"Good. This will be the order, then. Ginger will take us up to the track in the forest. You stay here for ten minutes or so firing an occasional shot, then join us on the track. We'll wait there for you."
"Right you are, old boy," agreed Bertie.
Biggles turned to Ginger. "Off you go; we'll follow."
"Watch out for snakes," warned Ginger. "This place is reported to be stiff with them, but so far I've only seen one."
Keeping flat, he wormed his way to the ample cover provided by the bamboos. Biggles and Tug followed, leaving Bertie to cover the retreat.
In daylight it took only a matter of twenty minutes or so to reach the gap in the wire, and a quarter of an hour later they were on the track, reaching it at the scene of the buffalo tragedy, of which there remained gruesome evidence in the shape of trampled earth and well—picked bones. A cloud of flies hung over the place. A disappointment awaited Ginger, who hoped to find Bertie's rifle still there. But it had gone, having been taken presumably by one of the search parties.
"This is where Bertie was supposed to have had it," he told Biggles, and while they were waiting for Bertie he gave a fuller account of the ruse. He apologized
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again to Tug for the distress the picture had caused him.
"You'd have been taken in, too," remarked Tug. I never saw a man look more dead than Bertie did, lying there smothered with blood."
"It was buffalo blood," said Ginger. "He slipped and fell in it—made a shocking mess of his breeches, which still worries him not a little." He smiled at the recollection.
Soon afterwards Bertie joined them. He recognized he spot and shuddered. "How perfectly foul," he uttered in a voice of deep disgust. "Couldn't you find some other place to wait? Must we stay here?"
"No," answered Biggles. "The faster we move now the better. If we get caught in the open it will be anything but funny. How far is it to the hangar? " Ginger supplied the information. "Not far. We ought to do it in ten minutes or so."
"All right; let's turn up the wick."*
They set off again, marching in single file with Ginger, who knew the way, leading. There was no more talking and they moved with the least possible noise.
The edge of the forest was reached without incident. Ahead now lay the open rim of the crater, with the sun blazing down on it at full mid-day strength. The rarefied air quivered in the heat.
"Keep going," ordered Biggles, and the party prooeeded.
They had gone more than half way, and their objeccive was in full view, when without warning two blacks appeared directly ahead. They may have been watchers sent up by Kreeze, or, as Tug remarked, remembering
* "Turn up the wick." R.A.F. slang meaning hurry, or more lecifically, open the throttle wide.
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the conversation in the office, they could have been two of the men posted to watch the sky. Anyway, they saw the four white men instantly, as was inevitable. With a yell of alarm they dashed over the brow of the hill whence they had appeared.
"I'm afraid that's torn it," muttered Biggles. "In a couple of minutes Kreeze will know where we are. He'll guess we're making for the hangar. Our only chance is to beat him to it. Come on." He broke into a run.
With perspiration streaming down their faces they ran straight for the objective; and they were within a hundred yards of it, with every prospect of success, when a dozen or more blacks appeared, urged on by Doctor Dorov, from behind the hangar. Biggles realized that they had come out of the lodge grounds and had been approaching the hangar at the same time as themselves, but from the far side.
Biggles slowed down. "I should have guessed that the first thing Kreeze would do, now that he knows Tug is with us, would be to put a guard on the machine," he observed. "Pity; another couple of minutes and we should have been there first."
"When he saw four of us down at the power-house he must have realized that you were here," Ginger pointed out.
"He must have been a bit puzzled to see me trotting round again—if you get my meaning?" remarked Bertie, wiping moisture off his monocle.
At this juncture Kreeze himself appeared over the edge of the crater, slightly to the left, and rather nearer to the hangar than they were. With him was White, Robinson and George the mechanic, and the remainder of the black staff.
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By this time Biggles' party, confronted by overrwhelming numbers, had automatically stopped. In fact, all three parties stopped, since to go on must provoke a collision which, since they were all in the open, could not fail to result in casualties. In fact, the situation, as it had developed, was a curious one. Neither Kreeze nor Doctor Dorov, in charge of the two opposition parties, appeared anxious to open hostilities—possibly because they themselves would certainly be involved. As far as Kreeze was concerned, practical proof of this was provided when he produced a white handkerchief, and waving it conspicuously advanced to within speaking distance—or perhaps it would be more correct to say, shouting distance. Each party was about fifty yards from the hangar and the same distance apart.
"You might as well give up!" called Kreeze. "You can't get away!"
"Neither can you," Biggles pointed out with even greater truth, for the only vehicle available was the aircraft, and Kreeze on his side had no one able to fly it.
"Put down your guns and come into the office to talk it over," suggested Kreeze.
Biggles laughed scornfully. "Put down your guns and I'll take you to Cairo for a fair trial," he promised. "Are you coming quietly or would you rather fight it out?"
"You can't dictate to me," jeered Kreeze.
"Have it your own way," answered Biggles. Kreeze rejoined his companions.
Biggles was watching him closely. "Watch out! " he warned tersely. "This is where they'll start someething." Then, as several blacks suddenly ran back
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below the lip of the crater, he went on, "He's sent them to try to work round behind us." Kreeze and the other white men also backed to the lip of the crater, and then dropped down out of sight. Biggles lay flat. "They're aiming to shoot at us from cover," he observed. "Keep your heads down."
A moment later three shots rang out. The bullets whistled but did no harm. Dorov, too, fired a quick shot. Then, taking his blacks with him he ran to a position that put the hangar between them—where, of course, Biggles could no longer see him.
"This is going to be a warm spot presently," observed Tug.
"Don't waste ammunition, anybody," was all Biggles had to say.
An attentive lull fell.
"Now listen, everybody," said Biggles presently. "We can't stay here. Those blacks are working round behind us and we shall soon be surrounded. Our only chance is the machine, and there's only one way to get it. We've got to be inside that hangar within a minute or we're sunk. Once we start, don't stop. One of us ought to get through. The main thing is to get word back home about this rat's nest. Wait till I give the word then go straight for the hangar. Hark!
What's that? "
From far away, faint as yet, came the drone of an aircraft.
"I imagine that will be Ivan their chief pilot," said Tug. "He's expected here."
"In a Pacemaker?" asked Biggles.
"I reckon so."
"The machine I can hear is a heavier job than that," asserted Biggles. "It takes at least four engines to set page 202
up—watch out, I've got an idea those blacks are trying to make up their minds to charge."
A number of natives near the hangar were being incited by Doctor Dorov; but they, too, had heard the aircraft, and hesitated. Indeed, no doubt because it was likely to affect the situation, everyone waited, watching the sky. When the aircraft came into sight, flying low and very fast, it was greeted by cries of alarm on one side and jubilation on the other.
"It's a Bombay!" shouted Ginger. "And here comes another by all that's wonderful!" he added as a second Bombay came roaring over the skyline.
Biggles eyed the m
achines critically. "There must be an exercise on," he opined. "No matter; if they land here they'll give us a lucky break."
With the appearance of the big machines the entire situation changed abruptly. As Tug remarked a minute later, it was a mystery where everyone went. Even the blacks seemed to know the meaning of the R.A.F. markings, and taking fright they fled incontinently towards the forest.
" Amazing what a little red white and blue can still do, by Jove! " remarked Bertie, a suspicion of esprit de corps warming his voice.
"Could Algy have anything to do with this?" suggested Ginger.
"No. He hasn't had time to get back from England," declared Biggles. "Raymond, of course, could have got in touch with R.A.F. Headquarters, Middle East, through the Air Ministry, or the Police Department here through Scotland Yard. By jingo! They are going to land! "
As the first of the two machines touched down Biggles rose cautiously and looked round. The others 202
did the same. Everyone had vanished. But the landing area did not for long remain abandoned. Hardly had the machine stopped moving when the cabin door opened and a file of uniformed men, following closely one behind the other, jumped out.
"Egyptian police," observed Biggles. "Then the Air Commodore must have fixed it. This can only be a co-operation job between the service and the police. Hello! There's Major Grattan, the fellow who helped us in Cairo. I warned him that he might be busy shortly." Biggles advanced to meet the police officer, whose men, fourteen in all, were being paraded quickly by a sergeant.
"Glad to see you," greeted Biggles. "You were just about in time. Things were getting warmish. What good fairy sent you here ? "
" A signal from the Foreign Office. We got orders to mop this place up."
"It can do with it," asserted Biggles, lighting a cigarette.
"What's going on here, anyway? " questioned the Major.
Biggles explained. "There's no desperate hurry," he concluded. "Without transport I don't see how any of them can get away. Be careful, though, some of the blacks are American gangsters masquerading as natives."
" Thanks," acknowledged the Major. "We may as well make a start. Are you coming along? "
" I, personally, am going to have a bath before I do anything else," put in Bertie definitely.
By this time the second machine had landed, and was disemplaning a fresh contingent of police.
" As a matter of fact we could all do with a wash and
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a drink," said Biggles. "You seem to have plenty of men, Major. You don't really need us, do you?"
"Well, you'd be useful," answered the Major. "Still, go and have a drink and join us when you're ready. We'll make a start."
"Fair enough," agreed Biggles. "You can't go wrong if you pick up everyone you can find—bar a British colonel named Dupray and two American sportssmen who are out shooting."
He walked on to the lodge.
Chapter 17
Buttoned Up
Biggles did not linger, nor did he allow the others to waste time, over the refreshments to which they presently helped themselves in the dining-room of the abandoned lodge. Sporadic shooting outside, sometimes near and sometimes distant, aroused his curiosity, and suggested that not all of the gang were submitting tamely to arrest. Even Bertie, who had a quick bath and change, in his relief at getting into clean linen announced that he was ready to start all over again.
They were only about half an hour in the lodge, yet when they went out and joined Major Grattan it was to learn that the operation was practically complete.
Kreeze and Robinson had been caught, and after a struggle overpowered and disarmed. They were now in Kreeze's office, handcuffed and under guard. Doctor Dorov had been mortally wounded resisting arrest.
illustration
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Before he died he boasted that as he was on the list of Nazi war criminals he had cheated the Allies after all. Originally a Czech banker of repute, he had turned quisling, and as head of the Nazi forgery and counterfeit document department during the war, he had ill-treated prisoners who happened in civil life to be engravers, draughtsmen, and the like, who refused to work for him. Stephan and George had been two of his associates at that time.
White, Major Grattan said, was hiding somewhere in the bamboo swamp. There was no fear of him getting away.
George had last been seen making off across the plain with some natives. There was little chance of his reaching civilization. For the rest, the entire staff had been rounded up. Two American negro gangsters, disguised as African natives, had been killed in a gun fight. Three policemen had been wounded, but none seriously; first aid treatment had been given, and they would be all right until such time as they could be flown back to Egypt.
"We'd better see about getting White out of that swamp, then we can all go home," suggested Biggles.
"He can't get far; I've got men all round the place," stated Major Grattan.
"Why didn't you send them in after him? "
"A cornered rat will always fight and I want to avoid casualties if I can," replied the Major. "If he doesn't come out soon we shall have to go in and drag him out."
"There's reason to suppose that he's the Big Noise behind this outfit," remarked Biggles. "Why mess about until it suits him to do something? I want to go home, but I don't like leaving while he's still at large. Let's go and get him."
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"All right," agreed the Major.
Biggles set off down the slope followed by the others.
Reaching the bamboos he ordered the rest to wait, and revolver in hand, treading softly, went on alone for a short distance into the thicket. He halted and listened. Not a sound broke the steamy, sultry silence.
"White!" he called impatiently. "You can't get away. You might as well pack up."
A voice answered from somewhere quite near, answered in a harsh whisper pregnant with urgency and fear. "Is that you, Bigglesworth? " it said.
"Yes, it's me," answered Biggles. "I want you."
"Listen," came the voice again. "I'll give you ten thousand pounds to get me out of this."
"You're talking to the wrong man," returned Biggles curtly. "Come on."
"Fifty thousand."
"You're wasting your time. Are you coming out or do I have to fetch you? "
The answer was a stream of blasphemous abuse.
There was a sudden swishing of the bamboos, the sound receding.
Biggles started in pursuit, but before he had taken half a dozen paces he was brought to a halt by a sudden commotion immediately in front of him. Above a crashing and threshing of undergrowth rose a scream of such mortal terror that a prickly sensation ran down his spine. Hastening forward, quickly but cautiously, he raised his gun, half expecting a trick; but this fear was cast aside when, after taking a few more paces he was confronted by a spectacle so appalling that for a moment he could only stand as if petrified with horror.
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White was rolling about on the ground apparently trying to tear to pieces with his hands a fat, loathsome puff-adder that had fastened its fangs in the calf of his leg. Scream after scream cracked from his lips as he threw himself this way and that, striving to tear the writhing creature from him. Once he managed to break its hold, but the respite was short-lived, for it fastened again to his hand.
There was nothing Biggles could do, for to shoot the snake in the only vital place, the head, without hitting the man, was practically impossible. To use his hands was to invite the same fate as White. Still, he did what he could.
Snatching up a length of dead bamboo he went as close as he dare, and waiting for a chance brought it down with a vicious swipe across the snake's body. The blow broke its back and caused it to release its hold. He struck it again and again until its movements were sluggish and then blew its head to pieces with a close shot. By this time White was lying on his back moaning feebly.
The others, who had heard the commotion, ran up. A glance
was enough to tell them what had happened.
"Watch where you're walking," warned Biggles crisply. "There may be more snakes about. White's had it. He hasn't a chance. Let's get him out of this."
Lifting the stricken man between them, not without difficulty for he was a dead weight, they carried him to the open space in front of the power-house, where Major Grattan, with experience of such accidents, did everything possible.
Having sent a man to the lodge for permanganate of potash, with scant ceremony he cut away White's clothing to expose the fang marks, and
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then laid open the flesh with his knife until the blood ran. With the help of the others he dragged him to his feet and tried to keep him moving. But it was no use. White never spoke again. By the time the runner had returned from the lodge with the permanganate he had breathed his last.
"Well, that's how it goes," observed Biggles philoosophically. He noticed that the Major was staring at White's face with an extraordinary expression on his own. "What's on your mind? " he asked.
The Major pointed at the dead man. "What did you say he called himself? "
"White."
"In Egypt he is known as Kravas—an Armenian,' stated the Major. "I know him well by sight. He has the reputation of being one of the wealthiest men in the Middle East. He keeps up a magnificent place in Cairo."
Biggles smiled faintly. "Now you know how he made his money," he observed drily. "I'll leave you to dispose of the body. It's time I pushed along back to Cairo to see what's happening there. No doubt you'll be coming back yourself presently. I'll see you then. So-long."
It had turned eleven o'clock that night when the Pacemaker which they had used for the journey, touched its wheels on the dusty Egyptian airfield.
Hurrying to the Stellar office they discovered two policemen on duty. Biggles showed his pass. Inside they found Algy, Air Commodore Raymond, and a number of officials, some busy packing the paper contents of files and drawers into bags, and others
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examining with interest a number of trophies that lay about the floor, having been cut open to reveal their contents.
Their arrival, they learned, was expected, for Major Grattan had been in radio communication with his headquarters to make a preliminary report of what had happened at Kudinga. He had said that Biggles and his party were on their way to Cairo.
34 Biggles Hunts Big Game Page 16