04 Biggles Flies Again

by Captain W E Johns

  "That is understood, of course," agreed the other. "What time do we start?"

  Biggles glanced at his watch. "It is now eight-thirty," he said. "Suppose we say we will leave the ground at nine-thirty--will that suit you?"

  "Admirably."

  "Have you any luggage?"

  "Only an attache-case."

  "All right, then. We will meet at nine-twenty on the aerodrome and leave the ground at nine-thirty. Our first stop will be Gwadir and then Lingeh."

  III

  The sun was blazing with the full power of its afternoon heat as the "Vandal" forged its way through the shimmering haze that hung above the Persian Gulf, a haze that turned both sea and sky to the colour of burnished steel. The horizon existed in imagination only; the gradual darkening of the sky just below the nose of the engine showed vaguely where the sky ended and the sea began.

  Biggles studied his instrument-board diligently, from time to time glancing ahead as if expecting some landmark to show up through the haze. He had followed the coastline of Persia as far as Jask, and then cut across the strait of Ormuz, actually passing over that , spur of Arabia called Oman, on a straight course for Lingeh, which, according to his reckoning, now lay some fifty miles ahead. A dark-brown blot loomed up through the haze, slightly to his left; it lay across the water like a monster that had risen from the depths of the ocean and lay basking on the surface. He nudged Algy and then pointed with the forefinger of his left hand to an insignificant speck on the map which bore the name Tumb Island. At the same moment the steady rhythm of the engines changed slightly, but it was sufficient to bring Smyth's head to the low doorway leading from the cabin.

  Biggles's eyes sought his rev. counters and rested on the wavering needles of the instruments. The engine revs. had fallen, and were still falling. Simultaneously the nose of the machine turned until it pointed directly towards

  the island. The roar of the engines died away suddenly, burst into life again, and then faded away to a gentle purr. The nose of the amphibian tilted down, and a few minutes later the keel cut a long white scar across the smooth water of a natural harbour that yawned invitingly in the sandy beach.

  As the machine ran to a standstill Algy looked at Biggles with wide-open eyes. "What's wrong?" he said.

  "Dunno," replied Biggles laconically as the keel grated gently on the shelving beach. He climbed out of his seat and slipped down into the shallow water. The door in the hull opened, and Smyth and their passenger stepped out.

  "That outlet-pipe clogged again, sir, I reckon," observed Smyth.

  Biggles nodded. "I think so," he said. "It's nothing very serious, anyway, but I thought it was safer to try and put it right here rather than risk the next fifty miles or so of open sea to the mainland." The last sentence he addressed to his passenger, who had lighted a cigar and was surveying the unpromising coast-line of the island with disgust.

  "Quite right," was the quick reply; "safety first. I suppose you will soon be able to put things right?"

  "Oh, yes, I think so," replied Biggles casually. "We'll get to work on her as soon as we can, and this time we'll make sure we clear the outlet thoroughly—it seems as if there's some sediment in one of the tanks."

  "I hope it's nothing very serious," observed the other. "We might have to wait here for a long time before we were picked up; after all, we can't drain the tanks."

  "We always carry a good stock of provisions, so I don't think we need worry on that score."

  "Maybe not, but you will please remember that my mission is an urgent one, so I trust you will lose no time in clearing out the obstruction."

  "Quite," replied Biggles vaguely.

  But the sun was sinking like a ball of fire in the west before Biggles was sure that no foreign matter remained to obstruct the flow of petrol.

  "It will be dark in five minutes, so I am afraid it isn't worth taking a chance to get to Lingeh tonight," said Biggles in a tone of disappointment. "It's only a small place and we might easily miss it. I suggest we make ourselves as comfortable as we can for the night, and push on in the morning. Get some of those cases out of the cabin, Smyth; we shall need some food, anyway. I think that little group of palms a bit lower down will be the best spot for camp."

  So slowly as to be hardly noticeable, the moon lost its brilliancy. The pale flickering fingers of another day felt searchingly in the Eastern sky and shed a grey, mysterious light over the sea and the barren sandy island with its group of stunted palms. The rim of the sun showed above the horizon; a shaft of light fell upon the gently stirring palm-fronds, and upon the recumbent figure of a man, wrapped in a fur coat, who lay upon the sand.

  As the sun's rays reached his eyes, he awoke, yawned, and then sat up, stretching. He glanced around. A faint sound rising and falling on the breeze above the steady beat of the surf upon the shore brought him to his feet in a single bound, as if impelled by an invisible spring. He flashed a glance along the beach and then turned in the direction of the sound, his face working curiously as his eyes picked out a tiny moving speck afar off, a speck that vanished even as he watched it. For a long time he stood staring, long after the sound of the aero-engines had faded into silence.

  A cold fury smouldered in his eyes as he turned towards the packing-cases, which remained as they had been placed the previous evening. On the largest, held in place by a stone, lay an envelope, and he reached for it with a slow movement that was deadly in its deliberation. His nostrils quivered as he read the superscription: Ivan Nikitoff, Esq., Tumb Island, Nr. Persia.

  With hands that trembled slightly, he tore the envelope open, took out the single sheet of paper that it contained, and read :

  Dear Ivan,

  I find I shall not be going your way, after all. Everything you will be likely to require (

  except our society) for the next three weeks will be found in the cases. In case the time hangs heavily on your hands, you will find a book in the case marked Number 1, which may afford you some relief.

  Yours in haste,

  JAMES BIGGLESWOR TH.

  "The thing that beats me is how you knew about that message he received, calling him to Teheran," muttered Algy, when, late in the day, the " Vandal" ran to a standstill near the Bund at Basra, and Biggles had made certain called-for explanations.

  "For the simple reason that I sent it," replied Biggles carelessly. "At least, it was arranged by me in collaboration with certain people who shall be nameless that he should receive such a message."

  "But, good heavens, surely such a letter would be in a secret code, if it was genuine? "

  "It was—but do you suppose our people don't know the code?"

  "But what's going to happen to Ivan?"

  "I fixed the whole thing up with Pat. All we did was to shove that paragraph in the paper, end the message in his own code, and hope he'd rise to the bait. Well, he did. It will so happen that a sloop will be passing the island in about three weeks, which by a curious coincidence will be just about the time that Pat's business is concluded."

  "You seem to have thought it well out," observed Algy. "By the way, what was the name of the book you left him?" he asked curiously.

  Biggles paused in the act of taking off his helmet, and a slow smile spread over his face.

  "Three Weeks," he said. "I hope he'll see the point."

  CHAPTER II

  THE SHEIKH AND THE GREEK

  BIGGLES reflectively sipped an ice-cold cordial outside a restaurant in the Avenue el Fontana in Alexandria.

  "There is one thing I should like to do before we leave Alex.," he told Algy confidentially, "and that is, find out what sort of a price we are likely to get for our pearls. I seem to remember that Egypt is supposed to be a good market for them. We might do better in Paris, but we should probably get stung badly by the Customs people there, or before we get there. The Italians at Benghazi might even have something to say about them. We should stand a better chance here of disposing of them quietly; anyway, they are a bit of an a
nxiety and the sooner we turn them into hard cash the better."

  "I agree," returned Algy promptly. "There's a jeweller's across the way—why not stroll over? Don't let him see them all or he'll try to beat you down. Show him one first."

  "That's not a bad idea," replied Biggles, taking a small washleather bag from his breast pocket. He untied the string, inserted his forefinger and thumb and took out one of the two large pink pearls presented to them by Li Chi.

  "I shouldn't show him that one," said Algy quickly. "Keep the pair together; they will be worth far more as a pair than separate."

  Biggles nodded. "Yes—" he began, but broke off with an ejaculation as the stone slipped from his fingers, bounced off his shoe, and rolled along the pavement, coming to rest at the feet of a good-looking, immaculately dressed man who sat at a table a little lower down. The owner of the feet stooped quickly, picked it up, and after an appraising glance returned it to its anxious owner with a courteous bow.

  "Many thanks," said Biggles, relieved.

  "A pretty toy," observed the man suavely, speaking with a slight foreign accent, and then, "It seemed to know where to come," he added with a significant smile.

  Biggles hesitated. "How do you mean?" he said curiously.

  The stranger lifted his palms in the Semitic gesture peculiar to the Middle East. "I am a buyer of such luxuries," he said in a low voice. "If at any time the one I have seen is for disposal I hope I may have the honour of being allowed to acquire it."

  "Sorry, but that one is not for sale," replied Biggles, suspiciously, "but if you care to sit down—I have others

  He tilted the pearls they had recovered from the Kaisiora into his palm. "How about these?"

  The stranger shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips in a disparaging smile. "They are merely pearls," he said softly, "but—" He broke off with a foreign exclamation and stared at the second pink pearl, which Biggles had placed beside the first. He drew in his breath with a sibilant hiss. "You have another," he muttered quickly, raising his eyes to Biggles's face.

  The pilot dropped the two pink pearls into the bag and replaced it in his pocket. "Yes," he said slowly; "they'd make a nice pair of ear-rings for a princess. Suppose they were for sale, how much would they be worth?" he asked casually.

  "A much larger sum than I have at my disposal here," admitted the stranger readily. "I do not buy for myself—" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I am an agent for the illustrious Sheikh Abd-el-Ahmud, who has the most magnificent collection in Arabia. He must see them to decide a value, and the price will be a fair one, I assure you; far better than you will get from the bandits of Alexandria or Cairo who call themselves pearl-dealers."

  "Where is the Sheikh?" asked Biggles, becoming interested.

  "At his palace in Hejaz—on the east coast of the Red Sea," replied the other.

  "My eye! That settles it; we can't trail all the way down to the Red Sea," said Biggles decisively.

  "But why not? I promise you the difference you will receive in price will more than recompense you .for the trouble. Besides, the Sheikh is famous for his hospitality—"

  "Never mind that," broke in Biggles coldly; "we're talking about pearls. How far is this place?"

  "Five hundred miles, perhaps less, but I have a fast boat."

  "I have an aeroplane, if it comes to that," observed Biggles, thinking quickly.

  The stranger started, and his eyes flashed suddenly. "An aeroplane," he repeated slowly.

  Biggles nodded. "Look here," he said; "let us think it over. We don't know you and you don't know us, but if you can assure us that we should receive a fair price—a price that might tempt me to part with them—we might consider it. By the way, how should we be paid?" he asked curiously.

  "Why, in gold, surely," replied the other quickly. "Such men as my patron do not use paper money. The Sheikh is rich far beyond the Western ideas of wealth," he added.

  "All right. You think things over; we'll do the same and meet you here this evening to let you know what we've decided," said Biggles, rising.

  The stranger took a card from a gold case and handed it to the pilot with a little bow. "

  Thank you," he said. "I will await your pleasure," and raising his hat he walked quickly away.

  "Well, what do you think of him?" asked Biggles, when he was out of earshot.

  "It's hard to say," replied Algy. "What nationality is he, do you think?"

  "Goodness only knows. Eurasian, I imagine; possibly a Greek or Armenian Jew." He looked at the card in his hand. "Constantine Stampoulos," he read aloud. "Well, that's Greek enough, but I have a deep-rooted suspicion of the type, although he certainly looked affluent. He may be right about the Sheikh paying a good price for the pearls. All the lads along the Red Sea coast are enthusiastic collectors of pearls, I've been told. The best stuff from the Persian Gulf goes there, or to India, to say nothing of those they find themselves in the Red Sea. Let's get some lunch and talk it over."

  II

  Biggles leaned back in his seat and from five thousand feet surveyed the glorious panorama below with silent approval. He was heading south for Heliopolis, one hundred and twenty-five miles away, where he proposed to refuel before going to El Tuara, the oasis in which the Sheikh's palace was situated. Below lay the delta of the Nile, with its innumerable villages, stretching like an openwork lace design to the blue Mediterranean now far behind them. Ahead, clear-cut in the crystal atmosphere, were the minarets of the Citadel Mosque in Cairo, and the Mokattam Hills.

  It was the morning following their meeting with Stampoulos. He had readily agreed to make the journey by air; in fact, he had forestalled Biggles by suggesting it, almost at once, when they had met in the evening as arranged. He had assured them it would be possible to land either on the waters of a bay near the palace or on the open sabkha, which extended for miles around it.

  The airmen, after a brief consultation, confident of their

  ability to guard their own interests, had decided to make . the expedition. Details had been quickly arranged, with the result that the Greek was now seated in the cabin with Smyth, no doubt enjoying the wonderful vista below.

  After a brief pause at Heliopolis to refuel, where Algy had changed places with Stampoulos in order that the Greek might guide the pilot to their destination, they were soon in the air again on a more easterly course, which would take them down the west coast of Arabia. The Red Sea soon lay below, and as the machine sped onwards Biggles eyed the arid desolation under his left wing with mixed feelings, wondering if they had been wise in accompanying a stranger to a spot so remote from civilization.

  He derived some comfort from the activity on the sea, where, from time to time, tiny black destroyers ploughed long white furrows in the blue as they kept unceasing watch over the vital and coveted strip of water that terminated in the Suez Canal.

  For more than three hours they flew along a barren coast, over deep wadis and rocky hills, behind which the desert, the dreaded, uncrossed Rub al Khali, rolled back until it merged into the purple haze of the far distance. Once or twice they saw the camels of an ancient caravanserai winding slowly northwards to the markets of Egypt over trails that were old when Moses led the Children of Israel out of the land of the Pharaohs.

  Suddenly Stampoulos nudged the pilot and pointed with outstretched finger towards a grove of tall date-palms, in the centre of which stood a fort-like building crowned by two squat towers. It was nearly a mile from the end of a deep incision in the coastline, and as Biggles throttled back he passed a critical eye over the surroundings.

  Nevertheless, it was not until he was within a few hundred feet of the ground that he noticed a brown-painted dhow, moored close to the rocks, so perfectly did it blend with the background. He circled once over the palm-grove, and then, dropping his wheels, landed bumpily on a large flat area of gravelly earth a short distance away.

  "I will leave you to do what is necessary to the machine while I tell the Emir of our coming," said
Stampoulos, hurrying in the direction of the palace, which they now saw in the middle of a group of low Arab dwellings.

  They taxied the machine into the shade of a palm, and, leaving Smyth in charge, followed the path taken by the Greek. They reached a pointed Moorish archway, around which loitered several Wahhabi Arabs, armed with long rifles and formidable curved knives. The Arabs stared at them sullenly as they passed between them into a small courtyard, on the opposite side of which was the main entrance to the palace. It presented a rather squalid appearance and was hardly what they had expected.

  The Sheikh, who broke off what seemed to be a heated conversation with Stampoulos when he saw them approaching, was waiting to receive them, and his manner and appearance were even less prepossessing than his palace. He was wearing a dirty white robe, over which was thrown a striped haik woven in a pattern of alternate black and red bars, fringed with curious cabalistic-like figures in the' corner.

  Biggles found himself looking into a pair of dark challenging eyes set in a brown face. He sensed at once a hostile ,atmosphere which a forced smile did not allay, but in answer to the sheikh's "Allah hadik" he bowed gravely and turned to the Greek expectantly.

  "The Sheikh is anxious to start on a journey," said Stampoulos energetically, "so will you show him the

  pearls at once?

  Biggles laid the pearls on a low table between them, and

  the Sheikh examined them greedily, muttering something

  to the Greek in a language the pilot did not understand.

  "He says he will pay one thousand pounds for them,"

  said Stampoulos.

  “One thousand pounds!" cried Biggles incredulously.

  "They are worth three times that sum in the open market." Again the Greek spoke to the Sheikh.

  "He says they are not a good colour; he will not pay more," translated the Greek.

  "Give me the; pearls," said Biggles sternly; "we are wasting our time.”