52 Biggles In Australia

by Captain W E Johns

  'Friend of mine come up from Perth,' announced Roth, after a momentary hesitation, in which, apparently, he had decided not to deny that a plane had been there. Not that he could very well deny it, with the tracks outside.

  'Would I know him?' asked Bill, carelessly.

  'Shouldn't think so.'

  'What's his name.'

  Roth frowned. 'Say, what's the idea of all these questions?' 'I'm just setting my clock right as to who's about in my territory.

  Have you some objection to answering a few civil questions?' 'Course not.'

  'Then why not tell me this man's name?'

  Roth scowled. 'All right. If you must know, it's Adamsen.' Biggles caught Ginger's eye.

  'Is he still here?' asked Bill.

  'Yes.'

  'Anyone else?'

  Roth's scowl deepened. 'Why should there be anyone else?'

  Bill's manner did not change. 'Only that I notice five people have just had a meal, and I reckon it'd take more than two of you to empty a bottle of whisky.'

  That did it. 'What's it got to do with you who I have in my house?' spat Roth. 'Ain't you got nothin' better to do than waste my time with a lot of fool questions? What are you trying to get at, anyhow?'

  Bill's voice took on a more brittle quality. 'What I'm trying to get at is the man who murdered Joe Hopkins, the digger.'

  Roth stiffened. Alarm showed for a moment in his eyes. He was not a good dissembler.

  'So you knew about that,' pressed Bill.

  'I didn't say so.'

  'But you knew about it.'

  'No I didn't.'

  Bill strode to a corner of the room picked up a rifle that was leaning against the wall, and holding it by the muzzle pushed the butt forward.

  'If you didn't know, how did this get here?' he rasped.

  Roth stared. His tongue flicked nervously over his lips. 'This is Joe's rifle and you know it,' challenged Bill.

  'I didn't know who it belonged to,' shouted Roth.

  'How did it get here?'

  'I took it off one of my boys.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I won't let 'em carry guns.'

  'Then let's ask him where he got it from,' said Bill firmly. 'Send for him.'

  'He ain't here any longer,' muttered Roth.

  'Why not?'

  'I sacked him a week ago.'

  'What was his name?'

  'Charlie.'

  'Charlie what?'

  'How would I know? I can't remember the name of every native who works for me.'

  'How many have you got working for you?'

  'About a score.'

  'What do they all do?'

  'What do aborigines usually do on a station?'

  'Look after the stock — when there is any,' rapped out Bill, me aningly.

  At this juncture the door of an inner room was opened and four men entered. One, the leader, was white; a cadaverous fellow with small dark eyes set close together and a straggling beard. Two were mixed race although one of them had more than a hint of Asiatic in his make-up. The other was a full-blooded aborigine, dressed like the rest.

  'What's all the fuss about,' inquired the leader of the newcomers.

  'The fuss is about a murder,' answered Bill, shortly. 'Who are you?'

  'The name's Adamsen — if that means anything to you.' The man grinned unpleasantly, showing a row of broken discoloured teeth, as if he would make a joke of the business. 'I ain't murdered anyone — so far,' he added.

  'I didn't say you had,' retorted Bill curtly. He took out his notebook.

  'I'll have the names of the rest of you while I'm here,' he stated. 'I may have to call on you as witnesses.'

  A sullen silence settled on the room.

  'Come on,' requested Bill, impatiently, pencil in hand. No one answered.

  'I see,' said Bill, coldly. 'So that's how you feel about it. Don't worry, I'll remember your faces. Is there anyone else in that room?' A few quick strides took him to the doorway through which the men had entered. After a glance round he said: 'You got a licence for a wireless transmitter, Roth?'

  'I ain't had time. It's only just been put in.'

  'Who put it in — Adamsen?'

  There was no answer.

  Bill came back. 'You're coming with me,' he told Roth. 'Where to?'

  'Broome.'

  'Like heck I will. What for?'

  'To make a statement as to how the property of a dead man came into your possession.'

  'I've told you all I know.'

  'I'm not satisfied with your explanation.'

  'It's as much as you'll get out of me. And I ain't moving from here.'

  'You won't gain anything by resisting the police.'

  'That's all you know,' sneered Roth, apparently gaining confidence from the presence of his supporters.

  At this point, before anyone could stop him, the aborigine dodged across the room to the front door, and putting his fingers to his mouth let out a shrill whistle. Instantly, from where they had been watching, a score of natives came running towards the house.

  'I reckon it's time you were going,' scoffed Roth.

  Bill's lips came together in a hard line. 'You rat, to drag these poor people into trouble.'

  Roth's grin broadened. 'It's you that's in trouble, mister,' he mocked.

  'Better get going.'

  'Yes, I'm going, and you're coming with me,' said Bill, calmly —

  surprisingly calmly, Ginger thought, considering he was unarmed.

  Roth's right hand began to move slowly towards his side pocket; but it stopped when he found himself looking into the muzzle of Biggles's gun.

  'Don't move, anybody,' said Biggles, with ice in his voice. 'Ginger, give Bill your gun, then take the valves out of that radio equipment.'

  Ginger handed his gun to Bill and walked to the open door of the inner room. Adamsen half turned as if he would stop him.

  Biggles's gun whipped round. 'Stand still,' he grated; and there was something in his manner that brought the man to an abrupt halt, staring.

  Ginger went on. He was soon back. 'Okay,' he said.

  'You'll pay for this,' stormed Roth.

  'We'll talk about who's going to pay later,' said Bill. 'Are you coming with me?'

  'No.'

  Bill handed his gun to Ginger. 'Hold this,' he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. Turning back to Roth he put out a hand to take his arm — or that was what it looked like. At the same time he said: Tor the last time, are you coming quietly?'

  'I'll see you in hell first,' snarled Roth, and struck Bill's arm aside.

  Bill's fist flew out. It landed on Roth's jaw and hurled him staggering back against the wall. Before he could recover, moving at a surprising speed for a man of his stature, Bill followed up and hit him again, this time knocking him down. He stooped swiftly.

  Handcuffs clicked. 'I'll teach you to have a little more respect for the law,' he said trenchantly. 'Come on.'

  All this had happened so quickly that the other members of the party hadn't moved, but stood staring, as if finding it difficult to believe their eyes. Biggles, gun in hand, watched them without emotion.

  Ginger, wondering why the aborigines did not come in, threw a glance at the outside door. Algy was standing on the step. The natives had stopped before his automatic.

  Bill, grim-faced, and a trifle pale under his tan, pushed Roth towards the door.

  Roth, seeing that his friends were not going to help him, flew into a passion. In a voice thin with panic he shouted: 'Gimme a hand some of you. What are you gaping at, you blasted cowards. Charlie—' He broke off abruptly, as if realizing that in his temper he had let something slip.

  Bill stopped. 'Charlie,' he repeated, and swung round to face the aborigine, who was backing into the room. 'So you're Charlie?'

  'Yes, he's Charlie,' spat Roth vindictively. 'I'm not swinging for any aborigine.'

  Charlie moved like lightning. He whipped out a knife. His arm went up.

  B
iggles hardly moved. His gun crashed. Charlie staggered screaming, clutching his arm.

  The knife clattered on the floor. Biggles kicked it aside and grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck.

  'Mind he hasn't got a gun in his pocket,' warned Bill.

  Biggles tapped the man's pockets. Apparently he felt something, for his hand dived into a side pocket. It came out holding a small but bulging bag of kangaroo hide.

  'That's it,' cried Bill. 'That's Joe's poke. Bring him along.' 'You won't want me now,'

  contended Roth.

  'You knew all about it,' snapped Bill. 'I'm holding you for an accessory.'

  Charlie was groaning. Whether Adamsen and the two half-breeds knew about the murder was questionable. At all events, they were clearly unwilling to be associated with it, for they did nothing. Roth was cursing Charlie luridly for keeping Hopkins' gold, about which he had evidently not been told. Altogether, it was an ugly example of crooks ratting on each other.

  'You'll have to give me a minute to fix this man's arm,' Biggles told Bill. 'Get me some rag, Ginger. A towel will do. You'll probably find one in the kitchen.'

  There was a delay of a few minutes while a temporary bandage was put on the aborigine'

  s arm. When the job was done Biggles said: 'Go ahead, Bill.'

  Carrying Hopkins' rifle Bill took his prisoners through the door. Ginger went with him.

  Algy was still covering the natives. Biggles was last out of the house.

  He shut the door behind him.

  There were a few critical moments with the aborigines outside. They stirred uneasily and it looked as if they might attempt a rescue; but in the end they did nothing. Maybe it was Bill's uniform that made them hesitate to act. Perhaps it was the old story of everyone leaving the first move to someone else. The fact remains, they stood their ground, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they watched these unusual events.

  The Halifax's engines started. Bertie left them idling and reappeared at the cabin door.

  Bill pushed his prisoners forward to him, and having handed them over turned about and deliberately walked back to the natives. What he said to them couldn't be heard for the noise of the motors. He made no threatening gestures; he carried no weapon, so the result seemed to be a good example of dominant willpower. The tension relaxed. One of the natives seemed to be explaining something. At the finish, when Bill dismissed them with a wave, they merely walked away.

  'Wouldn't do to let 'em think we were scared of 'em,' he remarked, when he rejoined the others. 'I told 'em not to listen to anyone who came along trying to stir up trouble; and if they had any complaint, to make it to me, or the government Protector of Aborigines.

  Let's get along home.'

  Biggles went through to the cockpit, and two minutes later Tarracooma was dropping away astern in a haze of dust.

  'What about Adamsen, and that other pair in the house?' asked Ginger.

  'There was nothing we could do with them,' answered Biggles. 'They won't do anything.

  In fact, without their wireless, I don't see that there is much they can do. One thing they will do is think, and think hard. In the first place it must have given them a shock to know we're wise to their game. On top of that they learned about the murder, which I fancy was news to them. It was probably true that Adamsen came up from Perth to fix their wireless.

  Anyway, we've drawn their teeth for the time being, and that gives us breathing space to decide on our next move.'

  The Halifax droned on, kicking the thin desert air behind it.

  CHAPTER XI

  Move and Countermove

  The afternoon was still young when the Halifax got back to Broome, so Biggles, saying he had thought things over on the way, announced his intention of pushing straight on to Darwin with both machines. With Adamsen at Tarracooma there was no point in going to Perth, as he had at one time contemplated; and there was nothing more for them to do at Broome. Bill could be left to deal with the prisoners through ordinary routine channels. This he said he would do, for the time being withholding any reference to the general animosity of the aborigines which, after what had happened at Tarracooma, might fizzle out of its own accord without further trouble.

  So after a cup of tea and a snack, thanking Bill for his efficient co-operation, the crews got into their aircraft and flew back together to Darwin without anything of interest happening on the way. As they had to pass over the mouth of the Daly River without deviating from their course they looked for the Matilda, but saw nothing of her. As a matter of detail there were several craft on the open sea, but they did not go down to investigate them, Biggles remarking that by this time the lugger was no doubt on the river. This was perhaps a natural assumption; but before long Biggles was to blame himself for assuming too much without supporting evidence.

  During the run, he and Ginger discussed the general situation. Ginger was able to tell Biggles that the radio equipment at Tarracooma was very high frequency which pretty well confirmed Biggles's belief that Smith, or whoever the senior member of the spy gang might be, was in direct touch with his operatives regardless of distance. It was some satisfaction to know that as Tarracooma had been silenced it would be several days before he knew what had happened there. He might, Biggles thought, send the Auster down to find out.

  The chief topic of conversation was what to do next. It was a problem that presented difficulties. Biggles said he was anxious to have a look at Daly Flats, from the air if not from the ground. But if that was to be done it ought to be done at once, before the lugger got there. He was equally anxious to see Colonel MacEwan, the Australian Security Officer at Sydney, for he felt that the time had come to put their cards on the table. They could not, he asserted, go on tearing about Australia, doing things which, if it was held that they had overstepped their authority, might embarrass everybody concerned. At Tarracooma, by taking a chance and having Bill with them, all had gone well, and they had nipped off one of the ends of the spy network. They couldn't hope to go on doing that sort of thing without the Australian government asking them what the dickens they thought they were up to; and in any case the damage they had done would soon be repaired by Smith, who would carry on with his work.

  As he had said before, Biggles went on, what he really wanted was the complete list of enemy agents in the country — or at any rate, those with whom von Stalhein was in touch, or had intended to get in touch on his arrival in Australia. That a duplicate list existed was not to be doubted. Who had it? Possibly Smith, who was certainly a senior member of the spy organization if not the actual head.

  He now had his own plane for easy transport. It followed, therefore, that where the plane was, so Smith would be. And the most likely place for it to be at that moment, averred Biggles, was at Daly Flats, awaiting the arrival of the Matilda, so that Smith could learn at first hand from von Stalhein what had happened on the island. But once he had that information it was unlikely that he would stay there. Taking von Stalhein with him in the Auster, he would depart for an unknown destination. Hence the urgency.

  'So you see,' concluded Biggles, 'if I go to Sydney to see Colonel MacEwan, the Security man whose name the Air Commodore gave me, I'd probably miss the boat — or rather, the plane — at Daly Flats. We should then be faced with the job of hunting the whole of Australia for the Austen All this, of course, is assuming that Smith is at Daly Flats at this moment with the Austen'

  The Australian government would soon locate the Auster,' declared Ginger confidently.

  'I'm not so sure of that,' returned Biggles. 'Smith may keep clear of public airfields. For all we know he may have a dozen hide-outs like Tarracooma, or, as I suspect, Daly Flats.'

  'Does this Australian Security Officer know we're here?' queried Ginger.

  'I'd say yes, although I haven't confirmed it. But I'm pretty sure the Air Commodore would let him know what was in the wind.'

  'Then as you can't go to Sydney and Daly Flats why not ring him up?'

  Biggles sho
ok his head. 'Fancy trying to explain all this over the phone!

  Aside from that, on a public telephone service you never know who's listening.'

  The debate was resumed later, when they were all on the ground at Darwin, parked as before just beyond the end hangar. By the time they had topped up their tanks it was too late to do any more flying that day. Biggles gave his views as he had given them to Ginger, and the upshot of it all was, he resolved to go to Sydney, in the Halifax, starting at daybreak.