36 Biggles Breaks The Silence

by Captain W E Johns

  He sat down again, staring in the only direction from which deliverance could come.

  Biggles by this time would be looking for him, wondering what had become of him. He tried shouting, but in the vastness the sound seemed a mere bleat, flat and futile. Even the skuas, with their high pitched note, could make more noise than that, he reflected bitterly. He sprang to his feet again as from the far distance came a faint pop. Could it have been a shot? Taking his pistol again he fired it in the direction from which the sound had come and then listened breath-92

  lessly for a reply. It did not come. He could have thrown his weapon into the sea from very impotence. No wonder Larsen had gone out of his mind in such a place where even a pistol seemed unable to make its usual healthy explosion.

  A feeling of utter futility grew on him. It seemed to be getting colder, too, and in order to keep his circulation going he had to stamp about and buff his arms. His breath hung in the air like smoke. If only the weather would clear, he thought petulantly, as he paced up and down, stamping his feet. Even the weather was against him, although he did not lose sight of the fact that it might easily be worse. But in clear weather Biggles might still be able to see him from the shore. From the air, when Biggles took off to look for him, as he would, he would be spotted at once. Algy would soon be coming, too. There was a chance that he might see him—but not in this dismal gloom.

  Time wore on. Ginger was deadly tired but he dare not rest. Apart from being buried under snow should there be another storm, or becoming frozen in his sleep, he might miss something, perhaps an attempt at rescue. All the same, with the visibility factor so low he did not think Biggles would risk flying low over the open sea for fear of colliding with one of the big bergs which, even on a clear day, were not always easy to see. To fly high would be useless.

  For a long time, it seemed, Ginger paced up and down the ice, sometimes resting on the heap of gold, staring into space, striving to probe with his eyes the intangible barrier that surrounded him on all sides. And while he sat thus, brooding on the little things which make all the difference between life and death, the deceitful atmosphere played on him another trick. He saw a ship. He closed his eyes for a moment and looked again. It was 93

  still there. He could see it distinctly. A minute earlier it had not been there, he was sure of that. Now it was as large as life, as the saying goes, clear in every detail. What sort of phenomenon was this, he wondered? Could there be such a thing as a mirage in polar waters; such as he had seen in the deserts of Arabia? Or was this the beginning of madness?

  For a little while yet he sat still, unable to believe his eyes—or if the truth must be told, not daring to believe them. But when he saw men moving on the deck and the throb of an engine reached his ears he knew that a miracle had happened. A ship was there. A real ship. Springing to his feet he let out a wild yell.

  That it had been heard he knew at once from the way the men stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Their amazement, he thought, as the vessel turned slowly towards him, would be no less than his.

  It may seem odd that the possible identity of the craft did not occur to him; but it must be remembered that, situated as he was, with a miserable fate confronting him, the gold and everything to do with it had for all practical purposes ceased to exist. He assumed, naturally, that the ship was one of those whalers or sealers which on rare occasions penetrated to the southern extremity of the open water in search of prey. Apart from that, his one overwhelming emotion was thankfulness that by a chance little short of miraculous he was saved. He could have shouted from sheer relief. Instead, he held himself in hand, and stood calmly awaiting deliverance.

  But when his eyes .wandered idly to the bows of the ship and he read the name Svelt his exuberance died abruptly. Even then it took him a moment or two to recall the association of the word and realise its full significance. Svelt. Lavinsky's ship. So that was it. Of course.

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  What a fool he had been not to guess it at once. Not that it would have made much difference. He would still have welcomed it. He would have welcomed any craft.

  Anything was better than dying slowly on a floating island of ice.

  Then he remembered the gold. What should he do about it? He had to think quickly because the Svelt was now swinging round to come alongside the ice, and a man was already standing ready to throw him a line. His brain worked swiftly. Lavinsky must not suspect the incredible truth—that the little hump of snow behind him covered the thing he had come to fetch.

  Knowing something of Lavinsky's character, Ginger saw clearly that if the man realised the gold was there his respite would be shortlived. There would be no question of sharing it, or anything like that. Lavinsky would take the gold and probably knock him on the head as the easiest way of disposing of an undesirable witness. This done he would simply turn round and sail home in triumph, while Biggles would for ever after be in ignorance of what had happened. The thing, obviously, was to say nothing. The gold would have to take its chance. It was not for him to jeopardise his life by mentioning it.

  Lavinsky, no doubt, would go on to the ice-pack and proceed with his search. There, sooner or later, he would run into Biggles. He, Ginger, would then tell Biggles what had happened, and leave him to deal with the newcomers. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the gold was pretty well covered with snow. Under the pretext of stretching his legs as if to relieve stiffness he kicked a little more snow over the one or two places where it had been brushed off by his garments. One thing was quite certain, he thought whimsically. However well endowed with imagination Lavinsky might be, he would hardly expect to find the gold where it actually was—floating 95

  on the high seas on a slab of ice.

  The ship felt its way alongside. A rope came swishing across the ice. Grabbing it, Ginger allowed himself to be hauled up to the deck, where he found himself facing a semi-circle of curious spectators. The men, a hard-looking lot, appeared all the tougher from the heavy garments they wore against the cold. Most wore balaclava helmets. Some were obviously Asiatics.

  The first question put was the obvious one. A man in a greasy blue jacket and peaked cap stood a little in front of the others. Ginger guessed it was Lavinsky. He was not a big man. His face was pale, thin, and carried prominent cheek-bones that suggested Slav ancestry. His eyes, set close together, were cold and grey, and held a calculating quality which provided a good indication of his character. He looked at Ginger as though he might have been a freak, although in the circumstances this was understandable.

  "Where have you come from?" he asked in English which, while good, held a curious accent.

  "From the pack-ice," replied Ginger, noting with satisfaction that the ship was now edging away from the floe.

  "What were you doing there?"

  "Exploring."

  "What's the name of your ship?"

  "I haven't got a ship," answered Ginger. "I'm a member of a British air exploration party.

  I was sitting near the edge of the ice, resting while the others were away, when the part I was on broke off and went adrift. By the time I'd realised it I was too far out to get back.

  There was nothing I could do about it. The plane was away on a flight. I heard it come back but I couldn't make the crew hear me. I'd just about given up hope when you appeared."

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  "Huh! I reckon you were kinda lucky," observed the man cynically.

  Ginger agreed. But the man's next question shook him.

  "I reckon," said he, slowly, "you're a member of the party that found the ship."

  Ginger's astonishment was genuine. "Ship," he echoed. "What ship?"

  "We've got radio," was the sneering answer. "A little while ago we picked up a message from someone saying the ship had been found."

  Then, of course, Ginger understood what had happened. Biggles had sent a signal to Algy and the Svelt had intercepted it. There could hardly be two exploring parties on the polar ice so Lavinsky knew who
he was. In any case there seemed to be no reason why he should not stick to the truth. "Yes," he agreeed. "There is an old hulk fast in the ice near our camp. If you happen to land there you'd better keep clear of it though."

  The man's manner changed. "Why?"

  "Because there's a madman in it," answered Ginger casually. "By the way, who am I talking to?"

  "My name's Lavinsky and I'm the master of this ship. What's this about a madman?"

  "When we went to have a look at the wreck, not expecting to find anybody on board, we had a shock when somebody slung an axe at us. Then he started howling. I got a glimpse of him—a biggish fellow with red hair."

  Lavinsky spun round to face his crew. "Red hair. You heard that? I reckon we know who he is, boys. So that's where he went. Well, I guess we can deal with him." Speaking again to Ginger, Lavinsky went on: "Did you get into the ship?"

  Ginger smiled ruefully."I was in it for about three minutes. Then I caught sight of an eye watching me

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  through the ice so I went out again in a hurry."

  Lavinsky hesitated, and Ginger knew why. The question of paramount importance was now to come, but Lavinsky was loath to show his hand. In the end he had to—more or less.

  "Was there anything—er--valuable, in this old hulk?" he enquired.

  It was a tense moment. Ginger could almost feel the entire crew hanging on his answer. "

  What do you mean by valuable?" he parried.

  "Gold, for instance." Lavinsky spoke as if he could not bear to wait a moment longer.

  "I shouldn't think there's any gold in that ship," answered Ginger, smiling faintly. "I'm pretty sure there isn't," he went on. "If there is, as far as I'm concerned you can have it all." In the circumstances, considering the character of his interrogator, he felt that such dissemblement was justified.

  "We'll go and see," said Lavinsky. "You'd better get below."

  "Thanks," acknowledged Ginger, feeling that however dangerous his position might be now, his prospects of survival were brighter than they had been half an hour earlier.

  X

  A SHOCK FOR BIGGLES

  MEANWHILE, while Ginger was having his lonely adven-

  ture on the high seas, Biggles was standing by the aircraft, completely at a loss for once to know what to do. It was another piece of ice, quite a small piece, breaking 98

  away from the main ice-field, that in the end provided the solution to the mystery of Ginger's disappearance. He realised then what must have happened and he was angry with himself for not thinking of it at once. Like all problems, when the answer became available it seemed so simple.

  His first inclination was to get back into the machine and make a search of the open water; and no doubt in his anxiety he would have done so, had not the Skipper pointed out two factors that counselled prudence. In the first place there was no clear indication of the size of the piece of ice that had broken away, carrying Ginger with it, for in the business of transporting the gold no one had paid much attention to the water line at that point. Had it been only a small piece, the Skipper asserted, the weight of the gold, if it happened to be on one side, might have been sufficient to overturn it. Even if the floe did not overturn, said the Skipper it might have taken on a list at such an angle as to cause Ginger and the gold to slide off. Secondly, visibility was bad, and showed little sign of improving. With big bergs about, low flying, as would be necessary if the flight was to serve any useful purpose, would be little less of suicidal. Why not wait a little while to give visibility a chance to improve, suggested the Skipper. The clouds overhead might pass. If Ginger was in fact adrift on a piece of ice another hour would make little difference to the actual situation. A mile or two, one way or the other, could not vitally affect issue.

  This was sound reasoning and Biggles was the first to admit it. What he realised, too, even better than the Skipper, was this; once he lost sight of his position, in such a poor light it might not be easy to find again. The landing, too, would be an added risk, not to be ignored. It was not as if only his own life was at stake. There was 99

  the Skipper and Grimy to be considered. Whether he took them with him in the machine, or left them on the ice, he would be subjecting them to risks which were manifestly unfair—at an rate, unless there was absolutely no alternative. As the Skipper put it there was an alternative. He would wait a little while to see if the weather improved.

  Lighting a cigarette while he thought the matter over, new difficulties presented themselves. Suppose he did find Ginger, what could he do about it? The floe would have to be a very big one for him to land on it. If he couldn't land, how was he to pick him up?

  If he located him, the only way of getting to him would be by means of the rubber dinghy. He then considered launching the dinghy anyway, and again it was the Skipper who pointed out the inadvisability of such a course. To paddle about haphazard amongst the ice-floes would, he alleged, be sheer madness. It would only need two small pieces of ice to close in on such a frail craft and the dinghy would be lost, and their lives with it. It would be better, he argued, to save it until they could see what they were doing.

  Again Biggles was forced to agree that this argument made sense, yet it went against the grain to just stand there doing nothing.

  Ginger was not Biggles' only worry. By this time Algy and Bertie would be on their way.

  They would expect him to be on hand, not only to reveal his position but to indicate a safe place for them to land. This in itself, in the present weather conditions, would be a serious operation. Obviously, brooded Biggles, he couldn't be in two places at once. If he went out to look for Ginger, and was still out when the reserve machine arrived, the lives of Algy and Bertie would be jeopardised. Yet by staying where he was he felt he was 100

  abandoning Ginger. However, in the end he did nothing. Leaning against the machine he smoked cigarette after cigarette to steady his nervous impatience, all the time watching the sky for the first sign of an improvement. Out on the open water ice-floes growled and splintered. Sometimes a piece of ice would drift past. He watched a floe go by.

  "The experts are right," he remarked presently. "The general drift is a bit north of east.

  That means that this stuff is drifting past our old camp, and if the direction is maintained the ice may pile up against the Graham Peninsula."

  "That's about it," confirmed the Skipper. "If the ice drifts that way so does everything else. I've often seen bergs carrying rock sand stones which the ice must have torn from the land in shoal water. It must all end up in the same place."

  "We'll remember that when we start searching," said Biggles. He looked up. "Is it my fancy or is the cloud lifting a bit?"

  "Aye, she's lifting," agreed the Skipper. He glanced around. "I can't help wondering what Larsen has done with himself. Funny where he went to."

  "He's probably watching us from a distance," replied Biggles. "There's nobody more cunning than a fellow out of his mind. The gold is his particular mania, of course. When he discovers that it's gone he's liable to do anything, so we'd better keep our eyes open. I think we might have a snack and a cup of tea. By the time we've finished, if the weather continues to improve it should be good enough for a reconnaisance. Anyway, whatever it's doing I'm going to look for Ginger. We can't leave him out there. Get the kettle boiling, Grimy."

  Half an hour later the weather was no longer in doubt.

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  It had improved considerably. The sky was clearing, due possibly to a fall in the thermometer.

  "I'll tell you one thing," observed the Skipper. "There's going to be a cracking frost to-night."

  "It can do what it likes as long as it stays clear," answered Biggles, who, now that he could do something, was feeling better. "Grimy, you'll stay here and get a good smudge fire going," he ordered, as he moved towards the aircraft. Having reached it, he paused for a last look round, for it was now possible to see for some distance. Looking out to sea, to his unbounded am
azement he saw a ship creeping through the floating ice towards the main shelf. It was in a very curious voice that he said: "Skipper, come here. Can you see what I see?"

  The Skipper, who had been on the far side of the machine, joined him. "Aye," he said slowly. "I can see more than you can. I know that ship. I ought to, considering the time I'

  ve put in on her bridge. It's the Svelt. Looks as if Lavinsky's arrived "

  "That's what I thought," returned Biggles evenly. "This alters things—alters them considerably."

  "What are you going to do about it?" enquired the Skipper, a hint of urgency about his tone.

  "Do? Nothing."

  "They're a tough lot."

  "I've met tough people before "

  "Well, I reckon we ought to do something," asserted the Skipper. "If you suppose we can all settle down nice and friendly on the same piece of ice you've got another think coming. It would be easier to settle down with a pack of wolves. Lavinsky's bad—real bad."

  "What do you suggest we do—run away?"

  "Well no, not exactly."

  "I should think not," returned Biggles frostily. "We'll wait here and see what they have to say. They're head-102

  ing this way because they must have seen the machine. They haven't done anything to us yet, so we'll give them the benefit of the doubt. If Lavinsky starts making a nuisance of himself he'll find I can be awkward, too."

  "But you can't take on that bunch," declared the Skipper. "If Lavinsky's got the same crew, and I reckon he has, there'll be a score of 'em."

  "Numbers aren't everything," returned Biggles quietly. "I've met that sort before. They're never as smart as they think they are. And anyway, Lavinsky has as much right to be here as we have, so long as he behaves himself. If we tried to stop him landing, and he made a complaint, we might find ourselves legally in the wrong. If there's going to be a rough house we'll let him start it. I'm by no means sure he will though. His only concern is the gold, so he'll probably be all right until he discovers it's gone. My main concern is Ginger. I may ask Lavinsky to turn his ship round to look for him. The Svelt would be a much better vehicle for the job than an aircraft." J