The roar of motors brought Lavinsky and most of his
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crew to the rail of the Svelt, but they remained passive spectators as the aircraft swept across the snow field and into the air.
Visibility had improved somewhat, Ginger was relieved to find, but it was without success that he stared towards the north in the hope of seeing the reserve machine approaching. The old camp was at once in view, and Biggles cruised towards it while Ginger went into the wireless compartment and sent a signal which he hoped would be picked up by Algy. This occupied only a few minutes, after which Biggles put the machine down without mishap, taxi-ing on and finally switching off close to the tent, which, with its contents, remained exactly as it had been left. Grimy attended to the skis while the Skipper melted snow for water to make tea. Biggles and Ginger employed themselves in marking out a landing T with old pieces of packing, and soon had a good black smoke rising from some oily rags.
The reserve machine arrived about ten minutes later. It circled once, losing height, and then came in to a smooth landing. Grimy took some more boards and slipped them under the skis. Presently Algy and Bertie climbed down and joined the party waiting for them on the ground.
"Here, I say, I hope you blighters haven't been keeping all the fun for yourselves,"
greeted Bertie. "Bit of a bind, sitting on that windy island with absolutely nothing to do."
"We haven't had much fun so far," Biggles told him. "Gather round and grab a cup of tea while I give you the gen. And just remember we've got both machines here now, so if anything comes unstuck there's no one to take us off."
"Why bring that up?" complained Bertie. "I was trying to forget it."
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"What's that ship I noticed a mile or two along?" queried Algy.
"If you'll listen instead of asking questions I'll tell you all about it," replied Biggles.
Then, over mugs of steaming, tea he narrated all that had happened since their arrival on the White Continent. "That's how things stand at present," he concluded. "If anyone has a bright idea I'd be glad to hear it."
No one answered for a little while. Then Bertie, who had been polishing his eyeglass thoughtfully, remarked: "Deuced awkward—what?"
"I was hoping you'd appreciate that aspect," answered Biggles, with gentle sarcasm.
"Absolutely—absolutely," agreed Bertie. "I'm all for getting after the jolly old gold. It's not every day a fella gets a chance to pick it up a ton at a time—no, by gad."
"By the time you've picked up half of it you'll wish you'd never seen it," promised Biggles. "You two can have a rest and a cigarette while I have a look round. I'm making it a rule until we go for good that only one machine is in the air at a time, just in case of accidents, so don't go off on your own while I'm away. I'll take Ginger with me because he's the only one who has seen the particular piece of ice we're looking for."
"Is there anything I can do?" asked the Skipper.
"Yes. You and Grimy can take turns watching the enemy camp. I don't think they'll try anything, but we should look silly if they did, and found us with no one on guard. There's a bit of a ridge a couple of hundred yards away; you can get a good view from the top of it."
The Skipper nodded.. "Aye—aye. I know the one." Biggles glanced round the sky. "The weather's still improving so let's go while the going's good."
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Within five minutes of the machine leaving the ground there occurred two events so unexpected that Ginger wondered for a moment if they could be true. Neither was really remarkable, being in the natural order of things, but they were startling in their unexpectedness. Whether or not Biggles thought they would find the gold Ginger did not know, but. he himself took such a poor view of their chances that he did not even make a pretence of enthusiasm. Nor did he think seriously that the weather was improving. The temporary lifting of the cloud he took to be a mere passing phase, such as had occurred before. He was amazed therefore—not to say delighted—when, as if a curtain had been drawn aside, the cloud layer dispersed, leaving a flat mauve sky. The effect on the landscape was almost unbekvable. Visibility, from a few hundred yards, jumped to several miles. Ahead and on either side lay the deep blue water of the polar sea, dotted with a thousand glittering bergs and spreading floes. Astern stretched to the unknown hinterland of the White Continent, its southern horizon pierced by scores of mountains as yet unnamed, some rising to a tremendous height. As a spectacle, a spectacle that few men had seen, it was breath-taking.
Biggles' only remark was : "That's better, now we can see what we're doing."
But this was only a beginning. Happening to glance down, quite idly, a particular floe on account of its shape caught Ginger's eye, and held it. In an incredulous voice he shouted:
"There it is!"
Biggles looked at him. "There what is?" he inquired. "The floe we're looking for."
Biggles astonishment was expressed in a frown. "Are you sure?"
"Certain."
"Where is it?"
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Ginger pointed. "That's it."
"You're quite sure about it?"
"Well
" Ginger's eyes swept over the scores of
floes visible from his altitude. There were, he noticed, several of similar shape, as the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle are similar, yet different. "I'm pretty certain it's the one," he declared. "It's worth having a closer look at it, anyway."
Biggles put the machine into a gentle turn, slowly losing height, while Ginger made a closer scrutiny of the floe. He could not see the stick, but that was hardly to be expected, because he realised that from his position above it, it would be foreshortened. And the ice-field was nearer to the shore than he had supposed it would be—less than a mile, he estimated. But the shape was right. Several other floes, presumably held by the same current, were close to it. Seaward, there was a wide stretch of open water. Beyond that again more floes were piling up in a wide arc; but these, he thought, were too far away to come within the same sphere of influence as the piece on which he had gone adrift.
"Take her a bit lower," he requested. "A side view may give me a sight of the stick. That'
s the only thing I can be really sure about."
Biggles glided down towards the floe in question, lower and still lower, to flatten out eventually at about fifty feet. He then flew the whole length of the floe.
Suddenly Ginger let out a yell. "That's it!" he shouted. "I can see the stick. What a slice of cake."
Biggles smiled. "That's fine We were about due to strike something easy for a change.
Can you get an idea which way it's drifting."
Ginger stared down for a minute or two. "No," he said at last. "I don't think it's possible to tell from topsides; our own movement is too fast."
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"So I imagine," returned Biggles. "No matter. We'll go back. We shall be able to watch the ice from camp. We'll take a line on it from there. Keep your eyes on it or we may find ourselves watching the wrong one. I'm going in."
"I won't lose sight of it, you can bet your life on that," asserted Ginger warmly, as Biggles turned for home. Nor did he. Even when the aircraft landed his eyes were still on what must have been the most valuable piece of ice ever to float on the surface of the sea.
"What's the matter?" asked Algy, as they jumped down. "I thought you'd be some time."
"So did I," answered Biggles. "But it happens we've found the objective took off straight over it. As soon as the sky cleared Ginger spotted it right away. If the sun will stay put and Lavinsky keep his distance the rest should be easy."
"What are you going to do?" asked Algy.
"For the moment, nothing—nothing, that is, except watch that lump of ice to ascertain definitely which way it's drifting. A lot will depend on that."
"Why not launch the jolly old dinghy—if you see what I mean," suggested Bertie.
"And do what?"
"Bring home the boodle."
"H
ave a heart," protested Biggles. "How long do you suppose it would take us to fetch the stuff a bar at a time? The dinghy wouldn't carry more. That floe is a mile away. Of course, if the worst comes to the worst we shall have to try it, but I don't relish the job. If that floe is drifting back towards the main pack, and I have an idea it is, if we have a little patience it will come to us. That will be a lot easier than fetching it—and safer. I'm not much for putting to sea on a piece of
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inflated rubber at the best of times. To spring a leak in this particular ditch wouldn't be funny."
"Too true, old boy, too true. I'm with you there, absolutely," declared Bertie. "I like my water warm."
"You'd find this definitely chilly," said Biggles grimly, as he picked up two trail sticks and arranged them in line with the floe. This done he sat behind the inner one, took a line through the other, and remained motionless for several minutes. "It's coming in," he announced, when at last he got up. "I'll take another sight in a quarter of an hour. That should give us a rough idea of the rate of drift. This northerly breeze should help it.
Meanwhile, we can occupy the time by having something to eat."
XII
LAVINSKY SHOWS HIS HAND
BY the end of half an hour, which had been occupied with eating a meal more satisfying than savoury, it was evident that the floe carrying the gold was moving steadily towards the shore. The rate of drift was slow, but, Biggles thought, increasing under the influence of a rising breeze, which, fortunately, came from the right direction. The effect of this could be heard as well as seen, for there was an almost constant grinding and crunching of ice as the floes piled up together when their further progress was barred by the main ice shelf. The danger of employing the dinghy, or any craft for that matter, was now apparent.
"Lavinsky must be a fool, or else the gold has sent 120
him stark raving mad," asserted the Skipper once, as he watched with professional eyes the great masses of ice coming in. "If that wind veers a point or two, and moves all that loose ice his way, he's had it, as you boys would say."
"Well, I hope it doesn't," said Biggles. "Because if it does, and he loses his ship, we shall be expected to take him home."
Biggles, too, had been watching the movement of the ice closely, and presently gave his opinion that the particular floe in which they were interested would, if its direction was maintained, come up against the ice-shelf not far from where they were waiting. There was some talk of trying to hoist a sail on the floe to hasten its progress; but the suggestion was not made seriously and was soon dismissed as impracticable. There was, therefore, nothing they could do except possess themselves in patience while they waited for the gold to come to them.
Lavinsky's movements were not ignored. Owing to the improved visibility it was now possible from the ridge near the camp to see the Svelt. Through binoculars it was also possible to see men moving about on the ice, some of them at a considerable distance from the ship. What they were doing, Biggles said he neither knew nor cared, as long as they kept out of the way. He supposed they were making a search either for the gold or the deranged Swede, who, Lavinsky may have thought, could tell them where it was. But when the report of a distant gunshot came through the crystal atmosphere Biggles frowned. "What was that, I wonder," he muttered.
"Probably shooting a seal," answered the Skipper. "Those fellows would kill anything for the sheer pleasure of doing it."
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"Perhaps you're right," murmured Biggles, without conviction.
With irritating tardiness the floe crept nearer to the camp. With the air of the glasses it was now possible to see not only Ginger's stick, but the slight hump of snow under which the gold lay hidden out of sight. Biggles sat on a packing case, smoking, until the nearest point of the ice was no more than a hundred yards distant; then he tossed the end of his cigarette aside and got up.
"We shan't be long now," he remarked cheerfully. "I've been thinking," he went on. "I'm going to load the reserve machine first. As soon as you've got a fair load aboard, Algy, you can fly it back to the Falklands. You'll be empty except for the gold so you can take most of it. I'll follow you with the remainder and bring everyone back with me. There's no need for you to hang about here waiting for us."
"Good enough," agreed Algy. "I think it's a good idea."
The floe drifted nearer, and the whole party—with the exception of Grimy who was on guard at the ridge—went to the edge of the ice-shelf to wait for it. It could now be observed that the flat piece of ice, as well as drifting shoreward was also slowly turning, so that in the end it was the narrow part of the floe that first made contact with the mainland. Actually, this did not matter. It simply meant that .they would have to walk a little farther to reach the gold. But as Biggles remarked, they had no cause for complaint; they were lucky that the floe had come ashore as close to the camp as it had.
At this stage of the proceedings Grimy returned at a run from his post to report that Lavinsky and six of his men were approaching.
Biggles sighed. "They would choose this moment to 122
come," he muttered. "We'd better not let them see what we're doing. We shall probably have trouble anyway, but we'll avoid it as long as we can. Don't let them see that we've any interest in that slice of ice or we might as well tell them what's on it."
He sat down again on his packing case and lit a cigarette.
Lavinsky and his companions topped the ridge and came straight on to the camp, the leader a little in advance of the others. His expression was hostile, and when he opened the conversation he wasted no time in preamble. "Where's that gold?" he demanded peremptorily.
Biggles regarded the speaker dispassionately. "What leads you to suppose that I know where it is?"
"I happen to know you know."
Biggles' eyebrows went up. "So what?" he inquired. "What are you getting excited about, anyhow? The gold isn't yours."
"It will be."
"What you mean is, you hope it will be," corrected Biggles. "There's a difference," he added.
"You said you hadn't got it," rapped out Lavinsky. "Perfectly true—I haven't."
"That's a lie."
Biggles smiled sadly. "You're not such a smart guy after all, Lavinsky. If I'd got the gold what do you suppose I'd be doing here—sunbathing?"
Lavinsky hesitated, probably because the truth of Biggles' sarcastic observation was obvious. "What have you done with it?" he challenged.
Biggles regarded him with a frown of disapproval. "Who do you think you are that you can come into my camp and start slinging questions about? And what do you think I am that I should be likely to answer them?
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I'm trying to be patient with you, Lavinsky, but you're not making it easy. I'm the accredited agent of the British Government. Get that into your thick skull for a start. If anyone here has a right to ask questions it's me. As it happens there's no need. I know who you are and what we're doing here. I also know what happened on your last trip."
"And I know you've got the gold," almost spat Lavinsky.
"What makes you so sure of that?" asked Biggles curiously.
"Larsen told me. He watched you move it."
"Ah! So you've found him?"
"Of course I found him."
"The man's mad."
"Not so mad that he didn't watch you find the gold and take it away."
"Ile seems to have recovered somewhat since I last saw him," murmured Biggles.
found a way to bring him to his senses."
"Indeed?" Biggles' eyes narrowed. "And just how did you achieve that?"
"Mind your own business."
"This happens to be my business," retorted Biggles, with iron in his voice. "You were responsible for his condition in the first place by abandoning him here. The least you can do now is get him home, although he'd probably be safer with me. Are you going to take him or shall I?"
"Bah! There's no need to worry about him."
&
nbsp; "Just what do you mean by that?" asked Biggles suspiciously.
Lavinsky's lips parted as if to answer, but he checked himself. "If you want him you can have him," he sneered.
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"Had that gun shot I heard just now anything to do with him?" inquired Biggles, in an ominously brittle voice.
"Could have been."
"Now you mark my words. Lavinsky," said Biggles icily. "The man was ill. You knew it.
If you've injured him I'll see you pay for it. If you've killed him, then I'll do my best to see that you hang for it. Maybe you think you can get away with murder in a place like this. Well, you can't, as you'll discover in good time. Now get out of my camp before I throw you out."
Lavinsky's manner changed, although for what reason was not immediately apparent. "
All right, all right," he muttered sulkily. "That sort of talk won't get us anywhere."
"I'll get you to the gallows if I have my way," promised Biggles caustically.
Lavinsky's mollified tone was explained by his next suggestion. "Look here, I'll tell you what I'll do," said he. "Gold's as useful to you as it is to me. You give me half of it and I'
ll clear out. You can have the rest. You can get a long way on half a ton of gold. That's fair enough, isn't it?"
"Your idea of fairness, Lavinsky, would make me laugh if the sight of you didn't make me feel sick," answered Biggles contemptuously. "I wouldn't give you one ounce even if I had it, which I haven't. Larsen was right when he saw us move it. Didn't he tell you where we put it?"
"Yes. He said you piled it up on the ice," said Lavinsky eagerly.
"Didn't he tell you what happened to it after that?" "No."
"Would you like me to tell you?" Biggles seemed slightly amused.
"Sure."
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"It's still there."
"What—where you put it?" Lavinsky's voice almost cracked with incredulity.
"You mean—in the same place?"
"Well, not exactly," 'answered Biggles. "Larsen should have told you the rest of the story; but maybe he didn't know it. Anyway, as he didn't tell you, I will. And the only reason I'm telling you is to bring this futile argument to an end. I left a man on guard over the gold while I went off to fetch my machine. When I came back he wasn't there.
36 Biggles Breaks The Silence Page 11