“Could you hear what it was about?” inquired Biggles.
“Not the actual words; so I moved nearer, keeping of course on my own side of the hedge. Then there was a shot. I didn’t see it tired, but I heard it. When I got to a place where I could get a peep the fellow who came here was on the ground. One of the men with the taxi had a gun in his hand. He was looking at the man on the ground. The other appeared to be arguing with him but I still couldn’t hear what he said.”
“You assumed the chap on the ground had been shot.”
“Naturally.”
“Did you get a good look at the other two?”
“Yes. But I was still some little distance away so I couldn’t swear to recognise them again. All I can say is they were young, and looked like two ordinary fellows such as you might see anywhere. Both had long hair. One had side whiskers — you know, mutton chops I think they call them. I was just going to move a bit nearer when things happened with a rush. The two men picked up the man on the ground and bundled him into the backseat of the taxi. I soon saw why. A sand lorry came along. It didn’t stop. As soon as it had I gone past one of the men got into the taxi and drove off. Then the other followed him in the Cortina. That’s all. There was nothing more I could do so I dashed back here to let you know what had happened.”
“Did you get the number of either of these cars?” asked Biggles.
“Only the first three letters of the Cortina. The rest of the plate was hidden by the taxi being in the way.”
“In which case, surely, you could have seen the number of the taxi.”
“Yes, had it been clean. But it wasn’t. It was plastered with mud. The letters of the Cortina were YXB.”
“What colour was it?”
“From where I stood it looked like dark blue, or possibly black.”
“Pity it wasn’t a two colour job. It would have been easier to recognise if we saw it again. Never mind. Well done, Minnie. You did everything possible. You were right not to take risks.”
“Thanks. What do you make of it?”
“It begins to add up,” replied Biggles thoughtfully. “I may be wrong, but as I see things now what happened this afternoon was this. The fellow who came here was either one of the gang or he’d been hired to fly the swag somewhere. That he wore an R.A.F. tie doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a pilot. But he could be. His job could have been to take the swag to some pre-arranged place. Instead, for some reason he dropped it here. One thing we do know for certain is that it was dropped here.”
Bertie put in a word. “Maybe he double-crossed the gang by dropping the stuff here intending to get the lot for himself.”
“You make a good point,” conceded Biggles. “That would account for the delay, the length of time the bag was left lying here. That he came here this afternoon hoping to collect it is beyond any shadow of doubt. Of course, he may have been here before and failed to find the bag. The others, who must have been suspicious of him, were keeping an eye on him. They must have known his car. When they found it standing by the roadside they’d guess what was going on. There was no need for them to look for him. All they had to do was wait for him to come back, no doubt hoping he’d have the loot with him. As we know, he hadn’t got it. What tale he told to explain what he was doing we don’t know, but apparently the others didn’t believe him. That was when the argument started. It ended by one of ‘em pulling a gun. We must remember they go armed. Tell me this, Minnie. The man who was shot. Do you think he was killed?”
Minnie shook his head. “I can’t answer that. Obviously he was hurt pretty badly or he wouldn’t have been on the ground. He looked pretty limp to me when they stowed him in the taxi. But if he was dead why should they take the body away with them?”
“They’d have more sense than to leave a dead man, a man who had been murdered, lying by the roadside where the body would be seen by the first person to come along. That would have started something. They wouldn’t want that to happen, you may be sure. Somebody may have seen the cars at the spot. That lorry driver, for instance. He’d remember them when the police started making inquiries. Every vehicle using that road regularly would be checked. Of course, the man who was shot may not have been killed, so the men who took him away may still be hoping to get the truth out of him.”
“He may have told them the truth; that he’d found the bag and there was nothing in it,” conjectured Algy.
“Do you suppose they’d believe such a tale? Not likely. They’d know there must have been a lot of lolly in that bag and they’d want to get their hands on it.”
“Too true, old boy,” agreed Bertie. “So where do we go from here?”
“As things stand at the moment I don’t feel like going anywhere,” Biggles answered. “This is as good a place to be as anywhere.”
“How do you work that out?”
“Put yourself in the position of the crooks. It’s obvious they want the money and are prepared to go to some trouble to get it; even as far as murder. Now let’s try a little reasonable speculation. They follow the car of the man who came here. They find it standing on the road. Minnie, what in the circumstances would you expect them to do?”
“Look around for the driver?”
“Right. Not knowing which way he’d gone they’d watch for him to come back, knowing he couldn’t be far away and that sooner or later he’d come back to his car.”
“That’s what one would expect,” agreed Minnie.
“So that if they kept their eyes open they’d see him come out of this coppice.”
Again Minnie agreed.
“And when he arrived back at the car without either the bag or the money what would they think?”
“That either he’d been unable to find the bag, or if he had, he’d hidden it somewhere.”
“Good. We’re making progress. What would be the next thing they’d be most likely to do?”
“Come here to look for it.”
“Good again. Now you see what I’m driving at; why I think it would be a good thing to stick around here, for a little while, anyway.”
“But they went off in the car,” reminded Ginger. “Minnie saw them go.”
“For a good reason. They had a body to dispose of. But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t come back when they’d done that and had time to think things over.”
“What could you do if they came?” asked Minnie.
“To start with we’d have a close look at them. If they’re in our records we might be able to identify them. Failing that we could get the number of their car, and that would be something to go on with.”
“I get it,” put in Bertie. “So all we have to do is wait here for these rats to roll up.”
“That’s the idea, unless anyone can think of a better one,” Biggles said. “But if we don’t want to be caught at our own game we’d better post watchers on the edge of the spinney so that we’ll know they’ve arrived. Ginger, you and Minnie can do that. Two should be enough. The chances are they’ll come from the nearest point they can reach in a car. Which means where they stopped before, on the main road. Okay. Get cracking. We’ll wait here.”
Ginger and Minnie set off.
“This’ll be a spot of practice for Minnie, if nothing else,” remarked Biggles to the others, as he lit a cigarette.
Chapter Six
How seriously Biggles had entertained the thought, that the men who had shot their recent visitor would return, we don’t know; but he certainly looked surprised when, within a few minutes, Minnie came back, bursting through the bushes in his haste, with the announcement “They’re coming now!”
“Are you sure they’re the same two men?” asked Biggles, getting up from the kitbag on which he had been sitting.
“They look like the same two to me.”
“How far away are they now?”
“They’re nearly here.”
“You’re sure they’re coming here?”
“They’re on a direct course.”
“Coming from the direction of the road?”
“Yes.”
“Then all I can say is they couldn’t have gone far with the man they shot,” Biggles said. “Where’s Ginger?”
“He’s gone off behind the hedge to find their car and get its number. He sent me back to let you know what’s going on. He said you wouldn’t need him here.”
“Fair enough.”
Algy spoke. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“Stay where we are. What else?”
“They’ll see us.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“They’ll spot we’ve got the kitbag. That’s what they’ll be after.”
“So what? What of it?”
“They’ll realise we must have found it.”
“Good. That should induce them to talk, which suits me.”
“They may turn nasty.”
“All the better. The more they talk the more likely they are to give themselves away.”
“You’re not forgetting that one of ‘em at least has a gun?”
“I wouldn’t be likely to overlook that,” retorted Biggles.
Minnie came in. “Remembering they’ve already shot one man aren’t you taking a big risk?”
“Listen, laddie,” returned Biggles evenly. “On this job we take risks all the time. We have to if we’re to get anywhere. If you object to sticking your neck out you know what you can do. You’re still only on trial.”
“I didn’t say that,” protested Minnie, looking hurt.
Biggles relented. He smiled. “Sorry. You were right. By playing this game my way we may be taking— a chance, but in dealing with small-time crooks I’m always ready to gamble my experience on how they’re most likely to behave. They may talk tough, but when it comes to a showdown they get cold feet. That’s why they’re crooks. Battering an old man nearly to death with an iron bar, as this lot did to get their hands on the mailbag, is one thing. To take on more than they’re sure they can manage easily is a different kettle of fish. There are four of us here. I can hear them barging about so it shouldn’t be long before they bump into us.”
“What are you hoping to get out of ‘em, old boy?” asked Bertie.
“Nothing in particular. One thing I’d like to know, although it may be expecting too much, is where they’ve just been, because that’s where they’ll probably go when they leave here. If that’s where they’ve taken the man they scuppered it can’t be far away. I can’t see them taking a body into London. They’ll have him out of that car at the first opportunity. If Ginger finds their car he may be able to get a line on that. Okay. That’s enough talking. They’re getting close. Be careful what you say, if you have to speak at all. Just behave naturally.” With that Biggles reseated himself on the kitbag and lit another cigarette.
A few minutes passed. Voices approached. Then from the nearest bushes two men emerged. What followed was almost a repetition of the earlier encounter. The men stopped. Their conversation died. The atmosphere suddenly became brittle.
To ease the tension Biggles said, cheerfully: “Nice day for a stroll in the country.”
The two men, after a brief hesitation, walked slowly forward, allowing time for them to be considered in detail.
One was a small, thin-faced youngish man with the alert, nervous manner of a sparrow that has once been caught. He was dressed in a shabby blue serge suit shiny from wear. On his head was a felt hat with the brim snapped down in front. His brown shoes looked as if it was a long time since they had seen a brush. His companion, a rather older man, was a different type. He was heavily built with a broad face in which the eyes were far apart. He wore no hat, so it could be seen that his hair had been what has become known as ‘styled’, in a long curl over a low forehead. Sideboards extended some way down the sides of his face. His nose had a kink in it, as if it had been broken and carelessly set. A ‘cauliflower’ ear suggested he might have been a professional boxer. He wore grey flannel trousers, baggy at the knees, and an old tweed sports jacket which had been left unbuttoned to expose a dirty pullover. Round his neck had been knotted a highly coloured handkerchief. He walked with his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets as if he didn’t know what else to do with them.
As Bertie remarked softly to Biggles, they looked a good pair to keep well away from on a dark night.
To Biggles’ greeting, which was civil enough, there was no reply.
Instead, pointing at the bag on which he was seated, the little man, speaking with a pronounced cockney accent, demanded: “Where the hell did you get that?”
“Get what?” asked Biggles, with feigned innocence.
“That bag you’re a’ sittin’ on.”
“Funny you should ask that,” returned Biggles.
“What’s funny about it?”
“You’re the second man this afternoon to ask me the same question. Is there something special about it?”
The man ignored the question. He asked another. “Who else has been here?”
“Do you mean the man’s name?”
“’Course. What else.”
“I haven’t the remotest idea. I don’t make a practice of asking strangers their names.”
“What sort of cove was he?”
“I didn’t pay much attention to him,” replied Biggles carelessly.
The little man threw a sidelong glance at his companion before continuing. “What are you doing with the bag?”
“Sitting on it.”
“I can see that, smart guy. Why?”
“Because the ground’s damp and I don’t want to get my bottom wet.”
The little man glared. “Don’t you try to get clever with me, mister. Gimme that bag.”
“Why should I give it to you?”
“’Cause it’s mine.”
“That’s what the other man said. I only have your word for it.”
“Ain’t that enough?”
“Frankly, no.”
Algy, watching all this, realised that Biggles was playing his favourite trick of trying to get his enemy rattled. And he appeared to be succeeding.
“What have you done with the stuff what was in the bag?” demanded the little man in a hard voice.
“Should there have been something in it?” countered Biggles calmly.
“Yes.”
“And you know what it was?”
“Course I know.”
“Then you have only to tell me what it was to prove your claim to the bag.”
The man’s scowl deepened. “Give it here.”
“Not till you’ve proved it’s yours.” Biggles went on. “You’ve been asking a lot of questions. What about me asking one or two for a change. You say the bag’s yours. Just as a matter of interest perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me how it got here?”
“I brought it.”
Biggles looked severe. “Somebody isn’t telling the truth.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Either you or the man who came here earlier. He told me what was in the bag when he left it here by accident; or so he said.”
“What did he say was in it?”
“Some things that were brought here for a picnic.”
“He’s a liar.”
“What do you say was in the bag?”
“Why should I tell you?”
Biggles shrugged. “Please yourself.”
“What have you done with the stuff that was in the bag?”
“When I picked up this bag there was nothing in it. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do about it?” inquired Biggles smoothly.
“Get off it and let me have a look at it.”
“There’s no name on it.”
“I know that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s mine, that’s how. How many times do you want telling.”
“From the way you’re behaving anyone would think the bag was I
stuffed with gold bricks,” Biggles said, getting up. “Still, I don’t mind you having a look at it if you’ll give it back. I want it for a seat.”
The man picked up the bag and shook it, although its weight must have told him it was empty. “What ‘ave you done with the letters?” he rasped.
“What letters?”
“The letters what was in it.”
“Oh, so now it had some letters in it,” sneered Biggles. “Well, there were no letters, or anything else, in it, when I picked it up.”
“Where was it picked up?”
“Here, on this very spot.”
The big man spoke for the first time. “Looks like Bert might have been telling the truth,” he remarked in a deep gruff voice.
“I don’t believe it,” snapped the little man. “He knew damn well the bag was here, didn’t he?”
“So apparently did you,” murmured Biggles.
The little man spun round to face him. “Don’t give me any of your blasted lip,” he grated. “You’re keeping something up your sleeve,” he added venomously, revealing that he was not without intelligence. “You can’t kid me. Come on. Hand ‘em over.”
“Hand what over?”
“The letters what was in this bag.”
“I haven’t seen any letters and you’ll have to take my word for it,” stated Biggles. “Push off. I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.”
“I’m taking your word for nothing, Mister Clever Dick,” was the harsh rejoinder. “I don’t know who the hell you are or what you’re a’doin’ here, but you can’t fool me. Now you can tell me what you’ve done with them letters, or else.” In a flash the man had an automatic pistol in his hand.
Biggles raised an eyebrow. “So that’s the sort of man you are. Has nobody told you it’s illegal to carry lethal weapons? The police will be interested to hear about this.”
The big man cut in. “Come off it, Joe. I’ve told you before, you’re too damned handy with that thing. Get rid of it, or I’m not coming out with you again.”
Biggles Does Some Homework Page 5