Biggles Sees Too Much, page 8
part #98 of Biggles Series
Then he thought of Ginger who was somewhere in the house and decided that he must come first. From what Julius had said he did not think he was in any immediate peril. What if Julius changed his mind in view of the sinister suggestion his brother had made about Ginger’s final disposal? Julius had said he intended to let him go, telling him he had met with an accident. That could only be taken to mean that Ginger had been hurt. How? How serious was his injury? That was the point Biggles concluded it couldn’t be very bad, or Julius would not have talked about turning him loose.
Another factor had to be taken into account. One of paramount importance. He, that is, Biggles, and Bertie, were known for what they were. Police officers. They were to be turned out of ‘The Fishermen’s Arms’. When?
At this stage of his cogitations Biggles became aware of activity near the house. The Daimler had been brought round. It had stopped by the front door. The driver, presumably the man named Bates, got out, went into the hall, presently to emerge carrying two light suitcases and accompanied by two other men. Biggles worked it out that Julius was doing what he had said he would do; clearing the house of ‘clients’ in case the police made a swoop. The two men were being taken to Portwin Cove, wherever that might be, to be ready for a day’s fishing. In other words they were to be transported overseas.
With the ‘clients’ in the car, the chauffeur took his place at the wheel and the Daimler moved off up the drive. Seeing it coming, Biggles crouched back to watch it go past. He could not see much. The vague figure of the driver in front and the two passengers in the back seat. He would have liked to follow it to its destination, but as that was not possible, he dismissed the matter from his mind and returned to thoughts of Ginger, with whom he was more concerned. He had not been in the car, so apparently he was still in the house.
Julius had said he would let him go rather than have the police make a search for him. When would he do that? No time had been mentioned. If Julius kept his word, there was no need to worry. In due course Ginger would appear in the village. What disturbed Biggles was the possibility that Julius, influenced by his brother, might have second thoughts about letting him go. Stephen had hinted darkly at disposing of the prisoner altogether. That could only mean murder. Would they go as far as that?
Torn by indecision, Biggles stood staring at the house, knowing that if anything happened to Ginger, now that he knew definitely he was in the house, he would never forgive himself if he failed to make an effort to rescue him. On the other hand, if Ginger was to be released, there was no need for him to do anything. He had only to wait for him to appear. To try to break into the house might well make matters worse.
In this critical crisis it took Biggles some time to make up his mind, but finally he reached a decision. He resolved to remain where he was and keep the house under observation until Ginger walked out, or was carried out, whichever it was to be. If he did this, he assured himself, it would be impossible for Ginger to leave the house without him being aware of it.
Thrusting a way well into the hedge, but with the front of the house still in view, he settled down to wait. He glanced up at the moon. It was over its zenith, but would still last for some time.
An hour passed. Nothing of importance happened. One by one the lights in the house went out until only the one on the top floor remained. Another hour dragged on. Biggles found this waiting a weary business. Fortunately the night was not cold, or the tedium would have been worse. He never took his eyes off the house, not daring to relax his vigilance for a minute.
It was about four in the morning when he heard the Daimler coming back. At least, he assumed it to be the Daimler, and presently saw that he was right. He watched it go past. The driver was now alone, apparently having left his passengers at the place arranged. The Daimler did not stop at the front door, but went on to the back of the house, presumably to its garage. Biggles had thought it might now take Ginger somewhere, but evidently this was not the intention.
As the time dragged on Biggles found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open, wherefore he was thankful when the grey ghost of another day crept up over the horizon. Now, in daylight, he thought, his task would be easier. But he still had to wait. In fact, it was nearly eight o’clock when the front door of the house was opened and, to Biggles’ intense relief, Ginger appeared. For a minute he stood on the threshold talking to someone inside. Then, with a parting wave, which struck Biggles as odd, he started walking up the drive, obviously unhurt
Biggles did not move. He waited until Ginger was level with him and then said quietly: ‘I’m here. Keep walking. I’ll stay on the other side of the hedge and meet you at the gates. I don’t want to be seen from the house.’
Ginger faltered for a moment from the shock of hearing Biggles’ voice, but continued walking until they met at the gates.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ greeted Ginger.
‘I can believe that,’ Biggles answered.
‘What were you doing?’
‘Waiting for you, of course. What else would I be doing here at this hour of the morning?’
‘How did you know I was in the house?’
‘A little bird told me,’ replied Biggles. ‘But never mind you asking me questions. You’ve got a bit of explaining to do. We’d better not stand here. We can talk on the way to the village. Are you all right? I mean, not hurt, or anything?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me except a splitting headache,’ returned Ginger.
They started walking towards the village.
‘They told me I’d had a heart attack,’ went on Ginger.
‘Who told you?’
‘Julius Brunner.’
‘Did you have a heart attack?’
Ginger’s lip curled. ‘Not on your nellie. I’m not that dumb. I was doped.’
‘How did that happen? What were you doing in the house, anyway? Tell me about it. This whole business has got me foxed.’
Ginger answered. ‘What happened when you left me on the road was really very simple. A man came along. He seemed a very nice fellow. He had a dog with him and carried a gun. I took him to be a farmer or a sportsman. As we walked down the road together it started to rain. He invited me to take shelter in his house until the storm had passed over. Naturally, I accepted. It wasn’t until we were through the gates that I realized that we were going to Penlock Grange and the man beside me was Julius Brunner. Thinking I might learn something I carried on. From what happened after that I realize he must have been suspicious of me all the time. He gave me tea. What was in it I don’t know, but it did something to me. He asked questions and I had to answer. I couldn’t help myself. Then I passed out and must have been out for some time. When I came round I was lying on a bed feeling pretty seedy. Brunner was there. He told me I’d had a heart attack. He gave me some medicine and I felt better. He asked me what I wanted to do, which surprised me. I said I’d push on home right away. He saw me off, all very nice and affable.’
‘You were lucky you didn’t fall into the hands of his brother, Stephen, who keeps our pub at Polcarron,’ Biggles said. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work. He’d have bumped you off. I heard him tell Julius so. You say Julius asked you questions. What questions?’
‘I can’t remember,’ Ginger had to admit. ‘I was already under the influence of the dope he gave me.’
‘No matter. I can guess. I learned quite a lot myself last night. I can’t blame you for what happened.’
‘How did you know I was at the Grange?’
‘I found the clue you left at the gates.’
‘Oh yes. Of course. The book of matches. I’d forgotten about that. By the way, where’s Bertie?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t go back to the village last night. He was to fetch my small kit. He must be wondering what the devil has happened. I’m hoping we shall find him waiting in the village.’
It so happened that they did not have to go as far as the village. Before they reached it they saw the car coming towards them. Bertie was driving and Algy was with him.
Bertie pulled up and jumped out ‘Here, I say, what the blazes have you been playing at?’ he demanded hotly.
‘I haven’t been playing,’ returned Biggles evenly. ‘I’ve been working. Don’t argue now. Get back in the car and drive us somewhere where we can talk. I’ve got news for you.’
‘You’ve got news!’ exclaimed Bertie. ‘Wait till you’ve heard mine.’
They all got in the car. ‘Where to?’ asked Bertie.
‘Anywhere, as long as it’s well clear of Penlock,’ answered Biggles shortly. ‘It isn’t a healthy spot for us at the moment.’ Bertie drove on.
CHAPTER 10
ACTION IS PLANNED
BERTTE drove the car some distance from the village until, coming to a lay-by in the usual high banks to allow vehicles to pass, Biggles ordered him to stop. ‘This’ll do,’ he said. ‘Now we can talk. It’s time we compared notes. Bertie, you go first. What’s your news? Make it short because things are moving fast and we’ve no time to lose.’
‘Right you are. Fasten your safety belt, old boy, because you’re going to need it,’ began Bertie.
‘Get on with it, you’re wasting time,’ Biggles said curtly.
‘Okay — okay. Don’t rush me,’ complained Bertie. ‘I’ll start from where I left you last night to fetch your pyjamas so that you could spend the night at Penlock. When I got to our pub in Polcarron I found that Tom the barman was no longer there. There was a new man behind the bar. He told me Tom had walked out. That was a lie. He was sacked at a moment’s notice.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me so himself. He stopped me when I was on my way back to Penlock with your kit. When I got to Penlock you weren’t there. I waited for hours. You didn’t show up. What could I do?’
‘What did you do?’
‘I parked the haversack at your lodging and went back to “The Fishermen’s Arms” for the night. I didn’t feel like sitting in the bally car all night, in the village, where I might have been spotted by somebody from the Grange. This morning I got up early feeling sure I’d find you at Fernside Cottage. When I went down to snatch a bite of breakfast there was a rumpus going on in the hall. It was the police.’
‘What police?’
‘The local lads, of course.’
‘It’ll complicate things if they’re going to barge in. What did they want?’
‘They were asking questions about Tom.’
‘What had he done?’
‘Nothing. He couldn’t do anything. He was dead.’
Biggles stared. ‘Dead!’
‘His body had been found on the beach at the foot of the cliff.’
‘Are you saying he’d killed himself?’
‘No. I don’t believe that. He was as right as rain when he’d spoken to me a few hours earlier. He told me he’d been sacked, so he’d taken a room in the village until he could get another job. He said he’d been sacked because there was something crooked going on at the pub and he’d tried to find out what it was. It looks to me as if they weren’t satisfied with sacking him, but they bumped him off to prevent him doing any more talking.’
‘Talking to whom?’
‘To me, perhaps. I know someone was watching us when we were talking in the car.’
‘So you think he was murdered?’
‘I’m convinced of it. He didn’t talk to me like a man who was contemplating suicide. He was cold sober, so I don’t see how it could have been an accident. He left me to go to his new quarters, nowhere near the cliff.’
Biggles was silent for a moment, his lips in a hard fine. ‘The murdering hounds,’ he breathed. ‘Now we shall have to get them.’
‘The police were making inquiries. They think it must have been an accident, or suicide as a result of losing his job. They questioned everyone, including me.’
“How much did you tell them?’
‘As little as possible for the time being. Having no sort of proof, I didn’t say I thought he’d been murdered. That would have started something. I would have had to tell the lot, who we were and why we were there.’
‘You did the right thing.’
‘Jolly good. When the police had gone, and I was having a cup of coffee, Brunner came into the dining-room and he too started asking me questions, to find out, I think, what I really thought about this business. I let him think I was inclined to accept the suicide theory. I fancy he’s suspicious of us. Anyway, he says he’s let our rooms, so we shall have to get out.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ muttered Biggles cogently.
Bertie went on: ‘When I got to Penlock this morning and found you hadn’t been home all night, I got really worried. Not knowing what else to do, I dashed over to the airfield to put Algy wise as to what had happened. Wait a minute. I haven’t finished yet. As I was bringing Algy here to help me to look for you we met that perishing Daimler. We decided to follow it to see what it was up to. We ended up in a little place on the coast called—’
‘Portwin Cove,’ put in Biggles.
Bertie’s eyes opened wide. ‘How the devil did you know?’
Biggles smiled faintly. ‘Let’s say I’m clairvoyant. I’ve been busy, too. Carry on. What happened at Portwin Cove?’
Algy came in. ‘I left Bertie with the car and did a spot of scouting on foot. The Daimler stopped as near as it could get to the little harbour. Three men got out and went to a boat moored alongside the quay. One of them whistled. A man appeared, a caretaker, I suppose, from below deck. Two of the new arrivals joined the fellow on the boat and they disappeared below. The driver of the Daimler went back to his car and drove off. I shadowed it to Penlock Grange. That’s all.’
‘This boat?’ queried Biggles. ‘What sort was it?’
‘I’d call it a cabin cruiser. Pretty robust-looking craft. Looked as if it was built for salt water. Sleep four, for a guess.’
‘You didn’t get its name?’
‘No. I daren’t go too close. I didn’t want to be caught spying.’
Biggles nodded. ‘Fair enough. Now I’d better put you right in the picture by telling you what happened to Ginger yesterday and to me last night.’ He went on to relate the story of what had happened at Penlock Grange, which included the conversation he had overheard at the porch.
When he had finished Bertie said: ‘So that’s how things stand at present. What’s the drill now, old boy?’
‘It isn’t easy,’ Biggles replied thoughtfully. ‘We now have a pretty good picture of what the Brunners are doing. They must be making a thousand quid a trip in this racket. What we haven’t got is evidence that would stand up in court. We’ve no proof that these men now in the boat are being taken abroad. Even if we had a boat, which we haven’t, it would obviously be a waste of time to follow them when they leave, because we’d be spotted.’
‘Why not nail these two men who we know are on the boat at the moment?’ suggested Algy.
‘What could we charge them with? Shark-fishing? That’s what they’d say they were here for. It might even be true. There’s no law against that.’
‘They might be a brace of crooks on the run, if you see what I mean,’ offered Bertie.
‘And they might not,’ returned Biggles. ‘Then what? No, that won’t do. The risk is too big. We should have shown our hand for nothing. Besides, the boat might already have left. Let’s try to get the whole thing in perspective. The racket, as I see it, is this. The two men now on the boat will go out ostensibly shark-fishing. I’d wager there’s fishing tackle on the boat in case any questions are asked. A coastguard might see the boat leave. He’d have no reason to stop it. No doubt he knows it by sight. So the boat goes. Somewhere, well clear of land, the two men on board will be switched for two other men, presumably illegal immigrants. They are probably waiting at this moment to be picked up. The coastguard sees the boat come back with the same number of men on board as when it went out, so he does nothing about it. Why should he? It may well be that the two men who come ashore will be wearing the clothes of the men who went out. What we don’t know is where these unwanted immigrants are waiting. They could be on another boat; a French fishing boat, for instance. On the other hand they might be waiting on some island.’
‘Why an island?’ questioned Ginger.
‘Because last night something was said about an island. It could be anywhere. This country is surrounded by islands. It would hardly be the Isle of Man. That’s too far away. And I think we can rule out the Isle of Wight as being too near home. From what part of the Continent are the people waiting to come here most likely to come?’
‘France,’ guessed Ginger. ‘It’s the nearest point. Don’t forget the boat at Portwin Cove is supposed to be for shark-fishing, so it wouldn’t do for it to be away too long.’
‘I’d say you’re right,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Let’s say it’s France. How are we going to confirm it?’
‘What’s wrong with doing a little spotting from the air?’ suggested Algy. ‘It’s time we were doing something or we shall miss the boat — literally.’
‘Would you recognize the boat if you saw it at sea?’
‘I think so, although I wouldn’t swear to it. If I saw a cabin cruiser well out to sea on a course for the French coast, it’d be a clue.’
‘Okay,’ Biggles said briskly. ‘Let’s get on with it. I’ll take you to the airfield. When you get off the ground head for Portwin Cove and check if the boat you saw last night is still in the same place. If it is, watch it. If it’s gone, try to pick it up in the Channel and mark where it makes its landfall. Keep well clear, or it may be realized what you’re doing. You may need help, so you’d better take Ginger with you. If you learn anything important, you should be able to contact me in the car by radio.’ So saying Biggles started the car and took the road to Morven aerodrome.
