After waiting for a minute to recover his composure, for he had been badly shaken, he turned again and cruised slowly towards them.
'What on earth are you doing?' was Biggles's greeting.
'You might well ask,' answered Ginger grimly. He jerked a thumb at the retreating lugger. 'Those devils tried to ram me. Nearly got me, too. I recognized him just in time.'
'Recognized who?'
Ton Stalhein.'
It was Biggles turn to stare. 'You mean — he's in that ship?'
'He was on the island at the same time as you — with as pretty a gang of toughs as you ever saw. From the way they ran back to the lugger I have an idea they spotted you. Or if von Stalhein didn't actually recognize you he must have taken a dislike to Bill's uniform.'
'Then what happened?'
'I had a feeling they might try something so I got cracking on a quick move. It took me a minute to get the hook up and by that time the lugger was backing into me. I must have got clear by a whisker. It may have looked like an accident, but it wasn't. They knew what they were doing all right. Had they sunk me, or stove my tail in, we should have been three Robinson Crusoes without even a parrot.'
Biggles looked at Bill. 'So now we know,' he said simply. 'What do you know?' asked Ginger.
'Why Wada's body has disappeared. That goes for the skeleton's, too. No bodies, no murder. Trust von Stalhein to think of that. He came back here to clean up — perhaps look for any papers that were left about. Those lists of names, for instance. It might take him some time to get a duplicate set from where they originated.'
'I take it you didn't find any.'
'We did not. We didn't get much time to look. Your engines starting up brought us back in a hurry.'
'They've buried Wada's body,' said Ginger. 'At any rate, I assume that they've buried something because two of the crew were carrying shovels.'
'Who was with von Stalhein?' asked Biggles.
'There was only one other white man in the party. I can't say I recognized him but I've an idea he was one of the bunch in the photograph. A hair-cut and a shave would alter his appearance.'
Bill stepped into the conversation. 'I could still get this guy von Stalhein. I realize that there's nothing we can do about the lugger at the moment; but we know her name and we shall be home first. What about meeting him when he steps ashore?'
Biggles smiled wanly. 'You don't know von Stalhein. Even if he didn't recognize me he must know that the arrival of an aircraft and a policeman at an out-of-the-way island like this was no mere fluke. Note how he took the precaution of coming back here to clean the place up. No doubt by this time his brain is busy working out what we're likely to do next.'
'I'll get him,' declared Bill doggedly.
'All right. And what are you going to do with him when you've got him?
Even if you dug up the whole island and found Wada's body you still wouldn't be able to prove that von Stalhein did the shooting. In fact, knowing how he works, I'd risk a small bet that he didn't pull a trigger.
He's a wily bird, and he'd leave that to someone else. Suppose you did grab him, and examined his gun — and found it clean? Or of a different calibre from those bullets I gave you? He'd laugh at you, and you'd have exposed your hand for nothing.'
'Are you suggesting that we let him walk away scot free?'
'Certainly not. I'm merely trying to point out that we may do more harm than good by going off at half cock, whichever way we look at it, yours or mine.'
'What do you mean?'
'You, naturally, are concerned about a murder that has been committed. To me that's only a side issue. I've got to find out what von Stalhein and his gang are doing in Australia, and stop them at it, before they can do worse mischief than murder. To me the important thing about our trip here is the name of that lugger. The owner, or the skipper —
probably the same — is in the racket, and that should lead us somewhere.
My next step will be to check up on the Matilda at Darwin. I own freely that it didn't occur to me that von Stalhein might come back here. It might
have been to cover up his tracks, or there may have been other reasons.
He may have needed money. We found some notes. He may have hoped to find some instruments that were lost. We found a Geiger Counter. But let's not waste time guessing. The fact remains, he came back, and he has presumably destroyed all evidence of what happened here. I suggest that as we're here we might as well have a look round in case anything was overlooked. Then I'll take you home and push on to Darwin.'
'Okay,' agreed Bill.
They went ashore, but as Biggles had feared, a search of some three hours yielded not a single item of interest. Bill tramped the island from end to end looking for signs of digging, still hoping to find the body of the murdered man; but in the end, to his annoy-ance, he had to give it up.
'I'm afraid von Stalhein made a clean sweep while he was here,' remarked Biggles, as they returned to the aircraft and snatched a makeshift lunch.
'There's still one piece of evidence he may find hard to explain,'
growled Bill.
'What's that.'
'The boat. You say it's still on Eighty Mile Beach. How's he going to account for coming ashore in a boat belonging to Wada's lugger? Several witnesses could describe the boat, and that should be good enough.'
'Yes,' agreed Biggles. 'That would certainly take a lot of explaining.'
'I ought to have a look at it. Just where is it?'
'Roughly about sixty miles south of Roebuck Bay. If you like, to save you a journey, we could take it in on the run home. It wouldn't be far out of our way.'
`That'd suit me fine,' declared Bill. 'Save a lot of time and trouble.'
'All right. If we've finished we might as well press on.'
Biggles took the same course as before to the mainland, and again, flying low, cruised up the Beach. But even while he was still short of the position of the boat he was staring hard at it. 'Something's happened down there,' observed Ginger.
'So I see,' returned Biggles, shortly.
'Looks as if someone's had a fire.'
Answered Biggles, in a curious voice: 'It also looks as if another plane has landed since we were here. I can see two sets of wheel tracks and only one of them is mine — the wide, heavy one. There are more footmarks, too, than we made.'
The boat isn't there!'
'The black spot marks the place where it was. Someone's had a bonfire, and he didn't light it to keep himself warm. Recently, too. It's still smouldering.'
'What's that you're saying?' put in Bill, from behind.
The boat's gone. Someone has beaten us to it,' replied Biggles.
For a moment Bill was shocked to silence. Then he swore softly.
'Now you see the sort of people we're up against,' Biggles told him, as he glided in to land. 'They leave nothing to chance.'
He put the machine down and taxied up to the still smouldering embers —
all that remained of the boat. They got out and looked at it.
'The job was done this morning,' muttered Bill, chagrined. 'And it wasn't done by von Stalhein — unless he's so clever he can be in two places at once.'
'No. He went to the island. Someone came here in a plane — a light plane.
It may not matter much, now that von Stalhein knows we're on the job, but whoever did this would see that another plane had been here. We also know they've got a plane. I must confess I'
m a bit puzzled by this sudden rush to clean up every scrap of evidence.
It's almost as if they knew I was on my way here. That could be so, of course. The enemy has spies everywhere, and just as I know von Stalhein's methods, he knows mine. Maybe that photo did it. Von Stalhein would realize that once it got into the papers he would almost certainly be spotted by our Intelligence people — as did, in fact, happen — and take steps accordingly. Well, it's not much use standing here staring at the ashes. I'm sorry, Bill, but I'm afraid your last
piece of concrete evidence has gone up in smoke.'
Bill, who had been on his hands and knees studying the footmarks, stood up. 'There were three of 'em in the party that came here,' he announced.
'Pity I didn't bring my tracker along, or I could have told you more about 'em.'
'You might measure the width of their wheel track while you're at it,'
requested Biggles. '
As you know people by the size of their feet, I can sometimes name a plane by the span of its undercart.'
Bill obliged. 'Six foot, dead,' he said.
Auster,' murmured Ginger.
'Could have been,' agreed Biggles. 'That would have the accommodation, but I'm not so sure about the endurance range. It must have come from a distance.'
'The range of the new Auster, if I remember right, is six hundred miles,'
stated Ginger. 'I know that isn't far as distances go here, but there was nothing to stop it from topping up its tanks at any airfield along the coast. It might even be doing that at Broome, at this moment.'
'True enough,' conceded Biggles. 'We'll check up on that. If we knew where it refuelled, assuming it did, we should get a line on the direction it came from. If it didn't refuel then it can't be far away —
unless it has a private petrol dump. Is there anything more you want to do here, Bill?'
'No.'
'Then we might as well get along.'
They took their places in the Otter and headed for Broome.
CHAPTER VII
Outlook Vague
0 n arrival at Broome it was soon ascertained that no aircraft had refuelled there that day; but there was a message waiting for them. It was from Algy, to say he had arrived at Darwin, and had urgent news which, had he not turned up, West would have forwarded.
'Which is another way of saying that West has learnt something,' remarked Biggles. 'We'
ll push right on, Bill, if it's all the same to you. We should just make the trip in daylight.'
'What about this light plane? Would you like me to check up along the coast to find out if a strange machine picked up petrol anywhere?'
'I'd be obliged if you'd do that,' replied Biggles. 'The information would be useful, whether the answer is yes or no. If it did, we should know which way it was travelling, and perhaps pick up some details about who was in it. If it didn't, then we should know that it's based no great distance away'
That concluded immediate affairs at Broome. Telling Bill that he would let him know any developments that concerned him, and asking him to send a signal to Darwin to let Algy know he was on his way, Biggles took off again on the six hundred mile run to the northern air terminal.
'If Algy's news is from West I can only think that West must have seen, or heard from, Alston,' he opined — correctly, as it transpired. 'It's a relief to know the Halifax is all right again because it begins to look as if we shall need it. At least, I assume it's all right.
Algy wouldn't be such a fool as to start across the Timor Sea with a doubtful engine.'
The run was made without incident, and from the air, in the rosy glow of the setting sun, the Halifax could be seen parked beyond the end hangar with Algy and Bertie standing beside it.
Biggles landed, taxied up alongside, switched off and jumped down, Ginger following. '
Everything all right now?' was his greeting.
'Yes,' confirmed Algy. 'The trouble wasn't serious but I didn't feel like taking chances.
West tells me you got my message. Any news?'
'Plenty,' returned Biggles. 'But let's have yours first; then we'll give you ours. We needn't stand here. With the weather as it is the machines might as well stay where they are for the night. Let's go over to the canteen. I've been on the go since daylight and I could drink a bucket of tea.'
In the corner of the canteen, almost deserted at an hour when there were no arrivals or departures of aircraft, Algy explained why he had sent the urgent signal to Broome. The news, as Biggles had predicted, emanated from West. Briefly, it was this. Alston had arrived unexpectedly at Darwin the previous day, flying one of the regular services. He had spent the night there and then gone back to Brisbane, leaving before the Halifax had arrived; for which reason, of course, Algy hadn't spoken to him personally. However, Alston had given some information to West, who had passed it on.
'Is West on duty now?' put in Biggles.
'No. He's on night duty tonight. Comes on at ten.'
'I see. Carry on.'
Algy resumed. It appeared that Alston had seen a man named Smith on the airfield at Cloncurry some days earlier, in the process of buying a second-hand aircraft that had been on offer there.
Was it by any chance an Auster?' inquired Biggles.
Algy looked astonished. 'Yes. An Auster Autocrat. How did you know?'
Biggles smiled faintly. 'We've seen its footprints in the sand. Go ahead.'
Algy concluded his narrative. The Auster's registration was VH-NZZ. With Smith had been a younger man, a qualified pilot who had taken the machine up on a trial run. His name, according to the transfer papers, was Cozens. Alston didn't know him. In fact, he'd never seen or heard of him, although he thought he knew all the professional pilots in the country.
When Alston, who was out on a job, returned to Cloncurry, the Auster had gone; no one knew where. Smith had paid for the machine and Cozens had flown it off, taking Smith with him. That was all.
Biggles tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand. 'So the gang has decided to get mobile,' he observed.
'Who's this fellow Smith, anyway?' inquired Algy. 'I'm in the dark. How did he suddenly pop into the picture?'
Biggles answered: 'Smith is the name — or more probably the assumed name
— of the chap who chartered the aircraft that collected von Stalhein and his pals from here when they disappeared. He was already in Australia and may turn out to be the big noise. Now he's bought an aircraft, which will save him using public transport.'
'As we know its registration there should be no difficulty in locating it.'
'Maybe not — always supposing it stays on public airfields,' agreed Biggles. 'But short of tearing round the continent ourselves looking for it how are we going to find out where it is? To call in the police, or the civil aviation authorities, would mean explanations and start the sort of hue and cry I'm anxious to avoid. This self-enforced security is really our big handicap. I mean, you couldn't have anything like an official search without von Stalhein getting to hear of it — and he'd know just what to do about that. But I'd better tell you and Bertie what has happened since we came here or we shall be talking at cross purposes.
Things have moved faster than I expected.'
For the next half-hour Biggles narrated the events since their arrival in Australia. 'That's how things stand at present,' he concluded. 'Although we've learned quite a lot,' he went on, 'all it has really done is thicken the fog, and left me wondering just what it is we're trying to do. Chasing von Stalhein, or any other members of the gang, round the horizon, isn't going to get us anywhere, as far as I can see. Even if we caught up with them, what then? You can't arrest a man unless you have a case against him. There's no law against buying ships or aeroplanes. You can't prevent a man, in a free country, from cruising round the islands, or from sitting close enough to Woomera to hear the rockets go by —
provided he behaves himself'
Bertie gave his monocle a rub. 'In that case, old boy, would you mind telling me just what we're doing here? Sorry, and all that, but I don't seem to have got it.'
'In a vague sort of way I can see two objectives,' said Biggles. The first is to find the headquarters of this man Smith, and the other is to get a complete list of the names that were in that secret file, one page of which we found on the island.'
'And then what?'
'I'd report back to the Air Commodore and suggest the whole thing should be handed over to the Australian Security people for any action they considered necessary.
'Why not hand the case over as it stands?' suggested Algy. 'Why did the Air Commodore start us on this will-o'-the-wisp hunt?'
'In the first place, I fancy he was actuated by the fact that von Stalhein was in the forefront of the scheme, and we know him and his methods. You must also bear in mind that the Air Commodore didn't know what we know now; or what we suspect; that the ramifications of this business are widespread. Anyway, having started I think we must go on.
There are several lines that we could follow.'
'What's the first,' asked Ginger.
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