by W E Johns
After a glance at von Stalhein’s face, pale with anger, Ginger followed.
‘That worked out all right,’ said Biggles, as they made for the machines. ‘I don’t think the Auster will leave tonight.’
‘We’ve shown rather a lot of our hand, haven’t we?’ asked Ginger anxiously.
‘I don’t think we’ve done any harm. Anyhow, there was no other way of keeping them here. I’ve gained what I wanted — time.’
When they reached the machines Algy and Bertie were there. Algy was smiling. ‘West played up. I was sorry I couldn’t see von Stalhein’s face when the Auster was refused permission to leave.’
Biggles told them what had happened. ‘Now look, this is the drill,’ he went on. ‘Things are about due for a showdown, or they will be if I have my way. I’m going to Sydney in the Halifax, alone, right away. It’s close on a two thousand mile run so you needn’t expect me back until tomorrow afternoon, however fast I move. If the Auster does take off tonight after all — and West can’t hold it indefinitely — there’s nothing you can do about it. If it goes in the morning, follow it till it lands, pinpoint the spot, then come back here and wait for me. The place, which I take to be Daly Flats, can’t be any great distance away, because working on the daylight factor the Auster could have got there in half an hour or so.’
‘Is there any likelihood of the Auster not going in the morning?’ queried Ginger.
‘If this fellow Cozens is the right type, and I think he is, von Stalhein and his frosty-faced pal may find themselves grounded. I don’t know. We shall see. Keep your eyes skinned for trouble, because knowing you’ll follow him, von Stalhein may well try to keep you grounded. For the rest, should any unforeseen situation arise you’ll have to act on your own discretion. That’s all. As soon as the Constellation has cleared I’ll press on to Sydney.’
CHAPTER XII
Disturbing News
Night, fine and warm, with a moon nearly full and a sky spangled with stars, settled silently over the airport. The beacon held aloft its guiding light. Yellow rays lanced the tarmac from windows of buildings where the duty night-staff worked. Strange aromas, the artificial ones familiar, others strange and sometimes exotic, wafted from time to time to Ginger’s nostrils as he squatted on the ground, his back to an undercarriage wheel, watching the scene on first guard.
The Halifax and the Constellation had gone, southward bound. The Auster was no longer in sight. For some time, until darkness dimmed the picture, Cozens and his two passengers had stood by it talking, or, as it seemed to those watching, engaged in argument; possibly, it was thought, discussing the hazards of finding and making a night landing on an unofficial airstrip. At the end Cozens had taxied his machine into a hangar and they had all gone off together. Where they had gone was not known. There had been some talk of shadowing them, but it had not been pursued as there seemed no serious reason for this and Algy preferred to keep his party together. The men, it was agreed, would have to return to the airfield sooner or later to get the machine. In short, it was assumed, naturally, that von Stalhein and his associates had gone to look for a bed for the night and would return in the morning. This may have been von Stalhein’s intention, but in the event it did not materialize.
About half-past nine Ginger’s eyes and muscles were alerted by the silhouette of a man walking quickly from the tarmac towards the Otter. As there was nothing furtive about the approach Ginger’s first thought was that it might be West, with news — possibly a radio message from the Halifax. But taking no chances he got up, rapped on the hull — the prearranged warning signal — and awaited the arrival of the visitor.
It turned out to be Cozens, the pilot.
Ginger was astonished, not so much that Cozens should call on them as that he should be allowed to do so; for he could not imagine von Stalhein giving his approval to anything of the sort. It turned out that he had not done so.
‘Hello,’ greeted Cozens.
‘Hello yourself,’ answered Ginger. ‘You’re the last man I expected to see. What can I do for you?’
‘You can tell me what your friend meant by that remark of his about watching my step. It’s got me worried. This is my first job and I don’t want to put a blot on my logbook.’
Algy jumped down. ‘Do your people know you’ve come here?’
‘No.’
‘So I imagine,’ said Algy in a queer voice.
‘We had a meal. Then I made the excuse of going to make sure that I’d left everything in the machine all right. I had a feeling they didn’t want me to talk to you.’
‘How right you were,’ murmured Algy.
‘They were pretty sore when I refused to ignore the control tower.’
‘I can believe that. As a matter of interest where did they want you to go?’
Cozens hesitated. ‘Sorry, but when I was offered this job I gave an undertaking to keep my mouth shut.’
‘Didn’t that strike you as an odd demand?’
‘Yes, but beggars can’t be choosers. I had nothing to talk about, anyway.’
‘Well, I won’t press you to go back on that if that’s how you feel, even though I realize you don’t know what sort of a crowd you’ve got mixed up with; but I’ll do a deal with you. If I tell you, in strict confidence, why you’d be well-advised to watch your step, will you answer a question for me?’
‘That’s fair enough.’
‘Very well. Hold your hat. You’re working for an enemy spy outfit.’
Cozens’s face was a picture. ‘Did you say spy outfit?’ His voice cracked with incredulity.
‘I did. The real stuff, too. The sort you read about in red-hot thrillers. Cloak and dagger work, with all the trimmings — cyanide pistols, gas guns and what have you.’
Cozens clapped a hand to his head. ‘I must have been blind,’ he muttered. ‘This explains a lot of things.’
‘Such as landing on Eighty Mile Beach to burn a boat,’ suggested Algy.
‘You know about that?’
‘Of course. By the way, did you fly an aborigine in to Darwin recently?’
‘I did. I wondered what that was for. I don’t mind telling you I didn’t think much of it.’
‘Neither did we. It may interest you to know that his job was to set fire to this machine.’
Cozen’s jaw sagged foolishly. ‘Who — who are you?’ he stammered.
‘British Security Police.’
For a moment Cozens was speechless. Then he blurted: ‘Stop! I’m in a spin.’
‘Nothing to the spin you’ll be in, old boy, if your pals learn that you’ve been nattering with us,’ put in Bertie.
‘Are you trying to put the wind up me?’
Algy answered, ‘No. Just trying to give you an idea of what may happen to you when your employers no longer have any need of your services.’
‘They wouldn’t dare to touch me! I’m an Australian.’
Algy smiled sadly. ‘Listen, chum,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t matter if you were King of Australia. When these stiffs have finished with you they’ll brush you off like this.’ He squashed a mosquito that had landed on the back of his hand.
‘They’re not likely to do that just yet,’ stated Cozens confidently.
‘Why not?’
‘Because that’d leave ‘em with an aircraft and no one to fly it; and they’re in a hurry to get home.’
‘Where’s home?’
Again Cozens hesitated.
‘Daly Flats?’ suggested Algy.
Cozens started. ‘Why ask me if you know?’
‘We know quite a lot but you could probably fill in some gaps. I advise you to do that, because when this story breaks in the papers your name’s going to appear under some ugly headlines.’
‘Okay,’ agreed Cozens soberly. ‘I’ll tell you what I know. Then what do I do?’
‘That’s a ticklish question. It’s up to you. Frankly, I think you’d better carry on as you are for the time being and pick up all the information you
can. We’ll clear you if you get caught in the net when your police get busy. But we’re wasting time. Tell us what you know. How long have you been working for this gang?’
‘Just on a month.’
‘What on earth made them employ an Australian pilot — that’s what beats me.’
‘They had another — a foreigner — but he killed himself trying to get into one of these outback landing fields that was too small. I gather they had some urgent business on and had to get a replacement on the spot.’
‘They’ll replace you, I’ll warrant, as soon as another arrives from the Iron Curtain,’ declared Algy grimly. ‘What have you been doing? Make it snappy. You’d better not stay here too long.’
‘I’ve done a lot of flying,’ volunteered Cozens. ‘Pretty sticky, some of it, too, landing in out of the way places. Headquarters in the Territory is at Daly Flats. As a result of a radio signal the boss sent me here to pick up a man I didn’t know, but who knew I was coming. The other chap came with me to point him out to me — at least, that’s what I was told. I’m flying them both to Daly Flats in the morning.’
‘Who do you call the boss?’
‘He goes by the name of Smith. Actually, he’s a foreigner, probably a Russian. Anyhow, he talks a lot to Ivan in a language I don’t understand, and Ivan’s certainly a Russian. He’s the fellow with me now. I didn’t see anything strange in that because there are plenty of Russians in Australia. Most of ‘em are all right.’
‘Tell me more about Daly Flats.’
‘It was originally a peanut farm. The man who started it was speared by aborigines — they told me that. I believe Smith bought it cheap and cleared a strip so that he could keep in touch with the outside world by air. He certainly does that. The place is miles from anywhere, and the only other way he could get to and fro would be by river, about two miles away. He’s got a lugger for dealing with heavy stuff. Oh yes, everything’s laid on, radio and so on. Smith has quite an office there. He employs black labour. I don’t know how he manages that because they can be a bad lot. An uncle of mine served in the North-West Mounted, and he told me all about ‘em. But somehow Smith keeps in with ‘em. Plenty of weapons there in case of trouble.’
‘He has other places, I believe.’
‘Several. That’s true, because I’ve been to some of them.’
‘Tarracooma, for instance.’
‘That’s right. I was there the other day. Took up a chap from Perth to fix the wireless. Smith says that as a modern pioneer he must keep in touch with his estates. It’s the only way in the outback.’
‘Would you like to make a sketch map for me showing just where this place, Daly Flats, is? It can only be a question of days before the place is raided and that may save us trouble.’
‘Certainly.’
‘Then let’s go inside. I’ve pencil and paper there.’
‘I shall have to be quick. As it is they may be wondering what I’m doing.’
‘You’ve left it too late,’ put in Ginger. ‘Here they come now. Fasten your safety belts; we’re in for a spot of bumpy weather if I know anything.’
There was no mistaking the two figures, one burly and the other slim and limping slightly, coming towards the machines.
‘Cozens, me lad, I’m afraid you’re going to find this a bit difficult — if you know what I mean,’ observed Bertie.
‘Difficult! Why? I’m still doing my job. They can’t expect me never to speak to anyone.’
‘Can’t they, by Jove!’ answered Bertie warmly. ‘You don’t know these blighters.’
‘If they start chucking their weight about they’ll find I can chuck mine,’ declared Cozens.
‘You still don’t seem to understand that you’re dealing with people to whom murder is all part of the day’s work,’ Algy told him impatiently. ‘Get that into your head and never forget it.’
There was no time for more, as the two men were almost upon them.
Von Stalhein spoke first. His voice, as cold and brittle as steel, was an indication of his anger, although he did not show it on his face. ‘So here you are, Cozens. You said you were going to look at the machine.’
‘So I am. There’s plenty of time, isn’t there,’ retorted the pilot.
‘You should have told me where you were going.’
Cozens flared up. ‘I like that! Are you telling me who I’m allowed to speak to?’
‘While you’re in my employ you’ll do what you’re told. I want to talk to you. Come on.’
Cozens looked at von Stalhein. He looked at Algy. Clearly, he was in a quandary. For some seconds there was an uncomfortable silence. Then Algy said: ‘As presumably they are paying your wages you’d better go with them. We all have to take orders — don’t we, von Stalhein?’
Von Stalhein didn’t answer. What had upset him, and what he wanted to know, Ginger imagined, was how much Cozens had said. Certainly he had no intention of letting him say any more.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ muttered Cozens, answering Algy. ‘But this being pushed around as if I was a lackey gets my goat. Be seeing you some time.’ He strode away.
Without another word von Stalhein and his companion followed him.
Algy watched them all go. ‘What worries me is, Cozens still hasn’t grasped the fact that his life is in danger. My only consolation is they’re not likely to do anything tonight as they need him to fly them home.’
‘We shouldn’t have let him go,’ asserted Ginger. ‘They’ll see that he does no more talking, and as soon as they’ve finished with him he’ll disappear.’
‘We were in no position to stop him,’ averred Algy. ‘We set his clock right. The decision was up to him. I know I advised him to go but that was in his own interest. Had he refused, von Stalhein would have known that we’d put him wise, in which case, as he knows too much about them, they certainly would have liquidated him. As it is, von Stalhein has no idea of what was said here so he may hold his hand.’
‘Don’t you think one of us ought to follow them?’ suggested Ginger.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary. They’re bound to stay here till daylight now. We’d do better to get some sleep while we can. I have a feeling that things are going to boil over presently.’
Ginger resumed his guard. At midnight, when Algy took over, all was quiet; and so it was when at four o’clock Bertie came on for the dawn watch. Bertie gave the others until six-thirty and then made tea. By the time they had finished a cold breakfast it was broad daylight; but there was still no sign of the Auster’s pilot and passengers. The machine remained in its hangar.
‘I’d have thought they would have been on the move by now,’ said Algy, looking puzzled.
‘I can’t think what could have happened. I hope they haven’t pulled a fast one on us.’
‘I don’t see how they could, old boy,’ opined Bertie. The Auster is still in its shed.’
Eight o’clock came. There was still no sign. Ginger walked over to the hangar and returned to report that the Auster was still there.
By nine o’clock Algy was really worried. ‘Something’s happened. Von Stalhein has given us the slip,’ he asserted. ‘And I’ll tell you why,’ he went on. ‘He knew that if he used the Auster we’d trail it to its hide-out.’
‘The blighter couldn’t walk home,’ averred Bertie, polishing his eyeglass.
‘A horrible thought has just occurred to me,’ said Algy, in an inspired tone of voice. ‘There’s one way he could have got home without walking — or flying. If the Matilda brought von Stalhein here, and Biggles considered that possibility, they could have gone off in the lugger. Cozens told us that Daly Flats could be reached by the river.’
‘If that’s the answer we can say good-bye to Cozens,’ asserted Ginger.
‘They wouldn’t leave him here to come back and talk to us. They’d see him dead first. And if they took him with them it would come to the same thing. They’d never trust him again after what happened last night, and if th
ey didn’t need his services to get home they’d have no further use for him. They could get another pilot to collect the Auster when it suited them.’
‘Here, I say, that’s a grim thought,’ said Bertie. ‘How far away is this beastly river?’
‘The mouth is a hundred miles south-west of here,’ answered Algy. ‘I don’t know the speed of the lugger and I don’t know how far it is up the river to Daly Flats, but if they left here immediately after the row last night, and that’s twelve hours ago, they could be on the river by now. Don’t forget radio. Von Stalhein might have told Smith what happened here last night and he could have given orders that they were to leave the Auster and come home by the river.’
‘The next thing we shall hear is that Cozens’s body has been found,’ remarked Ginger gloomily. ‘We shouldn’t have let him go.’
‘It’s no use talking about that now,’ returned Algy. ‘Let’s do something. The first thing is to confirm what we suspect. Ginger, slip over to the office, ring the harbour master and ask him if the Matilda was in last night.’
Ginger hurried off. He was away for twenty minutes and returned at the double. ‘You were right,’ he reported briefly. ‘The Matilda came in. It left again just after ten last night.’
‘In that case I’d say poor Cozens has had it,’ predicted Bertie, lugubriously.
‘He isn’t in the town,’ stated Ginger.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Algy quickly.
‘Because a general order has gone out from Sydney grounding the Auster pending a check on its C. of A..1 West had gone off, but the duty officer told me they’d rung up every hotel in the town, looking for Cozens, to warn him that he couldn’t leave until lunchtime at the earliest. Biggles must have been responsible for that order. No doubt it struck him as a bright idea to gain time. He wasn’t to know that the enemy also had a bright idea, which was to abandon the machine, go home by water, and so give us the slip.’
‘If the order was issued by Sydney, the Security man Biggles went to see must have had something to do with it,’ averred Algy. ‘And his idea, I fancy, was to deprive Smith of his private transport until other orders could be put into effect. It certainly wasn’t a coincidence that the Auster had been grounded. Unfortunately it doesn’t help us, and it doesn’t help Cozens. Incidentally, the order might have been issued to keep him here until Security officers arrived to question him. If that was the scheme it’s misfired. He’s gone.’
