Biggles WWII Collection

by W E Johns

‘How much did you get for them?’

  ‘Eight thousand pounds.’

  Li Chi shook his head. ‘There was another robber in the bargain. You were swindled. Those pearls were worth twelve thousand.’

  ‘Well, as you got them for nothing and I got them for nothing, we’ve nothing to complain about,’ returned Biggles, grinning.

  ‘Tamashoa knew of those two pink pearls,’ said Li Chi seriously. ‘Such was his mortification when he lost them that he sent a special messenger to me offering to buy them back at any price, as he wanted them for his favourite lady. I sent word that I no longer had them. He asked me what had become of them. I told him that I had given them as a present to a British flying man named Major Bigglesworth for saving my life. No doubt he will remember the name, so it is to be hoped that he will never be in a position to ask you about the pearls, personally.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ replied Biggles thoughtfully. ‘But this won’t do. Let’s have lunch. The sooner the Gosling is on the way back to India the better.’

  ‘Come to my house,’ invited Li Chi. ‘It is not all that I would wish and my hospitality has been affected by the war, but I still live fairly comfortably, as you will see.’

  He led the way into the forest, and presently a long, low bungalow, which until now the jungle had concealed, came into view. If, thought Ginger as he entered, it was not all that the owner could wish, then Li Chi must be a man of fastidious taste, for judged by western standards the appointments were luxurious, although, of course, Oriental. It reminded Ginger that their host was a Chinese – a fact which, in view of his London-made clothes and correct English, it was easy to forget. But when, with a word of apology Li Chi left his guests to return a few minutes later in Chinese dress, any delusion was banished. He was at once in keeping with his surroundings.

  The meal, a curious mixture of eastern and western dishes, provided by a Malay cook who had obviously been at some trouble to please his master’s guests, was a cheerful affair, so much so that Ginger began to regard the enterprise in a different light. If nothing occurred to mar the tranquillity of Elephant Island, he decided, the sortie should turn out to be a pleasant interlude in the hard business of war.

  The meal over, they all returned to the lake, and soon afterwards Algy and Bertie took off on the return trip to India for the tasks which Biggles had assigned to them. Biggles, Ginger and Li Chi watched them go, and afterwards stood talking for some time. Biggles observed that he thought it strange that Li Chi should be allowed to live so near Japanese-occupied territory without interference. Li Chi asserted that the reason was evident. There were some hundreds of islands, large and small, in the archipelago, and for the Japanese to maintain a garrison on every one, as well as on the tens of thousands of other islands in the Pacific war zone, would demand more troops than even the Japanese possessed. So the enemy did the next best thing. It maintained air and sea patrols to keep watch, although the personnel employed in these duties, being in small numbers, rarely landed. Said Li Chi: ‘Of course, the Japanese know there are refugees on the islands, but it would be a tremendous task to round them up, so, as it was supposed that they could do no harm, they were left alone.’

  ‘We may alter that,’ remarked Biggles. ‘One day it will be the Japs, with their communications severed, who will be hiding on the islands.’

  ‘That state of affairs will not last long,’ returned Li Chi casually. ‘The Malays will hunt them down and decorate their doorposts with Japanese heads. Come and look at the sawmill. We are cutting up magnificent timber.’

  This suggestion made no appeal to Ginger, who, nevertheless, accompanied the others as far as the mill. But he did not enter. Instead, finding a narrow path leading uphill through the jungle, he strolled along it with the object of getting a view of the island from the eminence thus gained. As far as the jungle was concerned there was little of interest. In the shade of the great trees the air was hot and humid, and sweat was soon trickling down his face. What with this, and finding the path rather longer than he expected, he took advantage of a seat offered by a fallen tree, to rest. Once, as he sat there, he thought he heard a slight sound in the forest, but he paid little attention to it. There were, he knew, many wild creatures in the jungle, but he did not suppose that there was anything to fear so near to the lumber camp. But as the minutes passed he became aware of an extraordinary sensation of uneasiness for which he could not account, and this soon pressed upon him to such an extent that he picked up a lump of rotten wood and hurled it into the bushes. Nothing happened, and he was about to move on when suddenly he saw something that induced a prickling sensation in his spine. It was a face. At first he was by no means sure that it was a face. But it looked like a face, a man’s face, staring at him, not at shoulder height as a human face would normally be, but from low down, as if the man were crouching, or even lying. Dappled sunlight falling on the spot made it difficult to see the object clearly. It did not move.

  Now Ginger had Li Chi’s word for it that the people on the island were friendly; and he did not forget this. Consequently he was more than a little puzzled by the occurrence, particularly as the expression on the face was positively malevolent. It was this expression that alarmed him, and at the same time fascinated him. It was horrible, hateful. Still it did not move, and that, perhaps, was the most trying part of all. Why should the man – if indeed it was a man – crouch there staring at him in such a way? For this question he could find no reasonable answer. Had the man attacked him it would have been altogether different. He would have drawn the automatic he carried and, if necessary, used it. But he hardly felt justified in shooting at a man for nothing more than staring at him, or possibly trying to scare him.

  This state of affairs persisted for about three minutes, although to Ginger it seemed longer. But by the end of that time he had had enough of it, and determined to end the matter one way or the other. Quite slowly he drew his pistol, and taking aim at the face, said loudly, in English: ‘Come out of that.’

  The result of this order exceeded anything he expected. The face disappeared. There was a crashing in the undergrowth. Running forward Ginger was just in time to see a dirty yellow sarong, caught in round the waist with a blue sash, disappearing into the bushes. He did not follow. For some minutes he could hear the crashing, growing ever fainter, proceeding down the hill towards the sea which here and there could be discerned through gaps in the trees. Wondering at this strange adventure he abandoned his original idea of climbing to the top of the knoll; instead, he returned to the lake, to find Biggles, Li Chi and Ayert, in conversation outside the sawmill.

  Biggles glanced at him casually, but then looked quickly back at him again. ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked, looking hard at Ginger’s face.

  ‘I’ve been for a stroll,’ replied Ginger.

  ‘What happened, you look pale?’

  ‘I had a funny adventure,’ said Ginger, smiling sheepishly, for now he was back on safe ground the incident seemed trivial. ‘As I walked up the hill I saw a face staring at me from the bushes. The owner of it may have been friendly, but if looks could cut a throat, he would have cut mine.’

  Li Chi spoke sharply. ‘Did you see this man?’

  ‘Not exactly. All I can say is that his face seemed lighter in colour than most of those I’ve seen here. When I went towards him he bolted. He wore an old yellow sarong and blue sash.’

  Li Chi looked at Ayert. Ayert looked at his master.

  ‘You know this fellow, I see?’ murmured Biggles.

  Li Chi drew a deep breath. ‘Yes, we know him. His name is Pamboo – at least, that’s what everyone calls him. Just what his nationality is I don’t know, but one of his parents must have been European. That does not matter, but he is a bad character – an incorrigible. He came to me first a long time ago, asking for work. He admitted that he had been in prison at Singapore, but I cared little about that. I took him on. Later, I learned that he was, as you say, a real bad hat, a thief and
a murderer. Among other exploits, while working on a rubber plantation he had killed an overseer. I began to think about this when things started to disappear. I set a trap, and we discovered that this rascal was the culprit. That was after we came here. After warning him several times, for none of my men are what you would call angels, I ordered him to be flogged – that is the way we deal with a thief in this part of the world. After the punishment was administered he feigned sickness, with the result that his guards relaxed their vigilance and he escaped into the jungle where, although a search has been made for him, he remains in hiding. If he could do us an injury he would seize the chance, although he has little hope of that here. Still, it would be a good thing if we could catch him.’ Turning to Ginger, Li Chi concluded, ‘Would you mind showing Ayert where you saw this rascal? He might be able to track him.’

  Ginger having expressed willingness to do this they set off, leaving Biggles and Li Chi to proceed with their planning.

  By the time Ginger and his companion had arrived at the spot where the incident had occurred the sun was low over the horizon, and the light was beginning to fade. However, Ayert soon picked up the fugitive’s tracks, and with his drawn parang in his hand followed them down the hill until they were within sound of the murmur of the sea. And there, suddenly, Ayert stopped. He pointed out across the placid strait that separated the island from the mainland. ‘Look, tuan,’1 said he. ‘He escapes us.’

  There was no need for Ginger to ask Ayert to explain. Two miles away, a mere speck on the lonely sea, a canoe was being paddled swiftly towards the mainland.

  ‘Can we get another boat and follow him?’ queried Ginger.

  Ayert held up five fingers. ‘Soon – five minute – dark. No moon. No catchee.’

  ‘In that case we may as well go home,’ replied Ginger, more disturbed in his mind than he cared to admit. Pamboo had seen white men on Elephant Island. No doubt he’d seen the aircraft. He had fled to the mainland, not only to escape, but perhaps to sell his information to the Japanese. It was not difficult to predict what the result would be.

  Deep in thought Ginger followed his companion through the silent jungle back to the camp.

  1 Malay: sir.

  CHAPTER 5

  BIGGLES MAKES A RECONNAISSANCE

  BIGGLES RECEIVED GINGER’S news about the escape of Pamboo with concern; Li Chi with anger.

  ‘I do not understand how he could have got a canoe,’ said Li Chi.

  Ayert gave it as his opinion that the man had already been to the mainland since his escape from Li Chi’s custody. He asserted that the craft in which Pamboo had fled was a prahu, not one of which was to be found on Elephant Island. ‘How did he get it?’ went on Ayert, his one good eye glaring. ‘When he run away he sit along beach. Bimeby comes Salones with kabang. They not know he bad man. They think he Li Chi man. They sail him across strait to kampong. Pamboo go to Tamashoa. Tamashoa send him back in prahu to spy. He come. See white man. Go back now to Tamashoa.’

  Li Chi explained to Biggles and Ginger that Salones were a tribe of inoffensive travellers, sea gipsies who wandered from island to island in the boats in which they lived, called kabangs. The kampong to which Ayert had referred was the local name for a village. Thus, what Ayert had meant to convey was, that Pamboo, when he had escaped, had managed to get the sea gipsies to give him a lift to the mainland, where he had reported to the Japanese commander. Tamashoa had sent him back in a prahu, a native canoe, to watch Li Chi’s movements. ‘Pamboo, by the way, is Malayan for snake,’ concluded Li Chi. ‘The fellow is well-named.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘If Ayert is right it boils down to this, Tamashoa knows you are here. Very soon he will know that a British aircraft has landed here, although he won’t know for what purpose.’

  ‘I think so,’ agreed Li Chi.

  ‘Tamashoa will also have been told that the sawmill is working, cutting planks,’ continued Biggles.

  ‘True, but he will think the planks are for the purpose for which I originally intended them – to enable me to build a new junk.’

  ‘Even so, he is not likely to let you get away with that,’ averred Biggles.

  Li Chi admitted that it was unlikely.

  ‘You know the workings of the eastern mind better than we do,’ alleged Biggles. ‘What do you think Tamashoa will do?’

  Li Chi considered the question for a moment before he answered. ‘He will wait a little while to lull us into the belief that he knows nothing, hoping that our vigilance will relax. Then he will make a sudden attack, hoping to take us by surprise. He will burn the sawmill and the planks, and, if he can, take prisoners, who for his amusement he will torture to death. I fear our plan is likely to be put out of joint unless we can get the rubber away before he strikes – or, of course, unless we can think of some plan to outwit him.’

  ‘It looks as though we shall have to do some serious thinking,’ observed Biggles. ‘How about moving to another island?’

  ‘To move the rubber and the rest of my property would require many boats which we do not possess; and even if we had them the boats would be seen by Japanese patrols.’

  Biggles tapped a cigarette thoughtfully on the back of his hand. ‘It seems certain that we shall not be left here in peace for very long.’

  ‘Of that we may be sure,’ agreed Li Chi imperturbably.

  ‘Then the thing is to get the rubber away before Tamashoa comes across.’

  ‘That is all we can do.’

  ‘What a hope we’ve got,’ put in Ginger. ‘It will be a week before we start operating.’

  ‘Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless what?’

  Biggles looked at Li Chi. ‘What about this Major Marling you were telling us about? You say he has rubber hidden on his plantation, which is buried away in the Burmese jungle. Instead of his rubber being brought here in small quantities wouldn’t it be better if we flew direct to his plantation and collected it – that is, if we could find some sort of landing ground?’

  ‘No doubt it would be better – if there was a landing ground.’

  ‘What sort of country is it? Is it flat . . . open?’

  ‘There are flat places near the river – the paddy fields, where rice is grown.’

  ‘I feel inclined to go and have a look at this place and have a word with Major Marling,’ said Biggles thoughtfully. ‘It would do no harm anyway.’

  ‘You could not fly there for there is no landing ground,’ Li Chi pointed out. ‘Even the river, the Pak Chan, at its headwaters, is choked with weeds, except for a narrow channel made by canoes. And the river winds very much.’

  ‘Could we go by boat?’

  ‘Yes. A kabang borrowed from the Salones could go up the river without attracting much attention or suspicion. Kabangs are always moving about.’

  ‘How long would the trip take?’

  ‘The distance from here is about sixty miles – fifty miles up the river. The outward journey, against the current, would take not less than fifteen or sixteen hours even with a fair wind to fill our sail across the strait. The return trip, travelling with the stream, could be done in less time. But I doubt if Major Marling would receive you. He is a strange man.’

  ‘You could give me a letter of introduction.’

  ‘It would be better if I went with you,’ offered Li Chi. ‘Now that I have got the men started here the work could go on without me.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ declared Biggles. ‘But we can’t go until Algy comes back. That should be tomorrow. We must tell him what has happened, and what we propose doing about it.’

  ‘Of course,’ concurred Li Chi.

  ‘Let’s think it over,’ decided Biggles. ‘There’s nothing more we can do at present – except that you might see about getting hold of a kabang.’

  This Li Chi promised to do, and since darkness had put an end to outdoor activities they walked back to the bungalow for the evening meal, after which the discussion was resumed until bedtime, without any change being mad
e in the main plan.

  Dawn the following day found work on the floating airfield in full swing, every available man lending a willing hand in the task of rolling the logs down to the water, where they were lashed together with rattans, a plentiful supply of which was available in the adjacent jungle. The logs, as they were placed in position, were covered with brushwood. Biggles and Ginger supervised the erection of a covered shelter over a tiny bay to house the Gosling when it returned, and to conceal it from enemy eyes. Ayert went off to find a party of sea gipsies and arrange for the hire of their kabang.

  Work had not been long in progress when confirmation of their suspicions, that Pamboo had gone over to the Japanese, was provided by the arrival of an enemy aircraft – a Mitsubishi naval flying-boat. The noise of the engine gave warning of its approach. The natives, having received instructions from Li Chi, dropped what they were doing and vanished into the convenient jungle. The engine in the sawmill was stopped, so that by the time the aircraft was overhead not a sign of life was to be seen. With a significance which Biggles did not fail to notice, the machine flew a straight course from the mainland to Elephant Island, and, moreover, flew direct to the lake. It then made six short flights from north to south, moving a mile or two westward each time, which told the watching airmen what the pilot was doing as if he himself had made the announcement for their benefit.

  ‘Photographic reconnaissance,’ murmured Biggles, as the plane made off eastward. ‘He exposed at least a dozen plates, covering the whole area. In a little while no doubt Tamashoa will be going over the pictures with a magnifying glass to ascertain if Pamboo has told the truth. I don’t think he’ll see very much, but this gives us fair warning to watch our step.’

  As soon as the machine had disappeared from sight, work was resumed, and continued without further interruption until lunch time, when the drone of an aero engine, this time approaching from the west, caused a second stoppage. But it was brief, for looking out from cover Biggles and Ginger saw the Gosling skimming low towards the rendezvous. In a few minutes it was on the lake, taxi-ing towards its newly erected hangar. As soon as it had been safely moored Algy and Bertie got out to report an uneventful trip. They had brought paint, brushes and nails, all that were immediately available. Further supplies were being collected, reported Algy, and could be fetched the following day. What they had brought would do to be going on with.