‘An hour ago he was at Polcarron, in “The Fishermen’s Arms”, talking with his brother Stephen. If Julius has left, he has probably gone home to his place at Penlock. He can’t know how much we know, so he could be picked up there for questioning, if not actually charged with smuggling human freight. So where’s the difficulty?’

  The Chief Constable answered. ‘It’s this island rendezvous. We want to know who’s there and exactly what’s been going on. We don’t want to step on the toes of the Channel Island authorities; or France, if it comes to that. We must know who this island belongs to. As I understand the position there’s no place for a plane to land, so the only way of getting to it would be by boat.’

  ‘It wouldn’t need a battleship,’ Biggles said. ‘A coastguard cutter could do the job. I could go with it to watch things from our angle.’

  The Air Commodore looked at the Chief Constable. ‘How does that strike you?’

  ‘I suppose it could be done that way — if we knew the exact position of the island,’ was the thoughtful answer.

  ‘Then all that remains is to get organized,’ Biggles said cheerfully. ‘When we’ve cleaned up this little island nest of crooks we can tackle Penlock Grange and “The Fishermen’s Arms”. May I suggest that for a start we go to Polcarron to check what’s going on there?’

  ‘What exactly have you in mind?’ questioned the Air Commodore.

  Biggles continued. ‘I see it like this, sir. We know two men were left on the island. With the weather fair an attempt may be made to take them off. I’m pretty sure Julius Brunner would be in favour of that, to keep faith with his customers, who had paid for their passage. Stephen would probably be in favour of leaving them there. The boat should tell us what is happening. It was tied up at Polcarron. If it’s no longer there, it may have gone to the island. Then there’s their car, a Daimler. If it’s no longer at Polcarron, we can assume it has taken Julius home to Penlock. We shall learn nothing here, so I’d suggest we move on to Polcarron. I have a car here.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered the big question,’ put in the Chief Constable. ‘Let us suppose the boat has gone, is already out at sea? Then what? How are we going to locate this island?’

  ‘I can’t see any great difficulty about that,’ answered Biggles. ‘We have an aircraft. You lay on a boat and we’ll handle the aviation side.’

  ‘How exactly?’

  ‘If the boat has left Polcarron, the plane should be able to spot it and shadow it. When the boat lands at the island, all the plane has to do is circle over it. That should show the coastguard cutter exactly where it is. But all this depends on the state of affairs at Polcarron, so I’d suggest we go there without losing any more time.’

  After a brief conference this was agreed by the two senior officers. Biggles’ last words to Algy were: ‘There’s nothing you can do for the moment except wait here with Ginger and stand by for signals. That won’t be until we find out what the position is in Polcarron. Then I’ll call you. If the boat is still there it’s a washout. If it’s gone your job will be to find it; that, of course, is assuming the Chief Constable can get some sort of official craft to follow it — under your direction of course.’

  The Chief Constable put in a word. ‘It’s no use me trying to fix anything until we know for certain that the boat has put to sea.’

  ‘That’s understood, sir.’

  ‘I’ll get on the telephone from somewhere as soon as we know if we shall have to make this a marine operation.’

  ‘I’d suggest either the police station or post office at Polcarron would be the best place,’ offered Biggles.

  Nothing more was said. With four on board the car set off, Algy and Ginger standing by the Auster. Little was said on the journey, all there was to say having already been said, and in due course the car was cruising up the sea road at Polcarron. Biggles brought it slowly to a stop against the kerb. His eyes surveyed the little harbour. The boat they sought had gone.

  ‘So now we know,’ he murmured. ‘The question is, where has it gone? To the island, or has it simply moved to another berth? I see an old friend of mine on the beach. He may have seen which way it went. I’ll ask him. The Daimler is still outside the pub, so it looks as if Julius Brunner is still here. If his chauffeur has gone with the boat, he may be waiting for him to come back. He may not be able to drive the car himself.’

  The Air Commodore spoke. ‘You’d better call the plane and get it started on the search.’

  ‘Before I do that I’ll have a word with Sam, my friend on the bench,’ Biggles answered. ‘He should know which way the boat went when it left here. There’s no point in starting to search the Channel if the boat has only moved along the coast. I shan’t keep you a minute.’ Biggles got out, and without any apparent haste, in case he was being watched from ‘The Fishermen’s Arms’, made his way to the beach where old Sam Pretty was basking in the sun, wearing his usual navy blue guernsey and peaked cap.

  ‘Hello there,’ greeted the old seaman, in his rich Cornish burr, as he joined him. ‘Ain’t seen you lately. Thought you musta’ left for good.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been about,’ returned Biggles casually, as he sat down.

  ‘What about Tom Draper dying sudden like he did?’ said Sam. ‘That was a bit of a shock. Couldn’t believe it when they told me.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Biggles. ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘Can’t make nothin’ of it. Seems mighty queer to me. He didn’t look the sort of chap to pop off like that.’

  ‘They reckon it was an accident,’ prompted Biggles, to get the old man’s opinion.

  Shaking his head Sam gave Biggles a sidelong glance. ‘That warn’t no accident.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Tom wasn’t alone on the cliff path that night.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve got eyes. I seen another man there, walking behind him.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Couldn’t say. It was dark.’

  ‘Have you told the police this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Nobody’s arst me. I told you there was more going on here than meets the eye. I reckon there still is. Strangers a’ comin’ and goin’.’

  ‘What strangers?’

  ‘How should I know? It ain’t none o’ my business.’

  Biggles changed the subject. ‘That shark-fishing outfit was here not long ago. I see it’s gone. Another fishing trip, I suppose.’

  ‘Could be — could be. If it is they won’t do no good today. They ought to know that.’

  ‘Why no good?’

  ‘The tide’s set wrong. Change o’ wind. Water’s too cold.’

  ‘Did you see the boat leave?’

  ‘Couldn’t help but see it. I was sittin’ here.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Couple hours, mebbe.’

  ‘Who did it take?’

  ‘Brunner what owns the pub, the fellar who drives that big car standing outside now and a coupla strangers like I spoke about. They arrived in a hell of a hurry, it seemed to me, for a quiet day’s fishing. Came up the street so fast in one of these little red racing cars they might have killed someone. Two young men in it. Went into the pub. Had some luggage with ‘em. Presently one of ‘em comes out and puts the car into one of the pub’s lock-up garages, so it looked like they was goin’ to stay. After a while they came out with Stephen Brunner and that chauffeur and they all go down to the boat. The strangers still had their luggage, which struck me as queer.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It didn’t look like fishing tackle to me. I couldn’t work that out not nohow, when they cast off.’

  ‘Which way did the boat go?’

  Sam pointed straight out to sea. ‘That was the way they went, and that was the way they were still going, full speed ahead, when I last saw ‘em.’

  This was all Biggles really wanted to know. He didn’t stop to wonder who the two strangers might be. Already he had been longer than he had intended, so excusing himself he returned to the car to find the others listening to the one o’clock news bulletin on the B.B.C. Home service.

  ‘I should really be getting back to London,’ the Air Commodore said, frowning.

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’ inquired Biggles.

  ‘There’s been another big bank raid. I should be on the spot to deal with it. Usual business. The get-away car was a red Jaguar. Stolen, of course. Shouldn’t take us long to find it’

  ‘Did you say a red Jaguar?’ queried Biggles, tersely.

  ‘That’s what they say. Why?’

  ‘A red sports car arrived here, apparently in a devil of a hurry, about two hours ago. Two men in it, with luggage. According to my information the car is now in one of the private lock-up garages of “The Fishermen’s Arms”. The two men who came in it, and their luggage, are now in the boat, which has put to sea, apparently on a fishing trip. What do you make of that? Is it coincidence — or is it?’

  The Air Commodore was staring hard at Biggles’ face. ‘You don’t think...?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. Why not? The raiders would be anxious to get out of the country as quickly as possible, and if they knew about the racket that’s been going on under cover of this shark-fishing, they might well have made for here. In fact, the whole thing might have been arranged beforehand.’

  ‘We’d better have a look at this car,’ declared the Air Commodore, starting up from his seat.

  ‘You won’t find the loot in it even if it turns out to be the get-away car.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If I’m guessing right it’s in the luggage that was put on the boat. The car won’t tell us anything, so there’s no hurry in dealing with it. It’ll still be here tomorrow, and probably for a long time after that, since no crook will want to be seen with a vehicle which half the police in the country must now be looking for. I think it would be better to concentrate on the boat. I’ll call my boys on the radio and tell them to get weaving. Not that there’s any hurry about that, either. If the boat’s bound for the island, it’ll take it best part of the day to get there.’ Biggles turned to the Chief Constable. ‘If I may presume to suggest it, sir, if it could be arranged, this is where you might lay on one of your official boats with two or three sturdy fellows on board in case of trouble.’

  ‘Why not wait here and arrest the whole gang when they come ashore?’

  ‘We don’t know for certain that the boat will come back here; or, if it does, some of the passengers might have been put ashore somewhere else. Moreover, it’s unlikely that the two new men who went out with the boat will come back in it.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed the Chief Constable. ‘The most likely place to get what we want is Falmouth. It isn’t far away. They might let us have a coastguard patrol boat, with its crew.’

  ‘If they can do that it might come here to pick up anyone who wants to go with it. The skipper will need someone to tell him exactly what we’re trying to do.’

  ‘I’ll get on the phone right away,’ said the Chief Constable.

  Biggles turned to the Air Commodore. ‘As this looks like being a long job, sir, don’t you think it would be a good idea to grab something to eat while we have the opportunity?’

  ‘Eat? Where?’

  ‘At “The Fishermen’s Arms”. There’s nowhere else. It might be worth having a look to see what’s going on there, anyway.’

  ‘You can go if you like; I’m not particularly hungry,’ replied the Air Commodore. ‘My mind is too taken up with this business.’

  ‘As we look like having a long trip in front of us, I’d feel happier with a few sandwiches in my pocket, if nothing else,’ Biggles said. ‘An old soldier always has an eye on his rations.’

  This being settled, what was in fact the second part of the scheme was put into operation. The Chief Constable went off to the post office to telephone, and Biggles got busy making contact with Algy at the airfield. Having succeeded in this, he gave his orders in detail, telling him exactly what he wanted him to do.

  By the time he had finished the Chief Constable was back. ‘That’s all right,’ he stated. ‘A coastguard cutter is on the way. It should be here in about half an hour.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Biggles. ‘While we’re waiting I can slip along to the pub for a few sandwiches as an excuse to see what goes on there. I’ll bring some for you, Bertie. While I’m away stand by the radio in case Algy comes through.’

  So saying Biggles left the car and walked briskly down the pavement to ‘The Fishermen’s Arms’. Pushing through the swing doors he looked into the bar in passing. There were no customers; only the barman, polishing some glasses, who gave him a curious look.

  Biggles did not stop but went on to the dining-room. There was only one person there, too. Julius Brunner, apparently having his lunch. On Biggles’ entry he looked at him with his fork raised. ‘So you’ve come back,’ he said shortly. ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘Some food, what else?’ answered Biggles cheerfully.

  ‘Lunch is off.’

  ‘No matter. A few sandwiches will do me. I live here, so I’m entitled to something. The place looks as if it could do with a few customers. You should be full at this time of the year. Or perhaps you don’t care whether you have any customers or not.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Brunner.

  ‘Why bother with customers when there are easier ways of making money.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, shark-fishing for instance.’

  ‘I don’t go in for it.’

  ‘Your brother does.’

  After a pause Brunner went on. ‘Your name’s Bigglesworth, I believe.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I understand you’re something to do with Scotland Yard?’

  ‘Your information is correct.’

  ‘Are you here on business or pleasure?’

  ‘At the moment, strictly business. Does that worry you?’

  ‘No. Why should it? How much longer are you likely to be here?’

  ‘Not much longer, I hope. I’ve nearly finished what I came to do, so by tomorrow I should be away. You might ask your brother to have my bill ready. I’ve merely looked in for a few sandwiches to take with me.’

  ‘We don’t do sandwiches.’

  ‘I see you’re having cold chicken. A little of that would suit me fine. Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but if you’ll get someone to put a few slices between some bread and butter I’ll be on my way. I’ll take two packets, one for a friend.’

  Brunner scowled, but he rang the bell on his table. When the waitress appeared he ordered the sandwiches. Looking at Biggles he said: ‘You’ll have to wait for my brother to make out your bill. He does the books. At present he’s out fishing.’

  ‘Not a good day for it, I’m told. Still, no doubt he’ll bring back a fish to show that his time wasn’t wasted.’

  With his eyes on Biggles’ face Brunner said: ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Biggles answered. ‘I think you know what I mean. I know all about your fishing activities, Mr. Brunner. They’re about to end.’

  At this juncture the waitress came in with two packets of sandwiches. She put them on the table near which Biggles was standing and went out. Biggles picked up the packets.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll be going.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Brunner said coldly. ‘You’re staying here. Sit down.’

  Biggles found himself looking into the muzzle of a small automatic pistol. He shook his head sadly. ‘Oh really, Mr. Brunner, what sort of nonsense is this? You’ve been looking at too much television. The things they do don’t always work in real life. I have some friends outside, and if I don’t soon join them they’ll be in to see what I’m doing. You’re in enough trouble as it is without making matters worse. You’d better start thinking about your position.’

  ‘Can’t we settle this between ourselves?’ Brunner said with a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘I’m a rich man.’

  ‘So I believe; and I know why. I don’t like that sort of money, so if you’re offering me a bribe there’s nothing doing. You’ve had your fun and before long you’ll have to take your medicine. Good day to you.’ Biggles turned and walked out of the room, wondering why he had given Brunner such a broad hint of what was afoot.

  In a few minutes he had rejoined the others in the car.

  ‘Some grub for you,’ he said, handing Bertie his packet of sandwiches.

  ‘Any trouble in getting them?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘Not really,’ answered Biggles evenly.

  ‘The Auster has just gone over.’

  ‘Good,’ said Biggles.

  They waited, eating their sandwiches in silence.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE SEA TAKES CONTROL

  THE plan began to develop. The Auster could be seen returning. Algy came through on the radio to say he had spotted the alleged fishing launch well out to sea on a course either for France or the island he had previously marked. As it still had a long way to go, he was returning to base rather than burn petrol for no reason and perhaps make it obvious to the enemy what he was doing. He would resume watching later, after he had refuelled.

  Shortly after this the coastguard cutter appeared round the headland and turned into the harbour.

  By this time it had been arranged that Biggles and Bertie should go with it, the two senior officers having decided to remain in the car to await events and at the same time be in a position to keep in touch with their headquarters, by telephone, should it become necessary. Wherefore Biggles and Bertie went down to the quay, and having introduced themselves were taken on board the patrol boat, a powerful, robust craft of about twenty tons, named the Sea Scout, with a crew of four including the engineer. There was no delay and in a matter of minutes the cutter, with a dinghy lashed on deck, was heading out to sea in a stiffening breeze.

 

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