by W E Johns
‘You’ll have to give me a minute to fix this man’s arm,’ Biggles told Bill. ‘Get me some rag, Ginger. A towel will do. You’ll probably find one in the kitchen.’
There was a delay of a few minutes while a temporary bandage was put on the aborigine’s arm. When the job was done Biggles said: ‘Go ahead, Bill.’
Carrying Hopkins’ rifle Bill took his prisoners through the door. Ginger went with him. Algy was still covering the natives. Biggles was last out of the house. He shut the door behind him.
There were a few critical moments with the aborigines outside. They stirred uneasily and it looked as if they might attempt a rescue; but in the end they did nothing. Maybe it was Bill’s uniform that made them hesitate to act. Perhaps it was the old story of everyone leaving the first move to someone else. The fact remains, they stood their ground, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they watched these unusual events.
The Halifax’s engines started. Bertie left them idling and reappeared at the cabin door. Bill pushed his prisoners forward to him, and having handed them over turned about and deliberately walked back to the natives. What he said to them couldn’t be heard for the noise of the motors. He made no threatening gestures; he carried no weapon, so the result seemed to be a good example of dominant willpower. The tension relaxed. One of the natives seemed to be explaining something. At the finish, when Bill dismissed them with a wave, they merely walked away.
‘Wouldn’t do to let ‘em think we were scared of ‘em,’ he remarked, when he rejoined the others. ‘I told ‘em not to listen to anyone who came along trying to stir up trouble; and if they had any complaint, to make it to me, or the government Protector of Aborigines. Let’s get along home.’
Biggles went through to the cockpit, and two minutes later Tarracooma was dropping away astern in a haze of dust.
‘What about Adamsen, and that other pair in the house?’ asked Ginger.
‘There was nothing we could do with them,’ answered Biggles. ‘They won’t do anything. In fact, without their wireless, I don’t see that there is much they can do. One thing they will do is think, and think hard. In the first place it must have given them a shock to know we’re wise to their game. On top of that they learned about the murder, which I fancy was news to them. It was probably true that Adamsen came up from Perth to fix their wireless. Anyway, we’ve drawn their teeth for the time being, and that gives us breathing space to decide on our next move.’
The Halifax droned on, kicking the thin desert air behind it.
CHAPTER XI
Move and Countermove
The afternoon was still young when the Halifax got back to Broome, so Biggles, saying he had thought things over on the way, announced his intention of pushing straight on to Darwin with both machines. With Adamsen at Tarracooma there was no point in going to Perth, as he had at one time contemplated; and there was nothing more for them to do at Broome. Bill could be left to deal with the prisoners through ordinary routine channels. This he said he would do, for the time being withholding any reference to the general animosity of the aborigines which, after what had happened at Tarracooma, might fizzle out of its own accord without further trouble.
So after a cup of tea and a snack, thanking Bill for his efficient co-operation, the crews got into their aircraft and flew back together to Darwin without anything of interest happening on the way. As they had to pass over the mouth of the Daly River without deviating from their course they looked for the Matilda, but saw nothing of her. As a matter of detail there were several craft on the open sea, but they did not go down to investigate them, Biggles remarking that by this time the lugger was no doubt on the river. This was perhaps a natural assumption; but before long Biggles was to blame himself for assuming too much without supporting evidence.
During the run, he and Ginger discussed the general situation. Ginger was able to tell Biggles that the radio equipment at Tarracooma was very high frequency which pretty well confirmed Biggles’s belief that Smith, or whoever the senior member of the spy gang might be, was in direct touch with his operatives regardless of distance. It was some satisfaction to know that as Tarracooma had been silenced it would be several days before he knew what had happened there. He might, Biggles thought, send the Auster down to find out.
The chief topic of conversation was what to do next. It was a problem that presented difficulties. Biggles said he was anxious to have a look at Daly Flats, from the air if not from the ground. But if that was to be done it ought to be done at once, before the lugger got there. He was equally anxious to see Colonel MacEwan, the Australian Security Officer at Sydney, for he felt that the time had come to put their cards on the table. They could not, he asserted, go on tearing about Australia, doing things which, if it was held that they had overstepped their authority, might embarrass everybody concerned. At Tarracooma, by taking a chance and having Bill with them, all had gone well, and they had nipped off one of the ends of the spy network. They couldn’t hope to go on doing that sort of thing without the Australian government asking them what the dickens they thought they were up to; and in any case the damage they had done would soon be repaired by Smith, who would carry on with his work.
As he had said before, Biggles went on, what he really wanted was the complete list of enemy agents in the country — or at any rate, those with whom von Stalhein was in touch, or had intended to get in touch on his arrival in Australia. That a duplicate list existed was not to be doubted. Who had it? Possibly Smith, who was certainly a senior member of the spy organization if not the actual head. He now had his own plane for easy transport. It followed, therefore, that where the plane was, so Smith would be. And the most likely place for it to be at that moment, averred Biggles, was at Daly Flats, awaiting the arrival of the Matilda, so that Smith could learn at first hand from von Stalhein what had happened on the island. But once he had that information it was unlikely that he would stay there. Taking von Stalhein with him in the Auster, he would depart for an unknown destination. Hence the urgency.
‘So you see,’ concluded Biggles, ‘if I go to Sydney to see Colonel MacEwan, the Security man whose name the Air Commodore gave me, I’d probably miss the boat — or rather, the plane — at Daly Flats. We should then be faced with the job of hunting the whole of Australia for the Auster. All this, of course, is assuming that Smith is at Daly Flats at this moment with the Auster.’
‘The Australian government would soon locate the Auster,’ declared Ginger confidently.
‘I’m not so sure of that,’ returned Biggles. ‘Smith may keep clear of public airfields. For all we know he may have a dozen hide-outs like Tarracooma, or, as I suspect, Daly Flats.’
‘Does this Australian Security Officer know we’re here?’ queried Ginger.
‘I’d say yes, although I haven’t confirmed it. But I’m pretty sure the Air Commodore would let him know what was in the wind.’
‘Then as you can’t go to Sydney and Daly Flats why not ring him up?’
Biggles shook his head. ‘Fancy trying to explain all this over the phone! Aside from that, on a public telephone service you never know who’s listening.’
The debate was resumed later, when they were all on the ground at Darwin, parked as before just beyond the end hangar. By the time they had topped up their tanks it was too late to do any more flying that day. Biggles gave his views as he had given them to Ginger, and the upshot of it all was, he resolved to go to Sydney, in the Halifax, starting at daybreak. The others, in the Otter, could make a cautious reconnaissance of the Daly Flats area, the main objectives being a possible airstrip, the Auster, and the position of the lugger, which, it was supposed, would by that time be well up the river. Having done this the Otter would return to Darwin, there to await Biggles’s return.
Biggles said this plan did not entirely please him, but as he couldn’t be in two places at once he could think of no alternative. His decision rested on the conviction that they couldn’t go on tearing about the continent at the risk, shoul
d anything go wrong, of upsetting the Australian government, to say nothing of the government at home.
In pursuance of this plan it was agreed that they should have a meal at the airport and sleep in the machines. Biggles would have a word with West to see if he had any fresh news. In view of the attempt to burn the machines on the previous occasion when they had slept on the airfield it would be necessary to maintain an all-night guard, and the details of this disagreeable duty were arranged, it falling to Ginger’s lot to take first watch.
‘I don’t like leaving the machines unattended even in daylight, so I think, Ginger, it would be best if you went and had your meal now,’ said Biggles. ‘We’ll go when you come back.’
‘Fair enough,’ assented Ginger, and set off forthwith. It was still broad daylight although the sun was well on its way down to the horizon. There might be, he thought, three-quarters of an hour of daylight left.
With no other thought in his head than to get a meal as quickly as possible he strode in to the tea-room, which, he found, while not full was fairly well patronized. Some of the airport staff were there, a few air crews, and one or two civilians who he supposed were waiting for the Quantas liner due in shortly from Singapore. His eyes ran over them as he pulled out a chair to sit down, more from habit than any expectation of seeing a person he knew.
Suddenly he stopped dead. Then he pushed the chair back into place, turned about and left the room. For a little way, in order not to attract attention to himself, he walked on; but as soon as he was clear of the building he ran. The others must have seen him coming, for by the time he reached the Otter, in the cabin of which he had left them, Biggles had opened the door and stood waiting.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Biggles quickly.
‘Von Stalhein’s in the tea-room,’ answered Ginger breathlessly – the breathlessness not being entirely due to exertion.
Biggles looked incredulous. Not for a long time had Ginger seen him so taken aback. But he recovered quickly. ‘Is he alone?’ he asked, jumping down.
‘I think so. He was sitting alone at a table. I didn’t stop to check up.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Looking out of the window as if he was expecting somebody. There were tea things on the table.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘No – but I wouldn’t swear to it. I turned my back as soon as I saw him. I wasn’t expecting—’
‘Neither was I,’ cut in Biggles shortly.
‘Well, blow me down!’ exclaimed Bertie from the door. ‘That blighter is a fair corker. How the deuce did he—’
‘Just a minute — let me think,’ interposed Biggles curtly. ‘This is what comes from taking things for granted. Either the Matilda didn’t go up the river but came to Darwin instead, or else von Stalhein was put ashore at Wyndham and came up on the regular service. The plane came in from the south while we were sitting here talking.’
‘The lugger was heading for the mouth of the Daly when I last saw it,’ declared Algy. ‘Bertie will confirm that.’
‘It could have had its course changed by wireless.’
‘But why should von Stalhein come here?’
Tor the reason most people go to an airport, I imagine,’ answered Biggles drily. ‘To catch a plane. You realize that this has knocked my plan sideways. No matter. Let’s get things in line. Von Stalhein can’t know we’re here or he’d hardly be sitting in a public room. We were already here when the plane from the south landed, so if he was on it it’s unlikely he’d notice our machines. Or put it the other way round. Had he been here when we landed he would have seen us, and kept out of sight. Not that it matters how he got here. He’s here. The question is, where’s he going?’
‘If he’s booked an air passage we can soon answer that,’ asserted. Algy.
‘I think we’d better have a look at this,’ decided Biggles.
‘Suppose he sees us?’ questioned Ginger.
‘I don’t see that it matters much. We shan’t learn anything by standing here. We must watch what he does. If he sees us — well, maybe that will shake him as much as his arrival here has shaken me. Come on. No — somebody had better stay here to keep an eye on the machines. Bertie, you stay. You may see something from here.’
‘Look!’ cried Ginger. ‘Is that what he’s waiting for?’ He pointed to the sky.
Gliding in quietly from the south, apparently preparing to land, was an Auster.
‘That’s it. That’s the answer,’ replied Biggles crisply. ‘Smith’s in a hurry to see him. The lugger would be some time chugging up the river against the current. Now listen carefully, everybody,’ he went on. ‘If that machine collects von Stalhein and takes off again tonight we shall lose track of him. We must stop it somehow. There’s only half an hour of daylight left and I doubt if the pilot would risk a night landing on a jungle airstrip — if he’s going to Daly Flats. Algy, hurry to the control room and ask West, on any pretext he can think of, to keep that Auster grounded for a quarter of an hour; then join Bertie in the Otter. Bertie, stand by to start up. If the Auster should leave the ground, follow it, even if it means a night landing when you get back here. Ginger, you come with me. With luck we may get a glimpse of mister mysterious Smith.’
By the time they had reached the booking hall the Auster was on the ground, taxiing on to the tarmac which, as it happened, was clear of machines. It stopped, but the engine remained ticking over. A man stepped down and waited, looking towards the booking hall. The pilot remained in his seat.
‘Do you think that’s Smith, waiting by the machine?’ asked Ginger.
‘No. He looks more like one of these cold-blooded, flat-faced bodyguards, we’ve seen von Stalhein with before — an Iron-Curtainmonger if ever I saw one. He’s here for Erich; we needn’t doubt that. Where is he?’
‘I saw him in here,’ answered Ginger, making a beeline for the tea-room.
As they went to open the door von Stalhein came out, so that they met face to face. If he was surprised to see them he did not show it. The only sign of recognition he gave was a curt nod in passing.
‘You’re in a great hurry,’ bantered Biggles, turning to follow. On seeing Biggles almost beside him von Stalhein turned impatiently. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded stiffly.
‘Nothing — nothing,’ answered Biggles lightly. ‘I just wondered who your dour-looking pal was.’
‘You don’t expect me to tell you?’
‘Of course not.’ They were still walking towards the Auster.
‘I suppose I have to thank that photograph for bringing you here,’ muttered von Stalhein savagely.
‘Quite right. Naturally, I was interested to see that you were still at the old game. Don’t you get tired of playing on the losing side?’
‘The game isn’t finished yet.’
‘Yours is, as far as Australia is concerned.’
Von Stalhein glanced along the hangars as the Halifax’s engines started up. ‘That, I presume, is Lacey, as busy as ever,’ he sneered, as, reaching the Auster, he stopped.
‘Of course.’
‘Where’s he going.’
‘I don’t know. That depends on where you go.’
Von Stalhein frowned, understanding dawning in his eyes. ‘So he’s going to follow me.’
‘That’s the idea. You can’t blame us for taking an interest in your movements.’
Von Stalhein hesitated. Ginger could imagine him working out the comparative speeds of the two machines. Actually, there was not much between them.
At this juncture the pilot, a young, good-looking fellow, looked out and stepped into the conversation. ‘If you want to get home tonight you’d better get in,’ he said, looking a little worried. ‘We haven’t too much time as it is,’ he added.
Biggles gave him a quick, appraising glance, as did Ginger, who felt that this was not the sort of remark likely to be made by a member of the gang. Biggles apparently thought this, too, for in a different tone of voice he said: ‘You can’
t go yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Look at the control tower.’
The pilot frowned. ‘But they gave me the okay a minute ago.’
‘Looks as if they’ve withdrawn it. There’s a Constellation about due in from Singapore.’
‘Take no notice,’ ordered von Stalhein harshly, moving towards the cabin. ‘We must go.’
Biggles addressed the pilot. ‘Your name’s Cozens, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Australian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Full ticket for commercial flying?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long have you had it?’
‘Three months.’
‘How long did it take you to get it?’
‘Three years.’
‘You ignore control tower signals and you’ll lose it in three days,’ Biggles told the pilot seriously.
Von Stalhein’s escort, who, with a hand in a side pocket, had been listening to this conversation with sullen and ill-concealed impatience, broke in, nodding towards Biggles: ‘Who vas he?’
Answered von Stalhein: ‘The man I told you about — Bigglesworth.’
‘So.’
‘So what,’ murmured Ginger, well satisfied with the way Biggles’s plan for keeping the machine on the ground was working out.
Von Stalhein moved as if to get into the machine.
‘I’m sorry, but I daren’t leave the ground without an all clear signal,’ said Cozens, now looking really worried. After all, he was young, and this may have been his first appointment.
‘Wise man,’ complimented Biggles. ‘It’ll be dark in a few minutes, anyway. By the way, I suppose you know the sort of people you’re working for?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder,’ rejoined the pilot, looking hard at Biggles.
‘Watch your step,’ advised Biggles.
‘Who are you?’
Biggles smiled faintly and indicated von Stalhein. ‘Ask him — he knows.’
He glanced at the northern sky. ‘But here comes the Constellation, so I’ll leave you to it. So long.’ Turning, he walked away.