Biggles at World's End

by W E Johns

  ‘There you are. That must be him signalling now,’ said Biggles.

  The shots were answered by three quick toots of the siren.

  ‘What will you do if it is the Russian?’ inquired Ginger.

  ‘Make a bolt and risk a crack-up, fog or no fog. I’d rather perish that way than spend the rest of my life in the salt mines of Siberia.’

  ‘Same as you, laddie, same as you—every time,’ agreed Bertie.

  Ginger continued to be optimistic. ‘If the frigate arrived at Punta Algy might bring it along to save time. He’d realize we had been grounded by fog.’

  There’s a chance of that,’ conceded Biggles. ‘If the Petrel left its base on time, or a little earlier, it could be here by now. The date we were given was only approximate. It wasn’t definite. The chief used the word ‘about’, and I commented on it when I read his letter. But here comes Gontermann, looking all cock-a-hoop now he thinks he’s won the game. He’s sure it’s his pals in the offing. After all, why should he think otherwise?’

  Gontermann strode up. He was alone. ‘Now you’ll have to tell us where you have put the gold,’ he announced, with triumphant satisfaction which he did not attempt to conceal.

  ‘Why shall I?’

  ‘I have friends coming.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that I might have friends.’

  Gontermann’s expression changed, but quickly changed again. ‘You make the bluff,’ he sneered.

  ‘We shall see.’ Biggles lit a cigarette and strolled nearer to the aircraft.

  Gontermann drew his gun. ‘Stand still,’ he rasped. ‘You not run away in that plane—unless....’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless you tell me where Carter puts the gold.’

  ‘And if I tell you?’

  ‘I let you go.’

  ‘I’ve told you you may be crowing too soon.’

  ‘I don’t believe. You lose the game, Englander.’

  Biggles considered the man in front of him, and as he did so a ghost of a smile crept slowly over his face. He was thinking swiftly, and as he told the others a few minutes later his thoughts ran on these lines. If the approaching ship turned out to be the Petrel Gontermann would not get the gold even if he knew where it was. If in fact it was the whaler, sooner or later the gold would be found anyway, even if it meant digging up the entire beach. With plenty of labour available there would be no difficulty about that. Wherefore, it seemed, nothing was to be lost by revealing the cache.

  ‘If I tell you where the gold is you’ll let us go?’ questioned Biggles, calmly, to the astonishment of Ginger, who could only stare aghast.

  ‘I will not stop you if you wish to go,’ promised Gontermann, quickly, unable to conceal his eagerness to learn the secret.

  ‘You’re standing on it,’ stated Biggles, without a trace of emotion.

  Gontermann’s jaw fell. Surprise throwing him off his guard he stared stupidly at his feet, his revolver hanging limply at his side.

  Biggles moved like lightning, whipping out his automatic he shouted: ‘Drop that gun! I said drop it!’

  Gontermann looked hard at Biggles’ face. The revolver fell with a thud on the black sand. ‘Why you do this?’ he complained. ‘I say I let you go.’

  ‘I prefer to make sure of it,’ answered Biggles, curtly. ‘I’ll go in my own time. Bertie, get in the machine and stand by to start up. Ginger, pick up that revolver and watch the beach in case the other two come along. Keep close to the aircraft.’ He himself moved nearer to it. ‘Be ready to move fast if we have to,’ he murmured in a quiet aside to Ginger as he passed him.

  The positions taken, nobody moved. In the minute that followed, a breeze, gentle but perceptible, set the fog swirling. It became thin in patches.

  By this time Ginger had realized why Biggles was waiting. The next two or three minutes would resolve the situation. The ship, as its frequent hooting announced, was coming nearer. If, when it came into view, it turned out to be the whaler, there would be a scramble to get off, and Gontermann, unarmed, would be unable to do anything to prevent it.

  ‘Why do you do this? Why do you wait?’ asked Gontermann, looking puzzled.

  ‘We’re in no hurry,’ Biggles told him. ‘Visibility is improving every minute.’ Which was perfectly true.

  The ship, obviously moving slowly on account of the fog, sounding its siren from time to time, came nearer. It was now close enough for its engine, and other sounds on board, to be heard; but still it could not be seen. Then for a short while the sounds seemed to recede. Gontermann, cupping his hands round his mouth, let out a yell. This may have caused the ship to turn, for now it came back, hooting so loudly that Ginger was amazed that it couldn’t be seen. As visibility was now in the order of a hundred yards he could only conclude that it was still farther away than the sounds suggested.

  It was a sharp gust of wind that finally settled all doubts. It tore the fog to shreds, revealing the scene as clearly as if a curtain had been dragged aside. At the same time it became lighter. In the channel, a quarter of a mile away, broadside on, steaming slowly, was the ship that had been making the noise. It could still only be seen as a dark shape, but that was enough for identification.

  It was the whaler.

  Ginger’s stomach seemed to drop into his boots.

  The ship began to turn towards the beach.

  Gontermann gave a bellow of joy and waving his arms raced towards his two companions who could be seen, some two hundred yards farther along the beach, standing by the dinghy.

  Biggles made no attempt to stop him. He spoke crisply. ‘That’s it. Let’s go.’

  CHAPTER 16

  HOW IT ENDED

  BIGGLES had turned to the aircraft, but spun round again to look at the whaler as from it came a shrill cry. The engine-room bell clanged. Water at the stern was being churned into foam.

  ‘What goes on?’ muttered Ginger, as he stopped to watch.

  The ship itself provided the answer. Slowly but deliberately its bows rose a little from the water. At the same time she took on a slight list. The propeller continued to thresh foam but she did not move.

  ‘By thunder, she’s aground!’ cried Biggles. ‘I noticed a pale streak running across the bay as we came in and thought it might be a shoal.’

  Bertie joined them. ‘She’s stuck all right. What fun.’

  ‘She was going dead slow. She’ll get off,’ declared Ginger.

  Biggles answered. ‘With the tide on the ebb? Not a hope. She’ll have to wait for high water. She may not be able to get off then without help. The tide had only just turned when she stuck her nose into that sand-bank so she’ll be there for some time, anyway.’

  ‘I can’t see how that’s going to help us,’ said Ginger, disconsolately. ‘Hadn’t we better push off while we can?’

  ‘There’s no hurry now. I shall be interested to see what happens.’

  ‘Well, don’t leave it too long.’

  ‘We’re still sitting on the golden eggs.’

  ‘That won’t be for long. There’s Gontermann going out now, in the dinghy. He’ll tell ‘em how things stand. All they’ll have to do is lower a boat to fetch the gold.’

  Biggles lit a cigarette. ‘I’d wager the skipper of that ship is thinking more about what he can unload to lighten her than taking on more cargo to sink her deeper into the sand.’

  ‘They’ll come here, anyway, to kick us off the island.’

  ‘When they lower a boat will be the time for us to think about moving. We’d still have plenty of time.’

  Bertie chipped in: ‘You know, chaps, this gets more like a funny film every minute. Everyone knows where the beastly gold is; but we can’t take it with us and the blokes over there can’t do with it at the moment—if you get my meaning.’

  ‘It won’t be so funny if they start shooting at us and put a hole through our main tank,’ growled Ginger.

  ‘You may be right,’ agreed Biggles. ‘We’d bette
r be on our way. There’s a chance the Petrel has arrived at Punta, in which case if our friends over the way remain stuck we might still be able to do something about this.’

  Again they had turned to the machine, but again they stopped, looking seaward, as from no great distance away came the boom of a heavy gun.

  ‘What the devil’s that?’ muttered Biggles.

  ‘The bang seemed to come from behind that island opposite,’ opined Bertie, polishing his monocle, briskly. ‘Who’s shooting at what?’

  ‘It’s nobody shooting at anything,’ declared Ginger, excitedly. ‘It was a signal. It must be the Petrel looking for us. Let’s get off and find her.’

  ‘Hold your horses,’ ordered Biggles. ‘We can do better than that. I hate leaving this metal we’re sitting on. Fetch me the Very pistol and a red cartridge.’

  Ginger dashed to the machine, took from the locker what was wanted and ran back. Biggles loaded, and a moment later the signal light was rocketing, leaving a trail of smoke. At the culminating point a little ball of red fire appeared, to sink slowly earthward.

  ‘If it is the Petrel looking for us that should tell ‘em where we are,’ said Biggles.

  ‘What ho! Look at that!’ exclaimed Bertie, as from behind the island a rocket soared to burst in a shower of green sparks.

  ‘That’s the answer,’ asserted Biggles. ‘They saw our signal.’

  ‘Hooray, jolly good, and all that,’ said Bertie.

  They waited, Ginger almost breathless.

  Five minutes later, round the end of the island, moving slowly, appeared a vessel painted battleship grey. A small flag, which could just be discerned as the White Ensign, fluttered in the fitful breeze.

  ‘I wonder what Gontermann’s thinking now,’ said Biggles, softly.

  ‘What about the whaler?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘It’s not likely to argue with a frigate bristling with guns.’

  ‘I hope to goodness she doesn’t run on the sand-bank, too.’

  ‘She’ll see what’s happened to the whaler and keep clear.’

  The frigate came on, dead slow, feeling her way into the bay. When she was about a hundred yards offshore the anchor chain rattled.

  ‘There goes her mudhook,’ said Biggles, waving.

  In a few minutes a boat was lowered. It sped towards the beach. Algy could be seen sitting with an officer in the stern. It ran in with naval precision close to the Gadfly. Algy and the officer stepped out and walked up to it.

  ‘Everything all right?’ inquired Algy.

  ‘It is now.’

  ‘We heard shooting.’

  ‘We’ve had a spot of bother. But there’s nothing unusual in that when gold is involved.’

  ‘This is Lieutenant Mason.’

  As Biggles shook hands with the naval officer Algy went on: ‘The Petrel came in soon after you’d left, so I explained the position to Captain Anderson and he decided to press on right away. He was kind enough to bring me along.’ He jerked a thumb towards the grounded whaler. ‘So she really was after the brass.’

  ‘She was. Gontermann is aboard her now. She might have got it, too, if she hadn’t been in such a hurry and stuck her nose in the bottom.’

  The naval officer stepped in. ‘She has other matters to worry about at the moment. Where’s this gold I’ve heard about?’

  ‘We’re sitting on it.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s here?’

  ‘I’ve seen it.’

  ‘Then the sooner we get it out the better.’

  ‘That suits me. I want to get away before dark if possible. We’ve spent one night here and that’s enough.’

  ‘All right. You get along. We’ll attend to it. Do I understand you’ve had trouble here?’

  ‘There’s been a certain amount of shooting, if you call that trouble.’

  Lieutenant Mason smiled. ‘I don’t think we shall have any more.’

  ‘Then I can leave everything to you?’

  ‘You may.’

  ‘In that case I’ll move off. Are you coming with us, Algy?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then let’s get airborne.’

  In a few minutes the Gadfly was in the air, flying flat out up the Strait.

  ‘Where are you making for?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘Rio Gallegos.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘I’ll drop you off there and come back.’

  Ginger’s eyebrows went up. ‘You mean back to Punta?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But for goodness sake why? I thought we’d finished with the place.’

  ‘Not quite. You seem to forget I told Vendez I’d go back, so back I go. There are one or two other things to do, too.’

  ‘You may run into trouble if those security officers are there.’

  ‘Could be. That’s why I’m dropping you at Gallegos. I’ll fly back alone.’

  ‘Vendez will understand the reason if you don’t go back.’

  ‘That isn’t the point. I gave him my word, and that stands.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The Gadfly raced on into the darkening sky.

  The sun had disappeared but the long southern twilight still lingered when Biggles, having dropped the others off at Rio Gallegos with orders to see how the two plant hunters were getting on, glided down to the dank, depressing airfield of Punta Arenas. He landed, taxied in, switched off, jumped down and walked briskly towards the manager’s office. Before reaching it the door was opened and he could see three men waiting for him.

  Vendez was one of them. ‘So you’ve come back,’ he greeted, in a curious tone of voice.

  ‘That’s what I said I’d do, isn’t it? Sorry I’m late, but we were pinned down by fog.’

  ‘You were reported having arrived at Rio Gallegos.’

  ‘That’s right. I took my friends there.’

  ‘Then why have you come back?’

  ‘To face the music. I hope the tune played won’t be too discordant.’

  ‘Come in,’ invited Vendez. ‘These are the gentlemen from Santiago who wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Well, here I am.’

  The two security officers were introduced and everyone sat down.

  ‘I’m ready, gentlemen,’ said Biggles. ‘Fire away.’

  Said one of the Chilean officers: ‘To save time I suggest we arrive at the point.’

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Biggles, little guessing what was coming.

  ‘The questions we came to ask are no longer necessary. We know the answers.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘We know you are not a spy.’

  ‘That’s good news, anyway.’

  ‘In fact, we know what you have been doing.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Quite sure. Did you find the gold?’

  Had a bomb burst in the room Biggles could hardly have been more shaken. ‘So you know about that?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘You were kind enough to tell us—or at least provide the information.’

  Biggles stared, puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’

  The officer smiled. ‘Tell him, Señor Vendez.’

  Vendez explained. ‘You will remember you gave me some papers to dry, and among them was a diary of Señor Carter.’

  ‘Yes. I intended to collect them.’

  ‘Turning over the pages to separate them it was natural I should see some of the writing.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Judge my surprise when I find myself reading of the discovery of a treasure of gold, how it was moved and re-buried in another place. There was even a little map to show the spot. Then, of course, I understood everything.’

  Biggles shook his head sadly. ‘I knew about the gold, but Carter didn’t tell me he’d written the story in his diary. All I can say is, I’m glad I didn’t give those papers to Gontermann to dry.’

  ‘Carter must have forgotten to me
ntion it. In his unhappy condition that would be understandable. In any case, he must have supposed the diary had gone down in the Seaspray to be lost for ever.’

  ‘That’s probably the answer,’ agreed Biggles. He turned to the Chilean officers. ‘Well, gentlemen, now you know, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Did you find the gold?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘By this time it should be on board a British naval frigate named the Petrel.’

  ‘So it was not a coincidence that ship happened to call here?’

  ‘It was not. It was ordered here to pick up the gold, which belongs to Great Britain.’ Biggles went on to tell, briefly, the story of how the gold came to be there.

  ‘This will of course have to be reported to my government,’ said one of the Chileans. ‘Why weren’t we invited to find it for you?’

  ‘I don’t make such decisions, señor. I receive orders and do my best to carry them out.’

  ‘Then you didn’t come here as a private treasure hunter, to find the gold for yourself?’

  ‘Certainly not. I was sent here by the chief of my department.’

  ‘What is your official position?’

  ‘I am a police officer on the London staff of the International Police Commission.’

  ‘That makes a big difference. No doubt the matter will come before a higher authority.’

  ‘I imagine so. Meanwhile, what do you want me to do? I am at your disposal.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Having finished my work here, go home. But first I must go into the town, collect the things left at our hotel and pay the bill. That will mean staying the night. With your permission I shall fly north in the morning, in daylight.’

  ‘Answer me this, Señor Bigglesworth. Did Señor Gontermann know about this gold?’

  ‘He did, which is why he tried to make things difficult for us. I think he must have known about it for some time.’

  ‘Which may account for his love of sailing. He should have reported the matter to us.’

  Biggles accepted a cigarette offered to him. ‘I’m not making any complaint against Gontermann who, by the way, has had two men helping him. He knew about the gold but didn’t know exactly where it was. It wouldn’t surprise me if he came here with the sole intention of looking for it.’