by W E Johns
“There it is!” Tommy pointed to an aircraft moving swiftly across the dome of implacable blue overhead. It was well out over the lake, coming from a north-westerly direction, the direction of the Belgian Congo.
Biggles regarded it critically. “That’s the Steiners’ machine,” he announced. “It’s a Cornell flying boat, the same machine they used on their previous trips. From the course they’re on it looks as if they’re heading for Ubeni. They’ve wasted no time getting here. I didn’t expect them just yet. Maybe they had a reason for being in a hurry. I’m afraid I shall have to leave you alone for a bit.”
Tommy looked surprised. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to Ubeni.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“Possibly.” Biggles smiled. “I’m a policeman,” he reminded. “Being killed is a risk every policeman must take occasionally if he does his job. After all, I’m paid to arrest law breakers, not run away from them.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Biggles shook his head. “That’s sporting of you, Tommy, but I have a job for you. You’ll stay here to meet Ginger when he arrives, and tell him where I’ve gone, and why. He won’t be surprised. You should be safe enough here. I’ll leave you the rifle.”
“But this is Africa! You can’t stroll about as if you were in England!” cried Tommy, aghast. “What will you do if you meet a lion?”
“That will depend on what the lion does,” answered Biggles, with mock seriousness.
“What about the natives?”
“If they’re bent on mischief a rifle wouldn’t make any difference. On the other hand, the sight of one might be enough to set them off, if they’re in an ugly mood. I’ve an automatic in my pocket should things get really sticky.”
“Ubeni is a long way,” Tommy pointed out. “It’ll be dark before you get there.”
“So much the better,” returned Biggles. “There will be less chance of my arrival being noticed. If I wait until tomorrow our birds may have flown. That’s a risk I daren’t take. Well, I’ll be getting along. Take care of yourself and don’t go far away. Ginger should be along any time now.” With a wave Biggles set off on his long trek, taking a line roughly parallel with the side of the lake.
For an hour he saw no sign of wild life except innumerable water fowl and hippos in the lake, and some waterbuck that made off at his approach. A little later, however, a lion stood up suddenly in the dry grass not far away. Biggles walked on. The lion watched him suspiciously, but without actual hostility. After a final stare it made off, unhurriedly, with frequent glances behind, in the opposite direction. About dusk, with still five miles to go, he heard lions roaring in the distance, but he did not see them.
He now proceeded with more caution, keeping a sharp lookout for natives, but to his satisfaction, for he hoped to reach his objective unobserved, he saw none. He finished his journey under a brilliant African moon. By that time he felt reasonably safe from surprise attack, knowing that the natives would by now be in their village, the fires of which he could see at no great distance.
Before reaching it he made a discovery which, in view of what he knew, interested him immensely. In the ordinary way it would hardly have been noticed, for it was merely a water-course, shrunken by drought to a trickle which seeped through a gravelly beach.
But on either side of the water the gravel had been thrown into heaps, and, as there appeared to be no other reason for such labour, he supposed it to be the place from which the diamonds were being won. Work had of course been abandoned for the night, so with barely a pause he went on until the beehive-shaped huts of the village loomed darkly in front of him. A little to the right of it the moon glistened on the tranquil water of the lake.
On it, close against the bank, an aircraft rested motionless on its own reflected image. He recognised it as the machine he had seen earlier in the day. This told him that the Steiners were there, whatever their business might be. He could see no one near the machine, although there seemed to be a good deal of activity in the village, mostly of a boisterous nature, as if the natives were in great good humour. A frown knitted Biggles’ forehead as he listened, for such unusual behaviour at such an hour, he suspected, was the result of hard liquor.
Moving on, another object came into view. It was a tent, pitched perhaps a hundred yards beyond the perimeter of the huts. A strong light glowed through the canvas. From the fact that there were no natives near it Biggles judged that the Steiners had already concluded their business.
For a moment he hesitated, surveying the scene to make sure that he had not been observed; then, making a wide detour, he approached the tent from the rear. As he drew near he could hear the voices of a man and woman in low but animated conversation.
Taking out his penknife, moving slowly and with the greatest possible care, he pressed the point of the blade through the canvas, and after withdrawing it, applied an eye to the incision thus made.
For perhaps two minutes he stood motionless. Then, with a curious expression on his face he straightened himself, and after another scrutiny of the village backed away to some scrub. From there, still moving with infinite caution, he made his way to the aircraft. It rocked a little as he stepped aboard, but the ripples soon died away. He watched the village until it fell quiet. The light in the tent went out. Leg-weary, he settled down in the cockpit to rest.
Dawn broke with its daily miracle of an African sunrise. Land and water came to life.
Biggles stretched limbs that had become cramped, and looking through the windscreen saw that the village was astir. A native woman went to the lake for water. A man, squatting, began sharpening his spear with a stone. A white man appeared outside the tent with a folding washstand, and hanging a small mirror on the canvas proceeded to shave. Presently a woman, dressed in a sweater, slacks and mosquito boots, came out, carrying a Primus stove. Having pumped it up she lighted it, put a kettle on to boil, and retired. The man, having finished his ablutions, also went inside. The woman fetched the kettle when it boiled. All this Biggles watched without particular interest. He was more concerned with the village, and was relieved to note that the natives kept their distance from the tent. He was even more relieved when a number of them, carrying spears and shields, strode away in single file, apparently on a hunting foray.
He now left the machine and walked without haste to the tent. He went straight to the open entrance and looked inside. “Good morning,” he greeted. “Mind if I come in?”
Without waiting for an answer he took a pace forward.
Neither the man nor the woman, who were seated taking breakfast at a folding camp table, answered. They stared, motionless, in the positions in which Biggles’ appearance had found them.
Eventually the man lowered his fork. “Er—yes—er—come in,” he stammered.
“I gather you weren’t expecting visitors?” said Biggles evenly.
“No—that is—not exactly.” The man spoke with a pronounced accent.
“You are Mr. and Mrs. Steiner, I believe?” went on Biggles.
“Yes, that’s right,” confirmed the man jerkily, with a swift glance at his wife. “Who have I the pleasure of addressing?”
“It may not be altogether a pleasure,” returned Biggles dispassionately. “My name is Bigglesworth. I am a police inspector from Scotland Yard. It will not, I think, be necessary for me to tell you why I am here?”
The woman found her voice. Her English was better than the man’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she declared with asperity. “What do you want with us?”
“I want you to consider yourselves under arrest on several charges, one of which is illicit diamond buying,” answered Biggles. “I hope, in your own interests, that you will behave sensibly.”
There was another brief silence, tense with expectancy.
It was broken by the man. “Such nonsense!” he scoffed. “What made you think we had diamonds?”
“D’you happen
to have a cigarette on you?” inquired Biggles.
The man produced a tin—a small tin with a blue lid.
“As a matter of detail it was a tin like that which led me to suspect it,” said Biggles. “I must warn you that anything you say may be used as evidence—”
“Take no notice of him, Karl,” burst out the woman. “He can’t prove a thing!” Her hand crept towards a holstered revolver that hung on the back of her chair.
“That line of argument won’t help you, Mrs. Steiner,” said Biggles quietly. “Neither will violence.”
“I can explain everything,” blurted the man, who seemed more unnerved than his wife.
“The court will be pleased to hear that,” asserted Biggles.
The woman suddenly snatched up the revolver and levelled it. “Now what have you got to say?” she sneered.
“I have nothing to add to what I have already said,” replied Biggles imperturbably. “Except, of course, that by resisting arrest you are only making matters worse for yourself,” he added.
It may have been that Biggles’ nonchalant manner carried weight. At all events, the woman lowered the revolver although she still held it in her hand. “You’ll have a job to find any diamonds here,” she said bitingly.
Biggles smiled faintly. “I happen to know where they are.”
“How do you know that?”
“I watched you sorting them last night.”
The woman’s lips became a thin, bloodless line. Turning on her husband in a fury, and speaking in German, she snapped: “I told you we should have finished off that old man right away. He’s responsible for this!”
“It may be a good thing for both of you if Angus Soutar is still alive,” said Biggles, in the same language. “If he’s dead you may find yourselves involved in a charge of murder.”
“He’s still alive,” muttered Steiner, returning to English. “We had nothing to do with that. It was the Chief. Here he comes now.”
The woman laughed unpleasantly. “Yes, we’ll hear what he has to say about this.”
Biggles glanced over his shoulder. A tall, powerful-looking native, carrying a short, broad-bladed spear, was walking towards the tent, a string of his men following.
Speaking to Steiner Biggles said. “My business for the moment is with you, not him. I’ve given you my advice. Are you coming with me or are you going to make trouble?”
“Where are your men?” asked Steiner.
“Some way from here.”
“Does that mean walking?”
“For a distance, yes.”
“Why not let me fly you in my plane?” offered Steiner, with a curious gleam in his eyes.
“Yes,” urged the woman, eagerly.
“I don’t like that idea very much,” said Biggles, almost apologetically. “I might fall out—if you decided you didn’t like my company.”
“Smart guy,” rasped the woman. “Come on, Karl. Let’s go. He can’t stop us. The Chief will deal with him. In ten minutes we can be in Belgian territory. He can’t touch us there.”
“Yes, that may be the best way,” said Steiner slowly, his eyes on Biggles’ face.
“It may not be such an easy way as you imagine,” averred Biggles. “You see, I took the precaution of immobilising your machine before I came to the tent. The keel is resting on the mud and there’s a foot of water in the cabin.”
The hate that sprang into the woman’s eyes left Biggles in no doubt as to how she felt about that. What she actually did was something for which he was not prepared.
Snatching up a small bag from the table she dashed outside and flung its contents into the long grass over a wide area. “There’s your evidence!” she grated. “Now go and find it.”
Biggles shook his head sadly. “That’s the first time in my life I’ve seen anyone throw away a handful of diamonds.”
“It’ll be the last, too, if I have my way,” flamed the woman. She spun round to the tall native who was now standing at the entrance of the tent, obviously at a loss to know what was happening. “This man is a policeman!” she shouted. “He has come to take you away and put you in jail!”
To what extent the Chief understood English Biggles did not know; but it was evident from his expression that, even if he did not fully grasp the situation, he realised that Biggles was an enemy. He half raised his spear threateningly.
“Kill him!” cried the woman. She seemed on the verge of hysteria.
“Shut up, Hilda!” snapped Steiner, whose nerve appeared to be cracking.
Biggles looked the Chief straight in the eye. “You bring Sootoo,” he ordered sternly.
The Chief blinked, as if things were going too fast for his primitive brain.
“He’s going to hang you!” shouted the woman.
“Quiet, Hilda,” said Steiner, almost plaintively.
The Chief turned to the door and surveyed the landscape. Turning back to Biggles he said: “Where safari?”
“He hasn’t any men!” cried Mrs. Steiner. “He’s alone!”
The Chief raised his spear, and thereafter things happened faster than they can be described. Biggles’ automatic appeared in his hand. A quick movement behind him brought him round, sidestepping as he turned. Almost simultaneously Mrs. Steiner’s revolver spat, the report sounding strangely flat in the enclosed space. The Chief flinched. His eyes opened wide. The spear drooped and slipped from his hand. Then, quite slowly, he sank to the ground. Silence fell.
Cordite smoke reeked. Mrs. Steiner stared as if fascinated at the man she had shot; and still she stared, unprotesting, as Biggles took the revolver from her fingers and put it in his pocket.
Steiner, ashen-faced, was the first to speak. “You fool,” he muttered thickly. “They’ll kill us all now.”
This seemed likely. Natives, muttering, were crowding near the entrance.
And the note of the muttering was rising, growing fiercer in tone.
“Stand still, both of you,” ordered Biggles curtly, and turned to face the mob. But before he could speak again the noise faded suddenly to a sullen hiss. This, too, died, as a wave dies on a shingle beach. All heads turned towards the lake, faces uplifted, as into the sultry silence crept a new and even more significant sound. It was the vibrant drone of aircraft engines, distant as yet, but swelling swiftly in volume.
“My men are coming now,” said Biggles quietly.
The natives, who apparently had already realised it, were beginning to back away. Some broke into a run. A spear was thrown but it did no harm.
The retreat became a stampede.
It was not until Biggles stepped clear of the tent that he fully understood why. Coming up the lake was not the one aircraft he expected, but two. The Saro was leading. Behind it, looking majestic in its size and power, came a four-engined flying boat wearing R.A.F. insignia. The roar of motors died abruptly as the machines lost height to land.
Mrs. Steiner, her passion spent, buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Her husband looked on helplessly, miserably.
Biggles dropped on his knees beside the Chief and found the bullet wound in his chest. “He isn’t dead,” he told Steiner, “but not being a doctor I can’t say what his chances are. Maybe the troops have brought a doctor with them. Wait here.” He went out and walked towards the lake, where the machines were now taxiing towards the shore. The Saro was first in. Ginger and Tommy jumped out. From the cabin door of the big machine emerged an R.A.F. officer, followed closely by a file of airmen carrying rifles.
“It’s all over bar the shouting,’ Biggles told Ginger as he ran up. “You timed your arrival nicely. Things were beginning to look ugly. Where did you collect the Air Force?”
“The Air Commodore organised that with H.Q. Middle East,” answered Ginger. “I waited for them at Entebbe and brought them along. We landed at the creek, but when Tommy told me where you were we came right on.”
Biggles turned to the officer. “Have you got a doctor with you?”
“
Yes.”
“Good. There’s a job for him in the tent. There are two people there. Take care of them till I come back, but I don’t think they’ll give you any trouble. They’re in plenty already.”
Biggles turned to Tommy. “Come with me,” he requested, and walked towards the village.
They had not far to go, for by this time the village had been evacuated in a panic and the man Biggles hoped to find came staggering towards them. At least, so Biggles judged from the behaviour of Tommy, who ran forward with a shout of, “Dad!”
Biggles lit a cigarette while the reunion was effected. Then, observing the feeble state the old man was in, he remarked: “The sooner we get your father to civilization the better, I think. There’s no need for us to hang about here, anyway. Let’s get along.” He turned back towards the tent.
Little remains to be told. Angus Soutar and the wounded Chief were flown forthwith to Egypt for medical treatment. Tommy accompanied his father, who was soon well enough to return to his old occupation.
Fortunately for Mrs. Steiner the Chief survived, although he was not allowed to return to his people for some time. By then a guard had been put over the diamond diggings.
Karl Steiner wisely made a clean breast of the whole affair, describing how, while searching for subjects for photography, he had called at Ubeni, where he had been offered diamonds. He confessed that he had succumbed to temptation and bartered gin and other stores for them. He still had the original parcel in his London house. They were taken over by the police. His big mistake was going back for more, and although he did not say so it was clear that for this his wife had been mainly responsible. He escaped with a heavy fine, but Mrs. Steiner, on a more serious charge of attempted murder, spent the next year of her life in prison.
