by W E Johns
‘I hope you’re right. It’d be a change to be able to see something.’
‘They must think they’ve got us pinned down,’ said Ginger.
‘So they have if it comes to that,’ replied Biggles. ‘But as we’ve no urgent reason to go out, why worry?’
The mist was now definitely dispersing, with the result that visibility improved rapidly, as Rod had said it might. The ridge, being close, was clear. Biggles surveyed it closely through the binoculars but could see no movement. The beach, being directly below the ridge, was out of sight. Only the more distant part of the sea was in view, although not as far as the horizon, which was still hazy. No vessel of any sort was to be seen.
‘I’d like to know just what these crooks think they’re going to gain by this manoeuvre,’ remarked Biggles pensively. ‘Their boat isn’t due until tomorrow. I can’t believe they’re going to sit out there all day and all tonight. If that’s the idea I wish ‘em joy.’
‘What else can they do?’ asked Rod.
‘I’d have thought they’d be better employed at the castle, getting rid of the evidence of what they’ve been doing.’
‘How?’
‘They could throw it over the cliff into the sea.’
‘Maybe they don’t feel inclined to pack up yet.’
‘They can’t be so daft as to suppose they’ll be allowed to stay here after all this. They must realize they can no more get away from here than we can.’
‘They’re not to know Algy is likely to be back any time now,’ Ginger pointed out. ‘They may not be thinking of escaping. They may think that if their boat comes before we’re relieved they’d be fairly safe in wiping us out.’
‘They’d have to be super-optimists to think that.’
‘I don’t see how we can do much if Algy does come unless we can make contact with him. I’d say it’s ten to one he lands on the beach. If he does he’ll be in trouble. Those men on the ridge must be able to cover it. They’ll shoot him up. As they’re between us and the beach, how are we going to stop it?’
‘You don’t suppose I was going to sit here doing nothing while he landed on the beach?’ returned Biggles sarcastically. ‘If he looks like doing that we shall have to go down to him, whatever the enemy may do to stop us. He may come here first. This is where he left us.’
‘The machine would still be under fire.’
‘That’s a chance we shall have to take. Algy needn’t be on the ground more than a minute, long enough for me to tell him to get off again and radio an S.O.S.. If anyone has a better suggestion I’m listening.’
No one spoke. Biggles lit another cigarette. Minutes passed. Then Ginger said: ‘Here comes Algy now. I can hear the machine. I’ll see if I can spot him.’ He ran out, but ducked back as a bullet smacked against the stone wall of the house.
‘So they’re still at it,’ muttered Biggles. ‘Well, we shall soon know how far they mean business.’ He took his gun from his pocket and went to the door without exposing himself more than was unavoidable. ‘It’s Algy all right,’ he announced briskly. ‘He’s coming straight in. Throw something on the fire, Ginger, to make smoke. That may bring him here.’
Ginger obeyed, throwing on the smouldering fire anything that came to hand.
‘No use,’ snapped Biggles, a minute later. ‘He can’t be looking this way. He’s hanging over the beach.’
‘Surely he’ll spot the men on the ridge!’ exclaimed Rod.
‘Not if they’re keeping flat. Or he may take them for us. Come on! Make for the beach. Open out — don’t bunch up.’ So saying Biggles dashed out and made a swerving run towards the ridge. The others followed, separating.
Several shots were fired in a scattered volley, but they were ineffective. None came Ginger’s way. No one stopped. A man jumped up from where he had been lying and dived over the ridge. There came two heavier reports from Rod’s twelve-bore, but Ginger could not see what he was shooting at.
Then the unexpected happened. The aircraft, which had dropped out of sight below the ridge as if going down to land, suddenly swung up again, came over the ridge, and after making a tight circuit inland came sinking towards the croft.
‘Back to the house, everyone,’ yelled Biggles, making frantic signals.
Everyone ran back. Oddly enough there was no more shooting.
‘What made Algy do that?’ panted Ginger, as they went on to the back of the house to put it between them and the danger area.
‘He must have spotted what was going on.’
‘Why did they stop shooting?’
‘They may have been running down the bank to the beach. No matter.’ Biggles was standing in the open, making hand signals for the machine to land. It sank down on the spot where it had unloaded the stores.
Biggles hurried to the door of the aircraft but stopped when it was thrown open and Inspector Gaskin of the C.I.D. jumped down, complete in dark suit and bowler hat as if he had just left his office at Scotland Yard. He was followed by a uniformed police sergeant.
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ demanded the Inspector angrily.
‘Take cover, all of you; we’re under fire,’ said Biggles tersely. ‘Switch off, Algy. The machine will have to take its luck for a minute or two.’
‘Under fire! Are you telling me?’ snorted the Inspector. ‘A bullet took the heel off my boot as we came down. What’s the idea?’
‘Two or three shots hit us,’ put in Algy. ‘I saw men running down the bank to the beach and realized it was no place for me.’
‘They were in too much of a hurry,’ conjectured Biggles. ‘They should have let you get on the ground before they opened up.’
‘What’s all this about? That’s what I want to know,’ said Gaskin shortly.
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
‘Me? I’ve come to collect some gaol-birds I understand you’ve got here. I’ve been looking for ‘em for some time. What a hide-out. No wonder I couldn’t find ‘em. So they’d shoot at police, would they? We’ll see about that.’
‘There are six of ‘em,’ warned Biggles.
‘What have they been doing here — just lying low?’
‘Far from it. They’ve been running an illicit whisky still in the castle. I’ve seen it. They know the game’s up, but they’ve got a boat on the way over, so I imagine they hope to get away in it. They’re armed. They’ve kept us cooped up in here to prevent us from getting down to the beach. Rather than risk casualties, I decided to play safe until Algy got here.’
‘Ah. So that’s it. Do you know when this boat of theirs is due to show up?’
‘Tomorrow, we think.’
‘Good. We’ll nab the crew and get ‘em all in the bag together.’
‘Just how do you propose to do that? There are six of ‘em here already and they carry guns.’
‘When they see what’s coming they’ll think twice before they use ‘em,’ asserted Gaskin, taking out his pipe and filling it.
‘What is coming?’
Algy answered. ‘The Navy. There’s a salvage job on the way to raise Rod’s boat.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘It must be nearly here. We passed it a few miles out as we came over.’
‘In that case we might as well wait until it gets here,’ suggested Biggles.
‘They may have spotted it, which would explain why there’s been no more shooting.’ Algy looked round the corner of the house. ‘Here it comes now, close in. They’ve seen it all right. They’re running.’
The Inspector spun round. ‘Running where?’
‘Towards the castle.’
‘Ha! We’ll see about that.’ Gaskin strode into the open. ‘Hi! You!’ he bellowed. ‘Come back here. I want to talk to you.’
The others joined him. Ginger saw the fugitives had stopped, apparently undecided. Then three of them ran on. The others, walking slowly, came back. He noticed Larkin was one of them.
‘Come on — come on,’ rapped out Gaskin
impatiently. ‘We haven’t got all day. You can mark time here,’ he went on as they came up. ‘Let’s have no nonsense. Throw out those guns.’
The men obeyed, sullenly, looking subdued, the effect, perhaps, of the presence of a police uniform.
‘I’d better go down to the harbour and attend to things there,’ said Rod.
‘I’ll come with you and leave Gaskin to do the tidying up,’ decided Biggles. He looked at the Inspector. ‘What are you going to do about the other three?’
‘You needn’t worry about them. We’ll winkle ‘em out presently. They won’t give any trouble when they’ve had time to think things over.’
‘Okay. Come on, Rod. Let’s go and have a word with the boys in blue,’ concluded Biggles.
That, for all practical purposes, was the end of the trouble on what in the Air Police office was thereafter referred to as Rod’s Island.
At Biggles’s request an exchange of radio signals between the commander of the salvage vessel and the Customs authorities resulted in the prompt arrival of a coastguard cutter with several officers on board. The prisoners were handed over and taken away. These included the three who had fled to the castle.
As Inspector Gaskin had predicted, when they realized they had no hope of getting away they gave no trouble. With the sergeant he walked straight up to the castle and ordered the men to come out with their hands up. This they did, perceiving no doubt that resistance would be futile.
With the proper equipment, the raising of Rod’s boat was a simple matter. It had suffered no damage. Pumped dry and with the engine cleaned up it was as good as new. As Biggles told the officer in charge, it was the ill-advised sinking of it and Rod’s subsequent complaint that had brought the police to the island to investigate.
The arrest of the other members of the gang followed as a matter of course. The fishing-boat, used to transport the whisky to the mainland from where it was taken to London by road, identified by the number on its sail which Ginger had noted, was intercepted by the cutter. Sacks of barley, and empty whisky casks, apparently intended for refilling, confirmed the part it had played in the business.
The night clubs owned by the man who had financed the undertaking were raided, and the discovery of raw whisky on the premises left no loop-hole for evading the inevitable result, particularly as the man had a record of previous convictions. It was his privately owned aircraft that had been used to carry escaped prisoners and other ‘wanted’ men to the island. This, according to Larkin, who turned Queen’s Evidence, was in return for a share of the loot of bank robberies and wage-snatch raids.
In talking things over, Gaskin admitted it was a well-thought-out scheme which might have gone on for a long while had it not been for the one weakness that had brought about its collapse — the arrival of the owner of the island on the scene. It was known that he lived in Canada or the United States, so there was some excuse for not making allowance against such a possibility.
Rod, now having a boat at his disposal, decided to do what he originally intended; which was to stay on Tola for a few days to examine more closely his plan to repopulate it.
Examination of the police helicopter revealed no serious damage, so the others flew home in it. Rod’s last words at parting was a standing invitation to visit him in the castle, any time they felt like a holiday, after he had made it more like a home.
‘There’s no accounting for taste,’ remarked Biggles, as Tola faded into the mist behind them. ‘Personally I wouldn’t care if I never saw the place again. I’m all for a quiet life, but I can see there’s such a thing as having it too quiet.’
‘I’m with you — absolutely, old boy,’ decided Bertie. ‘With nothing else but those bally gulls squawking all day, I’d soon be climbing the wall. I like my islands warm, any old how. Give me one where the jolly old bananas grow. That’s me.’
‘When you find one I’ll come with you,’ promised Ginger.
THE END