Biggles' Second Case

by W E Johns

  Algy opened the cockpit cover and stood up. ‘Who are you?’ he shouted.

  ‘Sailors,’ was the answer, spoken in English with a pronounced foreign accent. ‘Norwegian sailors.’

  ‘Good Lord! They must be part of the crew of the whaler,’ declared Bertie.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ answered Algy. ‘All the same, keep your gun handy in case it’s a trap.’ He taxied on, slowly, until he was almost within touching distance of the ice. ‘Who speaks English?’ he inquired.

  A tall young fellow with blue eyes and long flaxen hair held up a hand. ‘I speak,’ he announced.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ demanded Algy.

  ‘I am Axel Prinz. We are sailors from Norwegian whaling ship,’ was the answer. ‘Our ship is taken by submarine pirates. She goes away and we are left on ice.’

  In view of what he knew Algy found this explanation so feasible that he hesitated no longer. He threw a line ashore. As soon as it was caught and held, followed by Bertie he stepped on to the ice.

  It did not take the Norwegian who spoke English very long to tell his story. In effect, it amounted to this. With rifles and binoculars he and his four companions had gone off in a small boat to hunt for seals on the floes. This was three days ago. While they were some distance from their ship they had seen an astonishing sight. A submarine had appeared. It had fired a shot at the whaler, forcing the ship to heave-to. The whaler had then been boarded by men from the submarine. There was shooting. Bodies, or what from a distance looked like bodies, had been thrown overboard. Then the submarine and the whaler had sailed away together. That was all.

  The five men, unable to do anything, had been left behind, and they had, in fact, abandoned all hope of being picked up when they heard the drone of the aircraft. What the submarine was doing — indeed, what the whole affair was about — they had not the remotest idea.

  Algy, sympathising with their plight, told them as much as he thought necessary. While not divulging its purpose in those waters he explained that the submarine was a Nazi raider. He also told of the discovery of the two dead Norwegians on Kerguelen Island, information which was received by the sailors with sorrow and anger.

  ‘But the war is over!’ cried a grizzled old man, who evidently could speak some English.

  ‘There are still Nazis who do not think so,’ answered Algy.

  ‘Pah! These Nazis!’ The old man spat his contempt.

  ‘I say, you know, what are we going to do with these chaps?’ Bertie asked Algy.

  ‘Obviously, we can’t leave them here,’ replied Algy. ‘The only thing we can do is take them to Kerguelen. They’ll be all right there until a ship comes to take them off.’

  ‘Where’s your boat?’ Algy asked Axel, looking round for it.

  ‘It was crushed in ice during the fog, or we should have tried to reach Kerguelen,’ was the answer.

  ‘Have you seen anything more of the submarine or the whaler since they went off?’ asked Algy, on the off-chance that they had. ‘I ask because we’ve lost some members of our party, too,’ he added.

  To his surprise Axel had a lot more to say about this than he expected. In fact the conclusion of the young Norwegian’s story threw a new light on the entire situation. He asserted that on the previous evening the whaler was observed coming back. They thought, naturally, that it was coming to pick them up. Then a fog had blotted out the scene. Soon afterwards an aeroplane was heard in the distance. The engines stopped and they thought it had landed. Later the fog lifted for a little while, and through the binoculars they saw the whaler again. It was a long way off. They watched it lower a boat, which went to a nearby iceberg. They could not see what happened on the ‘berg, but presently a great cloud of smoke went up as if a big fire had been lit. The boat was returning to the whaler when the fog came down again and they saw no more.

  To this enlightening recital Algy and Bertie listened with mixed emotions of relief and consternation. ‘Things are not as bad as we thought, but they’re bad enough,’ said Algy to Bertie. ‘The whole thing is plain enough now. Biggles went to Corbie. The machine was hit by gunfire and came down near the ice. The Nazis on the whaler spotted it. They picked up Biggles and Ginger, set fire to the machine and went off.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain the blood,’ Bertie pointed out.

  ‘There must have been fighting, and I can well understand that,’ said Algy. ‘The question is, where has the whaler taken them?’

  ‘To meet von Schonbeck, I should say,’ answered Algy. ‘That means Corbie Island, unless they have a rendezvous on the open sea, which doesn’t strike me as very likely.’

  Bertie looked worried. ‘But I say, old boy, what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘That will need thinking about,’ returned Algy. ‘It looks as if my hunch about Corbie Island is right. That’s where we shall finish up, I fancy, sooner or later. But the first thing is to get these chaps to Kerguelen. They must be in need of a hot meal.’

  ‘It’s going to be a bit of a squash, if we try to pack them in for one hop,’ opined Bertie dubiously.

  ‘We can manage it,’ declared Algy. ‘We haven’t far to go. Let’s get them aboard. There’s no point in hanging about here any longer. We’ll keep an eye open for the whaler as we go. We shall need more petrol in the tank before we start anything.’

  The Norwegians were squeezed into the machine. Squeezed is the only word. But the machine had plenty of reserve power, and once in the air made no difficulty of its extra load.

  On the run to Kerguelen, Algy devoted his attention to the problem that now confronted him. He knew that strictly speaking Biggles would wish him to proceed with the original quest, regardless of personal considerations. This, eventually, he was prepared to do, but for the moment he had no intention of ignoring Biggles’ predicament. That, in his heart, came first. The gold could wait. If Biggles and the gold could be collected together, and this he thought was just within the bounds of possibility, so well and good. The first place to explore, he decided, was Corbie Island, but it was now clear that if the whaler or the submarine was there, a direct landing and a frontal attack was out of the question.

  Still, there were other ways, and by the time he had put the machine down at its Kerguelen base he had well turned them over in his mind.

  In the hut he put the matter before Bertie and his new allies, whom he felt were now personally concerned in the affair in that they had comrades to avenge and a ship to recover. He talked while the Norwegians consumed a satisfying meal, prepared by one of their party who happened to be the whaler’s cook.

  Algy announced his intention of visiting Corbie Island. It would be rash, if not futile, he asserted, to attempt this in daylight; but it might be done at night. The island was several miles long so it should be possible to affect a landing without being seen or heard. There would be a long walk to the cove which he suspected was the anchorage used by the submarine, but that couldn’t be avoided.

  Axel now made a statement which made it clear that the Norwegians were likely to be more helpful than Algy had supposed. In the first place they knew Corbie Island quite well, having landed there several times on previous voyages for fresh water and the wild cabbages that grew there. And they still had the guns which they had taken with them on their sealing expedition. So it seemed that they would be useful both as guides and as fighting allies. Not only were they willing to take part in an expedition, but they were burning to go, to redress their wrongs. This suited Algy very well and he expressed his satisfaction.

  ‘All right,’ he concluded. ‘You fellows have a rest and a clean up while I’m getting the machine ready. We’ll start at sundown, weather permitting.’

  CHAPTER XI

  Cut and Thrust

  Biggles and Ginger, from their cabin prison in the whaler, had seen plenty to occupy their minds and provide them with subjects for conversation. A great noise of hammering and banging came from the submarine, and a party of men coul
d be seen working in a cradle slung over the stern. Others worked from a small boat, evidently part of the U-boat’s equipment.

  ‘It looks as if I got a near miss close to her rudder, which may have affected her steering gear,’ said Biggles thoughtfully.

  The next thing that happened was the warping of the whaler flush against a low cliff; where she was quickly and cleverly camouflaged with netting of a nature and colour which called from Biggles a remark that it must have been specially designed for the locality.

  ‘The Germans always were thorough in little things,’ he observed, with grudging admiration. ‘This is a really clever job. Von Schonbeck is taking no chances. We’re well covered against air reconnaissance — and so, I see, is the submarine. It would take a wizard to see anything here except rock and water.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a good thing for us,’ said Ginger. ‘We should look silly if Algy came over, spotted the whaler or the submarine, and handed out a couple of depth-charges.’

  ‘Algy may come, but unless von Schonbeck is fool enough to reveal his position by opening fire, I doubt he will see us,’ returned Biggles.

  ‘You don’t think von Schonbeck will open fire?’ queried Ginger.

  ‘Not unless he has reason to suppose that he has been spotted. There isn’t much point in hiding a target and then giving the position away by taking offensive action. If von Schonbeck is half as clever as he is reputed to be he won’t make that blunder.’

  Confirmation of this was soon provided. The drone of aero engines announced the approach of an aircraft, which those in the cabin knew could only be their reserve machine.

  ‘Here comes Algy,’ said Biggles quietly. ‘We shall soon see how it goes.’

  On the submarine, in response to a whistle, all movement ceased after the workers had dived for cover. The aircraft came on. All remained still. Gulls drifted languidly over the scene. The aircraft circled, and at length disappeared from the vision of the watchers. Its receding drone told them that it was retiring.

  ‘They didn’t spot us,’ said Biggles. ‘If they had they would have hung around for a bit, even if they didn’t take action.’

  The work on the submarine was resumed. The day wore on. Later, a parade of men was held on a level area of rock. Both von Schonbeck and Thom were present. Some of the men were issued with picks and shovels. Biggles counted fifteen men in all. ‘I wonder what all this is about?’ he questioned, as the party, after turning with military precision, marched off and was soon lost to sight.

  More time passed. Work on the submarine was continued. The prisoners were served with a plain meal. Biggles continued to watch through the porthole. Suddenly he gave a low whistle. ‘Take a look at this,’ he invited.

  Ginger, who was reclining on a bunk, joined him, and saw four men staggering along carrying an oblong wooden box obviously of considerable weight. It was deposited on a rock near the submarine’s conning tower.

  ‘What the deuce is it?’ queried Ginger.

  ‘I’ll give you two guesses — and you ought to be right each time,’ answered Biggles. ‘The picks and shovels should have told us what was afoot.’

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ muttered Ginger.

  ‘Have you forgotten what brought von Schonbeck here — and us, too, if it comes to that?’

  Enlightenment dawned in Ginger’s eyes. He drew a deep breath. ‘The gold!’ he burst out.

  ‘That’s a bullion box those fellows are carrying,’ Biggles told him.

  ‘They’re digging it out and getting ready to load up.’

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ agreed Biggles.

  ‘And we’re stuck here and can’t do anything about it.’

  Not a thing,’ agreed Biggles again. ‘Here comes another lot.’

  A second party of four men came into sight carrying a box similar to the first. The original four were on their way back. As the two parties passed some joke was evidently exchanged, for there was laughing.

  ‘They seem to be happy,’ growled Ginger.

  ‘So would anyone be with five million pounds to spend,’ said Biggles, smiling.

  ‘You seem to be taking all this pretty lightly,’ remarked Ginger, looking hard at Biggles.

  Biggles shrugged. ‘Moaning won’t get us anywhere, will it? The sub still has a long way to go.’

  The work ashore proceeded without hitch, both on the submarine and with the transportation of the gold. The stack of boxes near the U-boat grew steadily in size. Eventually, von Schonbeck and Thom reappeared.

  ‘I should say that’s the lot,’ said Biggles.

  Towards evening there was a further burst of activity. The cradle over the submarine’s stern was drawn up and the camouflage removed. After everything had been made shipshape von Schonbeck and Thom went aboard.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Ginger. ‘Don’t tell me they’re going to move off?’

  ‘The gold is still ashore. They wouldn’t be likely to go without it,’ answered Biggles dryly.

  Soon afterwards the meaning of this latest manoeuvre was made clear. The U-boat’s engines were started and the vessel moved out to open water. One or two turns were made, after which she returned to her mooring.

  ‘They’ve tested her,’ said Biggles. ‘Apparently she’s all right.’

  ‘Which means she’ll push off.’

  ‘Not necessarily. They’ve got to load and stow that gold, and that will take some time. By the time they’ve done that it will be dark. Of course, von Schonbeck may decide to go right away, but on the other hand he may prefer to wait for daylight before taking his ship through that narrow channel to the open sea. He’s got the whaler to dispose of, anyway. I don’t suppose he’ll leave it here.’

  Nightfall put an end to further observation. When darkness closed in the gold was still lying on the rock, which, as Biggles remarked, tended to confirm his opinion that von Schonbeck intended to wait for morning before taking his ship out to the open sea. And the fact that only a sailor came to the cabin, bringing more food for the prisoners, supported this view.

  ‘Yes, it looks as though they’re going to spend another night here,’ asserted Biggles. ‘That suits us as well as anything. It gives us a bit more time, anyway.’

  ‘A bit more time for what?’

  ‘Oh — anything,’ said Biggles nonchalantly.

  ‘You think Algy might come back?’

  Biggles considered the question. ‘He might. We’ve no real reason for supposing that he will, though. And even if he does it’s hard to see what he can do.’

  ‘That’s cheerful,’ muttered Ginger.

  ‘Unfortunately, my lad, it’s the truth — and it’s always as well to face up to facts. Dawn tomorrow will be zero hour — as far as we’re concerned, anyway.’

  After that they fell silent. There was nothing they could do except lie on their bunks.

  After a while, Biggles’ steady breathing told Ginger that he was asleep.

  At some time he, too, must have fallen asleep, although just when that happened he could not remember; but he was awakened by heavy footsteps outside the door, and the turning of the handle.

  Biggles, who was already up, threw him a glance. ‘This, I should say, is it,’ he said quietly.

  The door was opened and Thom, an expression of malevolent satisfaction on his face, stood on the threshold. He beckoned to Biggles with a peremptory finger. ‘Come,’ he ordered.

  Ginger, thinking naturally that he was included in this invitation, moved towards the door; but with a harsh ‘I did not say you,’ Thom thrust him back with unnecessary violence.

  Anger tightened Ginger’s lips and set his nostrils quivering; but Biggles caught his eye and shook his head so slightly that the movement was almost imperceptible. ‘Put your hackles down,’ he said softly. ‘It won’t help matters. So long — in case.’

  With that Biggles was bundled out of the cabin. The door was slammed and locked, leaving Ginger alone inside. He strode to the porthole, through which the bleak
grey light of dawn was filtering.

  Biggles realised that he was being taken ashore, to von Schonbeck, for the interview which had been promised; and the reception that awaited him as he stepped ashore near the U-boat left him in no doubt as to the finality of its nature. The gold boxes, he noted, were no longer there. In their place stood a file of six sailors who eyed the prisoner with hostile curiosity. Each man carried a rifle and wore a cartridge belt. At a short distance von Schonbeck was waiting, legs apart, service cap at a jaunty angle, a cigar between his teeth, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his short blue coat. Biggles smiled cynically, realising that he had been marched past what was obviously a firing party for no other purpose than intimidation.

  ‘We are about to move off,’ greeted von Schonbeck affably. ‘Have you considered my proposition?’

  ‘There was nothing to consider,’ returned Biggles briefly.

  The Nazi’s expression did not change. He tapped the ash from his cigar. ‘I am trying to give you a chance for your life,’ he announced.

  Biggles raised his eyebrows. ‘I should never have guessed it.’

  ‘I mean what I say.’

  Biggles shook his head sadly. ‘Even if I could accept the word of a Nazi — and the events of the war have shown what a flimsy thing that is — I would tell you nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘Go ahead. Do what you like. The only thing I have to say to you, von Schonbeck, is this. You still have a long way to go.’

  ‘It may be that your young friend could be more easily persuaded,’ said von Schonbeck thoughtfully.

  ‘Try, if you like, but I think you’d be wasting your time,’ opined Biggles.

  ‘Ah well.’ Von Schonbeck sighed – or pretended to sigh. ‘You British always did have a reputation for being pig-headed. You’ll see where that will get you at the end.’

  ‘Your own methods during the war can hardly be described as overwhelmingly successful,’ returned Biggles, a suspicion of a sneer creeping into his voice.