Biggles joined the officer in charge, who was at the wheel, and turned out to be a retired Chief Petty Officer of the Royal Navy. He was a bearded man of late middle age. He said his name was Cole — Frank Cole.

  ‘You must be wondering what all this is about,’ began Biggles.

  ‘I am,’ was the reply. ‘What’s the trouble? I didn’t get much of a briefing. I was simply told you were police officers from Scotland Yard and I was to put myself at your disposal to make a fairly long trip. You would give me the details.’

  Forthwith Biggles explained the situation. ‘My assistants will be along in a plane, when the time comes, to mark the island for us,’ he concluded.

  ‘This cabin cruiser we’re after must be the Shearwater,’ said the sailor, thoughtfully.

  ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Sure I know it. I know all the small craft along our stretch of coast. I’ve often thought its behaviour was a bit off the normal. In fact, I’ve had a check on it once or twice. But it usually came back with a shark on board, so it seemed to be doing an honest job. Anyway, I couldn’t find anything wrong. I must admit I didn’t think of smuggling in human freight.’

  ‘I don’t think they wasted much time fishing, although for the look of it they sometimes brought a shark home with them. I believe they sometimes made the same fish serve for two or three trips.’

  ‘Well I’ll be damned!’ exclaimed Cole wrathfully. ‘So that’s how they took me in.’

  ‘Well, now you can get your own back,’ replied Biggles cheerfully. ‘We want to question the two men on the island, if they’re still there, and everyone on board the Shearwater. That may include two bank robbers who are aiming to get abroad with a load of stolen money. As I see it they’d be put ashore on the island to be picked up in due course by a boat from the other side of the Channel. I think there must be two boats engaged in this racket, one from each side, but I’m only interested in the one that’s been operating from Cornwall. When I’m more sure of my ground, I’ll give our French friends the tip as to what’s been going on and leave their side to them.’

  ‘I only hope that when we get to the island we shall be able to get ashore,’ Cole said.

  ‘Do you know this particular island, then?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But I shall know the area. I doubt if anyone knows every one of the Channel Islands.’

  ‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t go ashore?’

  ‘I’m looking at the weather. The report isn’t too good. They say there’s wind on the way. Getting ashore on these smaller islands with a sea running is always tricky, even for a dinghy,’ Cole grinned. ‘I hope you’re a good sailor. We may have a rough passage. By the time we get to mid-Channel we shall know.’

  For the next two hours nothing happened; that is, nothing to affect the operation except that the sea became steadily more turbulent, although this did not affect the performance of the revenue boat which had been designed for such conditions. Surprisingly, Biggles thought, they saw few ships, in what is reckoned to be one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. Then, through flying spray, he made out a smaller craft ahead of them.

  ‘That’s the Shearwater,’ observed Cole. ‘I’d know her anywhere. She has no business, no legitimate business, anyhow, as far over as this.’

  ‘She isn’t on legitimate business,’ reminded Biggles.

  ‘I can overhaul her any time you like.’

  ‘Better not get too close, yet, or they may take fright and run for one of the larger islands,’ advised Biggles.

  Time went on, with the weather still deteriorating. The Shearwater, still a long way ahead, being smaller, was being tossed about, but showed no signs of turning back.

  ‘I hope they’re enjoying themselves,’ muttered Biggles. ‘How much farther have we to go?’

  ‘If I’m right about the island we’re supposed to be making for, I’d say half an hour, give or take a few minutes. What happens if when they get to the island they find it’s too rough to make a landing?’

  ‘Do you think it will be too rough?’

  ‘I’d say yes.’

  ‘In that case the only thing we could do would be to follow the boat back to Cornwall and pick ‘em up when they step ashore,’ replied Biggles. The sound of an aero engine made him look up and he saw the Auster going over. ‘There go my lads,’ he told Cole. ‘They’ll mark the island for us when they see for certain which one it is. That’s as much as they’ll be able to do.’

  ‘I wonder you didn’t use a helicopter for this job,’ remarked Cole. ‘There are plenty in Cornwall, doing one job or another.’

  ‘Yes. I know. But there were objections. A chopper may be all right if you know exactly what you’re going to ask it to do. I was told that the island was mostly a lot of jagged rocks. Then there was the possibility of bringing back prisoners. Taking it by and large, a boat seemed a more reliable proposition.’

  ‘What are your boys doing?’ asked Cole, his eyes on the aircraft. ‘They appear to be turning back.’

  ‘Maybe they think that now we’ve got the enemy under observation we’ve no further use for them,’ surmised Biggles. ‘It might be a good idea, now, if we got a bit closer in case they tried to give us the slip in one of these squalls.’

  ‘I’ll see they don’t do that,’ Cole answered.

  The cutter increased its speed until its bows were cleaving the angry water like a knife; and it was not long before a dark shadow, low in the water, came into view. ‘That must be the island they’re making for,’ Biggles said. Actually, little could be seen of it yet for breakers that were flinging clouds of white spray high into the air. But as they drew nearer some details appeared.

  The island, or perhaps more correctly, islet, did not make an attractive picture by any standards. It might have been the back of a sea monster rising from the water had it not consisted almost entirely of chaotic water-worn rock. There was practically no vegetation, merely a few patches of coarse grass. Trees there were none. They were represented by a single hawthorn shrub, gnarled, its branches distorted and forced by the wind to crouch at an angle of thirty degrees to the ground.

  ‘Not my idea of a desert island, old boy,’ remarked Bertie. ‘We shan’t find any bananas here — if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Nor anything else, by the look of it,’ murmured Biggles, peering ahead through the flying spray.

  ‘I’ll tell you this,’ said Cole soberly. ‘Anyone trying to get ashore here today would be asking for trouble.’

  ‘It looks as if the people ahead are going to have a shot at it,’ returned Biggles. ‘That’s understandable. They must have seen us and realized we’re after them. They’ll do anything rather than be caught red-handed with a load of stolen money on board.’

  ‘If they’ve been here before they may know of a sheltered spot under the wind,’ Cole said. ‘I hope you’re not going to ask me to risk my ship by trying anything daft.’

  ‘You may be sure I shan’t ask you to do anything you don’t consider reasonable,’ answered Biggles with a bleak smile. ‘And when I say that I’m thinking as much of my own skin as your ship. I’m nothing for sea bathing in this sort of water.’ He spoke with his eyes on the boat ahead, now in plain view. He went on. ‘As I said just now, I imagine they’ll take any chance to get away.’

  ‘No doubt,’ grunted Cole. He leaned forward, staring. ‘Hello! What’s this? Can you see what I see?’

  Biggles looked. ‘Another boat, by thunder!’

  ‘Looks like a French fishing-boat. Coming up to the island from the far side. What do you make of it?’

  Biggles thought for a few seconds. ‘I’d say we’re just in time to see a pick-up. I always realized this must be a two-way traffic, with the island a sort of half-way house. And there is a house of sorts, or a ruin,’ Biggles went on, his voice rising. ‘I can see it. Must be where men wait to be picked up. Yes, that’s it. Two men have just come out. They’re waving.’

  There was a pause. Then Bertie, who was standing by and so far had said little, remarked: ‘I’d bet they’re not waving to us; and if it’s the fishing-boat they’re out of luck. It’s turning away. It’s just spotted us, and it doesn’t like the look of us.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Cole said. ‘Either they’re not going to risk trouble with me, or they don’t fancy getting any closer to the rocks in this sea; and I wouldn’t blame ‘em for that. We’re too close ourselves for my liking.’

  All three boats were now close to the island. Everything was in plain view, if sometimes half hidden by spray hurled high by crashing breakers. Overhead the Auster had circled back, apparently watching events to see how they would end. The French fishing-boat had turned back on its course. The Shearwater was still forging on; so was the Sea Scout, although at reduced speed.

  Biggles said: ‘It looks as if Brunner, or whoever is in charge of that boat, is going to try to get ashore. He must be desperate, seeing us on his tail. He won’t want to jettison the loot he’s got on board; or the crooks won’t; they must know we shall be waiting for them if they go back to England. I’d bet there’s a fine old argument going on aboard that craft.’

  ‘It looks to me as if you’re right,’ answered Cole. ‘They’re going ashore at any cost. They’re still going ahead, making, I think, for that gap between those two big rocks. They might find some shelter there out of the wind. All the same, they must be crazy. They must know that all the water round here bristles with rocks. I’m too close myself to feel comfortable.’

  ‘If you feel like that I suggest we keep clear and leave these lunatics to do what they like,’ Biggles said bluntly. ‘It isn’t worth taking a chance.’

  Cole did not answer. Between anxious glances in the vicinity for tell-tale swirls over submerged rocks, he was trying to watch what the Shearwater was doing. Suddenly he burst out with: ‘Great grief! I believe they’ve done it!’

  No explanation was necessary. For a moment the boat in front had disappeared behind a curtain of spray; then it came into view beyond the two big rocks that acted as a natural breakwater.

  ‘They were either smart or damned lucky,’ stated Cole. ‘I’m not going to try it. I need more water than they do. From the way they went in I reckon they must have done that before.’

  Biggles did not speak. His eyes were on the Shearwater, which had run close to a great flat slab of rock that jutted at a downward slope into the sea like a ready-made slipway. Two suitcases were thrown ashore, to be followed instantly by the men who had thrown them. The two men already on the island ran forward to lend a hand. They snatched up the suitcases and reached forward to help the men precariously poised to jump on the slippery, seaweed-festooned rock. They jumped, and fell. The boat began to turn away, turning as it did so, so that for a moment it lay, rocking, broadside on to the sea.

  It was at this critical moment that disaster struck. It came in the form of a freak wave, one of those towering walls of water that can occur in a turbulent sea, that did the mischief. Rearing up, foam crested, it poured through the gap between the two protecting rocks like an avalanche, to crash in a smother of surf that blotted everything from view. When it subsided there was no one in sight: but the Shearwater was still there, lying half in and half out of the water across the end of the slipway.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Biggles in a tense voice. ‘It looks as if she’s had it.’

  ‘Another big wave might wash her off, although whether she’d float or sink would depend on how badly she’s been damaged. She may have been holed.’ Cole went on. ‘There’s one thing certain. There’s nothing we can do about it. Nothing would induce me to try to get in there. It’d be stark raving madness to attempt it. I’m not throwing my ship away for a bunch of crooks.’

  ‘Those men may be drowning,’ Biggles said dubiously.

  ‘That’s no reason why we should drown with ‘em,’ returned Cole harshly. ‘They knew what they were doing. We couldn’t hope to get the boat off that slab of rock if we went in. She’ll be high and dry at low tide, although she might come off in high tide. I’m not a life-boat or a salvage vessel. I’ll report what has happened and leave it to someone else to say what’s to be done.’

  Biggles didn’t know what to say. What Cole had said was plain common sense. For more reasons than one he didn’t like the idea of abandoning the place, but it would be stupid to attempt the impossible. He looked at Bertie, his eyes asking a question. Bertie shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Okay,’ Biggles told Cole. ‘It’s up to you. You do what you like. The ship is your responsibility.’

  ‘Then for a start we’ll get to where there aren’t too many teeth in the water,’ returned Cole. ‘This sort of position would give any sailor nightmares.’

  Overhead the Auster was heading away, apparently making for home.

  ‘I may fly over when the sea’s gone down a bit to have a closer look at things,’ Biggles said.

  ‘The wind will probably drop with the tide,’ answered Cole, spinning the wheel to turn. He ducked as something struck the superstructure with a stinging smack. ‘What the devil was that?’ he rapped out.

  ‘I’ve heard that sort of noise before,’ Bertie said. ‘Sounded mighty like a bullet to me. Yes, there’s the hole,’ he added pointing. ‘Keep your heads down, boys.’

  ‘But who could be shooting at us?’ questioned Cole, wide-eyed.

  ‘Unless fish or seagulls have taken to carrying guns, which seems unlikely, there’s only one answer to that,’ replied Biggles dryly. ‘Someone on the island is letting us know he doesn’t like us. Either that or he thinks he can discourage us from coming closer.’

  ‘I didn’t hear a shot fired.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, what with our engine and the noise of the waves.’

  ‘Have you got a gun?’

  ‘Not on me. Have you?’

  ‘No. We don’t carry firearms.’

  Biggles went on grimly. ‘I’m obliged to the gunman for letting us know he carried that sort of ironmongery. If I come back here I hope I shall be in a position to return the compliment.’

  Another bullet struck the boat, making a star on the windscreen.

  ‘I can’t see anyone,’ said Cole, peering.

  ‘I’m not going to try,’ declared Biggles. ‘I’ve learned that when lead is flying it’s a good plan to show as little of myself as possible.’

  ‘He’s got a nerve, shooting at us,’ growled Cole.

  ‘As we can’t serve any useful purpose in hanging about here, giving him the opportunity, I suggest we move out of range,’ Biggles said. ‘That last shot came pretty close to your head.’

  ‘You’re dead right,’ muttered Cole, putting on speed. Presently he went on: ‘Do you want me to bring you back here when the sea quietens down?’

  Biggles hesitated. ‘That will need thinking about. I may decide to ask my Chief for orders. Meantime let’s get home.’

  There were no more shots: or if there were nothing was heard of them. They were soon out of range.

  ‘That’s better,’ Biggles said, lighting a cigarette. He looked up, but the Auster had faded into the murk that lay to the north.

  CHAPTER 15

  COLE MAKES A SUGGESTION

  FOR a little while nothing more was said. Then Cole, who had appeared to be thinking, came out with: ‘Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to take you?’

  Biggles answered: ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be put ashore at Polcarron. I shall have to go there to let my Chief know what has happened. Had you anywhere else in mind?’

  ‘That depends on whether you want me to bring you back here later on.’

  ‘What’s the point of coming back here if this weather persists?’

  ‘It won’t. The wind’s dropping, so the sea will soon go down. The barometer is rising, which should mean fair weather on the way. I imagine you don’t want these crooks to get away with it.’

  ‘I certainly do not.’

  ‘Neither do I, after the way they’ve been pulling wool over my eyes.’

  ‘Have you an alternative suggestion?’

  ‘It struck me that if you intended coming back to this confounded island, there would be no point in going all the way to Cornwall. It’d be a waste of time.’

  ‘Where else could we go?’

  ‘We might run only as far as Jersey and wait there. We could be there in half an hour. It’d still be daylight.’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ Biggles said approvingly. ‘Could you do that?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I could ring my headquarters to let them know what I was doing. St Helier would be handy for running back here if the weather was right. I see only one snag about that — at least, as far as you’re concerned.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s at least one man on the island with a gun, and he’s shown us he’s prepared to use it. You say you’re unarmed.’

  ‘He’s not to know that.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re prepared to take him on?’

  ‘I’ve handled more difficult propositions. Bluff can work wonders.’

  ‘Okay, if you feel like that. It’s up to you.’

  Bertie put in a word. ‘Hold hard, chaps,’ he said brightly. ‘There’s an airport on Jersey.’

  Biggles answered. ‘What’s the use of an airport without an aircraft?’

  ‘We could soon have one. What’s wrong with ringing Morven from Jersey to tell the boys to bring the Auster over? There’s a brace of pistols in the locker.’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Good for you. There are moments when you get an inspiration, and this is one of them. With the Auster I could slip over and have a look at the island before we tackled it. The trouble may be getting Algy or Ginger on the phone.’

  ‘Why? They should be home by now, or they will be by the time we get to Jersey. Anyhow, there’s bound to be someone at the clubhouse able to pass on a message.’

  ‘We ought to let the Air Commodore know we’re not coming back tonight,’ Biggles said.

  ‘If we can contact Algy he can let him know. You can tell Algy what has happened and he can pass it on.’

 

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