41 Biggles Takes The Case

by Captain W E Johns

  By this time Biggles was in no doubt as to who these men were and what they were doing. The weapons they all carried were sufficient evidence of that. Here was a gang of bandits come to report progress or replenish their stores ; probably both. The lorry, he noticed, still carried the insignia of a British army unit ; it also showed signs of having been recently in the wars, for its woodwork had been holed and splintered by bullets.

  Even so, Biggles was not prepared for what happened next. The man whom he had supposed to be the leader of the raiders walked over to the lorry and climbed in over the tailboard, which had been dropped. A moment later a body—or what Biggles took to be a body from the way it was handled—was flung out. The man who had thrown it out jumped down after it and kicked it. This brought the supposed body to its feet, not without difficulty, for, as Biggles now observed, the hands were tied together behind its back.

  In spite of the clammy heat Biggles felt a chill creep over him as he realised that he was looking at a captured British soldier. What made the situation even more pathetic was the fact that he was little more than a boy. He appeared to be dazed by what was happening to him. A more lonely, hopeless figure, Biggles thought he had never seen, and his lips came together in a hard line as he watched him half dragged, half shoved, to where Vandor and the Malay were standing. Vandor, who had lit a cheroot, appeared to find great satisfaction in the situation ; but it is unlikely that he would have been so self-assured could he have seen the expression on Biggles' face.

  With a flourish of his cheroot Vandor turned away up a path that skirted the side of the house, which he entered through open french windows. The soldier was taken along behind him by the Malay. The other man hurried off shouting to some of his men.

  Keeping in the undergrowth, regardless now of snakes, or water that drenched him every time he touched a palm frond, Biggles made his way, with some difficulty, parallel with the path to a point from which he could see inside the room. The big Malay was just leaving, a bunch of keys in his hand. Vandor was putting a heavy canvas bag into a metal safe. The prisoner, helpless, stood there, calmly awaiting the fate which he must have thought inevitable.

  Biggles made his preparation swiftly. He took from his pocket a flat leather case.

  Opening it, he selected a slim metal cylinder, and holding it to his ear, counted a number of clicks as he turned a milled screw. This, and the case, he returned to his pocket. From inside his blouse he took a hunting knife and stuck it through his belt. Then his hand went to his hip and came up holding an automatic.

  In his heart he knew that what he purposed doing was wrong. His first consideration, he was aware, should be the fulfilment of his mission, which was the destruction of the ammunition dump. But against that he knew that if he abandoned the unlucky lad, standing wretched and forlorn a dozen paces from him, the face would haunt him for the rest of his days. He moved forward to the fringe of the palms and there paused to hear what Vandor was saying. The words, in

  perfect English, reached him clearly, and the subject with which they dealt was appropriate to the situation.

  "I see," Vandor was saying. "So you're not going to talk ? "

  The boy did not answer.

  "We have here," said Vandor airily," ways to make the most obstinate people talk."

  "But I tell you I don't know anything," blurted the boy desperately.

  "We may be able to refresh your memory," replied Vandor, locking the safe, and turning to a desk on which lay a revolver.

  "Officers don't tell privates what their plans are," muttered the boy.

  "We shall see," returned Vandor, smiling unpleasantly.

  Biggles had heard enough. Automatic in hand he stepped forward. "As you say, Vandor, we shall see," he said coldly. "You'd better keep your hands where I can see them because I'm waiting for an excuse to fill your dirty body with lead." He went on and picked up the revolver from the desk.

  Vandor did not move. His eyes opened wide. His jaw dropped. Astonishment may have bereft him of the power of speech.

  With his knife Biggles cut the cords that bound the soldier's hands.

  "Keep your tail up, laddie," he said softly. "Let me know as soon as you can use your hands. Take time, but don't waste any."

  "I'm all right," said the boy, new hope in his voice.

  "Okay. I want you to do exactly as I tell you. Take this gun. Keep that rat covered. One move, one bleat, let him have it. If we're going for a Burton your job is to see that he comes too."

  "Leave it to me," said the boy through his teeth.

  "That's the spirit. I shan't be long. A shot will bring me back." Biggles strode off, taking the small but powerful demolition bomb from his pocket as he walked.

  He took the back way to the east end of the building, where he found more activity than he expected. The double doors of a room of some size were wide open. A light was on, revealing a stock of ammunition boxes and other things. At the entrance a jeep was being loaded with petrol cans.

  At the same time a man was filling the tank. The second jeep stood at the top of a short ramp apparently awaiting its turn. There was no one with it, all hands being concentrated on the jeep that was being loaded.

  A mirthless smile curled Biggles' lips as he walked towards it, for this part of the game, at any rate, was in his hands. His battledress—or rather, the stolen uniforms worn by the bandits—may have done him a service, in that the men working on the lower jeep, if they saw him, may have taken him for a member of their gang. Be that as it may, no one challenged him. Reaching the jeep he simply took off the hand brake, whereupon the vehicle, being on a slope, started forward, fast gathering speed.

  The men below saw it coming, as they were bound to, and a shout went up.

  They could not have seen Biggles, for he was crouching behind it. His right arm went back, then swung forward. For a second the yellow light glinted on a little metal tube that whirled through the open doors into the room beyond.

  Biggles did not wait for the result, Counting the seconds, he dashed back the way he had come. When he had counted five he flung himself flat and put his arms over his head, hands over his ears. He was only just in time. First came a sharp explosion, followed instantly by a terrific whoosh which he took to be the petrol catching fire. Hard upon that came a tremendous roar. Waiting only until the debris had finished rattling down—and there was plenty of that—Biggles

  sprang up and ran on, no longer in darkness, but in a lurid glare that had its source at the east end of the building. Explosion followed explosion.

  In the unholy light he saw a figure run into the room for which he was himself making—

  the room where he had left the soldier. He reached it to see the big Malay, dagger in hand, creeping up behind the soldier who, his eyes being on Vandor, was unaware of his presence. Biggles did not hesitate. His pistol spat. The native stretched himself to his full height ; then his legs crumpled under him and he slumped like a wet sack dropping off a peg.

  The soldier spun round with a gasp. Vandor, white-faced and round-eyed, started to move, but as Biggles' pistol whipped up again he flinched and stood still.

  "Come on, laddie, let's get out of this," said Biggles crisply. To Vandor he rasped : "I'm hoping you'll come after us because I'm still waiting for that excuse to send you where you belong." He did, in fact, glance behind him as he left the room ; but Vandor was still standing there, as if petrified by the speed of these events.

  "Where are we going ? " asked the soldier eagerly.

  "Follow me and don't ask questions," answered Biggles tersely. "Guard the rear and plug anyone who tries to interfere. I haven't quite finished yet and this is no time or place for romantic notions of chivalry." He went on to the front of the house.

  Here he found things easier than he expected. The lorry was still there.

  There was no one with it, every-. one apparently having hurried to the end of the house where the fire was raging to a brisk accompaniment of exploding small-arms a
mmunition. Sparks were flying and stray bullets whistling in all directions.

  Biggles walked quickly to the lorry, which he saw had been partly loaded with miscellaneous equipment. With the soldier standing guard he climbed into the seat, released the handbrake, started the engine, put it in gear and jumped down. As the vehicle started to move he tossed a bomb into the back of it.

  From the cover of the palms that lined the track, as they watched it run out of control down the hill, Biggles remarked, grimly : "Whatever happens now they'll remember our visit."

  "Are you telling me ? " replied the soldier fervently. "What's your name

  ? "

  "Alan Macdonald."

  "Fair enough. That name fits with hard fighting."

  The lorry failed to achieve a miracle by keeping to the track at the bottom of the hill. It crashed through the wooden railings of the bridge, disappeared from sight, and banged and bumped its way to the bottom of the ravine. Then came an explosion. Orange flames leapt up to lick the overhanging tree-ferns.

  "I think that'll about do," said Biggles evenly. "We'll see about getting home. This way."

  Eyes alert and pistol ready for trouble he walked quickly towards the lower end of the footpath that led up to the reservoir —or at any rate, towards the place where the Chinese boy had told him he would find it.

  This was behind a small power-house in a vegetable garden at the west end of the house. Just as they reached it however, Alan, who was watching the rear, touched Biggles on the arm. "Give me a minute, will you ? " he asked in a queer tone of voice.

  Biggles stopped inside the nearest trees. "What's the idea ? "

  Alan pointed. "You see that swine ? "

  Looking back, Biggles saw, gesticulating where the lorry had stood, the leader of the party that had captured Alan. Vandor was there, and two or three others. "Which particular hog do you mean ? " he asked.

  "The boss of the gang that ambushed us," answered Alan. "He shot my chum, Angus Gordon, in cold blood, when he was wounded."

  "What about it ? "

  "Where I come from we try to square these accounts. may never have another chance."

  "Okay," agreed Biggles. "Go ahead, but don't be long." He understood how the boy was feeling.

  Alan turned back.

  Biggles sat down, his eyes on the group standing in the open. In the light of the fires now raging it was like a scene in a play. There was no question of hearing anything because the uproar at the end of the house, and the crackle of exploding cartridges in the ravine, drowned all other sounds. A faint smile crossed his face as he saw the man whom Alan had pointed out, stiffen, stumble and fall. The others ran. A bullet cut up the dirt at Vandor's feet—and another. Then he appeared to dive into the ground. The others of the party ran on and disappeared round the end of the building.

  Presently Alan came back. He was breathing hard and there was a wild look in his eyes.

  He tried to speak, but the only sound that came was something like a sob.

  Biggles appeared not to notice it. "Nice work," he complimented. "Feel better after that ? "

  "A lot," said Alan, shortly. "I used all my ammunition, though," he added.

  "You'd never have found a better target," asserted Biggles. "Come on, we've some way to go and it's all uphill."

  "Where I come from we've plenty of hills," stated Alan.

  Nothing more was said. They set off up a narrow muddy path made slippery by the rain that had been falling on and off for some time.

  If the truth must be told, although he did not mention this to Alan, Biggles was nothing like as happy as he pretended to be. After a disconcerting beginning the mission had gone off well, but the weather conditions had introduced a factor which he had not taken into account.

  It had been fine when he started. But it was obvious that the monsoon had arrived. If it turned out to be only the advance guard of the real bad weather, so well and good. But if it was the monsoon proper, Ginger, and the others who were in reserve, would have a job to find the place—at all events, without flying very low, which would reveal their presence, and would, in hill country, be dangerous in itself. However, he went on, slipping and sliding and sweating in the sticky jungle heat, seizing upon any hand-hold to lessen the effort of climbing. It rained at intervals, sometimes heavily, sometimes only a drizzle. Rain water dripped monotonously from the pendant palm fronds. The overheated jungle steamed, although an occasional break in the clouds allowed a little wan light to trickle through.

  After a while Biggles said : "Let's have a breather. This is heavy going." He sat down in the mud and with a handkerchief already wet mopped mud, sweat and mosquitoes, from his face. He told Alan where they were going, and why. While doing this he looked back down the path up which they had come. Marapang itself could not be seen, but the site was marked by a fierce glow from which rolled a steady cloud of smoke. Then his attention switched to several points of light, strung out and moving, and clearly defined.

  "We'd better be moving," he said. "The blighters must have spotted which way we went and are coming after us."

  They went on, with frequent glances behind at the pursuing lights.

  Dawn broke grey and cheerless before the top of the path was reached, but Biggles knew from the distance they had covered that it must be close.

  When at last they came to it, they found they had arrived, as was to be expected, at the dam itself.

  Biggles considered the sheet of water with a calculating eye. Ginger was not there.

  "Have you any cookies left ? " asked Alan. "Yes," answered Biggles.

  "What about sticking one in the dam ? That would wash out those blighters on the path and flood everything down below."

  "It would also," said Biggles sadly, "leave my pilot with nothing but a sheet of mud to land on. I don't feel like walking home. Never allow your enthusiasm to outrun your intelligence, my lad. We'll move along for a bit."

  Visibility, while not good, was not as bad as Biggles expected to find it. What was heartening, as time went on and the sun gained power, it improved rapidly. Biggles smiled as he looked at Alan, wondering what his mother would think could she see him, plastered with mud from head to foot. His own condition, he knew, was no better. He took a bar of chocolate from his pocket, broke it in halves and gave half to Alan, who voted it a slice of luck.

  "By using your head and thinking in advance you can often arrange for little slices of luck," answered Biggles dryly. He looked back along the edge of the lake, but the ground was steaming, and visibility did not extend as far as the dam. They walked a little farther and then sat down to wait.

  They heard the aircraft before they saw it. In fact, they heard it twice, but on neither occasion was it near them. Ginger should have been at the rendezvous at dawn, and Biggles could imagine him fuming as he groped about in the murk, trying to get a glimpse of the earth but not daring to come too low for fear of colliding with one of the peaks that occurred in the area. However, at last they heard it really low. "He's getting desperate," Biggles told his companion, and stood up, Very pistol in hand, ready to signal his position. A moment later the Skud came into view, a grey shadow in the tenuous mist that still floated up from the valleys. Biggles sent a red ball of fire across its nose, and smiled at the speed at which the aircraft turned. He waved, and had the satisfaction of seeing the machine rock its wings to indicate that he had been observed. The twin engines died, and the Skud began an S turn to lose height in order to come in.

  At that moment, now that long visibility was not of paramount importance, the clouds parted ; the sun burst through, and the mist went up like a gigantic elevator. As if by magic the air was clear, so that everything within a mile was in plain view. The weather, which had done its best to make the operation difficult, had at last relented. Or so Biggles was justified in thinking.

  An instant later a sudden noise of shouting exposed the fallacy of this belief. It seemed that the weather was still determined to be difficult.

/>   Bad visibility having failed in its object, good visibility was turned on at the very moment when it could work mischief. It did this, as the shouting made apparent, by revealing them to a dozen or more men who were standing, and may have been standing for some time, at the place where the footpath emerged at the dam. With a brittle, "Look out ! " Biggles dived for the nearest cover. Alan went with him.

  A glance revealed the Skud now gliding in, its keel nearly touching the water. It was this that gave Biggles the greatest cause for anxiety, for the machine was bound to come to the bank to pick them up, and the risk of it being hit at such close range was all too evident.

  The bandits were coming on now, some firing their rifles as they ran, although from such wild shooting there was little to fear.

  "I'll hold these fellows, or make them keep their heads down, while you get aboard,"