Biggles Sees Too Much, page 5
part #98 of Biggles Series
‘Then what do you want — money?’
‘No. It isn’t that. I can manage for a while. I wanted to ask your advice.’
‘Well, carry on. But make it quick, because I’ve got to get back to Mr. Bigglesworth.’
‘There’s something queer going on at “The Fishermen’s Arms”. And I told ‘em so.’
‘Told who?’
‘The Boss.’
‘That wasn’t very clever of you. I’m not surprised you got the sack. What do you mean queer?’
‘These comings and goings at all hours; all very secretive. Queer people. All colours. I don’t like the look of some of ‘em. They never talk to me. They come and they go. Maybe I only see ‘em once. A shifty-looking lot. Usually come in twos or threes. Never go out. They can’t be ordinary people on holiday, because they never have any luggage when they arrive, although I notice they’ve usually got a suitcase when they go. Another thing. They don’t leave in the clothes they come in. Somehow they look quite different. You don’t see this because you’re nearly always out. I was wondering if I ought to tell the police. What do you think?’
‘How long has this been going on?’ asked Bertie.
‘Must be some five or six weeks now.’
‘And how long have you been barman at “The Fishermen’s Arms”?’
‘Close on seven years. I was with the previous owners before this lot took over the place.’
‘When did that happen?’
‘About six months ago. It happened sort o’ sudden. I didn’t know anything about it. I wasn’t even told the place was up for sale. I was simply asked if I’d stay on under the new management and of course I said yes. Anyhow, I thought I’d give it a trial. Now I don’t like the look of it. The place ain’t what it used to be. Somehow the old atmosphere has changed. The takings at the bar have gone down. That wasn’t my fault. I haven’t changed. I still do my job. This new man, Brunner, must be losing money; yet the strange thing is he doesn’t seem to mind.’
‘Tell me honestly, what do you think’s going on? You must have formed an opinion.’
‘I’d say some sort of smuggling racket. That’s only my guess, but I can’t think of anything else. I fancy that’s why they sacked me. I saw too much. Brunner knew that.’
‘How?’
The other day I asked him straight out who all these people were who came and went the next day. He told me to get on with my job and mind my own business. The trouble started from then. He decided to have me out and here I am. If you were in my place, would you go to the police and tell ‘em there’s something mighty odd going on at the pub and say it was time they had a look at it?’
By this time Bertie was wondering if he should take Tom into his confidence and tell him who he really was and what he was doing in Polcarron. He decided against it. It was too soon. It might do more harm than good. Moreover, there was just a possibility that Tom was a spy acting for the enemy; that all this was a trick to find out how much he knew or suspected.
Wherefore he said: ‘If you’re asking my advice I’ll give it to you. If I were you I’d say nothing to anyone. Keep your mouth shut about what you suspect. You talk too much and you might find yourself in worse trouble.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Tom said thoughtfully. ‘Are you staying on at “The Fishermen’s Arms”?’
‘For a day or two, anyway. I’ll keep in mind what you’ve told me. Where are you going? I mean, where could I get in touch with you if I wanted to speak to you?’
‘I shall be staying for the time being at one of the cottages along the front. Number eight. A widow woman named Mrs. Berry lives there and sometimes takes lodgers.’
‘I see. I may call on you one day to see if you know anything more about “The Fishermen’s Arms”. Anything you say will be safe with me. Now I must press on, or Mr. Bigglesworth will be wondering what I’m doing.’
‘Right you are, sir.’ Tom got out. ‘Good night, sir.’
‘Good night, Tom.’ Before driving on Bertie snatched a glance through the rear window to check if he was being watched. He saw a figure step back quickly into a shadow. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was the new barman at the hotel. For a moment he wondered if he should warn Tom to be more careful because he had been seen getting out of the car. But Tom was already walking away, so he did nothing about it, a decision he was shortly to regret.
With his head full of what Tom had just told him, he drove on. He had no doubts as to why Tom had been given the sack. Stupidly he had revealed that he suspected something underhand was going on at the hotel. Biggles, he thought, would be interested in this latest development.
When he reached Penlock, knowing that Biggles would no longer be at the inn, he went straight to his lodging, Fernside Cottage. Taking the haversack he went to the door and knocked. It was opened by an elderly woman.
‘Mrs. Cator?’ questioned Bertie.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I believe you have a friend of mine staying here, a Mr. Bigglesworth. I’ve brought his luggage; just the things he’ll need. I might as well have a word with him while I’m here.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s gone out.’
‘Oh!’ For a second Bertie was nonplussed by this unexpected piece of information. ‘Do you know where he went?’
‘No.’
‘Did he say how long he’d be?’
‘No.’
‘He didn’t leave a message for me?’
‘No. He just said it was a fine night so he’d take a stroll for some fresh air. I haven’t seen him since. I’ve been expecting him back any minute, because I told him I usually locked the door at ten o’clock, when I go to bed.’
‘It’s nearly that now,’ Bertie said.
‘Yes. I’m waiting to lock up.’
‘Well, here are his things. You might put them in his room.’ Bertie handed over the haversack. ‘I’ll wait outside for a bit. I don’t suppose he’ll be long.’
‘Won’t you come in?’
‘No thanks. I have a car outside. I’d rather not leave it unattended.’
‘Just as you like. If he’s late he’ll know you’ve been from his things being here.’
‘Thank you.’ Bertie returned to the car and sat behind the wheel. He was surprised that Biggles, knowing he was coming, had gone out. He couldn’t think why. He was even more surprised that he had not left a message saying how long he’d be. It was true he himself had taken longer on his trip to Polcarron and back than had been estimated, due to the conversation with Tom. Had Biggles got tired of waiting?
Bertie sat slumped in his seat. He was tired and somewhat bored. He found all this hanging about, doing nothing, tiresome. He waited for nearly an hour, by which time most of the lights had gone out and a rural silence had settled on the village. What to do for the best he didn’t know. He became annoyed that Biggles should keep him waiting like this. To try to find him in the dark, not knowing in which direction he had gone, would obviously be a waste of time. Anyway, he reflected, when Biggles did return he would hardly expect to find him still at Fernside Cottage.
He waited until eleven o’clock and then decided there was only one thing for him to do unless he was prepared to spend the night in the car. If he was not soon back at ‘The Fishermen’s Arms’ he was likely to find the door locked. When Biggles did return he would find his small kit in his room, so he would know he had called. Far from happy he started back for Polcarron.
He arrived just in time to find the new barman locking up for the night. When he went to bed he did what was unusual for him. He locked his bedroom door. He had not forgotten the bomb and he was taking no chances.
CHAPTER 6
SHOCKS
BERTIE did not have a very good night, as might have been expected with so much on his mind. He found himself wrestling single-handed with more than one problem. First there was Ginger. Where could he have gone? It was evident that he had still not turned up, or he would have been with Biggles, waiting to be taken to join Algy at the Morven Flying Club. Then there was Biggles. Why hadn’t he been at his lodging as he had said he would be? Something must have happened. What could have happened? The woman, Mrs. Cator, only knew he had gone out. Why had he gone out knowing that he, Bertie, was coming straight back from Polcarron with his pyjamas? There was a mystery about all this and it was no use trying to guess what it was. It could only be solved at Penlock.
So Bertie, turning these things over and over in his mind, had a troubled night He did manage to get a little sleep eventually, but was glad when the morning came to give him an excuse to get up and complete his toilet ready to move off to Penlock as soon as he could get some breakfast. Only there would he find the answers to the problems that were worrying him. At least he hoped so.
Some time later, when he opened his door to go down, he became aware of some sort of commotion going on in the hall below. Voices. Strange voices. He went down. To his surprise he found the local policeman, whom he knew by sight, with a police sergeant he did not know, engaged in earnest conversation with the proprietor of the hotel, Mr. Stephen Brunner, who was wearing a dressing-gown over pyjamas as if he had been brought from his bed. The new barman, who presumably had unlocked the front door, was with them.
Having no wish to be involved, Bertie would have passed on; but the police sergeant stopped him with a restraining hand. ‘Just one moment, sir,’ he said. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re staying here?’
‘That is correct,’ Bertie answered.
‘Then I take it you knew the barman here; well, the barman up to yesterday?’
‘You mean Tom? I don’t know his other name.’
‘That’s the man I mean,’ returned the police officer. ‘How well did you know him?’
‘Fairly well. That is, as well as one gets to know the barman of the hotel where one is staying,’ answered Bertie, wondering what was coming next.
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Last night.’
‘Where?’
‘Outside. Just down the street. He spoke to me. I had expected to find him serving in the bar, but I was told he had walked out.’ Naturally, Bertie was thinking fast, trying to keep pace with the questions and the possible purpose of them.
‘Was he sober?’
‘Yes, as far as I was in a position to judge.’
‘Did he seem quite normal?’
‘I suppose I could say that. I noticed nothing unusual in his behaviour, if that’s what you mean. Why? Is something wrong?’
‘Very much wrong,’ stated the officer grimly. ‘He’s dead.’
‘What!’ Bertie stared, aghast. He could hardly believe his ears. ‘How did that happen?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said the sergeant. ‘His body was found early this morning on the beach below the end of the cliff. It looks as if he must have fallen over. We’re wondering how it could have happened unless he was drunk; or if it was a case of suicide.’
‘He didn’t appear to have had too much to drink when he spoke to me,’ declared Bertie. ‘Nor did he talk like a man contemplating taking his life,’ he added, still trying to keep up with a situation that had come as a shock; a severe one.
‘What did he speak to you about?’ inquired the sergeant, his pencil poised over his notebook.
Bertie was finding this interrogation difficult in front of the hotel proprietor and the new barman. Obviously he would have to be careful what he said. He answered with a reasonable degree of truth. ‘I was just driving off in my car to fetch a friend who’s staying here with me, when he stopped me to say he’d left the hotel, but was staying on in the village until he could find another job. As I’d always found him a likeable fellow, I asked him if I could help. He said no. In fact, I went as far as to ask him if he was short of money; but he said he could manage.’
‘Where did he say he was staying?’
‘I didn’t pay much attention, but I think he said he’d got a room at number eight, along the front somewhere.’
The sergeant made a note in his book. ‘Were you surprised when he told you he’d left the hotel?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I already knew that.’
‘How did you know?’
Bertie indicated the new barman. ‘He told me when I went into the bar. That was the first I knew about it. He said Tom had walked out.’
‘Were you surprised?’
‘Very much so. I believe Tom had been here for some years.’
‘And that’s all you can tell me.’
‘Yes, sergeant. I think that’s all.’
‘I see, sir. Sorry to have troubled you. These are just routine inquiries, you understand.’
Bertie nodded.
‘It’s unlikely I shall have to trouble you again, sir, but where shall I be able to find you if I should want you to give evidence at the inquest?’
‘I shall be here,’ Bertie said. ‘Naturally, if there’s anything I can do to help...’ He was finding this unusual experience of being interrogated by the police somewhat difficult.
‘Where are you going now?’ asked the sergeant
‘In to have my breakfast Then I shall be going out in my car. But I shall come back.’
‘Very well, sir. That’ll be all for now.’
Still shaken by the tragic news he had just heard, Bertie went on to the dining-room and sat at his regular small table for breakfast. He was in a hurry to get away, but he thought he had better have something to eat before he started, in case the day passed without another opportunity presenting itself. What to make of what he had just been told he did not know. Shock had made it difficult for him to think clearly. But of one thing he was in no doubt whatever. Tom had not committed suicide. There had been no hint in his manner, or in what he had said the previous evening, to suggest that he intended taking his life. Nor could he imagine him falling over the cliff by accident. What could he have been doing on top of the cliff, anyway? What, then, was the answer? There appeared to be only one. Murder. Tom had been put out of the way. Silenced. Why? Was it because he knew too much? And let it be known that he knew? Bertie did not forget that someone had seen them together, talking in the car.
He started on his bacon and egg mechanically, without his usual appetite. He was still so engaged when he heard the police depart. Then, to his astonishment, for this had never happened before, into the room came Brunner, still in his dressing-gown, to sit at a small table near him and order a pot of coffee and some toast. It did not take Bertie long to realize the purpose of this. Had Brunner really wanted some coffee he could have had it sent up to his room. No. Brunner wanted to talk; talk to him before he went out. So he was not in the least surprised when Brunner said: ‘This is a bad business about poor Tom. He was such a decent chap.’
This, obviously, was an opening gambit to start a conversation.
‘Yes,’ agreed Bertie. ‘It gave me quite a turn.’
‘What on earth could have made him do a thing like that?’
‘Do what?’ asked Bertie, without looking at Brunner.
‘Kill himself.’
‘We don’t know that he did.’
‘That’s obviously what must have happened.’
Bertie did not answer.
‘Don’t you think so?’ pressed Brunner.
‘No, I don’t,’ Bertie answered bluntly.
‘Well, you should know,’ continued Brunner, casually. ‘You were the last person to see him alive — in your car last night.’
So Brunner knew that Tom had been in his car, thought Bertie.
‘What did he talk about?’ questioned Brunner.
‘Oh, this and that,’ replied Bertie, refusing to be drawn. ‘He told me about him leaving the hotel, and that he’d be staying on in the village till he could find another job.’
‘Why should he tell you that?’
‘I wondered that myself.’
‘Well, it’ll make a lot of difference here.’
‘In what way?’
‘This new man I’ve got is only temporary,’ Brunner said lugubriously, pouring coffee into his cup. ‘He can’t stay long. I’m afraid it means that we shan’t be able to cater for residents.’
‘What exactly does that mean?’ queried Bertie.
‘I’m sorry, but I shall have to ask you to leave.’
Bertie was not prepared for this. ‘But you can’t put us out at a moment’s notice,’ he protested. ‘Before we can leave we shall have to find somewhere else to go, and at this time of the year, with the coast swarming with people on holiday, that may not be easy.’
‘I didn’t mean I expected you to pack up now, this morning,’ Brunner said.
‘I’m glad to hear that because it would be difficult,’ returned Bertie shortly.
‘But you see how I’m fixed,’ went on Brunner. ‘In the circumstances I’d be obliged if you and your friend would vacate your rooms at the earliest possible moment. Why would it be difficult for you to leave right away?’
‘Because Mr. Bigglesworth isn’t here,’ Bertie said shortly. ‘I shall have to tell him about this. He won’t be pleased, you may be sure.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Staying the night with friends in the country. I’m going to fetch him as soon as I’ve finished my breakfast.’
‘And you’ll tell him the position?’
‘Of course.’
Brunner finished his coffee and got up. ‘Very well. We’ll leave it like that. No doubt I shall see you again before you go. I’ll have your bill ready by the time you come back. When will that be?’
‘When you see me,’ answered Bertie, curtly.
Brunner left the room.
Bertie did not linger. He felt he was bulging with news and was anxious to unload it on Biggles as quickly as possible. Also, he wanted to think, and in the car on the drive to Penlock, he would have an opportunity. So with his brain in top gear, he made his way to the car and set off, confident that he would now find Biggles at his lodging. By this time, too, it seemed more than likely he would find Ginger with him. Things were moving quickly, faster than he alone could cope with them. Clearly, a new plan would have to be made, and only Biggles could do that.
