41 Biggles Takes The Case

by Captain W E Johns

  Ginger sat down limply. "Well I'm dashed," he breathed. "I said it was a fine day for doing something exciting."

  "And as it turned out, it was," returned Biggles, reaching for the teapot.

  AFRICAN ASSIGNMENT

  AIR COMMODORE RAYMOND, Assistant Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard, looked up from some papers on his desk as Biggles walked in and closed the door behind him. "'Morning Bigglesworth," he greeted curtly.

  " 'Morning, sir."

  " Busy ? "

  "Not frantically, at the moment."

  "How would you like a run out to Central Africa ? "

  Biggles' face expressed no surprise as he took a cigarette from the box the Air Commodore had pushed forward. "What is it this time ? " he inquired.

  "I don't know," answered the Air Commodore frankly. "That's what I want you to find out. I have here a report from the Colonial Office. They don't know, either. I happened to be dining with the Colonial Secretary last night and he hinted pretty broadly that he would like to know."

  "I gather an aircraft comes into the picture ? " "In a vague sort of way."

  "Tell me how an aircraft can be vague ? " invited Biggles. "Either there is one or there isn't."

  "Sit down and I'll give you the gen."

  Biggles pulled up a chair and lit his cigarette.

  "The area with which we are concerned," began the Air Commodore, "is a small native reserve just inside our territory near the boundaries of Kenya, French Equatorial Africa and the Belgian Congo. It is known as the Ubeni Reserve. It is occupied by a tribe of that name who live mostly in a village of that name."

  Biggles smiled faintly. "That simplifies the name aspect, anyhow."

  "The village is situated on the shore of Lake Kulu, a piece of water about forty miles long which occupies the centre of the reserve,"

  continued the Air Commodore. "These people apparently, have always been a bit backward. A few were recruited as labourers for the mines at Kimberley some time ago, but not liking work they returned home. We'

  ve never had any serious trouble in the Reserve, largely, perhaps, because the Head Game Ranger has closed his eyes to the poaching of protected game. There's nothing unusual about that. Most natives are poachers by nature, but we don't mind as long as the thing is kept within reasonable limits. On the whole the Ubeni are a surly lot, for which reason they seldom have visitors—I mean white men. So much for the place and the people.

  "The first indication that things were not normal came in a report from Captain Callingham, the Assistant Game Ranger into whose district the Ubeni Reserve falls. He looks in about once a year just to remind the people that he exists ; for Ubeni, you must understand, is not an easy place to reach on foot. Being a government official, Callingham has never been what you might call welcomed with open arms ; but on the last occasion he went there, some months ago, he detected an atmosphere of definite hostility. There was no actual violence, but Callingham knew from experience that he was on thin ice, and, wisely perhaps, retired.

  The reason for such a reception was not disclosed, but that there was one we need not doubt. Something, or someone, was responsible, and Callingham, wise in such matters, suspected the influence of a white man."

  "Was a white man known to be in the district at the time ? " inquired Biggles.

  "Yes, but as far as the behaviour of the natives is concerned he can be ruled out, since he was, there is reason to suppose, their victim. He was a well known character, a Scot by the name of Angus Soutar, a widower, and a trader of the old school who, being thoroughly trustworthy, worked under a government licence. His native name was Sootoo. He has a son, Thomas, a boy of sixteen. This lad, having been educated in England, joined his father about six months ago on what was to be his first trading trip. I suppose the old man was getting on in years and wanted to teach his boy the business with a view to his taking over when he himself was past it. It's a hard life, this trekking round the outlying districts with no home but an ox wagon, bartering trade goods for anything of a commercial nature. Still, apparently the old man liked the life. He, like the Game Ranger, looked in at Ubeni about once a year. He called there a little while ago and he hasn't been seen since. His son came home, and it was the story he told that has resulted in this conversation." The Air Commodore reached for another cigarette before he continued.

  "About two months ago, this boy, Tommy Soutar, turned up, alone and on foot, at Juba, in Equatoria, with a strange story, but one that was confirmed by his condition, for he was pretty well all in. He said that with his father he had been to the Ubeni Reserve where they had found the natives off-hand to the point of being insolent. It was clear that they were not wanted. It was the first time that the old man had met with such a reception and he was upset about it. Some of the natives appeared to be drunk, and, in fact some empty gin bottles were seen. Some had bedecked themselves with empty sardine tins, jam jars, and similar hardwear, and the conclusion Soutar came to was that either a white man had given them these things in return for services rendered, or else they had encountered and robbed someone. Perceiving that if he stayed he might himself be robbed, Soutar decided to move on.

  "They went on, Tommy says, for about ten miles, following the edge of the lake to keep in touch with

  water for their oxen, and then outspanned for the night. Just at sundown a native, a Ubeni, appeared on their trail. His manner, the boy described as furtive, as if he was afraid of being followed. The old man spoke to him in his own language, which the boy did not understand. As a result of a conversation Angus Soutar went into the wagon, brought out a considerable quantity of tobacco, and gave it to the fellow. In return, Tommy noticed, he received a small oblong tin with a blue lid. The native departed. The old man took the tin into the wagon. Tommy never saw it again. He has no idea of what was in it. It struck him that his father seemed worried, for he sat, deep in thought, as if pondering a difficult problem. At last he got up and said : There's dirty work going on at Ubeni and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. Wait here till I come back.' Then, as an afterthought, he added : If I don't come back go to the District Officer.' With that he went off in the direction of Ubeni.

  Tommy never saw him again.

  "The boy waited up all night. When at dawn his father had not returned he set off to look for him. He went, he thinks, about three or four miles, and then came upon something that threw him into a panic—as well it might. It was the native who had come to their camp. He was dead—speared to death. The tobacco had gone. Tommy ran back to the wagon. He was sure now that disaster had overtaken his father, but what could he do, alone ?

  He couldn't take on the whole tribe of Ubeni singlehanded. In the end he did the most sensible thing—the thing his father had advised. He inspanned the oxen and drove off in the hope of finding help.

  "Later that day he saw something which has resulted in my telling you this story. It was an aeroplane. It was well out over the lake, coming from the direction of Ubeni. It disappeared to the north."

  "He didn't by any chance recognise the type ? " interposed Biggles.

  "No. He was not particularly concerned with it beyond the fact that he wondered what it was doing there. But let me finish the boy's story. That night came the final calamity.

  The oxen were attacked by lions, and those that weren't killed, stampeded. Without any means of transport Tommy did the only thing he could do. He loaded himself up with all the food he could carry and set off on foot. A fortnight later, near starvation, he was lucky to meet some friendly natives who took him to the nearest white settlement, from where he was passed on to Juba, where he told his story."

  Biggles stubbed his cigarette. "And what does all this add up to ? "

  The Air Commodore shrugged. "Simply this, Something is going on at Ubeni.

  There's a chance that an aircraft may be involved. If it is, that's where you come in."

  "Is there any reason why the District Officer shouldn't go out, with an escort, to probe the myst
ery, and find out what happened to Soutar ? "

  "Yes. It would be impossible for an official safari to approach the Reserve without its presence becoming known, in which case the culprits would vanish and the Ubeni would pretend to know nothing."

  "From the evidence it rather looks as if the kernel of this particular nut might be found in the box that Soutar accepted from the native in payment for tobacco. Did the boy make no effort to find it ? "

  "No. He was too concerned about hi3 father and his own safety to bother about what then seemed a mere detail."

  "Where is Tommy Soutar now ? "

  "He's still at Juba, working on a farm there. His statement was forwarded to Whitehall with a request for instructions. The business is really outside our province, but it struck me that you might slip down as the quickest way of clearing the thing up. Your arrival on the spot would at least be unexpected. Juba is on the main route to the Cape so you could be there in two or three days. It would take the police a month to reach the place from Nairobi. If you took a marine aircraft you could use the lake as a landing ground. That's why I mentioned it."

  Biggles considered the matter for a minute. "The proposition is still a bit vague," he averred. "What's the main issue ? I mean, am I to find Soutar, or merely ascertain why the Ubeni have turned nasty ? "

  "If," answered the Air Commodore slowly, "you can ascertain who is supplying these people with gin, and why, you may find the answer to both questions. It would be interesting to know if the aircraft young Soutar saw comes into the picture."

  "I take it you've no official record of an aircraft, military or civil, being in the area ? "

  "None. The R.A.F. have no station near, and no civil permit has been issued or I should have notified you for your records."

  Biggles toyed with a cigarette. "Where did the Steiners get their pictures ? "

  "The Steiners ? Oh, you mean the people who are showing that wild animal film at the Poly Cinema."

  "Yes. They call it The Heart Of Africa. According to the papers they're an adventure loving husband and wife who waffle round the wild spots of the earth in a flying boat taking wonderful shots of wild animals.

  They're going back to Africa again shortly. It was the air angle that interested me."

  "Quite so. I don't know much about them, except that last year they made a picture in India with our blessing."

  "Theirs might have been the machine that Tommy saw."

  The Air Commodore shook his head. "I doubt it. At least, they didn't ask for a permit, so presumably for their African picture they made their base in French or Belgian territory."

  "Neither of which is far from Ubeni."

  "True enough. They might have got off their course a trifle. But I don't think you need worry about them. After all, their business relies on keeping friendly with the natives, not by antagonising them."

  Biggles nodded. "Still, they have an aircraft." He got up. "I'll take Ginger with me and start for Juba in the morning to get young Soutar's story at first hand. Afterwards I may have a look at this Ubeni country."

  Four days later, on the arid airfield at Juba, sitting on an empty oil drum near a police Saro amphibian aircraft that he had flown out, Biggles listened to the story of Tommy Soutar, the boy who had lost his father.

  He was a fair, sun-bronzed, intelligent-looking lad who, outwardly at any rate, showed no signs of his recent misadventure. Ginger had been to the farm where he worked to fetch him while Biggles refuelled the aircraft.

  The story provided little new in the way of information. Tommy regretted that he would not recognise the mysterious aircraft again if he saw it ; and, in answer to another question, stated that he could not even guess what was in the little tin box given to his father by the native.

  "When you set off on foot you left the wagon just as it was, with everything in it ? "

  queried Biggles.

  "Except what food I could carry," answered Tommy.

  "Then presumably it's still there. Could you find the place again ? "

  "Easily."

  "You mean, there was a conspicuous landmark ? "

  "Yes, the lake. I kept near it for water, as my father had done. A narrow creek juts out, shaped like an elbow. I had stopped in a glade in some thorn trees about a hundred yards from the end of it, hoping any natives who came alone wouldn't notice the wagon. The lions must have been in the scrub."

  "If I flew you to the lake could you show me this place ? " "yes:,

  "Will you come ? "

  "Of course."

  "Then let's go," said Biggles, rising. "We can do nothing more here. An hour should see us there. There should be no difficulty in finding the lake, any way. You can sit next to me and point out the creek when we come to it."

  In five minutes the machine was in the air, and in just over an hour the first objective was in view—a long narrow sheet of placid, reed-fringed water, that sprawled across an otherwise featureless landscape. Biggles struck it at the northern end. Under Tommy's direction he flew south, and following the eastern shore came upon the creek to which reference had been made. The village of Ubeni, Tommy said, was about twenty miles farther on, as near as he could judge.

  Cutting his engines Biggles glided low over the proposed landing ground, unruffled except for ripples where some hippos sank out of sight as the machine approached.

  Turning, he made a second run, and this time the keel slashed a creamy wake down the surface of the water towards the inner end of the creek. As the machine lost way, a burst of engine sent it on until its bows swished in the reeds that lined the bank. Some rose-pink flamingoes took wing from a nearby mudflat, otherwise nothing appeared to be disturbed.

  " 'Ware crocodiles," warned Biggles, as Ginger stepped out into a foot of water to make the machine fast.

  Ginger took heed, but the danger did not materialise. The others joined him on the bank, Biggles carrying a rifle, in case, as he said, the lions that had attacked the oxen were still in the vicinity. If they were, nothing was seen of them.

  " This way," said Tommy, walking towards an area of flat topped trees that straggled in the dry grass no great distance away.

  In a few minutes the melancholy proof of Tommy's story was before them.

  The dismembered skeleton of a bullock lay in the grass. Just beyond, the abandoned wagon stood silent and forlorn.

  "That was my home for six months," remarked Tommy sadly, as they walked up to it.

  A disappointment awaited them. As they neared the vehicle Tommy suddenly ran forward with a cry of dismay. Explanation was unnecessary, for what he had seen was apparent to all. The wagon was empty. Of its mixed contents not one article remained.

  "The natives must have found it after all ! " exclaimed Tommy bitterly.

  "I was afraid of that," said Biggles evenly. "Being so near to Ubeni someone was almost certain to spot it."

  "Even so, unless the robbers knew for certain that my father was dead they would hardly dare to touch his things," declared Tommy miserably.

  "Where did your father usually keep his valuables?" inquired Biggles. "I imagine he sometimes carried quite a lot of money and he wouldn't just leave it lying about ? "

  "I don't care about the money," said Tommy huskily.

  "I wasn't thinking of money particularly," replied Biggles. "It struck me that he might have put the tin box given to him by the native in the same place."

  "Yes, that's right," agreed Tommy. "He hid his money in a little locker under a loose board over the forward axle—here." Tommy stooped, lifted the board, and uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. "They didn't find it ! " he cried. "It's still here ! " "The money ? "

  "And the box." Tommy lifted a small metal box with a blue-painted lid. As he handed it to Biggles something inside rattled. Biggles prised it open, for it was the sort that a rubber lining inside the rim holds the lid secure and airtight. Into the palm of his left hand he poured a number of tiny stones. The largest was about the size of a pea. He held it up
. As the light fell on it, in some strange way it seemed to glow.

  "What on earth are they ? " asked Ginger.

  "Diamonds," answered Biggles softly. "Uncut diamonds."

  For a minute no one spoke. Then Biggles went on. "So now we know. I thought this little box might hold the key to the mystery. At any rate, it's turned the spotlight on it. This is the position as I see it now.

  The Ubeni have struck diamonds. Maybe they were found by the men who were recruited for work in the mines at Kimberley. They'd probably recognise diamondiferous gravel if they saw it. They'd also know it is illegal to buy and sell diamonds—not that that would stop them selling any they had, given the chance. To whom could they sell them in a place like this ?

  Obviously, it must have been a white man. From the evidence, it rather looks as if he traded them gin, jam and sardines, for stones. The natives, knowing they were breaking the law, would discourage other white visitors—as we know they did. In that attitude they would of course be encouraged by the white man who was making a good thing out of them.