Biggles and the Poor Rich Boy

by W E Johns

  CHAPTER 1: A CROOK TAKES REVENGE

  CHAPTER 2: LEAVE IT TO GASKIN

  CHAPTER 3: NOW TO THE NORTH

  CHAPTER 4: A NEAR MISS—TWICE

  CHAPTER 5: CORNELLI WINS A TRICK

  CHAPTER 6: THE VIPER ASKS SOME QUESTIONS

  CHAPTER 7: ‘SO NEAR AND YET—’

  CHAPTER 8: THE HIGH ROAD AND THE LOW

  CHAPTER 9: SHOCKS, AND MORE SHOCKS

  CHAPTER 10: FRESH PLANS

  CHAPTER 11: COMPLICATIONS

  CHAPTER 12: ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT

  CHAPTER 13: A WARM SCENT AT LAST

  CHAPTER 14: GINGER ON A SPOT

  CHAPTER 15: THE RIVER TAKES A HAND

  CHAPTER 16: THE PAY-OFF

  CHAPTER 1

  THERE was a knock on the door of the Air Police Headquarters at Scotland Yard; it was opened a little way and a face wearing a broad smile appeared in the aperture. ‘Howdy!’ said a voice.

  Biggles, looking up from the desk where he had been working, returned the smile and sprang to his feet, hand outstretched. ‘Well, stiffen the crows! Look who’s here! Come in, Eddie. What sort of wind blew you to this side of the Atlantic?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it a fair one.’ Eddie Ross, United States member of the International Police Bureau, shook hands all round. Immaculate, keen-eyed, with crew-cut hair and a slim cigar between his teeth, he accepted the chair Police Pilot Algy Lacey pulled out for him.

  ‘Still trailing dope runners?’ suggested Biggles, lightly.

  ‘Not this time. I guess the knock we gave ‘em has either put ‘em out of business or driven ‘em underground to think things over.’1

  ‘You didn’t come all this way just to say howdy.’

  ‘Sure didn’t. I’m looking for a boy named Carlo Salvatore. Ever heard of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s the son of Rosario Salvatore.’

  ‘The name means nothing to me.’

  ‘He’s a multi-millionaire.’

  ‘You don’t expect me to know the names of all your millionaires. Have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Say, don’t you guys ever stop pouring tea down your necks?’

  ‘Not very often. Only when we can’t get it. Sorry I’ve nothing stronger in the office.’

  ‘That’s okay. I never touch hard liquor when I’m working.’

  ‘What about this boy? What’s he done?’

  ‘It’s generally reckoned he’s been kidnapped, but I have a hunch he was more than ready to slip his bridle.’

  ‘And you think he may have come over this side?’

  ‘That’s how I figure it.’

  ‘How can we help?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve come to talk about.’

  ‘Go ahead. Give us the facts and we’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘Okay. Here they are. This lost kid, Carlo, is twelve, and the only son of Rosario Salvatore, the Texas oil tycoon. One of the richest men in the States — or anywhere else for that matter. Young Carlo’s ma died about the time he could toddle, so as you can imagine he means more to the old man than all his millions. Well, the kid’s gone. The old man has offered a million dollars for his return and no questions asked. So far there’s been no answer and in my opinion there never will be.’

  ‘Money is a strong argument.’

  ‘There are some things stronger.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Hate. Revenge.’

  ‘So that’s how it is.’

  ‘That’s just how it is. Now I’ll start right at the beginning.’

  ‘Speaking of revenge, are you sure the boy hasn’t been murdered?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the man who’s got the boy can go on gloating over his father. If he kills him that’s the finish.’

  ‘You may have something there. Give us the background.’

  ‘Here it is, and it’s fairly simple. Some twenty-odd years ago three friends, Italians, emigrated to the United States. They were twin brothers named Antonio and Cesare Paola, and Rosario Salvatore. They had been born about the same time in the same village, in Sicily, and had therefore known each other all their lives. There was also a girl — but she comes into the story later. As soon as the boys were old enough, and had saved enough money, they decided to try their luck in the States. Soon after they had arrived the Paolas took the crooked path to an easy fortune, as they thought, by getting in with one of our gangster outfits. Rosario had more sense. He went straight, made money, and, of course, would have nothing more to do with his old pals.’

  ‘I suppose they didn’t like that.’

  ‘No doubt they were jealous. But the trouble really started when the twins were involved in the brutal murder of a cop. They were picked up, and from the prison where they were awaiting trial appealed to Rosario to help them.’

  ‘How did they think he could do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they thought he could use his influence to get them bail and put up the money for it. Maybe they thought he’d hire the best lawyers in the country to defend them when they came up for trial. Rosario, understandably, refused to have anything to do with the business. After all, he was then a man in a responsible position and wouldn’t want to be associated with a gang of thugs. He as good as told the brothers that as they’d made their own beds they’d have to lie on ‘em as far as he was concerned. The upshot of that was, Antonio, who had done the actual shooting, went to the electric chair. Cesare got ten years in the pen, a sentence that was extended after an attempt to escape. Why he should blame Rosario for what he’d done I don’t know, but he swore to be revenged for Antonio’s death.’

  ‘That was a bit tough on Rosario.’

  ‘It sure was. But there’s more to come. Shortly after this affair a girl the three of them had known at home arrived on the scene. It appears that Cesare had paid her passage out with the intention of marrying her. She arrived with practically no money and knowing nothing of what had happened. Unable to find either Antonio or Cesare she went to Rosario and asked him where they were. He had to tell her the truth. Antonio had been executed and Cesare was doing a ten year stretch. If he hadn’t told her she’d have found out. Seeing how she was fixed he gave her some money to carry on with, and to make a long story short a few months later he married her. When Cesare, in prison, heard of this, he nearly went out of his mind with fury. He swore a blood oath to get even with the pair of them.’

  ‘What did he expect the wretched girl to do—sit around for ten years waiting for him, a convicted crook?’

  ‘Search me. That’s how it was. Anyhow, the girl escaped Cesare’s vengeance by dying soon after the boy, Carlo, was born. That, of course, made the lad doubly precious. Well, the years rolled on. Cesare served his time and was discharged. Rosario sat back and waited for him to strike. To an Italian a blood feud is something, and Rosario, being an Italian himself, knew that better than most people. He told me, when I saw him, that he himself expected to be murdered; but there was always a chance that Cesare would strike at him through the boy. And that’s what did happen. With a chance of Cesare breaking prison young Carlo had always been guarded like a crown prince. Now, with Cesare running lose, precautions against attack were doubled. In that the boy’s unfortunate father may have done more harm than good.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I’ll come to that in a minute.’

  ‘Did Rosario know where Cesare had gone when he left prison?’

  ‘No. We may suppose Cesare dropped out of sight in the underworld. He had had plenty of time in prison to make his plans. They worked only too well. He got the boy, and he’s sworn that his father will never see him again. There’s no doubt he
’d sooner murder the poor kid rather than let him go back home. As I’ve said, Rosario offered a million dollars for his return, but Cesare didn’t bite.’

  ‘What did you mean when you said the precautions Rosario had taken might have done more harm than good?’

  ‘I have a feeling that the poor little rich boy might have been glad to leave home, to go with Cesare.’

  ‘That’s a queer notion. How do you work that out?’

  ‘By thinking about the way the boy was taken and a few loose ends I’ve picked up since. Just consider the life the poor little guy led. Always surrounded by gun-totin’ bodyguards he was practically kept in a cage. He wasn’t allowed to go out, much less go to school. The house he lived in was barred and bolted like a prison. He missed all the fun other kids have. He had no friends. For all his father’s millions he could have got no pleasure out of life. He spent most of his life sitting in a room, with bullet proof glass windows, reading. You see what I’m getting at?’

  ‘You think the boy might have been glad to escape from this confinement.’

  ‘Yes, if Cesare treated him well.’

  ‘You’re sure the boy hasn’t been murdered?’

  ‘We can’t be certain; but surely if Cesare had simply wanted to kill the kid he could have done it on the spot instead of taking him away.’

  ‘How did he do that?’

  ‘In the one way that had never been considered. He got him by using an airplane. That’s why I was brought into the case. I must explain that the boy, apart from reading, which was more or less forced on him, had two interests in life. One was flying and the other fishing. He wasn’t allowed to get in a plane, of course — I mean a real plane. He was crazy to fly, but pop said, no; it was too dangerous. All the kid could do was fill his room with models and books on flying. I’ve seen that room. Carlo must have read every book on flying ever written; and that’s as near to flying as he ever got. I think the old man carried this sort of thing too far, and, as I say, it might have defeated his object.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It was inevitable that stories of how the boy was cooped up should leak out. Reporters weren’t allowed near, but that didn’t prevent hints being thrown out by the newspapers. Cesare would be pretty certain to see those, and as you’ll understand in a minute those reports may have given him ideas.’

  ‘What about the fishing? Was the boy allowed to fish?’

  ‘Yes, within strict limits. And here again, remember what I said about playing into Cesare’s hands.’

  ‘I don’t quite follow you,’ murmured Biggles.

  ‘You will when I’ve explained the set-up. It can hardly be coincidence that Cesare’s scheme for the kidnapping involved both flying and fishing. Now about this fishing. Rosario Salvatore, the boy’s father, had a big country estate in Kansas. That’s where he usually lived. The boy never left the place. In the grounds of the estate there’s a lake of some size. Actually, the house overlooks it. This lake was stocked with trout for the boy to catch. He didn’t fish from the bank partly because it’s much overgrown with trees and scrub which would have made it difficult to cast a line, and partly because of some rather dangerous pot-holes. So the boy fished from a flat-bottomed boat, specially built for the job and reckoned to be unsinkable. For the rest, a fishing expedition was conducted on the lines of a royal occasion. First the lake was surrounded and patrolled by guards armed with rifles. No one could get near it. Watching the boy from a pier was an expert swimmer with a fast motor-boat. The idea of that was to rescue the boy should he fall overboard. Pop was taking no chances of an accidental drowning, even though the boy could swim. No other boat was allowed on the lake and no one else was allowed to fish.’

  ‘Tell me this,’ requested Biggles. ‘Was the boy told why all these fantastic arrangements were considered necessary?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It was thought if he knew the facts, that his life was always in danger, it might affect his nerves.’

  ‘Was he the nervous type?’

  ‘No; as far as I can make out he was a perfectly normal healthy lad; and that being so he chafed at being kept on a lead like a prize pup at a dog show. There’s a rumour that more than once he tried to escape; but he hadn’t a hope. Eyes were on him night and day. He was told that one day he would inherit his father’s millions and for that reason had to be taken care of.’

  ‘Poor little blighter,’ sighed Bertie.

  ‘What a life,’ muttered Ginger.

  ‘Yet in spite of it all Cesare got him,’ resumed Eddie.

  ‘This is getting interesting,’ said Biggles. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘It was really very simple. I’ll give you the bare facts of how it was done, although here we’re involved in a certain amount of conjecture. The boy went fishing as usual. It was a fine day. Carlo sat in his boat in the middle of the lake which was about half a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. Suddenly out of the blue comes a light plane, an amphibian, blipping its motor like it was in trouble. At first the guards thought nothing of it, but when the motor cut out and the crate started gliding down to land — well, you can imagine the flap. Carlo stood up to watch. The guards on the bank could do nothing. The only man who might have done something was the guy in the rescue launch, but, as he said afterwards, he was afraid of colliding with the plane. So he did nothing.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ said Biggles.

  ‘Of course, up to this point nobody was thinking of an attempted abduction. It was assumed the plane was in trouble and merely trying to get down. That, no doubt, was what the pilot intended people to think when he blipped his motor. But when it landed, and ran straight on to the boat, it was a different matter. But still the guards on the bank could do nothing. They daren’t shoot for fear of hitting the boy, who by this time was standing with his hands resting on the plane talking to the pilot. This came as a relief to most of the watchers who had expected to see the boy shot. What sort of conversation took place between the boy and the pilot we don’t know, but the next thing the guards saw was young Carlo getting into the spare seat of the plane.’

  ‘No force was used?’

  ‘None. The boy appeared to get in willingly. By now the rescue launch was tearing across the water; but it was too late. The plane took off, and that’s the last that’s been seen of Carlo Salvatore. A point worth noting is, as the plane passed over the rescue launch Carlo looked down and waved to the man at the wheel.’

  ‘Meaning Carlo was enjoying himself.’

  ‘What else are we to think?’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘You can imagine the panic. Telephones and radio buzzed as the police of every state were alerted to watch for a blue-painted two-seater amphibian.’

  Biggles looked surprised. ‘But surely the type of machine is known?’

  ‘Nobody recognized it. Of all those guards there wasn’t one who could tell one ship from another.’

  ‘What about the registration letters? They must have got those!’

  ‘Believe it or not, in the general stampede nobody thought to look at ‘em.’

  Biggles shook his head sadly.

  ‘Ironically, the only one who would have recognized the type was the boy who flew away in it.’

  ‘Are you sure the job was done by Cesare?’

  ‘Either by him, personally, or by someone employed by him. Had it been anyone else, an ordinary kidnapping, a demand for ransom money would have been in by now. This happened three weeks ago.’

  ‘Can Cesare fly an aircraft?’

  ‘Not as far as we know. But with this job in view he might have had himself taught to fly since he came out of gaol. That’s being checked now; but we don’t set much store on it because Cesare has probably changed his name. I’ve been working on that myself, flying all over the country. Like I said, that’s why I was given the assignment.’

  ‘Have you found the plane?’

  ‘No.’


  ‘Then what brings you here? It could hardly have flown the Atlantic.’

  ‘I’m coming to that. The general belief in the States is that the crate made straight for the border, either Mexico or Canada, and it may have done that. During the two weeks I was flying round our airfields, trying to find out if the machine had landed anywhere for fuel, I had plenty of time to think.’

  ‘But the machine must have landed somewhere. It wouldn’t be likely to have a fuel capacity to reach either Mexico or Canada.’

  ‘I agree. But knowing what he was going to do there was nothing to prevent Cesare having a secret dump of petrol somewhere. We’ve plenty of wild, wide open spaces, where that might be done.’

  Biggles nodded understanding. ‘True enough.’

  ‘One thing’s certain; knowing that in a matter of hours every cop in the States, not to mention the Air Corps, would be on the look-out for him, Cesare would make flat out for the border. Anyhow, that’s what I think, although not everyone agrees with me. There’s another theory that Cesare might not have gone far. He might have abandoned the machine and hidden it by running it over the edge of some canyon, in Texas, for instance, where it might lie for a long time without being found. It’s no distance from Kansas to Texas, or New Mexico. Having done that, taking the boy with him, he would then lie low either in the remote country or in the slums of one of the cities.’

  ‘You don’t hold with that theory?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because that wouldn’t suit the boy. He’d try to get away.’

  ‘But wouldn’t he do that in any case?’

  ‘Not as I see it.’

  ‘How do you see it?’

  ‘Taking all the known facts into account, like this. The boy was willing to get in the plane. After all, this was his chance to do what he had long wanted to do, have a flight in a real ship. What did Cesare say to him after he had landed? He might have said: “You like flying, eh? You come with me. We do plenty of flying, with lots of fun. Get aboard, kid. Let’s go places.” From what I’ve learned of Carlo I’d say he’d jump at the chance. Wouldn’t you, after being cooped up all your life?’