Biggles and the Penitent Thief Page 3

  Indeed, had he been wise, or not blinded by resentment and animosity, he should have gone to the police the moment Lew Darris had made contact with him. That was his chance to clear himself. He should have had the wit to realize that association with such a man could only lead to more trouble; that a professional crook is actuated solely by self-interest. Had Tommy taken the sensible course, he would have received a free pardon with possibly some financial compensation into the bargain. He would have been in a position to prove what he had been unable to prove at the time of the stolen car incident. But he had not done that, so it was no use thinking about it.

  For the murder of Grant on the yacht, and the killing of Lew Darris on the island, Tommy was not to be blamed. It was easy to believe he had been shocked. He could not have imagined such dastardly behaviour. No man in his right mind would undertake a long sea voyage with a party of men who were not only crooks but potential murderers. Grant and Darris had got what they deserved, so Biggles made no pretence of shedding tears on their account. All the same, nothing can excuse murder.

  One thing, Biggles pondered, stood in Tommy’s favour; to his advantage. He had made no attempt, as might have been expected of a natural rogue, to recover the jewels for his own use, although possession of them would have made him a rich man. He had, moreover, taken steps to see that Raulstein did not get them either. True, he had pawned the ring out of necessity, but if, as he claimed, he still had the pawn ticket, it could be redeemed at any time. Only Tommy knew where the jewels were hidden, although doubtless Raulstein would do his utmost to find them; either that, or find Tommy if he came to the conclusion that he must know where they were. That might put Tommy in some danger.

  It was the knowledge that Tommy knew the exact whereabouts of the jewels that had brought his father to see him, decided Biggles. He hoped to strike a bargain; his son’s freedom against a quarter of a million pounds’ worth of gold and precious stones. He had as good as said so. Biggles, of course, could not accept such a proposition, and he doubted very much if the Higher Authority would consider it seriously, although in view of the exceptional circumstances — Tommy’s wrongful imprisonment, for instance — they might give it some thought. If the police authorities made a practice of such arrangements, quite a few crooks would be able to buy their freedom when they found themselves under lock and key. Biggles thought the best Tommy could hope for would be a reduced sentence in return for telling all he knew.

  What he expected would happen when he repeated the story to his Chief was that Tommy would be arrested, at any rate for questioning, and perhaps his father with him. He could perceive a certain weakness in the case for a prosecution should Tommy be arrested. Suppose, taking umbrage, he should deny the whole thing? Say there wasn’t a word of truth in it? The tale he had told his father was a pack of lies to account for his long absence from home? What could the police do then? There was no evidence, circumstantial or otherwise. The case would rest on Tommy’s alleged confession, which he could now deny.

  Biggles knew there was only one course of action open to him, and he got dressed with the intention of seeking an interview with Air Commodore Raymond as soon as possible in order to disclose the information now in his possession.

  He had just finished his breakfast when Bertie, still in his pyjamas, came into the living-room.

  ‘I heard you on the move, old boy, so I’ve tottered in to see if you’ve made up your mind about what you’re going to do over Dusty Miller, and all that, if you see what I mean?’ he announced cheerfully, pouring himself a cup of tea.

  ‘I’m going to hand the whole unsavoury kettle of fish to the Air Commodore and leave him to sort it out,’ answered Biggles. ‘What else can I do? We can do nothing on our own account.’

  ‘Isn’t that going to be a smack in the eye for Dusty?’

  ‘Bound to be. Pity, but there it is. Dusty must have known what would happen. I gave him fair warning. He might have been better advised to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘I suppose we couldn’t keep our mouths shut,’ offered Bertie tentatively.

  ‘Definitely not,’ declared Biggles. ‘That would make us party to a crime. I’m not having that. It wouldn’t do any good and only lead to trouble. Dusty would pester us to death wanting to know what we were doing. Silence on our part would do nothing to relieve his anxiety. His hair would turn grey with worry. No. There’s only one thing for it. I shall have it out with the Chief. The matter will then be out of our hands.’

  ‘So you’ve decided to pull the Pontius Pilate trick.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Wash your hands of it to keep your conscience clean. What in America I believe they call passing the buck.’

  ‘You can call it that if you like,’ retorted Biggles. ‘Have you a better suggestion?’

  ‘Frankly, old boy, no.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. All right. I’m moving off now. See you later at the Yard. So long.’

  Biggles went out, hailed a cruising taxi and went to Scotland Yard to await the arrival of his superior officer, Assistant Commissioner Air Commodore Raymond, head of the Special Air Section. Later, on being informed that he was in his office, he called him on the inter-com telephone and asked for an interview. This being granted he went down.

  ‘Good morning, Bigglesworth, what’s on your mind?’ greeted the Air Commodore, apparently sensing urgency from Biggles’ manner.

  ‘What I have on my mind is a problem, sir. I’m hoping you’ll be able to relieve me of it. It has some unusual angles.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ promised the Air Commodore, sitting back in his chair and putting the tips of his fingers together, his usual position on such occasions. ‘Sit down. Cigarette? Now, what’s the trouble?’

  Biggles pulled up a chair to the front of the desk. ‘I hope you’re not in a hurry, sir, because it’s rather a long story and I think you’d better hear it in detail,’ he said.

  ‘Proceed,’ requested the Air Commodore.

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t remember a Corporal-armourer in my squadron named Miller?’

  ‘I can’t say that I do.’

  ‘Last night he came to see me with as tall a tale as I’ve heard for a long time: but knowing Miller I’m convinced it’s true. He could have no possible reason for making up such a fantastic yarn, anyway.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Whereupon Biggles related the sinister story the ex-corporal had told in his flat.

  When he had finished, the Air Commodore, who had not once interrupted the narrative, sat silent for the best part of a minute, his eyes on Biggles’ face. At last he said: ‘What do you expect me to do about this?’

  ‘That’s for you to tell me, sir.’

  ‘You didn’t expect me to give a decision here and now?’

  ‘No, sir. I imagined you’d need time to think about it.’

  ‘Had you yourself anything in mind? Or let me put it this way. What would you do if I gave you the go-ahead to handle the affair your own way?’

  ‘Before doing anything else, I’d try to get confirmation of the story.’

  ‘How would you do that?’

  ‘I’d see this young man, Tommy Miller, and put a few searching questions to him. I’d like to know more about this island.’

  ‘From what you’ve told me, I get the impression you won’t get much out of him until he’s given an undertaking that no action will be taken against him.’

  ‘I think probably you’re right. I can’t see him throwing himself at our mercy. That’s what it would amount to. All the same, let’s not forget he’s told his father what he’s done and was willing for his father to come to me.’

  ‘Isn’t that throwing himself at our mercy?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He could go back on the story and swear there wasn’t a word of truth in it. Then what could we do?’

  The Air Commodore nodded. ‘I take your point. Even so, I couldn’t on my own responsibility promise any sort of immunity. That’s out of the question. The boy took part in a crime. I’ll talk to the Chief Commissioner about it and see how he feels. It may be a matter for the Home Secretary. Or he may issue a warrant for young Miller’s arrest.’

  ‘I take leave to say that in my opinion that would be a daft thing to do. We’re dealing with a man with a grievance. What he’s gone through must have made him tough. Handle him the wrong way and he’ll stick his toes in and we’d get nothing out of him. In that case you could say goodbye to the jewels and you’d never be able to build up a case against Raulstein for murder. Tommy is the only witness. I can’t see him risking his life for nothing.’

  ‘How risk his life?’

  ‘Raulstein carries a gun and is evidently prepared to use it. Why should Tommy put his life in jeopardy by ratting on Raulstein?’

  The Air Commodore frowned. ‘Are you taking sides with him?’

  ‘I’m not taking sides with him, but I think he’s entitled to a certain amount of sympathy. I’m more concerned with helping his father, wretched man. Let’s not forget that if the police hadn’t blundered in the first place, none of this would have happened. If Tommy’s a crook the police must accept responsibility for having made him one. At the moment he’s trying to go straight. Get tough with him now and he’ll be a crook for life. What he knows — I mean about the jewels — is worth a fortune of anybody’s money.’

  The Air Commodore brooded for a minute. ‘There’s an angle to this you don’t appear to have taken into account,’ he pointed out. ‘The jewels are alleged to be in Labrador. Labrador is administered by Canada. The Canadian Government would expect to have some say in this matter. We can’t go treasure hunting, or crook hunting, in their country just as it su
its us without so much as by your leave.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be difficult to arrange that,’ argued Biggles. ‘Give them the facts. We may need their assistance. They’ll be interested to know they have a murderer running loose. He might get up to any devilment in Canada.’

  ‘You’re assuming Raulstein is still in Canada?’

  ‘He’ll be there,’ stated Biggles grimly.

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘From what we know he’s not the sort of man to abandon a quarter of a million pounds’ worth of jewels without making an effort to get them. He knows they must still be somewhere on the island. The thought must madden him.’

  ‘You make a point there,’ conceded the Air Commodore. ‘All right, Bigglesworth, leave this to me. I’ll give the matter some thought and put the situation to the Chief Commissioner.’

  ‘With respect, sir, if I know anything that will take time,’ Biggles complained.

  ‘Is there any particular hurry?’

  ‘Not as far as the jewels are concerned, perhaps; but while we’re sitting on the case, pending a decision, Miller won’t be getting any sleep. Tommy, expecting to be arrested any day, may decide to bolt, and I must say I couldn’t blame him. It speaks well for him that he has told everything, bearing in mind that his wrongful imprisonment still rankles with him.’

  ‘You’ve got something in mind,’ guessed the Air Commodore, shrewdly. ‘Out with it.’

  ‘I thought it might be a good idea for me to have a word with Tommy Miller. So far I haven’t seen him. Of course, I wouldn’t make any promises: simply let him know his case is being considered at the highest level. That should be something for him to go on with; set his mind at rest for the moment, instead of watching for a police car to arrive to pick him up.’

  The Air Commodore considered the proposal. ‘I can’t see anything wrong with that,’ he said slowly. ‘See him but don’t give him the impression that all is forgiven.’

  ‘You can rely on me not to do that, sir,’ Biggles said, getting up. ‘I’ll try to contact him this evening when his father will be home from work. I’ll take a witness with me — probably Ginger.’

  ‘Just one other thing before you go,’ said the Air Commodore. ‘If it should be decided to send someone to the island to recover the jewels, how would you, for instance, go about it?’

  ‘That would depend on the circumstances and conditions on the island. That’s another reason why I think it would be a good thing for me to see Tommy. The first thing is to get his confidence and co-operation. Obviously it would be a waste of time to go without him. He could go straight to the place where he put the stuff. A mere description of the spot wouldn’t be enough. I don’t go for spade and shovel work with the prospect of digging up an entire island.’

  ‘How would you get to it?’

  ‘Fly.’

  ‘Labrador is a long way off. It would mean flying the Atlantic. We haven’t an aircraft on our strength suitable for such an operation.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the Merlin? It has the range, anyway, for the way I’d go. I’m not contemplating a direct overseas flight. I’ve checked with the map. My route would be Iceland, Greenland, and then straight on to Labrador, or possibly St John’s, Newfoundland. That way the longest leg over water would be under eight hundred miles; and that’s well within the endurance of the Merlin. It might be possible to get down on the actual island. That’s another reason for seeing Tommy. He should know. Otherwise, to get to the objective by regular surface travel would be a long and dreary business. I’d rather arrive with my own transport.’

  The Air Commodore nodded. ‘Yes, I see that. The coast of Labrador isn’t the easiest place in the world to get to. I’ll make some inquiries. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police may be able to help us or put forward some suggestion. I shall have to get in touch with Canada if it is decided to send someone out. I only put the question to you at this stage in case it arose should a conference be called to discuss this tricky business; for which, as far as I know, there is no precedent. I’d like to have the answers ready. In such cases as this no one is anxious to stick his neck out.’

  ‘Which means, eventually, I imagine, that if a neck is to be stuck out it will probably be mine,’ concluded Biggles tartly, from the door. ‘I’ll see young Miller and let you know the result. Meantime, sir, if you want me for anything, I shall be upstairs.’

  He left the room.

  CHAPTER 4

  POINTS OF VIEW

  AT a little after six o’clock the same evening, Biggles, with Ginger beside him in the car, pulled up outside the little suburban villa in Weybridge which Dusty Miller had given as his address. They got out, walked up a narrow path through a neat garden to the front door. Biggles knocked.

  The door was opened by a sad-looking woman rather past middle age. ‘Yes, what is it?’ she inquired wearily. Then, as if a thought had struck her, she added, ‘You come to take my boy away?’

  ‘No. Not this time,’ replied Biggles cheerfully. ‘Is it Mrs Miller?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve only come to have a few words with your husband. Is he at home?’

  ‘Yes. My son’s at home too, if that’s what you’re really here about. Come in.’ Turning, Mrs Miller called: ‘It’s the police, Fred.’

  A door at the end of a short corridor was opened and Dusty himself, in his shirt sleeves, appeared. ‘In here, sir,’ he invited, backing into the room. ‘What’s the news?’ he inquired anxiously, as Biggles and Ginger followed him in. ‘Take a seat, sir.’

  ‘No news, I’m afraid,’ answered Biggles. ‘No bad news, anyway. Not so far,’ he added cautiously, observing that Dusty was not alone in the sitting-room. ‘I’ve brought one of my pilot officers with me. You saw him in my flat.’

  ‘That’s right, sir. And this is my boy Tommy I told you about.’

  Slouched in an easy chair was a young man carelessly dressed in a polo-necked pullover and tight-fitting slacks. He wore his hair rather long. His face was lean and pale, showing the cheek bones, as if he had been through an illness. His expression was taciturn, and the eyes he turned on the visitors were sullen with suspicion. He did not move.

  Dusty said: ‘Tommy, this is my old C.O. I told you about.’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Brought the handcuffs with you?’ he inquired sourly.

  ‘I shan’t need them this evening, possibly not at all,’ returned Biggles easily, perceiving from Tommy’s uncompromising manner that the interview would require tact if he was to get anywhere. Dusty’s son had obviously adopted a barrier of reserve which might be difficult to break through. He went on, casually: ‘You know your father has told me about your adventures?’

  ‘So he tells me.’

  ‘I thought it might be a good thing if we had a chat, heart to heart, so to speak.’

  ‘What you mean is, you want to ask a lot of questions.’

  ‘Yes. But you needn’t answer them if you don’t want to. I shan’t try to force you. Please try to understand that my purpose in coming here is to try to help you.’

  ‘I’ll believe that when you’ve proved it. As far as I’m concerned you’re just another cop.’

  ‘If you’re going to take that attitude I’m afraid we shan’t get very far,’ Biggles said reprovingly.

  ‘That’s all right with me,’ returned the boy nonchalantly.

  ‘It may be all right with you, but have you no regard for your parents?’ came back Biggles curtly. ‘I don’t want to waste my time.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘That’s better. First of all let’s get this clear. Are you or are you not prepared to help us with our inquiries? If you’re not, say so, and you can go your own way.’

  ‘It depends on what you want to know.’

  ‘I want to know as much as you can tell us about the jewel robbery and about this crook Raulstein. I also want to know if you’re prepared to show us where you hid the jewels.’