Biggles and the Dark Intruder

by W E Johns

  He walked over, and after a quick glance returned. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he announced. ‘I believe all these old pits are by law supposed to be fenced, but not all of them are. I wonder they didn’t clear all this junk away. They’ve even left some of the old wire rope hanging down the shaft, to encourage any kids coming this way to play games and break their necks. Confound this rain. Why didn’t we have the sense to bring macs? We look like getting our shirts wet.’

  ‘We didn’t bring macs because when we started it didn’t look as if we should need them,’ Biggles pointed out. ‘The shepherd must have seen what was coming and put his on. Can you see what he’s doing? We don’t want any trouble with that vicious-looking hound of his.’

  Bertie stood on a mound of bricks and looked over the wall. ‘He’s coming this way. Bringing the sheep here, I suppose.’

  ‘How far away is he?’

  ‘About a hundred yards.’

  ‘I have a hunch he’s coming to see what we’re doing. Keep an eye on him.’

  Biggles got up and strode quickly to the old shaft. He considered it for a minute then walked closer to the remains of the pithead gear. He reached out and touched something, then walked back to Bertie.

  Hardly had he resumed his seat, and before he could say anything, sheep were pouring in through the gateway, followed by the shepherd and his dog. The man pulled the hurdles together. The dog stopped, bristling, when it saw the two men already there.

  Biggles got up. ‘I’m afraid I’ve taken your seat,’ he called cheerfully. ‘We came in to shelter from the rain.’

  ‘You can sit,’ the man replied gruffly, and then stood leaning on his crook.

  Bertie, standing in the open, held out his hands palms upward. ‘The rain’s about finished. No more than a drizzle now. The sun’s blinking through already.’

  ‘In that case we might as well get back to the road before another storm blows up,’ Biggles said, vacating his seat.

  They walked out of the place, the dog snarling at them as they passed.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Bertie, replacing the hurdle he had moved to enable them to get out.

  ‘Like I said, back to the road,’ answered Biggles. As they strode on through the wet heather Biggles added, ‘I think we’ve learned enough here, as much as we shall learn today, anyway.’

  ‘Well, what do you make of it?’ inquired Bertie, as they made for the nearest point of the road. ‘I still think there’s something fishy about that nasty-tempered dog.’

  ‘The dog isn’t the only fishy thing there,’ returned Biggles dryly.

  Bertie looked at him sharply. ‘Ah! You spotted something.’

  ‘Too true. Fasten your safety belt because this going to shake you.’ Biggles held out his right hand, was black.

  Bertie stared. ‘What the deuce is that?’

  ‘Oil, laddie, oil. O — I — L. Don’t stop. Keep walking. And don’t look back.’

  CHAPTER 6

  SINISTER DEVELOPMENTS

  FOR a moment Bertie said nothing. He whistled softly. Then he muttered, ‘I say, old boy, that’s a bit of a boneshaker. Where was it?’

  ‘On the gears of that winding tackle. That mine is still being used. You don’t grease gear wheels that are never likely to be used again.’

  ‘Our shepherd pal must know all about it.’

  ‘Of course he knows. He knows plenty. I’d make a bet he knows who shot Constable Harley. I’d also bet he’s watching us at this moment. That’s why he’s there. There’s no other practical reason.’

  ‘The sheep are a blind, eh?’

  ‘That’s how it looks to me. And I’ll tell you something else. He isn’t alone.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because one man alone couldn’t lower himself into the mine. It would need at least two men, one to work the winding gear while the other goes down.’

  ‘Stiffen the crows!’ breathed Bertie. ‘This certainly is a corker.’

  ‘We haven’t wasted our time.’

  ‘Have you any idea of what the mine is being for?’

  ‘Not the remotest. How could I have? But it’s obviously being used for something crooked; something worth while, too, judging from the trouble that has been taken to get the place organized. Don’t talk for a minute. I want to think about this while it’s fresh in my mind.’

  Nothing more was said until they reached the road. Cars and other vehicles were passing in both directions but their own was not among them. ‘We may have to wait a bit so we might as well sit down,’ Biggles said, sinking into the heathery verge. He lit a cigarette before he went on. ‘We’ve done a good morning’s work, and for the moment I’m content with that.’

  ‘What’s our next move?’

  ‘Frankly, I don’t know. It’ll need some serious thought. The thing bristles with difficulties. Naturally, I’d like to have a closer look at those ruins, but I don’t see how we can go back there in daylight. That fellow watching the place can’t suspect what we’re doing — not yet. But if he sees us there again, unless he’s slow on the uptake — and I wouldn’t care to gamble on that — it would be a different matter. What excuse have we got for going there? If you can think of a plausible reason I’d be glad to hear it.’

  Bertie polished his eyeglass. ‘Sorry, but that’s got me beat.’

  Biggles resumed. ‘It seems to me we’re in some danger of getting two cases tangled up. The intruder and the murdered constable. It may well be that there’s a connection between them; but until we get evidence to support that, we’d better stick to what brought us here in the first place. This damned intruder aircraft. The first question we have to ask ourselves, before we do any more scouting on the spot, is this. Assuming that shepherd is a guard, a sort of watch dog, does he live on the job, in the ruins or possibly down the mine, or does he knock off and go home somewhere? That’s important.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem much point in him being there all the time,’ offered Bertie. ‘He’ll be there when he’s wanted.’

  ‘Another question. Does this old mine belong to somebody who is actually still working it? No doubt the police could tell us that, or find out; but if we go to them we may start something. I’d rather work on my own unless it becomes impossible. I could go on asking questions for some time, but I see Ginger coming so they can wait till we get back to the hotel.’ Biggles stood up.

  For the benefit of the shepherd, who may have been watching, they made a business of thumbing a lift. The car slowed. Stopped. They got in. Ginger drove on. ‘Any luck?’ he inquired.

  ‘Not too bad. We might have done worse,’ answered Biggles, who was sitting next to him. ‘Pull into the side of the road and stop at the next dip. I’ve a little job for you.’

  Ginger obeyed.

  Biggles went on. ‘You know we came here to have a look at what we thought might be a landing strip. We’ve done that. I haven’t time now to tell you what happened, but not far beyond the end of the burnt heather; there’s a pile of ruins. A disused mine — or that’s what it looks like. Something’s going on there. We don’t know what. I hope to find out. When we left the place a few minutes ago there was a man there with a dog and some sheep. What I want you to do is stay here and watch if the man leaves. If he does, note where he goes. Lie in the heather so you can’t be seen. Careful of the dog if he comes near you. Here, you’ll need the binoculars. Don’t let the sun flash on the lenses. I’ll leave you my haversack. You may do with the sandwiches. There’s no need for us all to stay here. It would mean leaving a stationary car on the road. I’ll dash into Bodmin with Bertie for some lunch and come back to relieve you in, say, a couple of hours. Okay?’

  ‘I get it.’ Ginger got out, taking the binoculars and the haversack.

  Biggles slipped into the driving seat and Bertie got in beside him. ‘See you shortly,’ he said, and drove on.

  ‘In case you’re wondering why I’m doing this,’ he went on presently to Bertie, ‘I have a feeling that phoney sheph
erd is a key man in whatever is going on here, so the first thing to find out is where he goes when he leaves here. He knows us by sight, so we don’t want to be seen hanging about here. He’d wonder what we were doing. Ginger doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Bertie. ‘I’m with you.’

  ‘The devil of it is we can’t go back to those old workings — anyway, not in daylight — without the shepherd getting suspicious. We might do some scouting after dark but that would be a tricky business. What we really want to know is, does that fellow live on his job or does he go somewhere to eat and sleep? If he stays where we saw him then obviously he must have some means of subsistence. That’s why I’ve left Ginger there to watch.’ Biggles, who was driving only at cruising speed, waved on a car trying to overtake.

  ‘If he’s living there it could only be down the mine or we’d have seen more than we did.’

  ‘That might be the answer.’

  ‘If he’s anything to do with our intruder he’d certainly have to be on the spot when the plane is expected.’

  ‘Not necessarily. His job might be merely to check on anyone prowling about the place — as he did on us this morning. He wasn’t long giving us the once-over; at least, I can think of no other reason for his behaviour. It’s reasonable to suppose he’d be about when the plane was expected. But that introduces another factor. He would have to know when the plane was due. How does he know? I don’t see how there could be a regular timetable because operations would be subject to weather conditions. Someone, somewhere, must have contact with the pilot of that plane. It would be no use him coming over if the moor was under fog, and that’s a common occurrence here.’

  ‘I see no reason why the shepherd, or someone else at the mine, shouldn’t be in touch with the plane by radio,’ Bertie said.

  ‘I was thinking on those lines. But where’s the equipment? I didn’t notice an aerial. But I wouldn’t expect to. If one was seen by a person wandering on the moor it would look a bit out of place and perhaps start inquiries.’

  ‘An aerial needn’t be left out all day,’ Bertie pointed out. ‘Nobody would see it at night, the time it would be needed. It could be inside what’s left of that old chimney stack.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Biggles. ‘You may have something there.’ He grinned. ‘Jolly good. This seems to be one of your really bright days. Full marks. I feel we ought to have a closer look at that chimney stack. But how? When? It would have to be at night. Carry on. You’re doing fine. Tell me something else.’

  Bertie smiled. ‘Thanks, old boy. There must be something in the atmosphere here that gets the old grey matter ticking. Sorry, but I’m afraid that’s the lot for the moment. I’ll let you know if another brainwave hits me.’

  Arriving at the hotel they parked the car, went in, and still discussing the case had lunch. They then went back to the car and returned to where they had left Ginger. They couldn’t see him, but a whistle brought him up from some deep heather in which he had been lying.

  ‘Well, have you seen anything?’ questioned Biggles.

  ‘Not a thing. If a man was in those ruins when you left them he must still be there,’ declared Ginger. ‘No one has come out since I’ve been here.’

  Biggles looked surprised. ‘Great grief! He must get bored with sitting there hour after hour with only a bunch of sheep for company.’ With a change of voice he went on sharply: ‘Wait a minute. Have you been asleep?’

  Ginger blinked. ‘What do you mean — have I been to sleep?’

  ‘What I say. Lying in the sun you didn’t by any chance find yourself dozing?’

  ‘I most certainly did not,’ declared Ginger indignantly. ‘Why ask such a question?’

  ‘Because if I can’t see the man out on the moor, going somewhere, there must be something wrong with my eyes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Close on half a mile from the ruins, making for the road.’

  ‘All I can say is, he didn’t come out of those ruins,’ asserted Ginger trenchantly.

  ‘Give me those glasses.’

  Ginger handed them over.

  Biggles focused them on the distant figure. ‘Yes, that’s our man all right,’ he stated, looking at Ginger suspiciously.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ protested Ginger. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where he’s suddenly popped up from but I’d take my oath he didn’t come out of those ruins.’

  ‘Where else could he have come from?’

  ‘Easy on the oars, chaps,’ put in Bertie. ‘I may have the answer to that one. I remember reading in a book, a long time ago, that these early miners made a point of having an emergency exit, a spare hole to get out of, so to speak, in case the bally roof caved in, as in those days it sometimes did. The spare hole also created a draught to let in some fresh air to the poor blighters sweating away with their picks and shovels down below. That sort of thing, if you see what I’m getting at. There may be more than one way of getting in and out of this mine we’ve got our eyes on.’

  ‘I suppose that could be the answer,’ conceded Biggles, thoughtfully. ‘The possibility didn’t occur to me.’

  ‘If that’s the man you saw it’s the only answer, because he didn’t come out of the ruins you told me to watch,’ insisted Ginger vehemently.

  ‘Okay — okay. I’ll take your word for it. But if there is a spare hole, as Bertie calls it, where is it? Work that one out.’

  ‘You work it out yourself,’ challenged Ginger. ‘You can see everything I can see.’

  By this time the man they had been watching had passed out of sight behind some rising ground not far short of the road.

  ‘Are you sure it’s the same man?’ said Ginger.

  ‘Almost certain; but I must admit he was some distance off. We can soon settle that. He must be nearly to the road by now. Bertie, nip along in the car and have a look at him. Try not to let him see your face. We’ll wait here.’

  Bertie drove off at high speed. He was away only a few minutes. He returned in a skidding stop and jumped out. ‘No use,’ he announced. ‘He isn’t there.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘Not a sign of him. All I could see was a car in the distance going the other way.’

  ‘So that’s it,’ muttered Biggles. ‘Someone must have been waiting and picked him up, That’s a pity. We missed a chance.’

  ‘Always supposing he was the man we’re watching,’ Ginger said. ‘What about the dog? He hadn’t got one with him.’

  ‘No. Now you mention it, he hadn’t.’ Even Biggles began to look doubtful. ‘There’s only one way to settle this,’ he decided. ‘If that wasn’t our man then he must still be at the ruins. Bertie, run Ginger into Bodmin for some lunch. I’ll keep watch here. If nobody has come out of the ruins by the time you get back Ginger can walk across and have a look inside. Our smart shepherd has never seen him so it won’t matter if they bump into each other.’

  This being agreed, Bertie departed, taking Ginger with him.

  Biggles made himself comfortable in the heather and with his back to the road settled down to watch the landscape in front of him, paying particular attention, of course, to the ruin. He lit a cigarette and reflected on the unusual problem he had set out to solve. The facts, such as they were, were meagre, but there was plenty of room for conjecture. There were, he saw, two problems involved, the murdered constable and the intruding aircraft. Did they overlap? It was a possibility that could not be ruled out, although the one did nothing to help the other. Indeed, they were likely to cause confusion unless they were considered separately.

  Time passed. Nothing happened. To the frequent passers-by nothing could have looked more quiet and peaceful, or innocent, than the open moor.

  The sun was well down when the car returned.

  ‘Anything doing?’ inquired Bertie as he jumped out.

  ‘Not a thing,’ Biggles went on, somewhat gloomily: ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we aren’t trying to build up a little fl
imsy evidence to fit what we came here to find. If that shepherd has really gone we may be wasting our time. If he’s still in the ruins what can he be doing all this time? It’s time we settled the thing one way or the other. Ginger, do you feel like a walk?’

  ‘Suits me.’

  ‘Fine. Then stroll across and see if there’s anyone in those ruins. Don’t go direct. Make a detour as if you’re not making for anywhere in particular. Carry on past the burnt heather and have a look inside the old mine workings as you pass them. Watch out for the dog. As far as we know it’s still there. It’s a bad-tempered brute, although I shouldn’t say that, if it’s only doing what it’s been trained to do.’

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ Bertie asked.

  ‘Well, I see it like this,’ returned Biggles. ‘If we’re thinking on the right lines, if the shepherd isn’t there it’s unlikely our intruder friend will be over tonight. If he is there, then the plane may come.’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ said Bertie.

  ‘Shan’t be long,’ put in Ginger. ‘If I don’t get a move on it’ll be dark before I get back.’ He departed on his errand.

  Biggles and Bertie could see him until he reached the burnt strip and turned in the direction of the old mine. After that, what with the failing light, and a tenuous mist that was beginning to form now the sun had gone, they lost sight of him. They could only wait.

  When nearly an hour had passed and Ginger had not returned Biggles said, perhaps a little irritably: ‘What can he be doing? He should be back by now. I’m getting worried. I shouldn’t have let him go alone. Anything could happen out there in the dark.’

  ‘Maybe he’s found something,’ suggested Bertie, optimistically.

  ‘If he has, I only hope it isn’t more than we bargained for,’ returned Biggles grimly.

  Bertie got up. ‘I’d better put on the sidelights or move the car off the road. We don’t want anyone bumping into us. This mist, now it’s nearly dark, could make driving a bit tricky.’ Turning towards the car he stopped, rigid. ‘What’s that?’