by W E Johns
‘I see.’ Biggles’ voice was soft with enlightenment. ‘What is this object?’
‘You would call it a statue, an idol; but to us it is Astana, the god of our ancestors. It is of ivory, very old, very beautiful. You see, many Kahorans, driven from their homes, have fled to India. Some have even come here in ships. Me and my cousin we think of making a small temple here in which our people may not only worship in their own way but talk of plans for the liberation of Kahore, as many countries did in the war. But of what use is an empty temple? Our visible god, Astana, is necessary to hold the people together. Besides, it would be tragic if vandals despoiled this great work of art.’
‘Quite so,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Has this statue any value apart from its religious significance?’
Again the Prince hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment, which was not lost on those watching him. ‘No,’ he answered.
‘Good,’ resumed Biggles. ‘Where exactly is this statue?’
‘In the temple at Pelanghur, the religious centre of Kahore.’
‘But you have said the country has been overrun. How do you know that what you hope to prevent hasn’t already happened?’
‘The god is hidden in a secret vault, known only to myself, my cousin, and the high priests, who would never reveal it, even under torture.’
‘Why didn’t you bring it with you when you left?’
‘Circumstances made it impossible. To escape with our lives, through hundreds of miles of jungle, even unencumbered, was a desperate adventure.’
‘Now you want to fetch it so you come to me. Why?’
‘To carry the god overland would be impossible. Only an aeroplane could reach the temple. We are told that you specialize in such enterprises.’
‘What sort of size, and weight, has this piece of ivory?’
‘It is a sitting figure the size of life, so naturally it is very heavy.’
‘Your plan is that we fly to the temple and bring the god home with us?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You realize that such a project would cost a good deal of money?’
‘Of course. We have money.’
‘You’ll need a lot,’ advised Biggles. ‘You haven’t, I trust, overlooked the official angle. For instance, if the statue was brought to this country it would have to be submitted to the Customs Officers for inspection and valuation.’
The Prince looked hard at Biggles. ‘Would that be necessary?’
Biggles frowned. ‘It most certainly would,’ he said shortly.
‘I was only thinking,’ explained the Prince quickly, ‘that the religious nature of the god would exempt it from duty.’
‘That would be for the authorities to decide. I wouldn’t advise you to try to bring the statue in without declaring it. What is your objection to bringing it in openly?’
‘It might lead to publicity which would not only be distasteful, but perhaps dangerous. If terrorists learned of it they might make reprisals on the people. They might send agents here to murder us, for while I live Kahore is still a sovereign state.’
‘Quite so,’ acknowledged Biggles. ‘Now tell me this. Is there a possible landing ground near the temple?’
‘There is quite a good airfield. It was the existence of it that suggested this plan.’
Biggles’s eyebrows went up. ‘An airfield?’
‘An Englishman named Hobbs made it, close to his bungalow. He was a superintendent of tea plantations and used a plane to fly round his district: also to fetch supplies from the coast.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know. He probably suffered the fate of many planters in Malaya.’
‘All right. Just now you spoke of money. What sort of fee had you in mind for this service?’
‘We thought two thousand pounds. One thousand to be paid at the start and the balance at the end.’
‘The expenses would be heavy.’
‘We would pay all expenses.’
Biggles nodded. ‘That sounds generous. You would, I take it, accompany the expedition yourself?’
‘Of course. Will you help us?’
Biggles got up. ‘I’d like a day to think about it. Come round at the same time to-morrow and I’ll give you my decision. If I accept we’ll fix the arrangements.’
‘Thank you.’ The visitors bowed. Biggles saw them to the front door, returned to the sitting-room, and looked in turn at the faces of his assistants. ‘Don’t all speak at once,’ he said drily.
‘Why didn’t you tell those birds right away that there was nothing doing?’ asked Algy Lacey.
‘Because that would have ended the matter as far as we’re concerned. Our visitors would have gone elsewhere and we should have lost touch with them. I don’t know that I want that to happen.’ Biggles smiled. ‘Put my interest down to an uncontrollable sense of curiosity.’
‘Does that mean you’re thinking seriously of going on this jaunt, old boy?’ inquired Bertie Lissie, polishing his monocle briskly.
‘You heard what I told them. I’d like to think about it. I meant that, because there are several angles to this business that strike me as queer.’
‘I could see you didn’t like those fellows,’ put in Ginger.
‘So far there’s nothing to like or dislike about them — aside from the fact that they’re both drug addicts. Opium smokers, probably. Their eyes give them away. I own I’m a bit prejudiced against the Prince because he has obviously ratted on his people by bolting and leaving them to carry the can without a leader. The country has, as we know from the newspapers, boiled over, leaving the terrorists on top. I don’t doubt that the ivory god is there, and I suspect it’s worth a substantial sum of money. I know the Prince said it had no great intrinsic value but I find that hard to believe. If it has no value outside religion why is he so anxious to get hold of it? That, to me, was a weak point in his story. I also have doubts as to the Prince’s title to the statue, and the use to which he intends to put it. The story of bringing it here for refugee Kahorans sounded thin to me. If he thought so much of them why did he leave them in the cart? Another thing I don’t like was his hint of dodging Customs. Of course, that doesn’t make him crooked, but it suggests he isn’t quite as straight as he might be.’
‘Two thousand plus expenses was a fair enough offer for the job, old lad,’ opined Bertie.
‘It was too much,’ averred Biggles bluntly. ‘I’ve learned that when people offer more for a job than it’s worth they may have ideas about not paying at all.’
‘We could demand to see the colour of his cash before the start.’
Ginger stepped in. ‘What puzzles me is, if this pair aren’t on the level why did they come to you? They must know you’re a police officer.’
‘You’ve got something there,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Maybe they thought they could buy me. That sort of thing is common in the East. Or perhaps they thought we had facilities denied to ordinary civil pilots — which in fact we have. But the Oriental mind is apt to weave in intricate circles so let’s not waste time guessing.’ He got up.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Algy.
‘Back to the Yard to ask the Air Commodore what he thinks about it, and dig out all the gen available on Kahore and its ruling prince. See you later.’
It was past dinner time when he returned. ‘I did better than I expected,’ he announced, as he pulled up a chair to the table. ‘It seems that Prince Yuan Sukang is the King of Kahore, and from all accounts is a pretty decent fellow: but the Foreign Office was under the impression that he’d been bumped off. He and his brother did have an English tutor, and there was a planter in the country named Hobbs. Nothing has been heard of him since the trouble started. That part of the story seems to add up pretty well. What puzzled the Foreign Office was how the Prince got into this country without them knowing about it, and how he got money through the Currency Control without being spotted.’
‘In plain English, old boy, they think the thing smells
fishy,’ prompted Bertie.
Biggles smiled faintly. ‘They have an idea that the aroma isn’t pure lavender water.’
‘What’s the upshot of it?’ asked Algy, impatiently.
‘The upshot is, the Chief is curious, and so is the Foreign Office. We’ve to follow the thing up to see where it ends. For the job, which has now become an official enquiry, we may use government aircraft.’
‘What about the two thousand quidlets?’ inquired Bertie.
‘I’m afraid we shall have to hand them over,’ answered Biggles sadly. ‘After dinner we’ll have a look at the map to see just where we’re going. The monsoon will be over so the weather should be all right. If we go I think you’d better put guns in your pockets. We may need them.’
At five thousand feet the old police Wellington droned its way over the vast jungles of Upper Burma towards its remote objective. From the second pilot’s seat Ginger regarded the unbroken green panorama without enthusiasm. Algy occupied the navigator’s compartment, although his job had really ended when they struck the tributary of the Mekong River, on the banks of which the village, with its temple, was situated. Bertie sat in the cabin with Prince Yuan and his compatriot.
A week had elapsed since Biggles had accepted the assignment. The interval had been straightforward routine. The aircraft had flown to the East stopping only for fuel, topping up its tanks for the last time at Dum-Dum aerodrome, Calcutta. The weather had been good all the way, and still remained fine, so the only hazard had been that of a forced landing over the last leg of the journey, where such an event must have had disastrous consequences. The real danger would come when the machine was on the ground, waiting while the idol was fetched from the temple, should terrorists be in the vicinity.
This risk was unavoidable. Biggles was not entirely happy about the alleged landing facilities, for he had only the Prince’s word that an airstrip was there, and had not become overgrown.
There had been a slightly embarrassing moment at the outset. Right up to the time of taking off not a word had been said about money; wherefore Biggles, before getting into the machine, had turned to the Prince and asked him if he hadn’t forgotten something.
The Prince looked surprised and said no. Biggles then reminded him that according to the contract there was a little matter of a thousand pounds to be handed over. The Prince, full of apologies, with a smile which to Ginger looked forced, had thereupon given him a bundle of notes, which, being bulky, and as the engines were running, he stowed in a locker. The matter was not referred to again, but the incident, trifling though it was, did nothing to inspire confidence in the passengers.
The plan outlined by Biggles was simple. The aircraft, safely down, would taxi to the far end of the airstrip and then turn ready for a quick take-off should danger threaten. It was supposed that if terrorists were about they would by that time have shown themselves.
All being well, Biggles, Bertie, Ginger and Mr. Kling would set off for the temple, no great distance, leaving Algy and the Prince with the machine. It didn’t matter which of the Kahorans acted as guide to the secret vault since both knew the entrance; but Biggles felt that one of them should be with each party in case natives were encountered.
Conversation would then be possible. This was merely a precautionary measure to prevent trouble for the white men should local people intercept them. The idol would be wrapped in canvas and carried in slings brought for the purpose. With four of them to take the weight the manhandling of the idol to the aircraft should not be difficult. As soon as the idol was on board they would start for home. The whole operation, it was estimated, should not take more than an hour.
The bend of the river, exactly as the Prince had described it, came into view, with the burnt-out village on one bank. Close by, rising above the trees, were the twin pagoda-like towers of the temple, with the usual upturned eaves and abundance of carved figures.
The landing ground, too, was plain to see, for apart from some overgrown paddy fields near the village it was the only open area for miles. Ginger regarded it dubiously. The herbage looked lush, and secondary growth was already advancing from the jungle: but the stuff, he thought, was not yet stiff enough to upset them.
Biggles went down to twenty feet to have a close look at it. Apparently he was of the same opinion, for having made a circuit he put the Wellington down on what turned out to be quite a good surface. He taxied right on, leaving a track of flattened grass, to the boundary, and then turned into position for a quick take-off.
When, after waiting five minutes, no one had appeared, he switched off.
Another quarter of an hour passed, crew and passengers watching the fringe of the jungle anxiously.
‘Okay,’ said Biggles. ‘Let’s go.’
With canvas and slings over their shoulders the transport party moved off, Mr. Kling leading, leaving Algy and the Prince in charge of the aircraft. In the event of trouble a gunshot would be the signal to rally on the machine.
Jungle travel was nothing new to Ginger, who brought up the rear. The heat was oppressive, sultry and sticky. The air was heavy with the stench of rotting vegetation. The green world through which they moved was the usual mixture of beauty and horror. From the mush underfoot sprang graceful tree-ferns, groping lianas and creepers with monstrous, bloated leaves. From the trunks of trees, both living and dead, hung sprays of orchids. From overhanging branches leeches launched themselves on the invaders. Sometimes a butterfly or moth of vivid colouring would cross their path. But with these things Ginger was not concerned. He had seen them before. His idea was to get through it, and out of it, as quickly as possible. He kept a watchful eye open for snakes.
In actual fact the ordeal did not last long. The forest gave way reluctantly to an open space of some size, and there, in the middle of it, stood the temple, obviously a building of great age, judging from the way the carving had weathered. Mr. Kling strode on towards it, clearly determined to get the business finished without loss of time. But as they drew nearer Ginger dropped back for a longer look at a structure which, he imagined, few white men had seen.
Upon such minor details does so much often depend. Had Ginger not stopped — but he did, so speculation as to what might otherwise have happened is futile.
He noted the door by which the others had entered the temple, and was about to hurry after them when a hoarse voice hailed him in English: ‘Hi! Wait a minute!’
Looking in the direction from which the sound had come he was amazed to see a man, a white man, gaunt, bearded and in tattered tropical kit, jump from a window and run towards him.
Ginger waited. ‘Who are you?’ he queried crisply, although he already had a suspicion.
‘Hobbs is the name. Who are you, and what in thunder are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come with some friends to fetch something from the temple. We’ve an aircraft on the strip. If you want to go home—’
‘Hold hard,’ broke in Hobbs. ‘Who brought you here?’
‘Prince Yuan—’
‘He’s dead. I saw his brother shoot him in cold blood. He was responsible for the mess here. He tried to get me, too, the dirty rat.’
‘Has this brother got a little scar on his chin?’
‘Yes – why?’
‘He’s calling himself the Prince. He’s in our aircraft.’
‘Then keep a gun handy, for a worse thug never lived. He was Prime Minister here, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to be King, so he plugged his brother in the back. But he started something he couldn’t stop and had to bolt. He pinched my Moth and took his crooked pal, Kling, with him.’
Ginger looked shocked. ‘Do you mean he can fly?’
‘Sure he can fly. Learnt to fly in England. He was educated there.’
Ginger began to see daylight. It was clear now how the man calling himself Prince Yuan had got into England. ‘He seems to have plenty of money,’ he observed.
‘Not he. He rifled the treasury but there was mighty little in
it. What’s he come back for, anyway?’
‘An ivory idol.’
‘I might have guessed.’
‘He said it had no intrinsic value.’
‘He always was a liar. The eyes of that idol are rubies the size of bantams’ eggs.’
Ginger caught his breath. He had suspected a plot, but nothing like this.
‘Kling has just gone into the temple with my friends to get the idol.’
‘If he sees me he’ll know the game’s up, so watch out for trouble. I wonder what’s inside the idol.’
‘Inside it?’
‘It’s hollow – bound to be. Built up of pieces. No elephant ever grew a tusk that size. It’s a masterpiece. I haven’t lived here all my life without learning a few things about it. Years ago it was human sacrifices they put inside, but—’
‘Never mind that now,’ interrupted Ginger urgently. ‘I must warn my chief. Make for the landing ground, and when I come back watch for signals. You’re coming home with us, so we look like having a show-down on the spot.’
‘Suits me,’ grunted Hobbs, and strode towards the jungle.
Ginger ran on, to meet the others just coming out with the idol swathed in canvas.
‘What are you playing at?’ shouted Biggles angrily. ‘I didn’t bring you along to watch. Lend a hand. This thing weighs half a ton.’
‘Then put it down and have a breather,’ answered Ginger meaningly, catching his eye. ‘Come over here. I want to speak to you.’
Biggles walked over to where Ginger stood waiting. ‘What goes on?’ he asked quietly.
‘Hold your hat,’ Ginger told him grimly. ‘You’ve some shocks coming. Our precious prince is an impostor. and Kling murdered Prince Yuan and touched off the revolution. They rifled the treasury, tried to kill Hobbs, and pinched his Moth to make a get-away. That skunk in the Wellington can fly. Think that over.’
Biggles looked shaken. Then his face set in hard lines. ‘Who told you this?’
‘I’ve seen Hobbs.’
‘Where is he?’
‘On the edge of the airfield waiting for a signal from us.’