matter of the thirty thousand quid in notes that Lewis still has salted away somewhere.’
Ginger whistled softly. ‘How right you are,’ he said softly. ‘That sort of money can make friends of the most unlikely people.’
‘By the look of his place our charming baronet could certainly do with some of it,’ went on Biggles. ‘I imagine that’s what he’s after. What else could it be? But he’s not likely to get a share of it for nothing. Does that suggest anything to you?’
Bertie answered. ‘Not on the spur of the moment, I must admit.’
‘It does to me. But we’ve been here long enough. Let’s move on a bit, as far as that next dip where the car couldn’t be seen by anyone on the moor.’
They all got into the car and Bertie drove on some little distance before again pulling into the side of the road. ‘What was your idea?’ he asked, as Biggles lit a cigarette.
‘Simply this. I’d make a wager that Cracker Lewis would be more than willing to hand over ten thousand nicker to anyone who would guarantee to get him out of the country with the rest of his swag. Money’s no use to him while he’s behind bars.’
‘You’ve hit it,’ declared Bertie. ‘Hit it right on the boko. Jolly good. But tell me this. I may be a bit slow on the uptake, but how could our noble baronet guarantee to get his crooked pal out of the country?’
‘If my guess is right he’d arrange for someone to fly him out.’
‘So that’s what the intruder is doing,’ breathed Ginger.
‘That’s how it looks to me.’
‘And you think that’s going to happen tonight?’
‘I did at first, but now I’ve had time to think I’ve changed my mind. There’s a snag. I doubt if it will be tonight.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because there’s one little job that will have to be done before Lewis can repay Sir Humphrey for his hospitality. Lewis has only just got out of gaol. He wouldn’t have the money on him when he escaped. It’ll have to be fetched from where he hid it after the robbery. Maybe that’s what the Bentley is doing now. Cracker wouldn’t be likely to tell Sir Humphrey where it is and leave him to go alone to fetch it. He might grab the lot, and Cracker, in his position, wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. That, I fancy, is why they’ve gone together.’
‘Then all we have to do is call in the police and trap the pair of them when they return to Hallstone Towers with the lolly on them.’
‘No. It isn’t as easy as that. They may not go back to the house. Think what fools we should look if we raided the house and found nothing or nobody there. We shall have to think of something else. I’d rather be sure of my ground before we jump in. This may turn out to be a bigger business than the capture of one man — Cracker Lewis. Another thought has just struck me. It’s this. For a rough guess, without the records, I can think of at least five gaol-breaks over the past six months. None of the men has been recaptured. Where are they? Where have they gone? All of them had one thing in common. They all managed to hide their loot before they were picked up and convicted. In view of what’s happened tonight I’d say their chances of being recaptured now are pretty remote. They’re out of the country; and the stolen money has gone with them — or some of it.’
‘They were flown out!’
That’s how it looks to me.’
‘And that’s what this night-bird has been doing — fetching them?’
‘Subject to confirmation, I’d say yes. There must be an organization behind this. These gaol-breakers all knew where to make for once they were free. Hallstone Towers. Remember the police road block? The constable said it was thought Lewis was heading in this direction. They were right; but Lewis didn’t have to come as far as this. No. He knew where he was going.’
‘You talk about confirmation,’ put in Ginger. ‘How are we going to get it?’
‘That’s a problem we now have to work out,’ Biggles said. ‘It’s no use looking for that Bentley tonight. As we know, it was topped up with petrol. It might be anywhere between Land’s End and John o’ Groats.’
‘We know its number. Why not put out a general call for it to be stopped?’ suggested Bertie.
‘We only think we know its number. The number plates may have been changed. It’s easy enough to put on false ones. Sir Humphrey’s no fool. He’d take no chances. From the way this thing is being run, and I suspect it has been going on for some time, there are brains behind it. We shall have to decide quickly what we’re going to do; before the car comes back. It might not be too difficult to pick up Sir Humphrey; but how do we know he’s the head man of the racket? When we strike we want the whole gang. The man I really want the man we were ordered to find; this night-flying intruder. There are some things we shall have to do right away. The first is to let the Air Commodore know we’ve struck a hot trail. Another thing we’d better do, if we’re going to take on a big gang, is provide ourselves with some guns. I don’t feel like taking on men like Cracker Lewis with my bare hands. We’ve done a good night’s work up to now and I don’t want to bungle it. Let me think.’
CHAPTER 10
A PLAN AND A PROBLEM
NOBODY spoke for some minutes. They all sat in the car, Biggles with his eyes brooding over the silent and apparently deserted moor. At last Biggles moved. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s getting on for midnight,’ he said, as if reminding himself of the time.
‘We’ve run into a knotty problem,’ he went on in a normal voice. ‘It would be easy at this stage to make a mess of things. The trouble is, practically all we know, or think we know, is based on surmise. That’s no use. We need evidence. Proof. How are we going to get it?’
‘You’ve seen Lewis with Trethallan,’ reminded Ginger. ‘Isn’t that proof?’
‘No. My unsubstantiated word wouldn’t hold up in court. As things stand we haven’t a shred of evidence of Sir Humphrey’s association with Lewis.
Whatever we know, or think we know, we’ve no case against him. There are two big questions still to be answered, otherwise we shall be groping in the dark. We know Trethallan has taken Lewis under his wing. They’ve gone out together. We don’t know where they’ve gone. I can only think it’s to fetch the money that Lewis has got hidden somewhere; the fruits of his last bank raid. A man like Trethallan could have no other interest in that crook. For what other possible reason would he lay himself open to a charge of giving house-room to an escaped criminal? The question is, assuming I’m right, having got the money, where will they go? If we’re thinking on the right lines, that Trethallan can arrange for Lewis to be flown out of the country, they should come back here. I doubt if Trethallan can fly himself. We’ve no record of his having been a pilot, or even a member of a flying club. I can’t imagine an aircraft being hidden anywhere on the moor. Where is there to hide it? No. The aircraft will be flown here when it’s required. I may be wrong, but it is reasonable to suppose that the machine is the intruder we’ve been looking for. It comes from abroad and returns to its base. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened. It has been going on for months, and would account for the utter disappearance of other escaped criminals who had money tucked away.’
Ginger spoke. ‘Trethallan must have contact with the plane to let the pilot know when a passenger is ready to be picked up. How’s that being done? By radio?’
‘That seems the most likely method, unless an arrangement has already been made. Where is the radio equipment? It could be at Hallstone Towers or it could be here, at the old mine, where the operator would be in direct touch with weather conditions on the landing ground. When this pick-up will take place we don’t know, and are not likely to know. It may be tonight, although that doesn’t seem likely in view of the time. It’ll start to get light in a few hours, and there’s never been any record of the intruder coming over in the day time. If it isn’t tonight, where will Trethallan and Lewis go to wait for zero hour? They’ll have to go to some safe place to divide the money. The most probable place would be Hallstone Towers, although it could be here, at the mine. We can’t be in two places at once in sufficient force to make an arrest. We might bite off more than we could digest. There must be a sizeable organization behind this racket. Lewis knew where to make for when he was free.’ Biggles broke off to light a cigarette.
