Some of the passengers stirred slightly. Others took no notice. One of the Americans called: 'There's still plenty of fog below.'
'A wide front covers Europe from the Mediterranean to Scotland,' answered Ginger glibly.
Silence fell. Ginger's nerves tingled with an anticipation from which apprehension was not entirely absent. The time had come. If anything was going to happen it could not be long delayed. With the note of its engines unchanged the Planet roared on into what, according to the timetable, was the danger zone. In flying circles it had become known as Suicide Creek.
Five minutes passed. Ten. Nothing happened. Most of the passengers appeared to be asleep. The German's head slumped forward. He snored gently. His wife picked up a newspaper and read, holding the pages close to her face as if she were short-sighted.
Why doesn't she wear glasses? thought Ginger.
He yawned. The atmosphere was conducive to sleep. It always is on a long run. The motors hum a lullaby. Boredom closed eyes. He watched, fighting drowsiness.
It struck him suddenly that the German woman was a long time reading the paragraph before her eyes. Was she reading or was she asleep? He stared.
Was the position of her head quite natural? Was the corner of the paper being lowered surreptitiously so that she could look over it; or was his imagination playing tricks? Certainly the movement was so slight that had he not been watching closely it would have passed unnoticed.
Whatever the reason, Ginger's nerves grew taut with a consciousness of impending danger, all the more disturbing because they were where they were; but the feeling would not be shaken off. His eyes raced over the passengers. None was moving. They returned to the German woman. He leaned forward until he could see her face. It was black.
Dragging himself up, for his limbs were suddenly strangely weak, he stumbled as if by accident and knocked the newspaper aside. Then he understood. She was wearing a gas mask.
On seeing that she was discovered the woman tried to fend him away, but he seized the mask and tore it off. A blow from the man behind made him stagger, but he reached the danger switch and flashed it on. The German, also masked, came at him, his hand groping at his hip pocket. But Ginger was first with his gun. It spat. The man crumpled.
The woman screamed. Ginger's gun flashed to cover her. She flung up her arms crying Wien! Nien!'
By this time pandemonium reigned. Pushing their way with scant ceremony through the other passengers who had sprung up in alarm at the sound of the shot came Biggles, closely followed by Bertie.
Ginger shouted 'Look out. It's gas!'
The woman's hand was fumbling under her blouse.
Ginger, thinking she was feeling for a weapon, turned his automatic again; but she cried Not shoot. I only turn off the gas,' and dropped into her seat, wild-eyed, panting.
Then Ginger understood why she was so fat. He told Biggles what had happened. 'I grabbed her mask to make her switch off the gas; without a mask she would have had it with the rest of us. Her partner was pulling a gun on me so I had to shoot.'
`So that's how it was done,' said Biggles softly. He turned to the babbling passengers. '
Will everyone please be seated? There has been a little trouble but it's all over.' He went forward.
A moment later the drone of the motors faded. The nose of the aircraft tilted down. Cold fresh air swept through the cabin. The machine dropped through the overcast and ten thousand points of light appeared below.
One of the Americans sprang up. 'Say! Am I crazy or are those the lights of London ? '
'They are,' Ginger told him. 'We've never been out of the metropolitan area. The company tenders its apologies and will explain later. Please don't take the delay too seriously. Another machine is standing by. You can still be in Egypt by the morning. You might have ended up somewhere quite different.'
In the radio compartment Bertie was talking to the Air Commodore, in the Control Tower.
When the Planet landed the police were waiting, with the ambulance.
THE CASE OF THE
IVORY IDOL
Air Detective-Inspector Bigglesworth had not long returned to the apartment which he shared with his police pilots, after a conference at Scotland Yard, when the housekeeper announced that two gentlemen were below, asking to see him. She couldn't catch their names, but from their faces she judged them to be people from some outlandish part of the world.
When, a minute later, the visitors were shown into the sitting-room, it became evident that, although the callers wore well-cut European clothes, they were from Asia.
Biggles pulled forward two chairs. 'Be seated, gentlemen,' he invited.
'What's your trouble?'
'Trouble ? '
'Strangers only come to see me when they have something on their minds,'
said Biggles sadly.
The visitors, both of middle age, saw no humour in this. Their yellow-brown faces remained impassive, their dark eyes dull.
'Are you the famous Colonel Bigglesworth? ' inquired one, cautiously.
'The name is right, but the rank is somewhat flattering,' returned Biggles, smiling. 'No matter. By whom are we honoured ? '
'I am the Prince Yuan Sukang and this is my cousin and Prime Minister, the honourable Mr. Kling. We are
from the state of Kahore, which, in case you do not know — for ours is a small country
— lies on the northern frontiers of Burma and Thailand.'
'You speak English very well,' complimented Biggles. 'I gather you have not always lived in Kahore.'
The Prince hesitated. 'I had an English tutor, and was for a time in London,' he explained.
Àh! ' breathed Biggles. 'Quite so. Now tell me; in what way do you think I can help you?'
'You will have heard that my country, like the countries around it—
Burma, Thailand and Indo-China — are in a state of chaos, of revolution and evil war.'
'So I read in the newspapers. In that case why have you come to London?'
'There is nothing I can do in Kahore. Law and order is finished. The villages are destroyed. Terrorists beset even the jungle paths. Famine and disease stalk the land. The people die.'
'Your people ? ' murmured Biggles softly.
'Yes.'
'And there is nothing you can do for them?'
'Nothing.'
'What, then, do you think I can do? Is it that you want to go back ? '
'We have come to see you because there is something in Kahore which we would much like to have here.'
'I see.' Biggles' voice was soft with enlightenment. 'What is this object
? '
'You would call it a statue, an idol; but to us it is Astana, the god of our ancestors. It is of ivory, very old, very beautiful. You see, many Kahorans, driven from their homes, have fled to India. Some have even come here in ships. Me and my cousin we think of making a small temple here in which our people may not only worship in their own way but talk of plans for the liberation of Kahore, as many countries did in the war.
But of what use is an empty temple? Our visible god, Astana, is necessary to hold the people together.
Besides, it would be tragic if vandals despoiled this great work of art.'
'Quite so,' agreed Biggles. 'Has this statue any value apart from its religious significance?'
Again the Prince hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment, which was not lost on those watching him. 'No,' he answered.
'Good,' resumed Biggles. 'Where exactly is this statue?' 'In the temple at Pelanghur, the religious centre of Kahore.'
'But you have said the country has been overrun. How do you know that what you hope to prevent hasn't already happened ? '
'The god is hidden in a secret vault, known only to myself, my cousin, and the high priests, who would never reveal it, even under torture.'
'Why didn't you bring it with you when you left?
'Circumstances made it impossible. To escape with our lives, through hundreds of mi
les of jungle, even unencumbered, was a desperate adventure.'
'Now you want to fetch it so you come to me. Why ? '
'To carry the god overland would be impossible. Only an aeroplane could reach the temple. We are told that you specialize in such enterprises.'
'What sort of size, and weight, has this piece of ivory?' 'It is a sitting figure the size of life, so naturally it is very heavy.'
'Your plan is that we fly to the temple and bring the god home with us ?
'
'Exactly.'
'You realize that such a project would cost a good deal of money ? '
'Of course. We have money.'
'You'll need a lot,' advised Biggles. 'You haven't, I trust, overlooked the official angle.
For instance, if the statue was brought to this country it would have to be submitted to the Customs Officers for inspection and valuation.'
The Prince looked hard at Biggles. 'Would that be necessary ? '
Biggles frowned. 'It most certainly would,' he said shortly.
'I was only thinking,' explained the Prince quickly, 'that the religious nature of the god would exempt it from duty.'
`That would be for the authorities to decide. I wouldn't advise you to try to bring the statue in without declaring it. What is your objection to bringing it in openly?'
'It might lead to publicity which would not only be distasteful, but perhaps dangerous. If terrorists learned of it they might make reprisals on the people. They might send agents here to murder us, for while I live Kahore is still a sovereign state.'
'Quite so,' acknowledged Biggles. 'Now tell me this. Is there a possible landing ground near the temple?'
'There is quite a good airfield. It was the existence of it that suggested this plan.'
Biggles's eyebrows went up. 'An airfield ? '
'An Englishman named Hobbs made it, close to his bungalow. He was a superintendent of tea plantations and used a plane to fly round his district: also to fetch supplies from the coast.'
`What happened to him ? '
'I don't know. He probably suffered the fate of many planters in Malaya.'
'All right. Just now you spoke of money. What sort of fee had you in mind for this service ? '
'We thought two thousand pounds. One thousand to be paid at the start and the balance at the end.'
'The expenses would be heavy.'
`We would pay all expenses.'
Biggles nodded. 'That sounds generous. You would, I take it, accompany the expedition yourself?'
'Of course. Will you help us ? '
Biggles got up. 'I'd like a day to think about it. Come round at the same time to-morrow and I'll give you my decision. If I accept we'll fix the arrangements.'
'Thank you.' The visitors bowed. Biggles saw them to the front door, returned to the sitting-room, and looked in turn at the faces of his assistants. 'Don't all speak at once,' he said drily.
'Why didn't you tell those birds right away that there was nothing doing
? ' asked Algy Lacey.
'Because that would have ended the matter as far as we're concerned. Our visitors would have gone elsewhere and we should have lost touch with them. I don't know that I want that to happen.' Biggles smiled. 'Put my interest down to an uncontrollable sense of curiosity.'
'Does that mean you're thinking seriously of going on this jaunt, old boy
? ' inquired Bertie Lissie, polishing his monocle briskly.
'You heard what I told them. I'd like to think about it. I meant that, because there are several angles to this business that strike me as queer.'
'I could see you didn't like those fellows,' put in Ginger.
'So far there's nothing to like or dislike about them — aside from the fact that they're both drug addicts. Opium smokers, probably. Their eyes give them away. I own I'm a bit prejudiced against the Prince because he has obviously ratted on his people by bolting and leaving them to carry the can without a leader. The country has, as we know from the newspapers, boiled over, leaving the terrorists on top. I don't doubt that the ivory god is there, and I suspect it's worth a substantial sum of money. I know the Prince said it had no great intrinsic value but I find that hard to believe. If it has no value outside religion why is he so anxious to get hold of it? That, to me, was a weak point in his story.
I also have doubts as to the Prince's title to the statue, and the use to which he intends to put it.
The story of bringing it here for refugee Kahorans sounded thin to me. If he thought so much of them why did he leave them in the cart? Another thing I don't like was his hint of dodging Customs. Of course, that doesn't make him crooked, but it suggests he isn't quite as straight as he might be.'
'Two thousand plus expenses was a fair enough offer for the job, old lad,' opined Bertie.
'It was too much,' averred Biggles bluntly. 'I've learned that when people offer more for a job than it's worth they may have ideas about not paying at all.'
'We could demand to see the colour of his cash before the start.'
Ginger stepped in. 'What puzzles me is, if this pair aren't on the level why did they come to you? They must know you're a police officer.'
'You've got something there,' agreed Biggles. 'Maybe they thought they could buy me.
That sort of thing is common in the East. Or perhaps they thought we had facilities denied to ordinary civil pilots — which in fact we have. But the Oriental mind is apt to weave in intricate circles so let's not waste time guessing.' He got up.
'Where are you going ? ' asked Algy.
'Back to the Yard to ask the Air Commodore what he thinks about it, and dig out all the gen available on Kahore and its ruling prince. See you later.'
It was past dinner time when he returned. 'I did better than I expected,'
he announced, as he pulled up a chair to the table. 'It seems that Prince Yuan Sukang is the King of Kahore, and from all accounts is a pretty decent fellow: but the Foreign Office was under the impression that he'd been bumped off. He and his brother did have an English tutor, and there was a planter in the country named Hobbs. Nothing has been heard of him since the trouble started. That part of the story seems to add up pretty well. What puzzled the Foreign Office was how the Prince got into this country without them knowing about it, and how he got money through the Currency Control without being spotted.'
'In plain English, old boy, they think the thing smells fishy,' prompted Bertie.
Biggles smiled faintly. 'They have an idea that the aroma isn't pure lavender water.'
'What's the upshot of it ? ' asked Algy, impatiently.
'The upshot is, the Chief is curious, and so is the Foreign Office. We've to follow the thing up to see where it ends.
For the job, which has now become an official enquiry, we may use government aircraft.'
'What about the two thousand quidlets ? ' inquired Bertie.
'I'm afraid we shall have to hand them over,' answered Biggles sadly.
'After dinner we'll have a look at the map to see just where we're going.
The monsoon will be over so the weather should be all right. If we go I think you'd better put guns in your pockets. We may need them.'
At five thousand feet the old police Wellington droned its way over the vast jungles of Upper Burma towards its remote objective. From the second pilot's seat Ginger regarded the unbroken green panorama without enthusiasm. Algy occupied the navigator's compartment, although his job had really ended when they struck the tributary of the Mekong River, on the banks of which the village, with its temple, was situated. Bertie sat in the cabin with Prince Yuan and his compatriot.
A week had elapsed since Biggles had accepted the assignment. The interval had been straightforward routine. The aircraft had flown to the East stopping only for fuel, topping up its tanks for the last time at Dum-Dum aerodrome, Calcutta. The weather had been good all the way, and still remained fine, so the only hazard had been that of a forced landing over the last leg of the journey, whe
re such an event must have had disastrous consequences. The real danger would come when the machine was on the ground, waiting while the idol was fetched from the temple, should terrorists be in the vicinity.
This risk was unavoid able. Biggles was not entirely happy about the alleged landing facilities, for he had only the Prince's word that an airstrip was there, and had not become overgrown.
There had been a slightly embarrassing moment at the outset. Right up to the time of taking off not a word had been said about money; wherefore Biggles, before getting into the machine, had turned to the Prince and asked him if he hadn't forgotten something.
50 Biggles and the Pirate Treasure Page 6
