by W E Johns
They went on to the far end of the beach where, finding they were out of the smoke, they dropped their luggage and sank down to get some fresh air into their lungs and strike out smouldering patches on their clothes where sparks had fallen on them.
‘Phew! That was a close squeak,’ panted Biggles, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. ‘How the devil did that happen?’
‘It didn’t happen,’ asserted Rod.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone put fire to the heather.’
Biggles blinked. ‘You really think that?’
‘I know it. That fire couldn’t have started any other way.’ Rod smiled wanly. ‘It’s an old Highland trick, or it used to be, years ago. It was simple and it worked. One clan would get on the windward side of people it didn’t like and set fire to the heather. The wind did the rest. Everything had to go, horses, cattle, houses, and anyone who couldn’t get out of the way in time.’
‘What charming people they must have been.’
‘No worse than those who blast the landscape with bombs.’
‘Let’s not argue about that. Come to think of it I’ve heard of heather being burnt deliberately.’
‘That’s for a different reason. You burn off old stick heather, which is useless to man or beast, to provide grazing. It has to be done by people who know the job. You’re not allowed to burn in summer, anyhow; it’s too dangerous. Once such a fire gets out of hand nothing can stop it until it comes to a river or a road — or in our case, a beach and the sea. If the peat under the heather catches fire it can burn until heavy rain or snow puts it out. After the recent rain we’ve had here the peat must be wet, so we needn’t worry about that. There goes our snug little cottage.’
Looking along the beach through the already thinning smoke, they saw the house that had sheltered them go up in flames.
‘So you believe this was done deliberately?’ said Biggles, looking at Rod.
‘It couldn’t have happened any other way. In high summer, when the heather is bone dry and the peat like tinder, the sun shining through a piece of glass has been known to spark off a fire. I don’t notice any sunshine here to speak of. The fire started after dark, so that settles any argument about it being accidental. The heather here, being damp, would need a fire to get it going, anyway, although once started it wouldn’t matter if it was wet.’
‘So the dirty dogs tried to burn us out,’ muttered Bertie, cleaning his eyeglass.
‘They seem to have done that,’ Biggles pointed out bitterly.
Rod went on. ‘I should have considered the possibility, but I didn’t think they’d go as far as that. It looks as if the worst is over. When it gets light we’ll go back to see what’s happened.’
They sat on convenient rocks to wait and recover from the shock the fire had given them. After a while Biggles said: ‘There is this about it. The people here have made it clear that they’re prepared to go to any lengths to make life impossible for anyone else.’
‘Anything short of murder,’ murmured Ginger.
‘After what’s happened tonight I wouldn’t put that past them,’ returned Biggles. ‘Why, they might have done that already. You realize that a few more minutes before discovering the fire and we might have been burnt to death in our beds, or suffocated by smoke. Smoke can kill as well as fire.’
‘They couldn’t have known what they were doing when they set fire to the heather.’
‘They knew all right. Certainly those two Scots must have known what was likely to happen. You don’t live all your life in the Highlands without learning something about heather fires.’ Biggles went on: ‘There’s another point that worries me. Had our aircraft been standing on the beach, with those sparks flying it might have gone up in flames before we could get it away. Apart from the position it would have left us in, there would have been a nice row about that. To say it had been burnt by enemy action, without a hope of proving it, would have been a waste of time.’
‘Well, you needn’t worry about your plane being burnt now,’ said Rod cheerfully. ‘The risk of that happening has gone. The heather’s gone, and it’ll be years before it’s long enough to burn again. I’m not sorry to see that old heather go. It was useless. Next spring there’ll be grazing for sheep on the land where it occupied.’
‘You may be here to see it, but I hope we shan’t,’ replied Biggles. ‘A little of this sample of country life goes a long way with me.’
Time wore on. Grey light began to spread from the east. It revealed that except for a faint wreath of smoke here and there the fire had burnt itself out.
‘Let’s have a look at the damage,’ said Biggles, rising. ‘Before we go back to the house, if there’s anything left of it except the walls, which I doubt, we might as well have a look at the landscape from up top to see if anyone’s about.’
They made their way up a slope which the previous day had been green, but was now as black as a coal face. From the top the view was as might have been expected, but even so it gave Ginger cause to stare. The places where the fire had been started, and there must have been several of these for the blackened area began on a wide front, were plain to see. Behind, in the direction of the higher ground, the island still wore its sombre green cloak of heather, but in front of the broad track of the fire was a carbonized expanse on which nothing remained except a few outcrops of rock.
‘The scenery wasn’t exactly thrilling before, but now it would be hard to find a word for it,’ remarked Biggles, succinctly. ‘What a mess. I can’t see anyone about, so let’s go on to the harbour. Keep below the ridge. The chances are that someone will be watching for signs of us.’
They found it easier to walk back along the beach, now littered with charred debris that had been carried forward by the wind. When the objective was reached no one could have been surprised by what he saw. The rocks were still there, of course, exactly as they had been, and the boxes that Bertie had thrown out were still lying where they had fallen. There was nothing else. The slope was black. Of the little house, all that remained was an empty shell, the four stone walls.
‘Looks as if we shall have to find fresh accommodation,’ observed Biggles. ‘With nothing here to watch, we’re not tied to this particular spot.’
‘There are some more houses from which to choose,’ advised Rod. ‘They’re all pretty much alike, of course.’
‘With plenty of nice long heather round them to burn, no doubt,’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Would they be in view of the castle?’
‘More or less.’
‘Then that’s no use. The enemy would be able to watch our every movement. After last night I feel more inclined to park myself where there’s nothing left to burn.’
‘You mean — on these bare rocks?’ queried Bertie, looking startled.
‘No, I didn’t exactly mean that. We shall have to find cover of some sort in case the weather turns nasty again. I noticed some caves along the foot of the cliff which didn’t appear to be submerged even at high water. One of those might serve as a temporary measure, anyway, to store our kit and what food we have left. In a cave we could light a fire without it being seen.’
‘I’m nothing for caves,’ declared Bertie. ‘My people packed up cave-dwelling about two thousand years ago and I don’t feel like starting that all over again. Couldn’t this bonfire game be played two ways?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The stinkers smoked us out. Why shouldn’t we give them a taste of their own medicine?’
‘For one very good reason. The wind’s in the wrong direction.’
‘There’s another reason,’ put in Rod. ‘There’s nothing round the castle to burn, if that’s what you had in mind. It’s only grass nibbled flat by rabbits and a few green rushes which you couldn’t burn if you tried.’
Bertie shook his head sadly. ‘It’s no use. My ideas never click.’
‘What’s the alternative to this cave notion?’ asked Rod.
‘As far as I can see there’s only one, and that’s to march straight to the castle and have a show-down. I’m assuming these fire-raisers live in the castle.’
‘Okay,’ returned Rod, crisply. ‘Let’s do that.’
‘They’d see us as soon as we started and make preparations.’
‘So what? I’m the boss of my own property.’
‘I’m not so sure that you are at the moment. I don’t think it would be wise to stick our necks out until Algy gets back. If we did, he, not knowing what’s happened, might step straight into trouble. A better scheme might be to walk along the base of the cliff at low tide and come on the castle from behind. They won’t be expecting us to arrive from that direction. From what we’ve seen it should be possible.’
‘That suits me,’ said Rod.
‘Has anyone else any ideas?’ inquired Biggles, looking around.
Ginger had one. ‘Instead of tackling this job in broad daylight, why not get as far as we can along the foot of the cliffs and storm the castle after dark?’
Biggles considered the proposition. ‘There are arguments against it,’ he pointed out. ‘We’d be on enemy ground, which means they’d know their way about while we would not. Moreover, if we had to retreat we’d look silly if we found we’d been cut off by the tide. Still, we might explore the ground. But the first thing is to find a place to store our gear. Then we’ll have something to eat. I see no reason why, with smoke still hanging about, we shouldn’t light a fire. There should be some driftwood on the high water mark. We mustn’t be caught napping again, though. Bertie, you keep watch along the cliff track. Ginger, you keep an eye on things from the ridge.’
After they had gone Biggles looked at Rod. ‘You’re probably thinking the way I’m handling this business is a bit lily-fingered, but that’s the way we have to work over here. The policy is to avoid violence for as long as possible, which means we can’t take the law into our own hands just when we feel like it.’
Rod shrugged. ‘It’s your country, pal.’
CHAPTER 7
THE CASTLE
IT did not take Biggles and Rod long to find a cave, more correctly a shallow recess in the face of the cliff, which would be suitable for the temporary storage of their belongings. It was not large enough or deep enough to provide the party with accommodation, but it was dry, being above the high water mark, and would therefore serve their purpose for the time being. Anyhow it would do, Biggles declared, until they found somewhere better.
As they returned to the harbour, where the stores had been left, he also said it would be a good thing to see exactly what they had in the way of food, to get an idea of how long they could hold out if no more was forthcoming.
A check revealed two tins of biscuits, some sugar, tea, condensed milk and a variety of cans containing preserved fruits and meats of one sort or another. This it was thought should be sufficient to last them for three days if they were careful. As Algy would certainly be back by that time, they had nothing to worry about.
Bertie and Ginger were called in. Neither had anything to report, so without delay the stores were moved the short distance to their new base. This done they all returned to the harbour while waiting for the tide to ebb. A tang of burnt heather still hung in the air. Biggles kept his eyes on the sky over the sea.
‘I’m hoping to see Algy,’ he explained.
‘What difference will it make if he comes?’ asked Rod.
‘A lot. I don’t want him to land and finding no one on the beach come to look for us, leaving the machine unattended. I’m anxious to have his news, anyway. I’m considering sending him back to the Air Commodore to report on what has happened here since he left, and ask for his instructions.’ Biggles smiled. ‘I suppose, Rod, that’s what you’d call “passing the buck”.’
‘By shifting the responsibility to him?’
‘Exactly. That’s an old army racket.’
‘Not only the army,’ murmured Rod, knowingly.
Biggles became serious. ‘A feeling is growing on me that if we start something here it’ll end in open war. We’ve got to watch our step. Remember, so far we haven’t a clue as to what’s going on. It may be something comparatively trivial, such as common poaching. Having noticed one or two seals about, I’ve even considered the possibility of fur poaching, which is illegal. I just don’t know, and I’d like to be sure of my ground before we start getting really tough.’
Bertie spoke. ‘There is this about it, old boy. Just as we don’t know what these blighters are doing here, they don’t know why we’re here. I mean to say, while they probably know about Rod being here to take up his tenancy of the island, they’ve no reason to suppose he’s called in the police.’
‘True enough,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Obviously they don’t want Rod here. The big question is why? It seems pretty certain they’re not making this a temporary abode, or they wouldn’t go to so much trouble to keep it to themselves. At the moment, as far as we can judge, they couldn’t get away if they wanted to leave, although there’s reason to believe that a boat and an aircraft come here from time to time.’
‘And they use a horse,’ reminded Ginger.
‘All of which suggests to me that there’s real money in whatever the racket is,’ said Rod, shrewdly.
Biggles agreed. He got up. ‘The tide seems to be nearly at full ebb so we might as well try something.’
‘A walk along the foot of the cliff as far as we can get?’
‘That was what we decided. We can’t all go. Someone will have to stay here to put Algy wise in case he turns up, although it may still be a bit early for that. Ginger, you’ll stay. Find a place from which you can watch the beach, but keep under cover as much as you can. If Algy comes tell him what goes on. Don’t leave the machine. That’s our lifeline. If we lost that we should be up the creek without a paddle. The enemy could hardly fail to hear it, or see it arrive, and it’s likely their curiosity would bring them along — or one of them — to find out what it’s doing here. That must be of vital importance to them now they’ve been given the idea that the Navy is interested in the place.’
‘Good enough. Are you likely to be away long?’ asked Ginger.
‘It’s hard to say. It depends on how things go. With luck we may be able to do a little scouting round the castle, if we can get up to it. We’re more likely to need the binoculars than you are, so we’ll take them.’
Nothing more was said. Ginger walked off in the direction of the beach.
Biggles, with Rod, and Bertie with the glasses slung over his shoulder, moved in the opposite direction.
Noticing Rod was carrying his twelve-bore, Biggles asked: ‘Are you going to take that?’
‘I might as well. It won’t be in the way. It’s my favourite gun and I’d be sorry if anything happened to it.’
Biggles did not pursue the matter.
The margin of rocks and boulders that lay between the foot of the cliff and the sea was not very wide. It was the usual picture of any similar coastline: rocks of all shapes and sizes, festooned with seaweed and encrusted with limpets, barnacles and winkles, with pools of water, now stagnant, left by the receding tide, at frequent intervals. A way to get round or over these obstacles had constantly to be sought, and more than once, having come to an impasse, they had to retrace their steps to look for another passage. It was also necessary to keep an eye on the rim of the cliff above. Although these conditions had been expected, they meant that progress was slow.
It must have been getting on for an hour later when Biggles stopped, looking at certain marks on the face of the cliff that spoke for themselves, in particular a short area, low down, of wet seaweed. ‘I don’t care much for this,’ he remarked, frowning. ‘You realize we couldn’t get along here at high water. The tide’s on the turn. One of the first things a sensible soldier learns is always to keep an eye on his line of retreat. If we were cut off at a place where the cliff happens to be sheer things would look grim.’
Biggles turned and looked back along the way they had come. Already the waves were being driven in with more force, as could be judged by the spray and the noise they were making. Against his better judgement he said: ‘Have it your way. Let’s go on, as long as you realize we’re gambling on finding a way up.’
Rod did not answer. They went on.
They had not gone far when it seemed that his optimism was justified. A great landslide had torn a gap in the cliff and the fallen debris lay in a long slope offering a rough passage to the top.
Biggles admitted his relief. ‘So this is it,’ he said. ‘We can’t go back. It’s too late, and I’m not risking being caught half-way. That leaves us with two courses open. We can either wait here for the next low tide, or we can climb to the top to see where we are; which would mean, if we wanted to go back to the beach, we should have to walk in full view of anyone at the castle.’
‘And why not?’ demanded Rod, in a hard voice. ‘Spare my days! It’s come to a nice thing if I can’t walk across my own property in what is considered to be a civilized country. I’m going up.’
‘Okay, if that’s how you feel. It’s up we go.’
Bertie smiled. ‘Jolly good! Now we may have some fun instead of prancing about on these dirty rocks like a lot of bally mountain goats.’
Biggles did not answer. They started the rather precarious climb up the chaos of loose rocks. It was a long, arduous pull to the top, starting from sea level to what was the highest, or nearly the highest, part of the island. Fortunately the landslide was an old one, so the rocks had had time to settle down, or it could have been more dangerous than it turned out to be. Great care had to be taken, nevertheless, if a nasty accident was to be avoided.