by W E Johns
In a few minutes they were on their way.
At the aerodrome another shock was waiting for them.
An official came over to them. ‘Weren’t you asking about a Mr Cornelli, who booked seats on the London plane and didn’t take them up?’
‘That’s right,’ confirmed Biggles.
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No.’
‘Then it looks as if you’ve just missed him.’
Biggles stared. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He left here this morning on the London flight.’ The official smiled. ‘He really went this time. I thought you’d like to know.’ The man walked on.
Biggles looked at the others helplessly. ‘This kills me. So that’s why he sold the car. He really has gone to London. Change of plan, eh. After seeing the Viper with a gun in his hand I’m not surprised. What’s the matter with me? My brain must be turning to spaghetti or I’d have guessed he’d get the fastest way out of Scotland.’
‘What are the chances of overtaking the plane?’ asked Eddie.
‘None. Not an earthly.’ Biggles suddenly came to life. ‘But there’s one thing we can do. Call Gaskin, or Algy if Gaskin isn’t in his office, and have someone meet the plane. Stand fast while I phone.’ He went off at a run towards the administrative offices.
He came back in about ten minutes. ‘Okay,’ he announced. ‘I caught Gaskin. He’s laying on a man to watch Cornelli when the plane lands. I told him we’d found the Morris. In fact, I gave him the latest gen. Let’s get mobile.’
They hurried to the hangar where the Proctor had been housed, and having confirmed that it had been serviced, were soon in the air heading south on full throttle.
At three-thirty they walked into Air Police Headquarters at Scotland Yard. Algy was sitting there alone. ‘Have you seen Gaskin?’ asked Biggles, quickly.
‘No.’
Biggles picked up the intercom, telephone. ‘Inspector Gaskin’s office, please. Thank you.’ He listened for a moment and replaced the receiver. ‘He’s coming up,’ he said.
Two minutes later the Inspector walked in, bringing with him, although Biggles was blissfully unaware of it, yet another shock.
‘Well, what news?’ asked Biggles, impatiently.
‘Don’t get in such a sweat. It’s all right. He was on the plane.’
‘Of course he was. We know that.’ Then a thought seemed to strike Biggles. ‘Did you say he was on the plane?’
‘I did.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘Cornelli.’
‘Don’t you mean they were on it?’
‘Meaning who?’
‘Cornelli and the boy.’
‘There was no boy. Cornelli was alone.’
Biggles sank limply into his chair. ‘You’re quite sure the boy wasn’t there?’
‘If he had been we’d have seen him. There were only four other passengers.’
‘Where did Cornelli go?’
‘To the Grosvenor, outside Victoria station.’
Biggles buried his face in his hands. ‘Give me a minute to get over this,’ he pleaded.
Gaskin, imperturbable, took out his pipe, blew through the stem and filled it from the tin he always carried.
Biggles drew a deep breath and looked up. ‘This is getting me down,’ he said heavily. ‘My skull seems to be in a sort of deep-freeze.’
‘Why? What’s gone wrong?’ inquired Gaskin, evenly.
‘Everything. I don’t care two hoots about Cornelli. It’s the boy I want.’
‘I don’t see how we were to know the boy wasn’t on the plane,’ said Ginger, trying to find excuses.
‘You don’t! I do.’
‘I don’t get it,’ put in Eddie.
‘Listen,’ returned Biggles, grimly. ‘What did that chap tell us when we were at Dalcross?’
‘He said Cornelli was on the plane.’
‘Exactly. Cornelli. He didn’t say a word about the boy. He said he, not they. We assumed the boy was there. Not one of us had the wit to ask if the boy was with him. As I’ve said before, at this game it doesn’t do to assume anything — particularly when you’re dealing with a professional crook.’
‘Looks like Cornelli’s pulled another fast one,’ growled Eddie, dejectedly.
‘It’s not that he’s so smart. Let’s face it. We haven’t been very bright.’
‘What else could we have done?’
‘We bungled it twice,’ went on Biggles. ‘We made the same boob at the garage in Inverness. That’s really where we went wrong. The boy may not have been in the car when Cornelli took it back. The garage man didn’t mention him. He said Cornelli brought it back. Cornelli rang up from Fort William. Cornelli every time. Come to think of it I don’t remember him ever using the word them. It was always he. He did this. He did that. He walked away into the town. That should have been enough to tell us Cornelli was alone. Had the boy been there he would have said they. It would have been so easy for me to say, was the boy with him? Why did no one think of that? It’s time I had my head examined.’ In his irritation Biggles paced up and down the room.
‘We all make mistakes,’ said Gaskin, imperturbably.
Biggles told him of all that had happened in Scotland, including the arrival of the Viper on the scene and the affair of the stolen jeep.
‘I’d better find out if the police up there have found it, and if so, where,’ said Gaskin. ‘But now I must get on. I’ve a lot on my own plate. Let me know if I can help. One of my men is tailing Cornelli. I’ll let you know what he does. So long.’ The Inspector departed.
Biggles stopped pacing the room and looked hard at Eddie. ‘You realize what this means?’
‘Sure. The boy’s still in Scotland some place.’
‘Yes. He probably still is in Scotland, although even that isn’t certain. Cornelli could have put him on a train for somewhere. But it isn’t that that worries me.’
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘The boy may be dead.’
The others stared. It was clear that this possibility hadn’t struck them.
‘Cornelli knows the Viper is hot on his track,’ resumed Biggles. ‘That could make a lot of difference to his behaviour. He’ll now be thinking of his own skin. He might well have decided there was no sense in cluttering himself up with the lad any longer. He’d be in the way.’
Eddie chewed on the cigar he had lighted. ‘You could be right. But that kid was worth a lot of money — alive.’
‘Cornelli’s life would be worth more to him than dollars. Money’s no use if you’re dead. He hasn’t behaved as if he was short of cash. The Viper could have been telling the truth when he said he’d skipped with ten thousand dollars. There was no need for him to lie about that. He gave us the information voluntarily. We didn’t ask for it.’
‘So what do we do — go back to Scotland?’ asked Eddie.
‘I think the first thing to do is ring up that garage at Inverness and ask the man if the boy was with Cornelli when he brought the car back. If he wasn’t the chances are he’s still somewhere in the Highlands, alive or dead. He wouldn’t go with Cornelli to the aerodrome, so we needn’t waste time checking that.’
‘We know where Cornelli is. Why not go to the Grosvenor and ask him to his face what he’s done with the lad?’ suggested Ginger.
‘Do you imagine for a moment he’d tell us? Not on your life. He’d laugh at us.’
‘Couldn’t you have him picked up on some charge? Using a false passport, for instance?’ asked Eddie.
‘It might be done, but what good would that do? Cornelli would be all the more certain to keep his trap shut for fear of a charge of abduction.’
‘Alive or dead he knows where the boy is.’
‘Of course he does, but he’s not going to tell us. His one concern now is to keep clear of the Viper.’
‘Yes, where are those two guys?’
‘I wonder if the police have found that jeep?’ put in Bertie. ‘Th
e Viper and his pal could be popped inside for pinching it.’
‘That wouldn’t help us to find the boy. Just a minute. Let me think. Ginger, you might ring up that garage in Inverness to find out if young Carlo was with Cornelli when he brought back the car. While you’re at it you can ask the man if Cornelli had any luggage with him.’
Biggles returned to his desk, lit a cigarette, and fell silent, with his chin in his hands.
CHAPTER 10
BIGGLES said no more until Ginger, having spoken to the garage at Inverness, informed him: ‘No. The boy wasn’t there. Cornelli was alone, and as far as the man can remember he had no luggage.’
‘We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if only we’d had the sense to ask those questions while we were there,’ replied Biggles, dolorously.
‘Now we’re certain the boy is in the country don’t you think the time has come to start a general hue and cry?’ questioned Eddie. ‘Everyone, not only the police but hotel keepers and the public, would be on the lookout for the boy.’
‘I’ve considered that, but to me it sounds much too dangerous. If the wretched boy isn’t already dead that would be the quickest way to get him murdered. Cornelli wouldn’t risk the boy talking. Moreover, unless the body could be produced you couldn’t charge Cornelli with murder. The law says, produce the body. No. I think it would be easier to find the boy alive than start searching the moors, rivers and forests, of Scotland, for his dead body.’
‘Well, what have you worked out?’
‘I have a feeling that Cornelli, apart from trying to shake off the Viper, had a reason for coming to London. He’s up to something. I see it like this. If his only reason for coming here was to give the Viper the slip why did he leave the boy behind? He might as well have brought him with him. No. For some reason he didn’t want the boy around.’
‘Can you think of a reason?’
‘I can think of two or three, but the one that comes first to my mind is this, and it would apply whether the boy is alive or dead. On mature consideration I doubt if he is dead — yet. Remember, he’s worth his weight in gold, and crooks like Cornelli don’t throw money away, no matter how much they have in their pockets. The arrival of the Viper on the scene has made Cornelli change his plans. I don’t think there can be much doubt about that. Suppose — I say suppose —he decided that he didn’t want Carlo tagged on to him any longer, since he was bound to get in the way with his demands for fishing and flying. Suppose — again I say suppose — he decided to fall back on the ransom racket as the easiest and most profitable way of getting rid of him. In that case the first thing he’d do would be to make contact with the boy’s father.’
‘Well?’
‘He’d be up against the difficulty that always confronts the kidnapper — how to get the ransom money without stepping into a trap. That difficulty would not be so great here as it would have been in the States. He could get in touch with the boy’s father, by telephone, cable or letter, asking him to meet him here to discuss terms, saying nothing to the police and bringing the ransom money with him. If he did that, what would the old man do?’
‘He’d come. He’d do anything on earth to get his only son back,’ declared Eddie, without hesitation. ‘When I saw him he was heart-broken.’
‘You don’t think he’d say anything to the police?’
‘He would not. He wouldn’t risk having the boy murdered by trying a double-cross. As you know, that has happened in the States more than once. With us kidnapping calls for the death penalty, so the kidnapper has nothing to lose by killing his victim.’
‘Very well. Now you see the lines on which I’m thinking. If Cornelli was arranging for the old man to meet him somewhere, here in London for instance, he wouldn’t want Carlo with him, would he?’
‘No. The old man would simply call the police and that would be that.’
‘Exactly. Carlo would be a hostage, kept at a safe distance. Cornelli could then say to the old man, your son is safe and well. Give me the money and I’ll tell you where he is.’
‘Sure. The old man would pay without any arguments.’
‘And Cornelli, with his pockets bulging with money, could show the Viper a clean pair of heels — perhaps retire to Italy and live comfortably for the rest of his life on his ill-gotten gains. He would have had the satisfaction of having given the old man a fright and of relieving him of some of his wealth.’
‘Cornelli might still kill the boy even though he got the money.’
Biggles made a gesture of helplessness. ‘That’s a risk that’s always on the boards. It could happen at any time.’
‘He can’t have got the boy locked up,’ put in Ginger.
‘Of course not. There would be no need for that. If he took Carlo to a fishing hotel and said, “I have to go away for a few days on business; you stay here and go on fishing till I come back,” the chances are the boy would stay — still with no suspicion of what was really happening.’
‘Sure,’ agreed Eddie. ‘I think you’ve got something there. He’s got the boy parked in some lonely place where he can always get at him if he wants to.’
Biggles shrugged. ‘It’s just an idea. I’m trying to think of a reason why Cornelli should come south without him — always assuming he hasn’t already murdered him and put the body where it’s not likely to be found. There are plenty of such places in Scotland. But as I say, I doubt if he’d do that while there was a chance of making money out of him.’
‘You could be right, at that.’
‘Whatever Cornelli’s game is here, sooner or later, if the boy’s still alive, he’ll go back to him; but that may not be for some time. He wouldn’t just abandon him. Having been to so much trouble to get hold of him and bring him here I can’t imagine him doing that.’
‘I guess you’re right.’
‘A pointer that Cornelli intends rejoining the lad is the fact that he had no luggage when he took the car back to the garage at Inverness. Had he intended leaving Scotland for ever he’d have had his kit with him. He left it somewhere. Where? A reasonable answer to that would be, where he left the boy. If the boy saw him leaving with all his luggage he would naturally wonder what was going on. Anyway, that supports my contention that he intends to go back to Scotland. According to Gaskin, Cornelli is now at the Grosvenor; but that’s beside the point. Without the boy he’s no use to us. The pressing question is, where has he left him?’
‘The answer to that might raise another question,’ put in Ginger. ‘Where did he go when we lost him on the road to Invergarry? He must have spent the night somewhere. How far did he go before he stopped?’
‘He rang up the garage from Fort William, but that doesn’t mean he spent the night there. I’d say not. All we can say with reasonable assurance is that it was within a hundred miles of Inverness. Where he stayed that night is probably where he’s left the boy.’
‘A radius of a hundred miles embraces a lot of ground, old boy,’ remarked Bertie, dubiously.
‘Not so much if we weed out the non-fishing places. Cornelli would have to leave the boy with something to do. He’d soon get bored with doing nothing. What more likely place than where fishing is available?’
Everyone agreed.
‘Following your argument, if we watched Cornelli sooner or later he’d lead us to the boy,’ offered Ginger.
‘That might be a slow business. Moreover, although Gaskin is having him shadowed we might lose him. As a professional crook who must often have been on the run, if he became suspicious that he was being watched he’d find a way to shake the watcher off his trail. Knowing the Viper is looking for him he may not stay long in any one place.’
‘Well, what do you suggest we do?’ queried Eddie. ‘You know the ropes over this side so I’ll leave it to you.’
At this juncture the intercom, telephone buzzed. Biggles picked up the receiver, listened for a minute and replaced it.
‘That was Gaskin,’ he informed the others. ‘An item of ne
ws. Gaskin has been on the phone to the Inverness police. Nothing has been seen of the Viper or his pal, but the jeep they pinched has been found. I won’t ask you to guess where. Inverness — of all places. It was found abandoned in Union Street. That’s about the last place I’d have looked for it. I can tell you something else. That black saloon car they were using had also been pinched.’
‘Suffering snakes!’ exclaimed Eddie. “They’ve got a nerve.’
‘The Viper had a nerve to go back to Inverness,’ said Biggles. ‘But there, in this business nobody is doing what might be expected. It’s the unexpected every time. The Viper must have grabbed that jeep and did what we did; made for Inverness. As he had stolen the saloon he must have been glad to get rid of it. The fact that he returned to Inverness raises another question. Two, in fact. We thought we’d left him far behind standing on that lonely road, whereas he may have caught up with us and watched what we did in Inverness. That would depend on how long it was between the time we left him and the time the jeep came back.’
‘What’s the other question?’
‘The Viper must have had a good look at that blue Morris when it was standing on the road beside Loch Ness. I mean, before he came down and joined us at the waterside to wait for Cornelli. He saw Cornelli and must have realized the Morris was his. He would naturally take its number. Of course, he no more knew where it went, after he ran out of petrol, than we did. He did exactly what we did. He gambled that it had gone back to Inverness. We may be sure he looked for it, and if he did he would in all probability have seen it standing outside the garage — again, just as we did.’
‘Well?’
‘What would he do? Not seeing Cornelli there he’d ask the garage man about it. If he did that he might have learned more than we did.’
‘How?’
‘The first thing he’d learn was that Cornelli had been there and resold the car. If he had the common sense to ask if the boy was with Cornelli, and learned that he was not, he’d realize that Carlo had been put off and was still somewhere in the Highlands. If he then made inquiries at the most probable ways out of Inverness he’d learn that Cornelli had taken the London plane south — alone. I know there are a lot of “ifs” and “buts” about this, yet I see no reason why the Viper shouldn’t follow the same line as we did, armed with the extra knowledge that Cornelli was travelling alone. If he went to the aerodrome he’d learn that we’d gone south, too. He knew we had a plane there because I told him so.’
