53 Biggles Chinese Puzzle

by Captain W E Johns

  Actually, by the clock on the instrument panel, he was away less than half an hour; but even that can seem an eternity when there is a likelihood of any second being the last.

  The trouble was, the Rock was not true rock, but soft tufa of volcanic origin that crumbled away in Biggles's hand when he tried to climb to the split just above his head in order to get at the clay.

  Once he started a minor avalanche and looked like going with it into the sea, from which wreaths of steam were beginning to coil. The flimsy tufa floated like pumice-stone, which it would become when it hardened. To Algy's concern it floated out to the Sunderland, for he wondered what effect it would have on the keel if he had to take off in a hurry.

  However, Biggles finally achieved his object, and with the canister under his arm slid back to the dinghy.

  Beads of perspiration broke out on Ginger's fore-head as he watched, for it was obviously going to be touch and go. The rumblings were ominous.

  More and more thick grey scum came floating up from the sea bed to swirl, smoking, on the surface. More than once, on his Way back, Biggles had to clear a passage through it with his paddle.

  Sulphur reeked, and the others could see him coughing.

  Even before he reached the aircraft the Rock had resumed its slow slide to oblivion. The vortex slowed the dinghy, and at one time looked like dragging it back. Then Bertie threw a line; Biggles caught it, and the sluggish little craft was dragged in. Biggles scrambled aboard. 'Abandon the dinghy,' he panted. `Get off,' he told Algy.

  But the scum was now so thick that there could be no question of taking off through it.

  All Algy could do was force a passage in the manner of an ice-breaker.

  But the stuff cleared as they got farther from the danger zone, and to the the great relief of everyone the Sunderland bellowed its way into the atmosphere.

  Looking back, Ginger could no longer see Gull Rock.

  'By gosh! You were only just in time,' he told Biggles. 'She's gone.'

  'Best thing that could happen,' declared Biggles mopping his streaming face. 'No one else will be tempted to come to this stinking place. You might fetch me a bowl of water.

  I'd feel better for a wash.'

  The Sunderland droned on, its bows towards the mainland.

  4

  THE FLYING CRUSADERS

  OUTSIDE the Air Police Operations Headquarters a summer sun glinted on the polished surfaces of sundry aircraft parked on the concrete apron.

  Through them, cap in hand, walked Air Constable Algy Lacey after a routine test flight. 'Seems a pity to spend a day like this fiddling with filing cabinets,' he observed, striding into the office where Air Constables 'Ginger' Hebblethwaite and `Bertie' Lissie were working on index cards.

  'You can all go down to the country for the week-end if you like,'

  offered Biggles from his desk, where he was dealing with the morning mail. 'I may take a run out myself.'

  'And do what?' inquired Ginger.

  Biggles smiled. 'We could have a busman's holiday by looking at some of the bamboo and piano-wire contraptions in which people staggered into the atmosphere before instruments were invented.'

  'Where's this?' inquired Ginger. 'I've always wanted to fly a bird-cage.'

  `Mancroft Castle. Sir Giles Mancroft was one of the very early pioneers.

  When he got too old for the game

  he spent his money — too much, it seems, since he's having to sell up —

  making a collection of the early types of aircraft. He kept them in flying trim, too. I have an invitation to the auction on Saturday. Seems a pity to have to break up what must be a unique aviation museum.

  Incidentally, I see the sale includes the Flying Crusader, the machine in which, with a bit of luck, Sir Giles might have been first across the Channel. I seem to remember there was some trouble about that machine a few years ago, but I forget the details. I must look them up. I have a note here, too, from a fellow named Smithers who used to be one of my mechanics in the war. He says he now works with Sir Giles and wants to see me. Presumably his visit has something to do with the sale. I hope he doesn't expect me to buy these old crates.'

  Biggles' fears were not realized, for some time later, when Smithers arrived, it was soon clear that his journey had been prompted by motives altogether different. 'Seeing that you're coming to the auction, sir, and hearing you were in the Air Police, I took a chance that you might be able to help me,' he explained.

  'How did you know I was going to the auction?'

  'I posted the invitations and saw your name on one,' admitted Smithers frankly.

  'And in what way can I help you?'

  'By clearing my father's name. With the old Crusader being sold it'll be the last chance.'

  'Suppose you sit down and tell us about it,' suggested Biggles.

  'Well, sir, you must understand that there are two Flying Crusaders — or there were,'

  began the ex-airman. 'One is a 'plane and the other is a picture. No doubt one was called after the other. But I'd better warn you right away that the business that I'm going to tell you about, in which they were both involved, takes a bit of believing now.

  You'll wonder, as I do sometimes, why this and that wasn't done at the time; but the war started bang in the middle of the affair and the police had something else to do; for which reason, I suppose, the case was soon dropped and hardly mentioned in the papers. The first Flying Crusader was a picture presented to one of Sir Giles' ancestors by the Tsar of Russia at the time of the Crusades. It shows a knight in armour on a winged horse. It was quite small, but as it was painted by the most famous artist of the time I reckon it would be worth something today; enough to save Sir Giles having to sell the estate, if he could get it back.'

  'Where is the picture now?' inquired Biggles.

  'That's what we'd like to know,' answered Smithers sadly. 'It disappeared in circumstances that really cost my father his life.'

  'How did that come about?'

  'It was like this, sir. It happened at a house-party just two days before the war. Sir Giles gave the party to people interested in aviation to show off the old machines. One of the guests was an American named Silberman, who claimed to have been in the famous Escadrille Lafayette, the American squadron that fought for France in the early days of the first war. According to him at the inquiry this is what happened.'

  'Your father was employed by Sir Giles I take it?' 'Yes, sir, first as a mechanic and afterwards as his butler.'

  'I see. Go on.'

  'Silberman said that after he had gone to bed he found he had left his cigarette case in the library and went down to get it. The first thing he saw was that the Flying Crusader picture had been cut out of its frame.

  The window over-looking the park was open. From it he saw a light moving near the canvas hangars in which the old aircraft were housed. Thinking it might be the thief he ran down and caught the man, who turned out to be my father. According to Silberman my father attacked him. There was a fight, and that part was true, because not only did it end in my father being so terribly knocked about that he never recovered, but Silberman himself was in hospital for some time. A gamekeeper heard the noise and rushed in to find my father on the ground, and Silberman leaning against the old Crusader ; which is why I think the 'plane had something to do with it. They were both carried off to hospital.'

  'Do I understand your father died without saying what happened?'

  'Yes, sir. He had a head injury and never fully re-covered consciousness up to the time he died a week or two later. All he could do was mutter something about the Flying Crusader. Of course, he wouldn't think of taking the picture. What made things look bad for him was, he was one of the few people who knew about the treasure supposed to be linked up with the painting. There was an old legend in the family that the picture was actually the key to a treasure which the first Sir Giles was supposed to have brought back from Russia. My father often suggested to the present Sir Giles that
they took the picture out of the frame to have a closer look; but he wouldn't do anything about it. He'd just laugh and say the story was a lot of romantic nonsense.'see,' said Biggles slowly. 'What was your father supposed to be doing in the hangar when Silberman caught him there?'

  'It was suggested that he was about to make off with the picture. To me that didn't make sense, but the way it was put at the inquiry it didn't sound so unreasonable because there were cars in the hangar. There wasn't room for all the guests' cars in the garage, so some were put in the hangars.'

  'And what about the picture?'

  'It was never found. There was a search made for it, but it was only half-hearted. The war was on and the police had something else to do. Sir Giles himself went off to war. Being on the reserve I had to go.

  Silberman went back to America and the whole thing sort of fizzled out.

  Nobody really bothered. By the time my father died people were thinking more about being bombed.'

  'And what's your view of it?'

  'I say it was Silberman who took the picture, not my father,' declared Smithers. 'It was the other way round. My father caught him. That's why I've come to you now, sir.

  Silberman killed my father to get that picture, and it struck me that if he hears about the sale he'll turn up on Saturday. That's if, as I believe, the old 'plane has something to do with the mystery.'

  'How do you know he hasn't already got the picture?'

  'I don't see how he could have got it. If he had, we'd have heard about it by now.

  Something tells me that picture is linked up with the 'plane, and it's a long time since anyone saw the old Crusader. You see, by the time Silberman was out of hospital the war was in full swing. The castle was requisitioned by the government, so the old machines were dismantled and stored in the cellars with the furniture. Silberman couldn't have got to them there. The auction on Saturday will be the first time the 'planes have been seen in public.

  'You're not suggesting that Silberman was going to fly away with the picture?'

  No. Why should he? His car was one of those parked in the hangar. I say Silberman was making for his car when my father caught up with him. He never got to the car. The picture wasn't in it, because the cars were searched the next day. Silberman, being in hospital, couldn't have got to it to move anything.'

  Biggles considered the matter. 'All right, Smithers,' he said. 'I see what you're driving at.

  We'll come down on Saturday and have a look round. By the way, have any of the machines been in the air recently?'

  Smithers smiled. 'Only the Flying Crusader. Yesterday, believe it or not, Sir Giles decided for old time's sake to have a last flip - only inside the grounds, of course. We put some fuel and oil in her. I didn't think she'd start; but lo and behold, off she went like a bird, and Sir Giles did a circuit at about ten feet.'

  'Good show,' acknowledged Biggles, smiling. 'Now I shall certainly make a point of coming down on Saturday to have a look at her.'

  When Smithers had gone Biggles turned to the others. 'If only for a day out I shall have to go down and put in a bid for this gallant old kite.'

  `Do you really want it?' inquired Ginger.

  Biggles shook his head. 'No. We've no room for antiques. But if somebody else wants her he'll have to bid against me; and the higher the bidding goes the more interested shall I become.'

  'You mean, if the picture thief is there you'll force him to show his hand?' suggested Algy.

  'Either that or I'm going to land myself with an expensive souvenir in the shape of an extremely obsolete aircraft. Actually, you'd better do the bidding, Ginger. Someone in the crowd may recognize me and ask awkward questions if I'm seen doing it. Keep an eye on me, and keep bidding till I signal you to stop. I shall want to see who's bidding against you if the price gets high. You others can keep your eyes skinned, too.

  `D'you seriously expect Silberman to be there, old boy?' inquired Bertie shrewdly, polishing his eyeglass.

  'I don't know about that,' replied Biggles pensively. 'He might be. If he comes he'll probably be in some sort of disguise. After what happened at Mancroft Castle he'd hardly have the brass face to be seen in public, bidding for a machine near which, after all, he did kill a man. That would look mighty suspicious to some people. Newspapers have long memories, and reporters would soon be asking questions which Silberman might find embarrassing. He won't overlook that, you may be sure. We'll go down in the car.'

  Mancroft Castle turned out to be a magnificent country seat set in parkland not far from the flat expanse of the Fens; but to Biggles and his assistants the point of interest was not the scenery but the row of veteran 'planes parked on a simple airstrip that fronted two dilapidated canvas hangars. Gathered round them were interested spectators, a sprinkling of pioneer pilots and prospective buyers representing museums and aero clubs. Looking at the amazing structures of wood, canvas and wire, Ginger found it hard to believe that these, in their day, had been the queens of the air; that from them, in a lifetime, had been developed the high performance aircraft now annihilating space in every corner of the earth.

  In a brief conversation with Sir Giles, to whom Biggles made himself known, they learned that while none of the machines was likely to qualify for a Certi-ficate of Airworthiness, every one had flown, and could still, at any rate, get off the ground. He confirmed that he had flown the Flying Crusader the previous day. 'It would be a tragedy to see them go on the scrap heap,' he said sadly. 'I'm hoping most of them will end their days in museums.'

  suppose you never heard anything more of the Flying Crusader picture that disappeared?' prompted Biggles. I've been refreshing my memory from the police files.'

  No,' answered Sir Giles. Ìt's gone for good, I'm afraid. Like these machines, that unhappy business be-longs to history. I named my machine after the picture, of course. I'm afraid poor old Smithers must have gone out of his mind and hidden the picture somewhere for safety. He seemed to have a curious regard for it. The other man in the case, Silberman, went back to the States and I lost touch with him.'

  isn't in the States now,' returned Biggles. happen to know that the Anti-American Activities Committee are looking for him.'

  Apparently Sir Giles did not hear, or the significance of what Biggles had said was lost on him, for with a quick 'Excuse me, the sale is beginning,' he strode off.

  In a somewhat depressing atmosphere Biggles and his friends watched aircraft that had made history being knocked down at prices lower than a junk dealer would have paid for old cars. The only brisk bidding was when a film director bought an early Farman to use as a prototype in a film he was making.

  'The Crusader's next,' muttered Ginger looking at his catalogue.

  'Keep your eyes open, everybody,' reminded Biggles.

  Bidding for the Flying Crusader started well, but by the time the one hundred pounds mark had been reached Ginger was alone with a young man who called his offers in an American accent. The keenness of the duel after the previous desultory sales did not fail to attract attention, and as the price rose Biggles noticed an expression of growing embarrassment on the young American's face. Ginger, too, began to look worried, when he reached two hundred pounds, and still Biggles had made no sign. Suddenly the American turned away and after a brief pause the auctioneer's hammer fell. The Flying Crusader had been knocked down to' Ginger for £220, the highest figure of the day.

  'What shall I tell the reporters if they question me?' Ginger asked Biggles.

  'Say you represent the Air Ministry, which in a way is true enough,'

  answered Biggles. '

  You can also let it be known that as the aircraft has petrol in her tank you intend to fly it to its new home tomorrow — you needn't say where.'

  Ginger looked alarmed. 'Fly it? Are you kidding?' 'No. She'll fly. You heard what Sir Giles said?' 'What's the idea?'

  'I want to encourage somebody, possibly our young American friend, to make a final effort to get hold of the Crusader before it di
sappears for good. Meanwhile it can go back into the hangar. I shan't take my eyes off it. We'll take turns to watch. I can see Smithers over there. I want to speak to him. Get the machine under cover and put the car handy behind the hangar in case we need it.'

  Safeguarding the Flying Crusader turned out to be a long and tiresome vigil, for not until the first grey of dawn showed in the sky beyond the open front of the hangar was there any sign of an intruder. Then a figure, moving silently, showed for a moment silhouetted against the paling stars.

  Just as quietly Biggles moved. His torch cut a wedge of light in the gloom revealing the startled face of the young American. Indeed, such was his confusion that it was apparent he was not accustomed to questionable nocturnal practices.

  'Are you looking for something?' asked Biggles quietly.

  'I - well - I was - er - just having a last look at the old crate,'

  stammered the new arrival.

  Biggles' voice hardened. 'Funny time to choose. You'll have to give a more convincing explanation than that in court. I'm a police officer.'

  'Police!' The American looked aghast. 'Now wait a minute,' he pleaded.

  `Gimme a chance. I don't want this bundle of sticks on wheels. What would I do with it?'

  'That's what I want you to tell me,' returned Biggles crisply. 'Come on, let's have the truth.'

  'I wasn't doing any harm.'

  'You were hoping to take this machine away. Why?' 'Oh, just to make some easy money, I guess,' muttered the American in a resigned voice.

  'How? Come on, or you can answer questions somewhere else.'

  'Listen,' said the American earnestly. 'If you pick me up for this I'm on a spot. I'm no crook:'

  'What's your name?'

  'Gallon.'

  'Where are you from?'

  The American shrugged. 'Okay. I'll come clean. It wasn't my fault I couldn't buy the kite.

  I tried. You saw me. I'm a sergeant in the U.S. Air Force in Germany, supposed to be on pass in Berlin. Like a fool I got cleaned out in a gambling joint. There was a guy there named Silberman. He said he'd see me okay.'