by W E Johns
"Such as carrying a camera?"
"Exactly. And going out without a gun-bearer, or a proper safari. He had a notion that all natives gossip—which of course they do—and so word got around of what he was doing, which defeated his object. So some time ago he started travelling light, alone."
"I wondered why he had no porters?" murmured Ginger.
"It was dangerous," went on Haynes. "Mind you, I wasn't thinking of murder. What I was afraid of was that he'd get hurt taking on a wounded beast. He was quite fearless."
"Why did he come here from Juba? Juba is in the Sudan. This is Uganda."
"I know. But between ourselves it isn't possible to observe the frontiers too closely. It's often necessary to cross from one side to the other, otherwise poachers would just dodge about and laugh at us. But tell me. Have you got a clue of any sort? I was just going to the village to make enquiries."
"You wouldn't have got far," Biggles told the officer seriously. "They're all mixed up in it."
Haynes frowned.
"Don’t worry," went on Biggles. "We know who killed Simmonds, and we know where the man is. He isn't a native. He's white—or nearly white."
Haynes looked astonished.
"Actually, we were looking for this black devil Cetezulu, when we struck this," resumed Biggles. "Now you're here, you'd better take over. How did you hear about this business anyway, if you were at Juba?"
"We were told by Kampala."
Biggles looked at Algy. "Did you say anything to anybody when you went to Kampala to get those photos developed?"
"Yes. I had a word with the Station Manager. I didn't know there was any secret about it."
"No, I suppose not," agreed Biggles.
"I started right away and kept moving," said Haynes.
"You didn't waste any time," conceded Biggles. "And you've no time to waste now if you want to grab your man before he skips."
"Have you any real evidence that he did the job?"
"As much as you're likely to need to wind up his career," answered Biggles. "The man came from Ethiopia to buy, among other things, poached ivory. Simmonds got a photo of him doing that—I'll show it to you in a minute. I don't know his name. He's got a black beard. There are four natives with him who my man here says are tribesmen from Ethiopia, but there is a big crowd of porters just this side of the frontier who I fancy are waiting for him. I've worked it out that this fellow's real purpose in being here is to buy all the loot the Black Elephant has collected on his raids in the south; but that remains to be seen. I fancy the poaching was a sideline. It's my belief that he's now waiting for the Black Elephant to show up." Biggles went on to narrate all that had happened since they arrived at Latonga. He concluded by showing Haynes the photographs taken by Simmonds.
The officer's eyes opened wide. "Oh!" he breathed. "So that's the gentleman, is it?"
"You know him?" questioned Biggles.
"Oh yes, we know him—or rather of him," answered Haynes warmly. "We've been looking for him for a long time. He was a German spy, living in Addis Ababa, when the war broke out. What his real nationality is we don't know, but its unlikely that he's a German. He calls himself Bronnou, which might be anything. He's put out some cock and bull story of being a prince. We'll make a prince of him all right, if we can get hold of him."
"Then you'd better get after him."
"How far away from here is his camp?"
Algy answered. "About twenty-five miles."
"Unless you get cracking he may move before you get there," warned Biggles.
"Yes, it'll take me a little while, whether we march or go in the trucks," said Haynes thoughtfully. "These trucks of ours are useful, but they can't move fast across country without risk of busting something."
"Would you like me to fly you over?" suggested Biggles. "One of your trucks could follow on and bring the prisoners back. My man, Mishu, could go with it and show the driver the way. He knows every inch of the country. We could have the place cleaned up by the time the truck gets there."
"That sounds a good idea to me," declared Haynes. "How many men could you take?"
"Four in the small machine. That should be enough. I'd rather not risk landing the Mosquito on ground I don't know. Anyway, it would be better for one machine to remain in the air and watch what goes on in case Bronnou bolts. The Mosquito could make things uncomfortable for him if he did. The ideal thing would be to catch him off his guard. Actually, he'd be less likely to bolt from an aircraft than if he saw your trucks coming. It wouldn't take him long to guess what you're after."
"I'll leave it to you," said Haynes. "I'm ready when you are."
Biggles made his arrangements, which were simple. He would fly the Proctor, taking with him Haynes, Bertie and Ginger. Algy was to watch events from the air in the Mosquito and keep track of Bronnou should he try to get away. If necessary he could use his guns. Mishu was to go in the truck with ten Askaris under a sergeant. The remaining troops would keep guard over the rest-house and the remaining truck, which was loaded chiefly with stores and spare equipment. It was arranged that the truck carrying the troops should have an hour's start, to enable it to get near the scene of action before the aircraft went down to make the arrests. On no account was it to show itself until the aircraft landed. Mishu said he knew the place where the tent was pitched, when Algy described it to him. It was a well-known camping ground on account of the water supply.
The truck containing the coloured soldiers was soon on its way.
Biggles and his party sat talking for an hour about the business that had brought them together. Haynes said he knew all about the Black Elephant's criminal record. Like all government servants in Central Africa, he was always on the look out for him; but he'd heard nothing of him for some time.
At length Biggles looked at his watch. "Time we were moving," he announced.
As they moved towards the aircraft Biggles told Algy not to follow him too closely. Bronnou might have his suspicions aroused if the two machines arrived together, particularly as the Mosquito was a military type.
Ginger made the trip keyed up for what was likely to be a dangerous operation, and one that might have a vital effect on their own assignment to hunt down the self-styled Emperor of Africa. He was right in both cases.
The opening moves of the business occurred in the order in which they were to be expected. Bertie pointed out Bronnou's camp. The tent was still at the same place. Bronnou was sitting outside on a stool, cleaning what looked like—and turned out to be—a rifle. His four men were squatting in the grass nearby, doing nothing in particular. All faces were turned towards the Proctor as it approached, and Ginger noticed that Bronnou stopped what he was doing, to watch. The wheels of the aircraft touched the ground. The machine bounced once or twice and then ran to a standstill perhaps a hundred yards from the tent.
Biggles and Haynes were first out and started walking towards the camp, whereupon all five men got to their feet and stood waiting for the visitors. Ginger and Bertie followed on. As they drew near, while Bronnou made no move, defensive or otherwise, Ginger could sense a stiffness in the atmosphere. Bronnou, with a guilty conscience, must have suspected their business, he thought, but did not want to commit himself to direct action in case he was mistaken.
Ginger would have distrusted the man even if he had known nothing about him. He was big, powerfully built, about fifty, sallow skinned, low-browed and cold eyed. His bushy beard gave him a belligerent appearance.
In a vague sort of way he reminded Ginger of a bad-tempered bull. Perhaps the rings had something to do with that, he conjectured. A bull usually has a ring in its nose. Bronnou had a ring, a gold ring, in each ear; which proved, Ginger reflected, that whatever his nationality might be he was not a western European.
Haynes was the slim, wiry type, but he soon showed that he was not to be intimidated by Bronnou's apparent toughness. He wasted no time stating his business.
"I'm Lieutenant Haynes of the African Rifles," h
e announced curtly.
"So you say," sneered Bronnou, in a husky voice with a suspicion of accent in it.
"Get packed up," ordered Haynes. "You're coming with me to Headquarters."
"So you say," repeated Bronnou.
"We've some questions we'd like you to answer."
"So you say."
"Quite right, that's what I said," stated Haynes crisply. "Pack up. Or you can leave your stuff here. I don't care which. Either way, you're coming with me."
"Who says so?"
"I say so—and what I say, goes."
"Oh! " Still Bronnou did not move. His eyes made a thoughtful reconnaissance of the men in front of him as if weighing his chances of resistance. "What's all this about, anyway?" he drawled.
"In the first place you've no permit to enter this territory," answered Haynes curtly.
"I can explain that. Anything else?"
"Yes," returned Haynes, slowly. "I'm taking you in for questioning in connection with the death of Mr. Simmonds, of the British Game Department."
"What makes you think I had anything to do with that?"
"Then you knew about it," flashed Haynes. "How?"
Bronnou's eyes narrowed and took a swift glance at the Mosquito which had now arrived over the scene. "I never said that," he growled. "What are you trying to do— frame me? I've never seen Simmonds—never heard of him."
"Then what are you doing with his rifle?" enquired Ginger. "That Rigby Express you're holding belonged to him. I'll swear to it. He showed it to me the other day."
That did it. Bronnou must have realised that bluff was not going to help him, and he moved like lightning. He whirled the rifle, which apparently was not loaded, round his head, flung it at the men in front of him, sprang sideways like a cat, and with a revolver that appeared like magic in his hand, blazed at Haynes. It all happened in an instant. Haynes spun round, clutching at his arm. By this time Biggles had his automatic out and two shots crashed almost together. Ginger felt the whistle of a bullet on his face. Bronnou staggered back, cursing, tripped over a tent rope and fell over backwards.
What happened immediately after that Ginger did not see, for he became involved in other matters. Two of the natives bolted, but one of the others raised his spear and was about to throw it at Biggles when Ginger shot him. The man fell, shouting. His companion dropped his spear and stood still, his eyes showing the whites. Ginger snapped a couple of shots at the running natives, but knowing what to expect they dodged as they ran, and the bullets missed.
He turned back to the tent to find a desperate battle in progress. Biggles, Bertie and Haynes, had thrown themselves on Bronnou and were trying to hold him down. This was no easy matter for the man, mouthing with rage, fought like a tiger, even though Bertie was kneeling on the hand that held the revolver. Ginger twisted it free, and was promptly knocked over sideways by a flailing leg—whose, he did not know. He pulled himself up by a tent rope and the feel of the rough cord in his hand gave him an idea. Haynes, obviously, was determined to take his man alive, for he had had more than one opportunity of shooting him or cracking his skull with one of the several weapons that were lying about. For this reason Ginger did not like to resort to extreme measures, although he felt he would be justified, for the outcome of the affair was still in doubt. In spite of the odds against him Bronnou seemed to be possessed of the strength of ten men, and time and time again he flung off those who were trying to hold him.
Ginger whipped out his knife, cut a length of the rope, and, quickly tying a slip-knot managed to get the noose over Bronnou's legs, which he pulled together before securing them to a tent peg. That turned the tide. Ginger produced more rope, and between the lot of them they managed to pinion Bronnou's arms and legs so that presently he lay helpless, cursing them. Breathless and looking the worse for wear, the others got up. All had been more or less knocked about, but Haynes was the only one actually wounded. Bronnou's bullet had ploughed through his upper arm, fortunately without touching the bone. He made light of it, but Biggles bound it up with a dressing brought from the emergency kit in the Proctor.
The native whom Ginger had shot sat on the ground, moaning, although as it turned out he was not mortally hurt, the bullet having grazed a rib. The second native still stood there, looking thoroughly scared. The other two had vanished.
"I say, what a messy business,"muttered Bertie disgustedly, cleaning his eyeglass, which he had just picked up from the ground.
"It could have been worse," said Biggles, gently fingering a lump on his forehead.
Haynes went into the tent. He was there for some minutes. When he came out he brought a number of objects, which included, among other things, a wrist- watch and a petrol lighter. Ginger identified these as Simmonds's property.
"That's all I want to know," said Haynes grimly.
"Any ivory inside?" asked Biggles.
"No. But he wouldn't be likely to haul that about with him. No doubt he's buried it somewhere, intending, to pick it up on the way home. But there's something else inside we'll have a look at," said Haynes.
The others watched him go through Bronnou's pockets. This produced a small bunch of keys, which was, apparently, what Haynes was looking for. He then went into the tent again, and came out carrying a metal cash box. This he opened, and in silence lifted out a big wad of notes. Turning to Bronnou, and holding up the wad, he said: "This is a lot of money to carry about—where there are no shops. What was it for?"
Bronnou did not reply.
"I think I can answer that question," said Biggles evenly.
"Here comes the truck," put in Ginger.
"Good!" said Biggles. "Wave the okay signal to Algy. He can go home. We'll get along ourselves when we've got our breath back."
However, they waited while the truck came up, and the prisoners were loaded into it. The tent was struck, and with its contents, put on board. The truck then started on its return journey, the Askaris looking disappointed that their services had not been required. Haynes decided to go with it in order to keep an eye on his dangerous prisoner. Mishu stayed, to go back in the Proctor.
"That should be one rogue less in Africa," remarked Biggles, as the truck moved off. "I'll just have a quick draw at a cigarette before we start," he went on, suiting the action to the word. "What a business! If there's one thing I hate, it's brawling; but what else could we do? I suspected that Bronnou would be a tough customer, but I must admit that I wasn't quite prepared for a raging lunatic."
"He and the Elephant would make a good pair," averred Ginger.
Biggles cast a thoughtful eye over the landscape. "Speaking of the Elephant reminds me. It might be worth coming back here tomorrow. I still have a feeling that Bronnou was waiting for him, which means that we must be on his route to the north. There's plenty of water and cover. I don't often bet, but I'd make a small wager that that bundle of money Bronnou was carrying was to pay for the cattle. For what other purpose would he want so much money in a place like this? He wouldn't need anything like that sum to pay for the small quantity of poached ivory he was likely to pick up here. No. He was going to buy the cattle, and if that guess is right it won't be long before the Elephant is here."
Mishu pointed with his spear to the area of tall elephant grass which started some distance farther down the stream. It was between two and, three miles long, with an average width of two to three hundred yards. It was, he said, the place where Major Harvey had been killed.
"That supports what I've just said," Biggles told the others. "If the Elephant used that as a halt on one occasion he may do so again. It may be one of his regular stops. There's water here. I think we can be sure of one thing. He hasn't got as far north as this yet, or we should see the marks of the cattle. What do you think, Mishu?"
The Masai was quite definite that the cattle had not passed.
"The ideal thing would be to catch him when he has to cross the open ground between the bamboo swamp and the elephant grass," said Biggles pensively.
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"He won't do that in daylight," declared Ginger. "He'll slip across while it's dark."
"Yes, I think you're right," agreed Biggles, glancing at the sun, now hanging low over the horizon. "We shall soon have to make up our minds what we're going to do."
They were walking slowly to the machine when, through the hush that always falls with evening, from far away to the south there came a sound that brought Biggles to a halt, staring in that direction.
"That came from the bamboo belt, or from somewhere close to it," said Ginger.
Biggles looked at Mishu. "Was that a cow?"
"Yes, bwana. It was a cow calling her calf."
"A domestic cow, I mean, not a buffalo?"
"It was a tame cow, bwana."
"Is there a native village anywhere in that direction?"
"No, bwana. It is fly country."
Biggles knew that he meant that the district was afflicted with the tsetse fly, the carrier of sleeping sickness. He hesitated. "If there are no natives, what are cattle doing there? You needn't tell me the answer. It must be the Elephant, getting his herd on the move to keep his appointment with Bronnou."
"He'll be here before morning, old boy," said Bertie. "What's he going to think when he finds his dirty partner isn't here?"
"The question is what will he do?" returned Biggles thoughtfully.
"What else can he do but carry on?" put in Ginger. "He won't want to hang about here with a mob of cattle."
"He certainly will not, if those two natives who got away make contact with him and tell him that Bronnou has been arrested," muttered Biggles. "That news, if he gets it, should put him in flap. Even so, the only thing he can do is push on unless, of course, he decides to abandon the cattle. I can't see that happening, though, unless he's really hard pressed. Those beasts represent the accumulated profits of months of work."
Again the distant bellow rolled across the lonely landscape. Two or three others joined in.
"That's the cattle all right," asserted Biggles. "They’re on the move. This may be the chance we've been waiting for. I mean, when he breaks clear of the bamboos."
