Biggles Sees Too Much Page 3

  No, that was no use, Biggles thought helplessly. He had been outwitted, he told himself bitterly. But how — how — how, was the question that hammered in his head. He sank back on the bench and lit a cigarette. All he could hope for now was that Bertie would have better luck with the Daimler. After a minute or two, impotent, but feeling he might as well be doing something instead of seeking inspiration in the sea, he made his way along the quay and up the ramp leading to the road and his hotel, appropriately named ‘The Fishermen’s Arms’.

  He found the usual man serving behind the bar. By this time, as a resident he was on familiar terms with him. He ordered a glass of beer, and while the barman was drawing it asked casually: ‘Tell me, Tom. Did a fellow in a chauffeur’s uniform come in here a little while ago?’

  The answer, as he expected, was ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘No. He’s been in once or twice, but I don’t know his name.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘A whisky-soda.’

  ‘Did he ask any questions?’

  ‘He asked if we had any spare rooms.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him the truth. We only had two and they were taken. I don’t think he believed me, because I saw him go to the hall and look at the visitors’ book. He must have seen your name, because when he came back he asked me how long Bigglesworth and Lissie were staying here.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him you’d booked for an indefinite stay.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘That was all. He lit a fag and strolled over to the window. Then he finished his drink in a bit of a hurry and went out.’

  ‘How did he light his fag?’

  Tom looked surprised by the question, as he had reason to be. ‘He had a lighter. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered.’ Biggles smiled lugubriously as he sipped his beer. That answered one question, anyway. When the chauffeur asked him for a match, he had a lighter in his pocket. Clearly, he was making an excuse to speak, and perhaps have a closer look at the two men sitting on the bench. A common enough excuse, and reasonable. So he had been suspicious. Why? The answer to that was not hard to find.

  Still sipping his beer Biggles began to see a glimmer of daylight. After speaking to them the chauffeur had gone to the pub, ostensibly to get a drink, but really to find out if he and Bertie were lodging there. At the same time he had learned their names. Would the name Bigglesworth mean anything to him? Biggles wondered uneasily. It might or it might not. If it had, its association with Scotland Yard would account for what had followed. Somehow the man had made a signal to the boat. Evidently he was wide-awake. Equally evident, he was in the racket; or engaged in something illegal. His behaviour was not that of an honest citizen on holiday.

  Biggles finished his beer. ‘I’ll be back presently for lunch,’ he told the barman over his shoulder as he went out to return to the quay, there to await Bertie’s return. Of course, he had no idea of how long he would be.

  It so happened that he had less time to wait than he expected. Within half an hour he saw him coming down the ramp. He stopped at the bench and got out; and even before he spoke Biggles knew that things had not gone well.

  ‘Well, how did you get on?’ he asked.

  ‘I lost him,’ announced Bertie dejectedly.

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘You know what some of these sunken Cornish lanes are like, winding about up and down hill with never a view on either side or far ahead. I managed fairly well for a time, although without getting too close, it wasn’t easy to keep him in sight — if you see what I mean. Then sheer rotten luck stepped in. A farmer opened a gate just in front of me and let a herd of cows pour into the road. I had to stop. I was held up for a good five minutes and that was that. Where the Daimler went I don’t know. I dashed around for a while but couldn’t find it. Never saw it again. So I had to pack it in.’ Bertie held out his hands. ‘What else could I do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Biggles answered shortly. ‘Did the fellow in the Daimler realize you were tailing him?’

  ‘I don’t know. It wouldn’t have made any difference. He had nothing to do with those bally cows, anyhow.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘Apparently this isn’t our lucky day.’

  ‘Why? Did something go wrong here?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘What happened when the boat came in?’

  ‘It didn’t come in.’

  Bertie blinked. ‘It didn’t?’

  ‘It did not.’

  ‘Where did it go?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. It changed course and shot away somewhere to the west. Without transport there was nothing I could do about it. I’m no marathon runner. It passed out of sight behind the headland, going at a rate of knots.’

  ‘I was sure it was heading for here!’

  ‘So it was. The man in charge changed his mind, and I think I know why. Somehow our chauffeur pal gave him the tip to keep clear. I haven’t much doubt about that. I’ve been to the pub and turned up one or two interesting little facts. You’ll remember the chauffeur went there when he left us? I can now tell you he went there to make some inquiries about us. I’m afraid he got the information he wanted. If I’m right, let’s face it, this morning, one way and another, we’ve done more harm than good. We’ve shown the enemy our hand and got nothing in return. We shall now have to do some hard rethinking.’ Biggles dropped the stub of his cigarette and put a foot on it.

  ‘Tell me, old boy. What did you find out at the pub to make you so sure of all this?’

  Biggles narrated briefly what he had ascertained at the hotel, and concluded: ‘If, as we have reason to suspect, the man driving the Daimler is a crook, one of the gang that has been operating from here, it’s almost certain that he’ll know me by name, and what I do for a living. Well, now he knows. You realize what that means? They’ll give this place a wide berth, at any rate while we’re here. We may have to find fresh quarters for all the good we shall do here. I may be wrong. We shall see. Now the damage has been done there’s no need to do anything in a hurry. We might as well go up to the pub and tear a lobster to pieces.’

  ‘Have you told Algy about this?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘Not yet; but I shall have to.’

  ‘Why not now? Better let him know right away how things stand with us, so that he’ll be ready for a quick change of plan — if you see what I mean?’

  ‘It might be as well,’ agreed Biggles, unstrapping the case containing the radio.

  He was soon in touch. ‘It’s Ginger,’ he told Bertie in a quick aside. He spoke again. ‘What were you saying? I’m listening.’

  It seemed to Bertie that he listened for a long time, with only an occasional interjection that conveyed nothing to Bertie, who sat watching. When he saw that Biggles had switched off he said: ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me what all that was about?’

  ‘It may be that we haven’t entirely wasted our time after all,’ answered Biggles, buckling up the radio equipment. ‘At least, we now know the answer to the mystery as to why the boat changed course. We also know the name, or the nickname, of the gent driving the Daimler. It’s Pug Bates.’

  Bertie’s eyes were saucering. ‘How on earth do you know this? What could Ginger have had to do with it?’

  ‘Plenty,’ replied Biggles. ‘Listen and I’ll tell you. The luck hasn’t all been against us. We’ve had a spot of it, too. An hour ago Ginger tried to get in touch with us to find out if we had any news. Twiddling the knobs he cut in on another radio conversation coming through. There was some interference, but he got the gist of it. Someone named Pug Bates was warning someone to keep clear of Polcarron because two Yard men were watching the harbour. So now we know. That must have been the chauffeur talking to the boat. He had a pug nose. Evidently the Daimler is fitted for two-way radio. It’s all so simple now we know the answer. We might have guessed it. Of course, the conversation Ginger had butted into by accident meant nothing to him and he only mentioned it to me to explain why he hadn’t been through to us before. But it means a lot to us.’

  ‘I noticed an aerial on the Daimler, but I assumed it was just the standard car radio for picking up the B.B.C.,’ Bertie said.

  ‘Naturally, you would,’ returned Biggles. ‘It begins to look as if we’re up against a more efficient organization than I had imagined. There must be big money in it for them to go to all this trouble and expense. But that’s enough for now. There’s nothing we can do for the moment, so we might as well have some lunch. This afternoon we’ll slip along and have a word with Algy and Ginger. They’d better know how things stand.’

  ‘At least we know the registration number of that bally Daimler,’ reminded Bertie.

  ‘That’s something to go on with,’ stated Biggles. ‘We’ll find out who it belongs to. That shouldn’t take long.’

  Leaving their car where it stood, they went up to the road and crossed to their hotel on the opposite side. Pushing open the glass-panelled swing doors into the hall, they were passing on to the dining-room, when Biggles paused to look at the small side-table where the postman regularly put any mail. ‘Just a minute, here’s a parcel for me,’ he said to Bertie. ‘At least, it’s addressed to Captain Bigglesworth, so I can only suppose that means me. Seems I’ve been promoted. It can’t be from the Air Commodore. Who else would write to me here?’ He picked up the small, compact parcel. ‘Feels heavy,’ he remarked.

  ‘Let’s have a dekko.’ Bertie reached for the parcel. Between them they fumbled it and it fell on the uncarpeted floor.

  Biggles stopped and picked it up. Suddenly he stiffened, and with a curious expression on his face he raised the parcel to an ear. ‘Must be a clock
. I can hear it ticking,’ he told Bertie, who was watching all this with questioning eyes. Then he moved. Fast. Dashing to the end of the hall, he flung open the swing doors, and after a swift glance up and down for possible traffic, he hurled the parcel to the far side of the road. It struck the sea wall and bounced back on to the pavement that skirted it. Simultaneously there was a shattering explosion. The packing material flew in all directions, and from the spot where the parcel had struck the ground, a thin cloud of blue smoke drifted into the air.

  The blast had sent Biggles staggering back. He bumped into Bertie who had followed him out to see what he was doing.

  ‘My sainted aunt!’ gasped Bertie. ‘What a stinker! Good thing you didn’t waste any time with it.’

  Biggles’ face was pale under its tan. With hands that were not quite steady he lit a cigarette. ‘Had I stopped to open it, Tom would now be picking up pieces of my face off the floor,’ he said grimly.

  ‘How did you know what it was?’

  ‘I didn’t know. I only suspected. The address made me suspect it was phoney before I picked it up and felt the weight of it. Lucky we dropped it, so we can’t complain on that score. That triggered something off. I could hear ticking. I wasn’t taking any chances. I couldn’t get rid of the thing fast enough. I might have been wrong. As it turned out I was right. Well, now we know how far these villains are prepared to go. Let’s go back in and have a drink. I need one. That was a close shave, close enough to shake me.’

  When they went to the bar and ordered drinks Tom said: ‘What was that bang I heard? It rattled the windows.’

  ‘Must have been some silly ass barging through the sound barrier,’ Biggles suggested casually. ‘By the way, there was a parcel for me in the hall. Do you know how it got there?’

  ‘No. I didn’t see it arrive,’ Tom said. ‘Couldn’t have been the postman. It isn’t his time.’

  ‘Never mind. Forget it,’ returned Biggles carelessly. ‘If lunch is ready so am I. Come on, Bertie. Let’s go through.’

  ‘I seem to have lost my appetite,’ Bertie remarked as they sat at their regular table.

  ‘Oh come, now,’ bantered Biggles. ‘You’re too experienced a soldier to let a little squib like that upset you.’ Then he added seriously: ‘We’ve had a warning, so from now on we shall have to watch how we go. The gang we’ve crashed into don’t believe in wasting time; and it looks as if they’re prepared to take a little thing like murder in their stride. I’m puzzled as to how that parcel got in the hall. Did the chauffeur come back here, or is there a member of the gang always stationed here?’

  Bertie shook his head. ‘No use asking me, old boy. No bally use at all. No doubt, as some wizard once remarked, time will show.’

  CHAPTER 4

  BIGGLES MAKES SOME INQUIRIES

  BIGGLES was quiet over lunch. Bertie, realizing he was preoccupied with the events of the morning, did not interrupt his thoughts. However, when they had finished their meal, over coffee Biggles said: ‘You must be trying to work out what’s on my mind. I’ll tell you. I’m wondering if it’s any use staying on here now the enemy knows who we are. Let’s not fool ourselves. They must also have a pretty good idea of why we’re here, or they wouldn’t have planted that bomb this morning. Of course, that chauffeur wasn’t really looking for rooms when he came here. He merely wanted to find out who we were and how long we intended to stay. Let us put it this way. Is it any use our staying here now these racketeers know all the answers? At least, we can assume they do.’

  ‘They’ll soon know their effort to bump us off didn’t work. All the same, they’ll suppose it gave us a fright and they’ll expect us to move to healthier quarters,’ opined Bertie pensively.

  ‘I was thinking on the same lines,’ returned Biggles. ‘So what’s the answer? I’ve usually found it pays off to avoid doing what is expected of me. As you say, they’ll expect us to clear out: wherefore I feel inclined to stay put, which should give them something to think about. It’d be risky, no doubt. Having failed to eliminate us at the first attempt, doesn’t mean they won’t have another go.’

  ‘Absolutely, old boy, absolutely,’ murmured Bertie. ‘But it goes against the grain to give ‘em the impression that they’ve got us scared.’

  ‘They’ve got me scared all right; don’t get any wrong ideas about that,’ confessed Biggles grimly. ‘But after what happened this morning the matter has become personal. When people have a crack at me I get a strong impulse to hit back at ‘em. I’m nothing for turning the other cheek, or any nonsense of that sort. In my experience it’s likely to hurt more. The trouble is, we still haven’t a clue as to who’s behind this racket. They have the advantage of knowing who we are. But given time we should be able to get that sorted out.’

  ‘We know one man who must know who they are — if you follow me,’ Bertie pointed out.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Limpy Logan; if you’re right in thinking you saw him smuggled ashore.’

  ‘We don’t know where he is.’

  ‘If the police could pick him up we could ask him a few pointed questions.’

  ‘He wouldn’t squeal.’

  ‘He might, if we turned the screws on hard enough.’

  Biggles shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t care to rely on it. We’ve got to find him first, anyway. There is one other thing that might give us a lead. We’ve got the number of that Daimler. We’ll ask the Yard to let us know who it belongs to. That shouldn’t take long. I don’t feel like telephoning from here. Let’s go and put Algy and Ginger wise to the latest development. I’ll phone the Yard from a post-office, or when we get to the clubhouse. When they’ve got the answer they can call me back.’

  ‘Will you tell the Chief what’s gone on here?’

  ‘Not on your life. With the best of intentions he’d probably order us to return home, and maybe take us off the case altogether. I don’t want that to happen. When I get my teeth into something I hate having to let go. But let’s press on and see the boys. We’ve left my car unattended long enough as it is.’

  They left the hotel, and having made sure they were not being followed returned to the car. It was still where it had been left, and as far as could be judged from a quick inspection, they were satisfied that it had not been interfered with. Having warned Bertie to keep an eye open behind them to check if they were being shadowed, Biggles set off for the aerodrome. A drive of half an hour saw them at their destination where they found Algy and Ginger standing by the aircraft.

  Biggles said to them: ‘Now we’re here there’s no need to wait for signals. I’ve something to tell you. Let’s go over to the clubhouse. I have to make a phone call to the Yard. You can wait for me on the veranda. I shan’t be long.’

  When they reached the wooden building Biggles went on to the secretary’s office. He was away a few minutes. When he returned, taking a seat he said: ‘They’re going to ring me back here when they’ve got the information I want, so we can take our time.’

  Then, for the benefit of Algy and Ginger, he related what had happened at Polcarron that morning. He concluded by saying: ‘That’s how things stand at the moment. We thought you had better know the position right away.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ inquired Ginger, looking concerned.

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ Biggles answered. ‘It depends on what the Yard is able to tell me about that Daimler. I can hear the phone now. It might be them.’

  ‘Your call,’ cried the Club Secretary.

  Biggles departed. He was away a few minutes and came back folding a slip of paper, which he put in his wallet. ‘I’ve got the information I wanted,’ he said, resuming his seat.

  ‘Tell us,’ requested Bertie.

  ‘It’s not exactly what I expected,’ Biggles said. ‘The Daimler belongs to a Mr. Julius Brunner, who lives at Penlock Grange, which is not far from Polcarron, as I’ve just ascertained from the map in the office. As a matter of fact I noticed a signpost pointing to the village of Penlock on the way here, so I know roughly where it is.’

  ‘Brunner. That name rings a bell,’ put in Bertie.

  Biggles continued. ‘Apparently he’s one of these international financiers who have a finger in all sorts of pies. One of his interests is a chain of hotels, on the Continent as well as in this country.’