by W E Johns
‘They wouldn’t dare to shoot at me.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ returned Biggles. ‘These are now desperate men. If we tried rushing them, one of us would almost certainly be hurt. We don’t want that to happen. Wait.’
While this conversation had been going on a buzz of conversation had floated up the stairs.
‘They’re doing what we’re doing, talking about it,’ Biggles said. ‘There is this about it. If we can’t go down they daren’t come up.’
Then came a voice from below, loudly and clearly as if the speaker was already on the stairs. It said, in English: ‘Come on down. We know you’re up there.’
‘Come and fetch us,’ taunted Biggles.
‘That was dear Clarence; I know his voice,’ Bertie said. ‘We knew he was here. He came with his noble brother to put a proposition to us. We turned it down. They gave us 24 hours to change our minds. Today we were for the high jump. They’re a pair of stinkers.’
Biggles did not answer. He was listening to what was going on below, where there seemed to be a lot of activity. It sounded as if someone was smashing furniture. This stopped and a voice called in English: ‘This is your last chance. Are you coming down?’
Biggles answered. ‘We’ll come if you’ll guarantee us a safe conduct to the door.’
‘Have it your own way,’ came back the voice. ‘When we drag you out you’ll be red herrings.’
‘Red herrings?’ queried Ginger in a puzzled voice. ‘What’s he talking about?’
Nobody answered. But they were soon to know. From below came a sudden crackle. Biggles sniffed as a trickle of smoke came drifting up the stairs. ‘So that’s it,’ he growled. ‘They’ve lit a fire to smoke us out. We shan’t be able to stand too much of this. It looks as if we shall have to fight our way out after all,’ he added, as a billow of smoke reached the landing.
Ginger coughed and went to the narrow window, through which broad daylight was now pouring in, for fresh air. He looked out, stared and shouted: ‘Here’s somebody coming!’
Biggles pushed him aside to look. ‘It’s Marcel,’ he cried. ‘He’s got a couple of men with him. Bless his heart. He’s just about in time.’ They were now all coughing.
‘That’s if he can get in,’ Algy said.
‘He should have no trouble provided no one has discovered the door has been unlocked and relocked it. He’ll have seen the smoke. I’d better let him know where we are.’ Biggles took Marcel’s pistol from his pocket and putting an arm through the window fired three quick shots. Through the smoke he saw the three men stop, look up, and then run on. ‘Everything now depends on whether he will be able to get in,’ he told the others crisply. ‘I’m going down. I’d as soon be shot as smoked like a haddock.’ With his handkerchief held over his mouth and nose he started groping his way down the steps, for the smoke was now too thick for anything to be seen. Antoine followed at his heels and the others fell in behind. They could hear the great door bell jangling, so they knew Marcel must have reached it.
Someone below must have heard them coming down, for a shot was fired. The bullet whistled round the circular wall fortunately without hitting anyone. Biggles returned the shot, firing blindly; there was no further opposition, but there was a sound of running footsteps on the stone-flagged floor of the hall.
Pistol in hand Biggles reached the fire at the bottom of the steps and jumped over it into clear air. He looked round swiftly, then unbelievingly, for there was not a soul in sight. He was still standing there, poised ready for action, wondering what could have become of the men, when the small door in the main entrance was flung open and Marcel, pistol in hand, ran in. His two men followed. ‘Where are they?’ he shouted, seeing Biggles.
‘I don’t know. They were here a moment ago.’
‘Seeing the smoke I thought the place was on fire,’ Marcel said.
‘No. They knew we were in the turret. They daren’t come up and we wouldn’t come down, so they were trying to smoke us out. Thanks for coming so quickly. You were just in time. We were in a tight spot.’
‘Where could they have gone? Not through the door, or we would have seen them.’
‘There’s another way out; the way we came in.’ Biggles turned to Antoine. ‘This man Gaston Marow. Did he know of the tunnel?’
‘But of course. He was with me in the Resistance.’
Biggles explained to Marcel. ‘There’s an underground passage into the wood. Antoine knew of it. That’s how we got in.’ As he spoke Biggles strode to the anteroom where the tunnel emerged. He stopped abruptly when from somewhere not far away came a sound they all knew well; the noise of an aircraft engine being started. He dashed to the front door, which had been left open, and looked out. Climbing away from the chateau into a clouding sky was the helicopter; or a helicopter, although there was not much doubt as to whom it belonged. He pointed. ‘There they go! That machine must have been parked on the roof ready for a quick getaway. When they saw you coming, Marcel, they must have realized that the game was up.’
‘Have no fear, we shall catch them,’ declared Marcel, watching the departing aircraft disappear into the clouds. ‘They cannot get far. I have my plane here, but by the time I get to it they will have gone, and hard to find. From the village I will telephone a signal for all stations to watch for it.’
‘You say you’ve got a plane here!’
‘But of course. How else could I have got here so quickly? When I get your message I do not even wait for my coffee. We will have some in the village. We will search this den of animals. Also, I must talk to Antoine. You need not stay. You can go home and leave this business to me.’
‘There may still be people in the house.’
‘We shall find them.’
‘Very well. Perhaps that would be the best thing to do. My Chief will be wondering what has become of me. It’s time I went home to report, before he starts looking for me. We will wait for you in the village. While we have some breakfast I will tell you all I know and leave this end for you to clean up. Come on, chaps.’
Biggles set off for the village.
That, really, apart from the usual process of the law, was the end of the strange adventure of a noble lord. Within two hours of having a quick meal in the village with Marcel, the British Air Police officers were on their way back to their own country. Antoine of course having been suitably thanked for his timely assistance.
What Marcel said to Antoine after they had gone they never knew, or what story Antoine told Marcel to account for the fact that not a living soul was found in the chateau when it was searched. It seemed fairly certain that any men who had been living there had escaped through the tunnel, and Biggles had a suspicion that Antoine may have looked the other way, bearing in mind that one of them at least was an old comrade who had served with him in the perilous days of the Resistance. That would have been understandable and excusable. Once outside the chateau the fugitives, would not be easy to catch. However, the search revealed a quantity of jewellery, and some of the gold that had been transported to France, hidden in one place or another.
CHAPTER 17
THE FINAL RECKONING
It only remains to be said that in one respect, to Biggles’ annoyance, Marcel was wrong. The helicopter was not found, in spite of Marcel’s conviction that there would be no difficulty about this. In fact, there was no report of it ever being seen again. Where it went, or what became of it, had to remain a matter for surmise. It certainly did not return to England, at all events not to Brindon Hall, for the first thing Biggles did on landing was to have a close guard put on the place. So where it went had to remain a mystery that up to date has never been solved, although it remained a subject for discussion on both sides of the Channel for some time.
Marcel was of the opinion that having cover in the clouds it had lost its way and running out of petrol, or having engine trouble it had gone down in the sea. Or it may have crashed, as have so many aircraft, in the lonely mountains of the
Pyrenees while trying to reach safety in Spain. It might even have reached North Africa where the people in it would probably remain to escape arrest. Antoine’s friend, Gaston Marow, may have been on board. Anyway, as far as it is known neither Lord Malboise nor his brother have so far returned to England.
One other matter deserves mention. On landing in England Biggles went straight to his Chief, Air Commodore Raymond, and told him the whole story, as he was bound to. As a result of this a guard from the Yard’s Special Branch was sent to Brindon Hall to make a search and keep the house under surveillance, for at this time it was thought that Lord Malboise and his brother would return to their home if only to collect some of their ill-gotten gains. When at the end of a week they had not appeared, a search warrant was issued for the house to be searched thoroughly from end to end. A considerable amount of stolen property, jewellery and the like, and a large sum in Treasury notes, which may or may not have been stolen, but were undoubtedly the profits of criminal activities, found. But of the gold bullion which should have been there, and, indeed, which Biggles was sure was there, there was no trace. It seemed unlikely that it could all have been transported across the Channel.
When Biggles, who had gone to Brindon Hall to examine the building that had housed the helicopter, was given this information by Inspector Gaskin, he was astonished. ‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘It must be in the house somewhere,’ he declared. ‘I know some of the bullion was taken to France because Clarence had the nerve to admit it to Bertie and Ginger. But it couldn’t all have gone. Not much was found at the chateau. Where is it?’
‘You tell me,’ invited Gaskin, with cold sarcasm. ‘If it’s buried in the garden or in the park we may never find it, even though we spend months looking for it.’
‘Well, it isn’t in here.’ Biggles jabbed a thumb. ‘I’ve been over every inch of the place.’ This conversation took place outside the building in the Park. ‘It can’t be far away.’
‘The stuff that was found in France had been moulded into small bricks. I suppose for easy transport,’ volunteered Inspector Gaskin.
‘Gold bricks! That rings a bell with me. I’ve just remembered something. Let’s go across.’
They walked over to the house and Biggles led the way to the little terrace where he had taken sherry with Lord Malboise on the occasion of his first visit. After considering the low surrounding wall for a minute he said to his companion. ‘Fetch me a hammer. There must be one in the house somewhere.’
‘What do you want a hammer for?’ asked the Inspector. ‘Thinking of doing a little bricklaying, to finish the wall?’
‘No. There’s just a chance it might be more profitable to try a little demolition work. Fetch me a hammer.’
With a dour smile on his face Gaskin went off, shortly to return with the tool requested. He handed it to Biggles. Without a word Biggles took it and walked to the low, surrounding, whitewashed wall, to the point where it appeared to be unfinished, in that one of the top bricks was missing. With a few blows he loosened the next one. He stooped to pick it up and nearly dropped it. In fact he had to drop the hammer. Using both hands he dropped the brick on the table. ‘Feel the weight of that,’ he invited.
Inspector Gaskin picked up the brick, and he, too, had to use both hands. ‘What the devil—’ He looked at Biggles with saucering eyes.
A slow smile spread over Biggles’ face as he answered: ‘If my guess is right this must be the most expensive piece of brickwork in the country.’ Taking out his penknife he cut a nick in the brick. The cut gleamed yellow. His smile broadened. ‘Help yourself,’ he said. ‘Here it is, in the open for all the world to see. Ready and handy for easy transport.’
Inspector Gaskin was still staring goggle-eyed. For a moment he appeared to grope for words, ‘Well I’ll go hopping!’ he muttered. ‘What a way to hide it.’
‘Could you think of a better way? I told you these people were clever. The stuff was safer here, under a coat of whitewash, than it would have been in the vaults of a bank.’
The Inspector stuffed some tobacco into his pipe. ‘What beats me is, how the devil did you work that one out?’
Biggles grinned. ‘It’s a gift,’ he claimed, with affected modesty. ‘Some sort of instinct, maybe. Or else it’s my nose. I seem to be able to smell gold from quite a way off. I sometimes think I’m in the wrong job. I should have been a prospector, and made a fortune.’
‘You seem to be doing pretty well as it is,’ grunted the Inspector. ‘Let’s go in. We’ll have a drink on this.’
It only remains to be said that the discovery of the gold compensated Biggles for what he thought was a failure, or at any rate an unsatisfactory affair, in that the ringleaders had escaped. Being only human, it may have flattered the vanity he often criticized in others, that he had been able to find what the regular police had overlooked, and might never have been found.
Today Brindon Hall, and the building in the Park that once housed the helicopter, stand empty. The fake Zulu no longer stands at the lodge. The entrance gates are locked. The notice-boards advertising the zoo have been taken down, for the animals, for their own good, have been dispersed to other establishments.
The house is likely to be empty for some time, for by law it is still the property of Lord Malboise, and will remain so until his death is proved beyond doubt. When an inventory of the contents was being made Biggles went over it. In a cabinet, gathering dust in the drawing room, he noticed, among other valuable pieces of old French porcelain, the ornament that had provided the first clue to the answer to the riddle.
The question of whether Lord Malboise would have carried out his threat of murder was often discussed. As Biggles remarked, everyone was entitled to his opinion. Bertie and Ginger should be thankful that it had never been put to the test.
To Biggles the case had an unsatisfactory ending; yet in his heart of hearts he found some consolation in the fact that Clarence had not been taken into custody. A man who had served his country so well during the war deserved a better fate than to spend the best years of his life in prison.
THE END