by W E Johns
‘I’ll do that right away in case I forget,’ decided Algy.
He did so, and Biggles distributed the cartridges, saying: ‘Has anyone any more points to raise?’ When there was no answer he continued: ‘Okay. Let’s get on with it. If things go right, by sundown we should know all the answers.’
‘If you bust that door the gang will know you’ve got the edge on ‘em,’ Algy pointed out.
‘What about it? They can’t get away. They’ve no boat. It doesn’t come back until Thursday.’
‘I was thinking that when they realize you know the lot, they’ll come gunning for you.’
‘I’m not worried about that. We’ve had more experience at that sort of thing than they have, I’ll warrant. We shall get back to Rod as quickly as we can, and if the four of us can’t hold ‘em until the Air Commodore takes a hand, we’d deserve to be shot. But that’s enough talking. Let’s go. The sooner we get started the better.’
CHAPTER 13
BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR
THEY squeezed into the aircraft with Rod in a front seat to point out the croft. All that was necessary was to hop over the ridge at the far end of the beach and there was the objective no distance in front of them. In less than three minutes the helicopter was standing in the heather a few yards from a tumble-down stone building, with its thatched roof in reasonable order and a cowshed near at hand.
They went in and were agreeably surprised to find the interior in better order than might have been expected. The great thing was, it seemed fairly dry, so the work of unloading the stores and carrying them inside was begun forthwith, an eye being kept on the castle which was now in full view on the higher ground. There was nobody in sight.
‘Okay. That’s the lot,’ said Algy, who had been handing the parcels out of the machine.
Leaving Rod standing in the open doorway with his gun under his arm, the others got back into the aircraft. ‘Good luck, Rod,’ called Biggles. ‘Remember, no shooting unless they start it.’
Rod waved acknowledgment with the cigar he had lighted and the machine skimmed back over the ridge to the beach, to hover at a height of a few feet. Algy remained in his seat.
‘Make it snappy,’ ordered Biggles, and the others jumped out.
The door was slammed and the helicopter swept up over the sea, heading south-east.
‘Keep going,’ said Biggles crisply, striding along the beach towards the harbour where it ended and the rocks began. ‘Got the glasses, Ginger?’
‘Yep.’
There is no need to describe in detail the rough journey along the foot of the cliff. They had done the trip before, so they knew what it was like. In broad daylight it was of course a different matter from covering the same ground in the dark, and they made good progress, with the result that in less than half an hour they had reached the landslide where the cliff had broken down to provide the only route to the top. Without stopping they went on up, making a fair amount of noise as loose rocks clattered down behind them. This caused them no concern, however, because all sounds, except the mewing of the gulls, were drowned by the noise of waves waging their everlasting war against the land.
‘Keep your heads down when we get to the top,’ ordered Biggles, panting from his exertions. ‘Let me take a peep first.’ Creeping the last few yards, he peered cautiously between two boulders. ‘Nothing doing yet,’ he told the others quietly. ‘Not a soul in sight near the castle, but I can see Rod pottering about outside the croft. We shall have to wait.’
Close watch was kept, but the delay proved to be a long and tiresome one, and it was getting on for noon before Ginger, who was taking a turn at watching, was able to announce that five men had left the castle and were crossing the moor, going down the hill straight towards the croft.
‘That’s fine,’ declared Biggles. ‘Better than I expected. Like all that type, they believe there’s safety in numbers. According to our reckoning, that leaves only one man at the castle to take care of things, and if I know anything he won’t be looking this way. He’ll be watching his pals to see what happens when they get to the croft.’
‘I don’t know where he is,’ said Ginger. ‘I can’t see him.’
‘All to the good. Let’s make a dash for the outbuildings. Ready? Go!’
Keeping low, they sprinted across the intervening distance to the wall that marked the boundary of the stable yard. There was no shout of alarm, or any other indication that they had been seen, so after a pause for breath they went on to the rear wall of the castle itself. There was still no sound except the croak of a raven sitting on the roof.
‘Wait here while I have a dekko round the front,’ said Biggles softly. ‘If the man isn’t inside that’s where I’d expect to find him, probably near the front door watching the party going to the croft. Stand fast.’ Keeping close to the wall, he walked to the angle and, lying flat, peeped round. A glance told him all he wanted to know and he made his way back to the others.
‘He’s there, standing in the open just in front of the steps. I’ll handle him. When you hear me whistle come at the double.’
‘Could you see the rest of the gang?’ asked Ginger.
‘Yes. They’re more than half-way to the croft. Rod’s standing at the door waiting for ‘em. I don’t think they’ll look round unless there’s a lot of noise here. If that should happen we shall have to move fast, because if they do look back they’ll see us. Once we’re inside we shall be all right. From the croft to the castle, the going being uphill, should take them a quarter of an hour, anyway. But we’ve no time to lose. Wait for my whistle. I shouldn’t be long. When you hear it come as fast as you can.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Bertie. ‘This is more like old times.’
Biggles proceeded with his task. The big difficulty, of course, was to reach the man without being observed, but he thought he could see a way to get over that. Reaching the dry moat, he dropped into it, and then, with his gun in hand he walked quickly towards the front entrance. In this position, unless the man had moved, he was fairly safe, because being well below the level of the door he was out of sight.
The time came, of course, when he had to leave the moat, and this was the tricky part of the operation, not so much because of what the man might do to him as because a single shot would be enough to bring the gang back hotfoot.
Biggles crept to the lip of the moat. The man had moved a few yards and was now sitting on a stone, filling a pipe from a tobacco pouch. The gang had nearly reached the croft.
Biggles now moved swiftly. He could get no farther without exposing himself, so nothing was to be gained by taking time over what he had to do. He had this advantage. When he emerged from the moat he came between the castle and the man who, with his eyes on his companions, therefore had his back towards him. He was in fact re-lighting his pipe, which apparently had gone out.
Biggles covered the distance in a dozen swift, silent strides. ‘On your feet and get inside,’ he rapped out, with iron in his voice.
The man, dropping his pipe, leapt up as if propelled by a spring, to stare stupidly into the muzzle of Biggles’s gun. His lower jaw sagged in comical amazement.
‘Get inside and keep your hands away from your pockets,’ said Biggles shortly. ‘I’m warning you, this gun’s loaded and I’m prepared to use it.’
The man did not argue. He walked towards the door without a word.
Biggles whistled, and keeping close on the man’s heels followed him through the door into the castle. There, within a minute, he was joined by Ginger and Bertie, both with guns in their hands. Without taking his eyes off his man, Biggles spoke to them. ‘What’s the rest of the gang doing? I hadn’t time to look.’
‘They appear to be talking to Rod outside the croft,’ answered Ginger.
‘Good enough.’ Biggles addressed the prisoner. He had never seen the man before. He was an ordinary-looking type, short, thin-faced, but with nothing really remarkable about him. He looked startled, as he had reason to be. �
��Talk straight and talk fast,’ said Biggles tersely. ‘Are you alone in the castle?’
‘Yes,’ was the answer, in a surly voice.
‘If you’re lying—’
‘I’ve told you. The others are out.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘That’s for you to find out.’
‘All right, if that’s how you feel. But the game’s up, whatever it is, so you’re only making things worse for yourself. We’re police officers and we’re not standing for nonsense, so watch your step. Walk on, straight down the corridor. Stop when you come to the locked door.’
The man obeyed.
‘Now stand with your back to the wall. Have you got the key to this door?’
‘No.’
‘Where is it?’
‘The boss keeps it.’
‘By the boss are you talking about Norton?’
The man’s eyes went round at the mention of the name.
‘I dunno his proper name.’
‘You’re a liar. Search him, Ginger. ’
Ginger went through the prisoner’s pockets and removed an automatic. ‘No key,’ he reported briefly.
‘Okay. Keep him covered. If he makes a move shoot his legs from under him. Bertie, go to the front door and watch if anyone looks this way when I fire the first shot. Don’t show yourself.’
Bertie strode off.
Biggles gave him a couple of minutes and then, holding the muzzle of his gun two inches from the woodwork, close to the lock, fired. In the confined space the report sounded like the crack of doom. The air was filled with the acrid reek of cordite. He went close to the hole the bullet had made and putting his pencil to it ascertained that it had gone right through.
Bertie came back. ‘They didn’t look round, so they couldn’t have heard it.’
‘Good. Keep watching and let me know if they start coming back.’
Biggles returned to his task of shooting the lock out of the door. He fired again and again, five shots. The lock remained intact. He struck it with the butt of his gun but it didn’t move. He reloaded and fired six more shots, cutting a series of holes to remove the lock bodily. That was more than it could stand, and it sagged inwards. Again he reloaded, taking a spare clip of cartridges from Ginger. Three more shots and the lock looked ready to fall out. Again he struck it with his gun and it fell inwards. Putting his shoulder to the door he threw his weight against it. It flew open, the lock and splinters of wood rattling on the floor. A pungent smell of peat mixed with the sickly aroma of malt floated out to combine with the now choking fumes of cordite.
Inside, a lamp, standing on a table, was burning, so there was no need to go any farther. All that it was necessary to see could be seen from the door. Half a dozen stone steps went down into a vast vaulted room, or series of rooms. The light revealed what looked like complicated chemical laboratory apparatus. Near it some casks stood on the floor. There was a heap of bottles and some sacks, some full, some empty.
For a few seconds Biggles stared into the long, stone, windowless chamber, while over his face crept an expression that would have been difficult to describe. He called Bertie.
Bertie came. ‘They’re still nattering,’ he reported.
Biggles pointed. ‘Take a look at this. How dumb can you be?’ he added bitterly. ‘The answer was so easy. It’s time I had my head examined.’
‘What is it, old boy?’
‘A still. An illicit still.’
‘I don’t get it. What’s a still?’
‘A thing for making whisky.’
Bertie whistled softly.
Biggles shook his head sadly. ‘We had all the clues. Scotland, peat and barley, adds up to Scotch whisky. And we knew Norton was a whisky thief. And I didn’t guess it. Apparently he finds it easier to make than pinch on the Great North Road. He certainly chose the ideal place for the experiment. We can see now why he didn’t want Rod here. Well, that’s all we want to know.’
‘And now what?’ asked Bertie.
Biggles turned to the man still being covered by Ginger. ‘Remember you’re under arrest. There’s nothing I can do with you for the moment, so you can go where you like, but my advice to you is to stay here. You can’t leave the island anyway. Don’t try any tricks or you’ll only make things worse for yourself. Behave sensibly and it may be to your advantage at the trial. I said may. It isn’t a promise.’
‘You’ve seen all there is to see,’ muttered the man. ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you. I told Norton it’d end like this.’
‘In that case why did you join him?’
‘Because he gave me a chance...’
‘A chance to do what? Are you one of the men he helped to escape from Pentonville?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why was he so anxious to get you out?’
‘He knew I used to work in a distillery and understood all about making whisky. This was his idea, not mine.’
‘Ah! So that was it. Your memory seems to be coming back. What’s your name?’
‘Larkin.’
‘Who flies the plane that comes here?’
‘A pal of Norton’s who used to be a pilot.’
‘What’s his interest?’
‘He put up the money for the scheme; not so much for the whisky racket as to have a holiday home for certain pals of his who had the money to pay. All I know about him is he runs a chain of night clubs in London.’
‘Queer place to choose for a holiday, wasn’t it?’
Larkin hesitated.
‘Come on,’ prompted Biggles. ‘You might as well finish the story. Who are these men who like a country life?’
‘Some of the fellers you’ve been looking for.’
‘Meaning men the police have been looking for?’
‘You’ve got it. Some didn’t think much of it here, but it was better than being on the run. They didn’t stay here long.’
Then what happened to them?’
‘I dunno. You can ask Norton. That was nothing to do with me.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Six months or so.’
Biggles nodded. ‘You haven’t done too badly. If you hadn’t behaved like a pack of fools you might have lasted longer. How far are the local people on the mainland involved in this?’
‘So it was them who gave us away? I reckoned they would, sooner or later.’
‘They did nothing of the sort. You gave yourselves away by scuttling the boat belonging to the man who owns the island.’
‘I can see that. I said it was daft at the time. The locals got free whisky. That was arranged by Duncan, who comes from these parts. He’s with Norton and the others now. These people’ll do anything for whisky. You won’t tell Norton I’ve been talking?’ pleaded Larkin.
‘You needn’t worry about that,’ returned Biggles. ‘All right. That’s enough for now. You’d better stay in the castle. You can tell Norton any tale you like when he comes back.’ He turned to Ginger and Bertie. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of this.’
Leaving Larkin standing in the passage, they walked quickly to the door and out into the fresh air. After the fumes inside it was welcome. Biggles took the binoculars from Ginger and focused them on the croft. ‘They’re still talking, but they look as if they are about to leave,’ he said.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Ginger, as Biggles handed back the glasses.
‘We’re going back to Rod.’
‘Straight across the moor?’
‘Of course.’
‘We shall come face to face with the gang.’
‘What of it? When I tell them who we are, that we know everything, and that we’re only waiting for a boat to take everyone off, knowing they’ve no means of getting away from the island they’ll think twice before they try murdering the owner and three police officers. Let’s get along. I can do with something to eat.’
‘They’ve spotted us,’ said Ginger, who was looking at the croft. ‘Here they come.
’
Biggles smiled faintly. ‘It should be amusing to see how they react when I tell them they’re all under arrest,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s go and meet ‘em.’
CHAPTER 14
BREATHING SPACE
BIGGLES, with Ginger and Bertie in close attendance, set off down the long, slightly undulating, heather-covered slope towards the croft. From the opposite direction came the men who had been there and were now hurrying back. Both parties walked openly in a direct line, so it was clear that the encounter would occur somewhere about half-way, which would be on the area blackened by the fire.
The weather, ignored during the business in the castle, had deteriorated. More sombre-looking cloud had rolled up, led by a wide front of nimbus trailing a slight drizzle which was fast reducing visibility. Any breeze there had been had dropped, hinting at a promise of fog. No one remarked on it, but it was evident that should these conditions persist, Algy, when he returned, might have difficulty in finding the island, never mind the landing ground. How far this was likely to affect the situation was a matter for surmise, but Ginger, for one, was by no means happy about it.
After walking in silence for a minute or two he said: ‘I wouldn’t have thought it worth while to go to all this trouble simply to make whisky, which can be bought anywhere.’
‘At a price,’ returned Biggles. ‘Don’t get wrong ideas about that. Whisky costs next to nothing to make. It’s the tax, the excise duty, that sends the price sky high.’
‘What they turn out here must be pretty poor stuff,’ put in Bertie.
‘Awful, I’d say. Immature whisky, which is simply raw spirit, is practically undrinkable. I’ve been told it tastes foul; but it has a kick like a wild horse, and that’s how some people judge what they pour down their throats.’
‘How do you suppose the gang sells the stuff?’ asked Ginger.
‘I’d say that question doesn’t arise. You’re forgetting something. According to that clot in the castle, the man who put up the cash for this outfit runs a string of night clubs — probably shady ones. By the time it gets to midnight some of the people who rot their livers in such places don’t know what they’re drinking, and couldn’t care less. The thing is to get sozzled and kid yourself you’re double the size you really are. Of course, the brain behind this racket might be blending this coarse stuff with a standard brand, in which case it might not be too bad. Having no experience of it, I wouldn’t know.’