by W E Johns
‘I can understand that,’ put in Biggles meaningly.
‘Some sort of foreigner, wasn’t he?’
‘That just about describes him.’
‘One day he went out saying he was just going for a stroll. He didn’t come back. He must have known what he was going to do, the lousy liar.’
‘And you’ve no idea where he went?’
‘No. Seems nobody saw him go. He’d see to that. To tell the truth I wasn’t sorry to see him go. He was no use. Just a no-good bum, I reckon. No use to anyone. Just a minute though. There is one feller who may know something. Joe Big Wood. He’s an Indian. Lives in a shack he built himself just out of town. Been here for years. Does odd jobs for anybody. He doesn’t miss much. I’ll have a word with him.’
Biggles changed the subject. ‘What do you think happened to Angus Campbell?’
Charley shook his head. ‘It’s hard to say. Like I said, he was going to St John’s. When he got back Raulstein had left. He must have gone across to the island. He’d made the trip often enough, so he’d know all about it. Nobody seems to have seen him go. Must have been before daylight. All we know is, someone saw his boat had gone. It hasn’t shown up, so something must have gone wrong.’
‘What could have happened?’
‘Anything can happen in these waters.’
‘You’re sure Angus isn’t stuck on Marten Island?’
‘If he was he’d a’ made a signal. We’d have seen the smoke from his fire in the cabin he’s got there. Besides, one of our cod fishers, Ed Blake, called there one day on his way home to make sure. No sign of Angus or his boat. Angus would be bound to see him, or hear him calling.’
‘Did Blake go to the cabin?’
‘Not that I know of. He didn’t say so. There wasn’t no need. If Angus was there he’d have come down to him. No, something must have gone wrong. I reckon we’ve seen the last of Angus. Pity. He was a straight guy. Everyone liked him.’
The conversation ended when, at this juncture, Ginger returned carrying their kit-bags. As usual they were travelling light. Charley Murray took them up to their rooms and they spent the next hour cleaning up after their long journey, and getting settled in. They then went down to find the table being laid for a meal, so all they had to do was wait for their guest, Jack Fraser, the Mountie. In due course he arrived, and after a drink they sat down to an excellent meal, mostly of the fish for which the coast is famous. Biggles said nothing about the business that had brought them there until they were relaxing over coffee. Then, with a cigarette going he said: ‘Jack, I promised to tell you the full story of why we’re here. It’s a bit long-winded, but you’d better hear the lot, so that you’ll understand the position exactly. As we’re in your country you have a right to know; and, moreover, we may need your assistance and I wouldn’t expect you to act in the dark. The story involves a robbery and at least two murders; and, as far as we know, the man responsible may not be far away. He was last heard of here, in Rankinton. You’ll hear how that came about.’
‘Were these murders committed here?’ inquired Fraser.
‘One was, on Marten Island. The other happened on the high seas. It’s not impossible that there may have been another, right here in Rankinton, in which case it’d be your business.’
‘You thinking about Angus Campbell?’ put in Fraser shrewdly.
‘Yes.’
‘And the man responsible would be Raulstein?’
‘Yes. And when you’ve heard the story you’ll understand why I’m suspicious. If I don’t make myself clear, say so.’
Fraser lit his pipe. ‘I’m listening,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’
Then, sitting there quietly in the dimly-lighted room Biggles narrated the tale, from beginning to end as it had been told to him by Tommy, that had brought about the present situation. He did not excuse Tommy for what he had done, but hinted at the extenuating circumstances. He explained that Tommy was now trying to clear himself.
Fraser did not once interrupt. When Biggles had concluded the story with: ‘That’s all. Now you know the lot,’ he sat silent for a little while, blue tobacco smoke drifting up from his pipe. Then he said: ‘So you’ve really come to recover the jewellery Tommy says he hid on Marten Island?’
‘That’s one of the reasons. We’d also like to get track of Raulstein in case he goes back to England, as he might. Of course, if you pick him up in Canada, it’ll be up to you to deal with him for the murder of Darris, as that happened in your country. It’s true I intended to make my first job the recovery of the jewels: or check that they’re still where Tommy put them. I reckoned it would mean hiring a boat.’
‘That shouldn’t take long,’ Fraser said. ‘I can see how you’re fixed for getting a foot on the island. You needn’t bother about a boat. I’ll fly you across in the morning. If nothing else it would enable you to look over the ground. I should be able to put you down if you felt like finishing the job right away. I don’t need much room to get on the floor.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ accepted Biggles. ‘That’d be a great help. You might like to have a look round yourself.’
‘Thinking of Campbell?’
‘Yes. Not forgetting Raulstein. He may somehow have managed to get back there. He must know the jewels are still somewhere on the island, and he wouldn’t be likely to pack up without making an effort, however desperate, to get his hands on them.’
‘So I imagine,’ agreed the Canadian. ‘Okay, then. Let’s leave it like that. Will you come up to the airfield in the morning?’
‘Of course. What time would suit you?’
‘As soon after daylight as possible.’
‘Right you are, then,’ Biggles said. ‘We’ll be along bright and early.’
Fraser got up. ‘Okay. If that’s fixed I’ll get back to my quarters in case any signals come through. See you in the morning. Thanks for the meal, and for putting your cards on the table.’ He put on his hat and with a parting wave went off.
‘Having him here is a slice of luck I didn’t expect,’ Biggles said as the door closed behind him.
A little later, when Charley Murray came to clear the table, he had something to say. ‘I’ve had a word with Joe Big Wood like I said I would. Found him in his shack. He couldn’t tell me much, but he’s pretty sure he saw Raulstein leave Rankinton.’
‘How did he go, and which way?’
‘On foot towards the south, on the old trail that runs alongside the timber back o’ the cliffs.’
‘What is there in that direction — anything?’
‘Nothin’. Well, that is, nothin’ for ten miles when you come to a creek at the mouth of Little Fish River. There are a few houses there and a small salmon canning factory.’
‘Then there must be some way to get the stuff to market — road, railway...’
‘A boat, a coaster, comes up from the south once a fortnight when the weather’s open, to bring in passengers and stores and take back anyone or anything wanting to go, mostly fish, furs, and so on.’
‘Then Raulstein could have cleared out of the territory that way?’
‘I guess so. It’s the easiest way to the outside. Coopers Creek — that’s the name of the place — is as far north as the boat comes.’
‘Would Raulstein know about this place?’
‘Angus Campbell might have told him. I’ve known him use this trail himself, sometimes, before they made an airfield here for a plane to bring up the mail.’
‘I see,’ Biggles said thoughtfully. ‘Would Jack Fraser be in touch with Coopers Creek?’
‘Sure. By radio. There’s a Mountie stationed there.’
‘Thanks, Charley,’ acknowledged Biggles. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’
After Charley had gone Biggles sat deep in thought for a minute or two. Then, looking at Tommy, he queried: ‘You could find your way to the airfield in the dark?’
‘Shouldn’t be any trouble about that.’
‘Then you might slip along and tell Jack Fr
aser I’d be obliged if he’d contact the officer at Coopers Creek and ask him if Raulstein is there; or if anything’s been seen of him. I’m asking you to go because if necessary you could give a description of Raulstein. You’re the only one of us who’s seen him. You needn’t wait. He can give us the answer in the morning.’
Tommy got up. ‘I’ll go right away. You needn’t wait up for me.’ He went off on his errand.
‘I think we might all hit the hay,’ Biggles said, rising. ‘It wouldn’t be a bad thing to start with a good night’s rest.’
‘I’m with you,’ Bertie agreed.
‘And me,’ stated Ginger.
CHAPTER 8
THE SNAG
IT was still barely daylight the following morning when the party from England joined the CM.P. officer at the airstrip. The landing ground was little more than that, but it served its purpose. They found him ready and waiting.
The morning was fair, clear, but with an autumnal nip in the air, which brought from Bertie the wish that he’d brought his winter woollies. Biggles’ first remark on meeting Fraser was they looked like being lucky as far as the weather was concerned.
‘I hope you’re right,’ returned Fraser, looking at the ocean where a thin grey mist hung over the water, making ghosts of a few boats on their way to the fishing grounds.
‘Is there any doubt about it?’ asked Biggles.
‘I wouldn’t trust it too far,’ was the reply. ‘In this part of the world anything can happen. The weather can change inside an hour. The biggest curse is fog, due to warm currents from the south meeting cold currents coming down from the north.’
‘Then let’s get on with the job,’ suggested Biggles cheerfully. ‘What we have to do shouldn’t take long. By the way, did you manage to make contact with your man at Coopers Creek? Charley Murray tipped me off he’d spoken to Joe Big Wood, a local Indian.’
‘Yes. Apparently Raulstein was there for some days, waiting, he said, for some friends who were coming in a launch to pick him up.’
‘Did it come?’
‘Yes. He went on board and that was the last seen of him. I guess he must have pulled out of the territory after all. If he’s gone to the States he won’t be so easy to find.’
‘Why should he go to the States?’
‘The launch was flying a U.S. pennant, so it’s reasonable to suppose it’d go back there. Raulstein must have got in touch with someone he knew.’
‘Charley Murray said he wrote some letters while he was staying at his place. He said he was trying to borrow some money. Did anyone notice the name of the launch ?’
‘Yes. Grey Goose. Motor cruiser.’
‘It’d be interesting to know who these friends were,’ Biggles said pensively. ‘If they knew Raulstein they’d know he was a crook, and on the old adage that birds of a feather fly together, they’d probably be crooks, too.’
‘I guess you’ve got something there,’ agreed Fraser. ‘Well, we can’t do anything about that now, so we might as well be getting on.’
‘Let’s go.’
The helicopter being a four-seater, it was a bit of a squash to get everyone in, but for the short hop, Tommy, being slim, managed to squeeze between Bertie and Ginger in the rear seat.
In minutes the machine was in the air with the country unfolding like a map below. The picture was not inspiring, except perhaps for a hunter, a trapper or a fisherman, comprising as it did, mostly, vast forests of spruce, larch and other conifers, broken here and there by the silver thread of a river. There were a few clearings where timber-felling was in progress. On the eastern side, over which the machine was flying, the land ended for the most part in gaunt cliffs with which the cold Atlantic rollers waged a never-ending war. There were many places where the sea had won a battle, judging from the deeply indented coastline.
The objective, Marten Island, a long dark shadow in the mist like a surfacing sea monster, was in view from the moment of take-off, its sombre outline hardening as they approached. Clearly it was not one of those romantic tropic isles of popular fiction.
In five minutes they were circling over it, Fraser slowly losing altitude to get as clear a view as possible of the ground. Not that there was much to see. In fact there was really nothing of note to observe; no outstanding feature; merely a forbidding coastline outlined in white foam with an occasional strip of stony beach where a cliff had collapsed under the merciless battering of the waves. For the rest it was much as Tommy had described it, and certainly as Ginger had imagined it; low rocky hills, their slopes cloaked with dismal stands of evergreen forest. It was obvious at once that there was only one possible place for an aircraft to land, and that — again as Tommy had tried to describe it — was the middle area, which appeared to be reasonably flat and covered with what looked like rough grass, although this might turn out to be moss or reeds covering a swamp. For an airman, the truth of such a surface can only be discovered by the risky process of trial and error. The whole of this area was in the nature of a shallow basin, as if it might have been the worn-down crater of a long-dead volcano.
Ginger, staring down, looked in vain for a sign of life apart from the inevitable sea birds. Even through the binoculars he had brought with him he could see no movement. There was no wind, so even the trees stood motionless, like regiments on parade. It took him some time to spot the cabin, and this only with the assistance of Tommy who knew its position, for being built of unsawn logs it showed no colour, and was, moreover, partly hidden by trees. Apart from the cliffs, the actual ground could not be seen. The woods would have concealed an army had one been there. Considered as a whole, Ginger reflected, it was not the sort of place where one would care to stay long. Luckily, this was not likely to arise — or so he thought, optimistically.
Fraser was hovering low, almost stationary, over the grass plain. ‘There doesn’t appear to be anyone here,’ he said. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I’d like you to put us down, if it’s possible,’ answered Biggles. ‘We shall only find out if it’s safe to land by testing. I can see puddles, so the place might be a swamp. I wouldn’t ask you to take any risks on our account. It’s up to you.’
‘We’ll soon settle it,’ Fraser said, and slowly, with increasing caution, he allowed the aircraft to sink. The skids touched what, from the slight bump, felt like solid ground. The pilot leaned out of the window to make sure they were not sinking. ‘Okay,’ he announced, apparently satisfied that all was well. ‘You can get out and see what it’s really like.’
Biggles got down, and after stamping around for a while reported that the surface was reasonably hard. ‘That is, as it is now,’ he said. ‘There’s a fair amount of moss, so I wouldn’t guarantee it after heavy rain. Water is bound to drain here from the hills.’
‘What shall I do, then?’
‘Well, as we’re here we might as well collect what we came to fetch.’ Biggles called to Tommy: ‘How far do you reckon we are from the place?’
‘About a mile. Perhaps a little more.’
Biggles turned back to the pilot. ‘You can either wait here for us or move off and come to fetch us later.’
‘How long are you likely to be?’
‘It’s hard to say exactly. I’d like to have a look at the cabin, or for signs of Campbell having been here.’
Fraser agreed. ‘Yes. It might be a good idea to check.’
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ Biggles suggested.
Fraser considered for a moment. ‘No. I’d better not do that,’ he decided. ‘Signals may come through from headquarters and I should be at the airfield to deal with them. I’ll tell you what. I’ll slip across and come back for you at, shall we say, twelve noon. How’s that?’
‘Fair enough. We should be finished by then.’ Biggles grinned. ‘If for any reason you’re held up, we should be able to survive by helping ourselves to the stores in the cabin. It was done before, when Raulstein came ashore.’
Fraser smiled. ‘You do tha
t. Angus wouldn’t mind.’
With everyone except the pilot on the ground and the doors of the aircraft closed, the rotor blades whirled as Fraser advanced the throttle. The machine lifted, and with a final wave he swung up and away.
For a little while the others stood watching its departure. Then, turning away, Biggles said to Tommy: ‘Lead on. You know the way.’
‘You want me to go straight to where I hid the stuff?’
‘Of course. What else?’
‘I thought you might like to call at the cabin on the way. It wouldn’t mean going far off our course.’
‘Very well. Let’s do that, although I can’t get my hands on that bag of trinkets fast enough. I only hope for your sake that after coming all this way it’s still there.’
‘You needn’t worry about that,’ declared Tommy emphatically. ‘It will be. That is, unless foxes have taken to wearing jewellery.’
Biggles did not smile. ‘When you’ve had as much experience of treasure hunting as I have, you’ll learn there’s always a snag. Something unexpected crops up.’
‘Not this time,’ Tommy said. ‘You’ll see.’
Nothing more was said. He set off at a cracking pace towards the nearest of the trees that fringed the plain. This may have been too wet to hold the roots of tall trees, for there were places where sphagnum moss flourished — always a sign of water not far below — and they often had to splash their way through puddles.
‘Good thing we didn’t try to land the Merlin here,’ remarked Ginger. ‘We might have stuck.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ answered Biggles casually. ‘I’ll risk it at a pinch. This is the lowest part we’re on. The higher ground may be firmer. Anyway, I think there’s enough herbage to prevent the wheels of a light machine from cutting through, provided it wasn’t overloaded.’
Reaching the timber, an overcrowded wood of depressed-looking larch skirted by birch, Tommy picked a path up ground that now rose towards the perimeter of the island. ‘I think I’m going right,’ he said. ‘Remember, I’ve never set foot on this part of the island before; only seen it through the trees.’