Biggles and the Dark Intruder

by W E Johns

  He continued. ‘We know we may have at least four men to contend with, not counting the pilot or crew of the plane. First, there’s that phoney shepherd. He knows what’s going on. Then there’s the tough who tackled Ginger when he was treed by the dog. He’s one of them. That’s proved by the fact that the dog knew him. Now there’s Trethallan and Lewis. We can’t expect them to submit without a struggle. The chances are they’re armed. We haven’t a weapon between us, so we’re in no case to take on several armed men. I’d feel more comfortable even now with a gun in my pocket.’

  ‘What about calling in the police?’ suggested Bertie.

  Biggles shook his head. ‘I feel it’s too early to call on the police for help. It would be hard to convince them about what’s going on. With no concrete evidence to show, that would be understandable. They wouldn’t want to make fools of themselves any more than we do.’

  ‘Well, what are we going to do?’ asked Ginger. ‘We shall soon have to make up our minds.’

  ‘You’re dead right.’ Biggles went on as if he’d reached a decision. ‘I don’t like leaving this place. Anything could happen, any time. If it should happen that while we were away the plane slipped in and collected Lewis we’d be left standing on one foot. We wouldn’t know anything about it; we wouldn’t even know that Lewis had gone; and as I’ve said, we’d have no case against anyone here.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘I can see only one way to handle this,’ Biggles said. ‘Ginger, you’ll go to Headquarters and tell the Air Commodore how things stand. Come straight back bringing three guns with you. That means if you take the car we shall need another. We’d be helpless here without transport. Anyway, this one has been here on the road for so long that it must be getting conspicuous. Bertie, you’ll have to watch Hallstone Towers in case Trethallan and Lewis go back there. I’ll keep watch here to check if they come here to rendezvous with the plane, should that have been arranged. Now, this is the order of it. Bertie, you’ll slip into Bodmin right away, taking Ginger with you. There you’ll hire a car. If you can’t find a garage open you’ll have to ask the police to find you one; but don’t do that unless it’s necessary. Maybe they’ll let you have one of theirs. You’ve got your Yard identity card on you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘All right. You’ll come back here with two cars. You, Ginger, will then press on for London in our own car. Get back as quickly as you can but don’t risk breaking your neck. As long as you’re back here tomorrow before dark it will be okay. Nothing is likely to happen in daylight. Got that?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Using the spare car I shall take Bertie to Hallstone Towers where he’ll have to plant himself out of sight to watch the place. I shall come back here to watch the moor. Right?’

  ‘Okay. But how do I get back?’ Bertie asked.

  ‘I’ll fetch you as soon as it’s daylight. I don’t think you need stay after that. It might be risky, anyhow. I’m sorry to have to split up the party but I see no alternative. It’s vital that we should know if anything happens tonight and this seems the only way of doing it. If nothing happens, well, we get a breathing space to plan something for tomorrow night. Is that all clear? Any questions?’

  There were no questions.

  ‘Right,’ said Biggles. ‘Let’s get on with it.’ He got out of the car. Bertie, with Ginger beside him, drove off down the Bodmin road. Biggles sat down to wait, always watching the lonely stretch of country in front of him.

  An hour later two cars arrived together and stopped. One was their own, with Ginger at the wheel, the other a Morris, Bertie driving.

  ‘Good work,’ said Biggles. ‘Okay, Ginger. Off you go.’

  Ginger departed, heading for London.

  Biggles got into the second car. ‘You know where we’re going,’ he told Bertie. ‘I want to be back here as soon as possible.’

  Bertie drove on, and with little or no traffic on the road was soon outside the drive that led to Hallstone Towers. He did not stop there, but on Biggles’ instructions went on a little way before pulling up. He got out. Biggles slipped into the driving seat. ‘I’ll be back to pick you up soon after daylight,’ he said. ‘Careful how you go.’

  ‘Leave it to me, old boy.’

  ‘Be seeing you.’ Biggles returned to the moor, pulling in at the place where they had recently stopped, just off the road. He switched off all lights, made himself comfortable in the heather and prepared for a long wait. In front of him lay the moor. To left and right the road ran on to fade and finally disappear into the gloom.

  Would the airborne invader come tonight? was the thought uppermost in his mind. From what he knew he did not think so. He hoped it would not, or he would find himself opposed, single-handed and unarmed, to what would certainly be a dangerous gang. More than anything he wanted to intercept the plane and keep it grounded; to learn its nationality and establish the identity of the pilot. That was what the Air Commodore wanted to know; to learn if the purpose of the intruder’s mission was criminal or political — that is, espionage.

  Biggles thought he now knew the answer to that. The arrival of Cracker Lewis on the scene had revealed it. Either way it could not be allowed to go on, flaunting both the law and Air Traffic Regulations. So pondered Biggles, as he gazed across the desolate expanse of moorland in the direction of the supposed landing strip. Not a light showed. Always keeping an ear to the sky for the sound of an aero engine, he waited.

  Time passed. Nothing happened. There was a little traffic on the road; an occasional long-distance lorry, a milk-collecting truck and a few private cars. He looked hard at all the vehicles that passed, but none was the car with which he was concerned. The Bentley.

  By three o’clock time had begun to drag. Not until six would dawn creep up over the horizon. There was nothing to relieve the boredom. Fortunately the weather was mild or the vigil would have been even more tedious.

  However, the longest night has to come to an end, and it was with heart-felt relief that Biggles at long last saw a grey streak appear in the eastern sky to tell of the coming of another day. Nothing had happened, and it now seemed unlikely that anything would happen during the next fourteen or fifteen hours. He waited another five minutes, by which time through a misty twilight he could see some distance across the moor; then, rising and stretching his stiff limbs, he got into the car and set off to fetch Bertie, as had been arranged. It would, he thought, be interesting to know if he had anything to report. The most important thing was, had the Bentley returned to the house?

  He drove slowly, still keeping an eye on the moor, while it was in view, for any sign of activity. He saw nothing except the rolling landscape. Once clear he increased his speed and in twenty minutes was passing the broken pillars at the entrance to Hallstone Towers. Bertie was not there. He did not expect him to be, so he carried on up the hill to where the lane widened. This was the rendezvous. Bertie was not there, either. This did not worry him. No actual time had been set for the appointment. Bertie would, he was sure, be along at any moment, so he settled down in the car and tit a cigarette, prepared to wait.

  After a little while and Bertie had not shown up he felt his first twinge of concern. It was now daylight, and he could think of no reason why Bertie, after a night out, should linger longer than was absolutely necessary. Another ten minutes and concern had become anxiety. What on earth could Bertie be doing? What could be keeping him?

  Leaving the car he walked down to the drive. There was nobody there. He whistled softly. This produced no result. Now seriously alarmed he walked a little way up the drive looking for signs of Bertie’s occupation. He thought he may have found it when he observed a spot where the bracken had been crushed flat as if someone had rested there. He noticed something else; something that puzzled him. The place was strewn with small chips as if someone had whittled a stick. Would Bertie have done that? He might. Lying near was a fallen branch from which the stick had apparently been cut with a small knife.
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  Not knowing quite what to make of it, he went on up the drive, as far as he dare without taking a risk of being seen from the house. Peering through the shrubs he saw the house. He also saw something else. Standing by the door was the Bentley. So the owner had returned. It was useful to know that. But where was Bertie? What could have happened to him? Obviously something had gone wrong. But if Bertie had done his job properly what could have gone wrong? With the return of the Bentley there was all the more reason to be at the rendezvous to report it.

  With his alarm becoming acute Biggles hurried back down the drive and up the hill to the car, hoping to find Bertie there. He was not. It was now evident that something had happened. Moreover, it must have been something serious.

  Still hoping Bertie would eventually turn up he got into the car, prepared to wait. He could think of nothing else to do. It would, he thought, be folly to go near the house. In any case, what could he hope to gain by that? So he waited. He waited for half-an-hour. Still Bertie did not appear. He decided it was no use waiting any longer. Had it been possible Bertie would be here by now, he told himself. The fact had to be faced. The plan, for some unknown reason, had come unstuck. It was hard to know what to do for the best. To go near the house in broad daylight would be to risk wrecking: everything. Trethallan, should he see him, would recognize him as the man he had spoken to on the road. Lewis, should he, too, have returned to the Towers, would also recognize him as a Scotland Yard detective who had given evidence against him in court.

  At the finish of his deliberations Biggles resolved to return to the hotel at Bodmin, thinking there was just a chance there might be a message there from Bertie. Or possibly Ginger, although it was no use expecting him back from London for some hours yet. Apart from that, he needed some breakfast. The keen morning air had given him an appetite, and in view of what had happened it might be a long time before he would get a chance for another meal. Anyway, should Bertie belatedly arrive at the rendezvous and find the car gone he would guess what had happened and in all probability start walking towards Bodmin expecting to meet the car coming back to look for him; or find it waiting on the main road where it crossed the moor.

  Reluctantly Biggles started on the return journey. He went dead slow past the broken pillars, hoping against hope that he would see Bertie coming down the drive. In this he was disappointed. He even gave a gentle hoot on the horn. Nothing happened, so he had no alternative than to go on. In due course he reached the road that crossed the moor. The first thing that caught his eye as he gazed across the heather was the shepherd, his dog and his little flock, on the supposed landing strip close to the mine. What did that signify — if in fact it meant anything?

  He didn’t stop, but carried on to Bodmin and the hotel. There was no message, either from Bertie, Ginger or anyone else.

  CHAPTER 11

  MORE SURPRISES

  BIGGLES had a quick bath to refresh himself after having been up all night, and afterwards some breakfast, all the time wondering what he should do about Bertie. On the face of it there was not much he could do. He felt, naturally, that he should start looking for him. But where? He might be at Hallstone Towers; on the other hand he might not. To go near the house was likely to do more harm than good. To try to gain an entry like a thief would be to exceed his authority, even as a policeman, and land him in trouble. Yet to go to the door to make inquiries would be futile, for if he was there Trethallan would not be likely to admit it. If Bertie was not at the Towers he might be anywhere.

  Now in a state of apprehension Biggles felt he could not just sit still and do nothing. He went out, took the car to the garage to have the tank topped up and then made again for Hallstone Towers, thinking, but without much hope, that he might see Bertie, or find a clue to account for his disappearance; possibly even meet him walking back.

  He did not meet him. He did not find a clue. He went as far as the rendezvous. He was not there. He waited for an hour. Then, no longer able to deceive himself that there was any hope of Bertie turning up, he cruised back to the moor and stopped in the usual place, the dip in the road where the car could not be seen from the mine. There, not knowing what else to do, he decided to await Ginger’s return, although this would not be for some time.

  The moor lay as deserted as usual. The shepherd and his flock were no longer there. Why? Where had they gone? He did not waste time in what obviously would be futile speculation.

  It had turned three when he saw the car for which he had been waiting coming up the road. It stopped. Ginger got out. He was followed by Algy.

  Biggles’ eyebrows went up. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘The Air Commodore insisted on it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He knows the position and thought you might need help.’

  ‘What about the telephone?’

  ‘He’s taking over. When he goes home all calls for our section will be switched through to him. That will cover any radar signal that might come through about the intruder being on the job.’

  ‘I see.’

  Ginger, who had been looking round, asked the natural question. ‘Where’s Bertie?’

  ‘I’ve lost him,’ returned Biggles morosely.

  ‘Lost him! How?’

  ‘When I went to the Towers to pick him up he wasn’t there. I haven’t seen a sign of him since I left him there.’

  Ginger grimaced. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘Nor I.’

  ‘What have you done about it?’

  ‘Not much, I must admit. I’ve been back over the road to the place where I was to pick him up. I’ve been a little way up the drive that leads to the house but I daren’t go too close.’

  ‘What do you suppose could have happened to him?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘He must have run into trouble.’

  ‘That’s fairly obvious or he’d have met me as arranged.’

  ‘What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Frankly, I don’t know.’

  ‘We shall have to do something.’

  ‘I think we’d better wait for a bit to see if he turns up before we do anything desperate. I can tell you this. The Bentley is back at the Towers. I saw it standing by the front door. How long it had been there, of course, I’ve no idea. Nor do I know if Cracker Lewis came back with it. Did you bring the pistols?’

  Ginger fetched a .38 automatic from the car and handed it over. ‘I’d better leave Bertie’s in the car,’ he said.

  Biggles put the gun in his pocket. ‘That feels better. I have a hunch I shall need this before we’ve finished here. Now, before we go any farther, what had the Air Commodore to say about all this?’

  ‘He was delighted to learn we’d struck a trail, but was a bit worried when he heard about Lewis being here, thinking we might get hurt. He’s a desperate character and it’s known he carries a gun. That’s why he insisted on Algy coming back with me. He thought we might need help. He did talk about coming down himself, but I said I didn’t think there was any necessity for that — not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Never mind about that,’ broke in Algy. ‘What are we going to do about Bertie? That’s what I want to know.’

  ‘That’s what I want to know, too,’ answered Biggles, grimly. ‘Ginger, how long is it since you had anything to eat?’

  ‘Nothing since last night. Knowing you were waiting for me I came straight back without bothering about food.’

  ‘In that case we’d better all go to Bodmin and get a meal while we have the opportunity. Anything could happen, and it may be some time before we have another chance. We’ll talk things over; maybe run out again to the Towers to see if there’s anything doing there.’

  ‘I know Bertie,’ declared Algy. ‘Only trouble in a big way would have prevented him keeping the appointment with you.’

  ‘You needn’t tell me,’ retorted Biggles. ‘Let’s go. I’m sick of staring at this perishing moor. We shall have to come ba
ck to it, of course. Sooner or later that Bentley should come along to bring Lewis to the landing ground. At least, that’s how I see it. That hired car can go back to the garage. I don’t think we shall need it now. If we do we can always fetch it.’

  They got into the two cars and drove off in the direction of Bodmin.

  After a wash and brush up, which Ginger needed after his long run, they had a meal, still, of course, discussing the situation. From time to time Biggles went to the hall porter to ask if there was a message for him, but the answer was always the same. No message. Time went on. Bertie did not appear.

  The first shades of evening were falling when Algy spoke impatiently. ‘This is no use,’ he declared. ‘Talking is getting us nowhere. We shall have to do something about Bertie.’

  ‘Do what?’ inquired Biggles dolorously. ‘You tell me. I can’t see that we can do anything. To wander about the moor, or hang around the Towers on the off-chance of finding him seems a pretty hopeless business.’

  ‘It’d be better to do that than sit here doing nothing,’ Ginger said.

  ‘There’s nothing to stop you from trying it, if that’s how you feel,’ Biggles told him.

  ‘I’d bet any money Bertie is in Hallstone Towers,’ averred Algy. ‘He isn’t on the moor. What is there to do there? If he was free to come home he’d have been here long ago. No. He was spotted prowling about the Towers and taken inside.’