Biggles smiled again. ‘True enough. The sea air must be good for you.’ He returned to Cole, now on a course for Jersey. ‘How do you feel about all this? I mean, about putting us ashore on the island in the morning if the weather turns fair. The rocks will still be there.’

  ‘They wouldn’t worry me in a calm sea, because with the tide out I’d be able to see ‘em. I needn’t go right in. At a pinch you could go ashore in the dinghy, although with someone shooting at you that could be a bit tricky.’

  ‘We’ll jump that fence when we come to it,’ replied Biggles. ‘Okay, then. Let’s see how it works out. It goes against the grain to return home empty-handed.’

  ‘Right you are,’ Cole said. ‘If that’s settled, let’s get to Jersey for a start.’

  There the conversation ended. The run to Jersey was uneventful and it was still broad daylight when the Sea Scout cruised into the harbour at St Helier, to take up a berth under the direction of the Harbour-Master. Saying he would see them later, Cole went ashore to telephone his head office in Falmouth. ‘Where are you fellows going to spend the night?’ he asked, as Biggles and Bertie followed him ashore. ‘I shall probably stay on board,’ he added.

  ‘Don’t worry about us,’ Biggles answered. ‘We shall manage.’

  ‘I shall be on board if you want me.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Biggles and Bertie took a taxi to the airport, no great distance, to make arrangements for the Auster to land. This of course was facilitated by the presentation of his credentials. It took a little while to get a reply from Morven on the public telephone and then it was the assistant club secretary who answered. He said Ginger was there, having a drink and something to eat; he would fetch him; which he did. Then followed a long conversation with Ginger, although Biggles did most of the listening. Bertie, with increasing concern, was able to judge from Biggles’ expression that he was receiving news that surprised him.

  When, finally, Biggles hung up, Bertie asked impatiently: ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Just a minute while I get it sorted out,’ protested Biggles. ‘Algy isn’t there.’

  ‘Not there! Where is he?’

  ‘Gone to London.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘To take the Air Commodore back to Town. Apparently while he was waiting the Chief put a call through to the Yard and was given news that decided him to go back. He took my car to the aerodrome, dropping the Chief Constable on the way, and was there, waiting, when the boys got back from their trip to the island. Algy took him straight on to London, leaving Ginger to hold the fort in case we came through. You see how things can come unstuck when people don’t do what they say they’re going to do,’ concluded Biggles, bitterly.

  ‘Does that mean our scheme is off?’

  ‘No. Ginger knows where we are and that we want the machine. As soon as Algy comes in he’ll tell him and they’ll come straight on here. The trip shouldn’t take them more than half an hour. The regular services do it in forty minutes from Heathrow. Provided Algy isn’t delayed anywhere, they should still get here before dark.’

  ‘Does this mean your car is still at the airfield?’

  ‘I suppose so, unless it can be arranged for someone to take it back to Polcarron. Not that it matters. As we shall probably fly back in the Auster when we’re finished here, the car may as well be at the aerodrome as anywhere.’

  ‘And what do we do now?’

  ‘Wait for the Auster to arrive. There’s nothing else we can do. I told Ginger we’d be here to meet them. We’ll get some sandwiches to eat while we’re waiting.’

  They were able to make themselves comfortable on one of the seats in the big hall, which was just as well, for the wait turned out to be a long one. In fact, it was nearly dark when they heard the familiar purr of the Auster’s engine, and the plane, having received permission to land from the control tower, came in, to be guided to its parking place by one of the staff, near other privately-owned light planes that are kept at the airport.

  ‘You’ve been a long time getting here,’ accused Biggles, when they were together in the waiting hall.

  ‘Have a heart,’ protested Algy. ‘I’ve been in the air nearly all day.’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ requested Biggles, as they sat down.

  ‘That won’t take long,’ stated Algy. ‘We saw what happened this morning at the island and then went home. No trouble about that. When we got back we found the Air Commodore on the airfield waiting for us, having used your car to get there. He said he had to get to his office as quickly as possible — he didn’t say why — so I flew him to Gatwick. That’s all. When I got back to Morven Ginger told me you wanted the machine here, so here we are.’

  ‘You told the Air Commodore what happened at the island?’

  ‘As much as I could see from the air. He didn’t seem too pleased at the way things had turned out; said he’d have to leave it to you to finish the job as best you could. He also said something about sending Inspector Gaskin down with a search warrant to go through Brunner’s house at Penlock. Of course, he didn’t know anything about you coming here. Neither did I at the time. What’s the next move in this crazy business?’

  ‘We couldn’t land on the island this morning, the sea was too rough. So we’re going back first thing tomorrow. The boat is in the harbour at St Helier. Before that I may make a quick reconnaissance in the Auster to see if there’s any sign of life or activity. That shouldn’t take long. Which reminds me. There are a couple of pistols in the locker. Don’t let me go without them. In fact, Ginger, you might slip across now and fetch them, with two or three clips of ammunition, to make sure they aren’t forgotten when we go to the boat.’

  Ginger went off.

  Algy said: ‘So the idea is, you’ll have a look at the island first thing in the morning, and if the sea is okay we’ll all go along in the coastguard boat?’

  ‘That’s it; but I don’t know about us all going on the boat. Cole, the skipper, may have something to say about that. He’s a nice chap. But we can talk about this when the time comes.’

  Ginger returned with the two small automatics always carried in the locker of the Auster for emergencies. Biggles put one in his pocket and handed the other one to Bertie.

  ‘Are we going to stay here all night?’ Ginger wanted to know.

  ‘You can please yourselves, but I shall,’ informed Biggles. ‘I want to be in the air by dawn, so it’s hardly worth while looking for quarters. I shall be all right here. I’ve slept on harder beds. The rest of you can take a taxi into the town. There are always some standing outside. I’ll meet you on the quay at St Helier at, say, five o’clock. It’ll be broad daylight by then. Let’s hope the weather stays fair. That’s the important thing.’

  ‘If you’re staying here, old boy, I’ll stay with you,’ volunteered Bertie. ‘You’ll do better in the morning with a second pair of eyes.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, if that’s how you feel,’ returned Biggles. ‘You may be right.’

  Algy got up. ‘Right. If that’s settled I’ll go with Ginger to St Helier and find some place where I can get a meal and put my feet up for an hour or two. Come on, Ginger.’ And with that they departed.

  Biggles settled himself on the seat and lit a cigarette. ‘What a life,’ he yawned. ‘Why did I get myself bogged down in this business? It’s time I had my head examined. That’s the trouble with having a memory. If I hadn’t recognized Limpy Logan on the quay at Polcarron, I might at this moment have been snug in my own little bed.’

  Bertie smiled but said nothing. He, too, settled down to snatch some rest.

  CHAPTER 16

  GRUESOME DISCOVERIES

  IT was a few minutes before five the following morning when Biggles and Bertie, back from their dawn reconnaissance, stepped out of a taxi at St Helier and made their way to the quay where the Sea Scout was moored. They found Algy and Ginger already there, waiting, talking to Cole, who had been right in his forecast of the weather. It was near perfect; the sea dead calm with hardly a breath of wind.

  ‘Well, what did you see?’ asked Cole, who had been told what Biggles and Bertie were doing.

  ‘Nothing worth talking about,’ answered Biggles. ‘Nobody moving on the island. The tide’s left the Shearwater practically high and dry on that slab of rock. No one appears to have done anything about it.’

  ‘Which probably means she’s knocked a hole in her bottom,’ conjectured Cole.

  ‘The only craft in sight was a boat, not much larger than a rowing-boat, with one man in it. As far as I could make out he was hauling up lobster pots; nothing to do with us, anyway.’

  ‘No sign of that French fishing-boat that made off yesterday when it saw us coming?’

  ‘Not when we were there, a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Good. We don’t want any trouble with France. They’re a bit touchy about who owns some of these islands. Got a gun?’

  ‘Yes. But I hope it won’t be necessary to use it.’

  ‘Very well. If everyone’s ready we might as well be on our way,’ Cole said.

  ‘Just a minute,’ requested Biggles, looking at Algy and Ginger in turn. ‘I’ve been thinking about the plane, and decided someone ought to stay with it. Moreover, I haven’t had time to do it myself, but someone ought to ring the Air Commodore to let him know what we’re doing — in case of accidents. Which of you will stay? Perhaps you’d like to toss a coin for it?’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ replied Algy. ‘Ginger can go if he wants to. I’ll stay here. I’d as soon take a day off to rest my weary bones as go wild-goose hunting on the briny ocean.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ agreed Biggles. ‘You may be right about hunting wild geese. We shall see. You can amuse yourself getting the Auster’s tanks topped up ready for going home.’ Turning to Cole he said, ‘Okay, skipper. We’re ready if you are.’

  ‘Then let’s get away. There may be a fuss if I’m absent for too long. We don’t want the R.A.F. to turn out to search for us.’

  The Sea Scout cast off and having cruised quietly to the open sea set a course for the island without a name.

  The trip was uneventful up to the time the low-lying mass of rock crept up over the horizon. Not that there was any reason to expect trouble on the way. Any fishing-boats that had been out overnight had presumably gone home with their catch. Nor, as they drew closer, could the little boat, which Biggles had thought was lobstering, be seen. Once, for a few minutes, one of the regular service planes announced its presence as it headed south for one of the French coastal landing grounds, probably with a load of people on holiday or tourists.

  As the island rose higher from the now dead calm sea, Cole handed Biggles his binoculars. ‘I can’t see anything. Perhaps you can.’

  Biggles spent a minute surveying the islet. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nobody moving. Maybe they can see us coming and have gone into hiding. I can see the Shearwater. She still appears to be fast on the rock where she went ashore.’

  ‘Maybe waiting for dead low tide to check for damage,’ guessed Cole. ‘Otherwise, if she was holed it’d be no use hauling her off. She’d only go to the bottom. If she’s all right they may be able to rock her off at high tide. If they can’t, unless they have some food available they’ll be only too glad to be taken off. Some of these smaller islands aren’t visited for weeks, or even months on end.’

  Ginger spoke. ‘Be a bit of an anti-climax if we found nobody here at all.’

  ‘There’s bound to be someone, unless that French fishing-boat we saw came over during the night and took everyone off. I reckon there should be at least six men here. Stephen Brunner and his chauffeur Bates, with the two men they had with them; and the two who were already here waiting to be picked up, to be put ashore in Cornwall.’

  ‘We’re only assuming that the French fishing-boat we saw had anything to do with the racket,’ Cole pointed out. ‘It may have come over to look at some lobster pots.’

  ‘Then why should it make off when it saw us?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘It wouldn’t want to be caught lobstering round British islands. There’s been a spot of bother more than once about that sort of thing. You’re not allowed to poach round somebody else’s property,’ stated Cole.

  ‘Why worry,’ put in Bertie. ‘We shall soon know all about it.’

  This was a logical remark, because the Sea Scout was now coming up, at half speed, to its objective. Cole did not have to explain the reason for the reduced speed. It was all too obvious. With the tide well out, seaweed-covered rocks were showing above water in several places. Still there was no sign of anyone on the island; but Cole, his eyes on the rocks, advanced with increasing caution.

  At last he said. ‘This is as close as I feel inclined to go. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind going ashore in the dinghy.’

  ‘Suits me,’ agreed Biggles. ‘A few yards at the oars shouldn’t do us any harm.’

  ‘I’ll stand by in case you have to come back in a hurry,’ promised Cole. ‘This is your show, so I’ll leave you to handle it as you think best.’

  Without any more ado the dinghy was put on the water. Biggles, Bertie and Ginger got into it. Bertie and Ginger picked up the oars. Biggles, taking the rudder, steered for the gap between the two big rocks where the Shearwater had gone in. Knowing there was, or had been, a gunman on the island, his eyes roved the shore; but the only sign of life were the gulls that greeted the approach of the intruders with loud cries of disapproval.

  The dinghy’s keel scraped on a little beach of shingle and broken rock not far from where the Shearwater lay on her side. Shipping their oars, Bertie and Ginger jumped out and hauled the dinghy to where it was not likely to move. Biggles joined them, still regarding with suspicion the rocks above them. When nothing happened he turned his eyes to the high water mark, the usual line of rubbish; seaweed, orange peel old ice-cream cartons and the like, left by the receding tide. Conspicuous were a number of small pieces of paper.

  ‘Looks as if some silly asses have been having a paper-chase,’ remarked Bertie, casually.

  ‘For a start we’ll have a look at the wreck,’ Biggles said.

  As they walked slowly towards it he went on: ‘What is all this stuff?’ and so saying picked up one of the pieces of loose paper. He looked at it Stopped. Stared at it. ‘Well, what do you know?’ he breathed. ‘Take a look at this,’ He held the paper for the others to see. It was an English five pound note.

  Ginger whistled. ‘So we’ve struck treasure island at last!’ he cried, grinning, looking along the line of scraps of paper.

  ‘Lovely money,’ declared Bertie. ‘Let’s collect it. Every man for himself — what?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ ordered Biggles curtly. ‘Don’t get excited. I can see what’s happened here.’

  ‘Sticks out a mile, old boy,’ Bertie said. ‘One of the suitcases was bust open when that big wave bashed it on the rocks.’

  ‘That’s the answer,’ agreed Biggles. He looked up and down the high water mark. ‘But where’s the suitcase? It should be here. In fact, there were two suitcases.’

  ‘Somebody must have been here before us,’ offered Ginger.

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ confirmed Biggles. ‘Whoever it was he may still be here, so watch out. Never mind the money. That can wait. Let’s have a look at the wreck. I have a feeling we’re not alone here, so keep your eyes skinned and be ready to move fast. Somebody may be waiting for us to come into range to have a crack at us.’

  Cautiously they advanced towards where the cabin cruiser lay on its beam ends with the stern just in the water. Suddenly Biggles pulled up dead, holding out a warning hand. ‘Hello! What’s all this?’ he exclaimed, pointing at the ground, in particular at an ugly stain.

  ‘Looks like blood to me,’ Ginger said.

  ‘And me. There’s been dirty work here.’ Biggles’ eyes were following a faint trail of bloodstains. They led in the direction of the wreck. Slowly, alert, he began to follow it. He had only taken a few paces when he stooped to pick up a small pocket automatic. He handed it to Ginger. ‘You may need that,’ he said, meaningly, and walked on to the boat, to sidestep smartly as an object lying behind it came into view. It was a body.

  ‘That’s Bates, the chauffeur,’ Bertie said, coming up. ‘He won’t hurt us. He won’t hurt anyone any more. He’s dead. I’d say he was drowned when that big wave caught them. The backwash would drag him back into the water. Maybe the poor blighter couldn’t swim.’

  ‘He never had a chance. Look at his head. He was either knocked out or killed on the spot when that wave threw him against the rock. He was washed up afterwards. Well, that’s one accounted for.’ Biggles climbed up the sloping side of the boat and looked down into the cabin. ‘Good grief!’ he cried. ‘Here’s another one.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Brunner.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Looks like it. Wait.’ Biggles scrambled down into the cabin. He was soon back. ‘He’s dead all right,’ he reported. ‘But he wasn’t drowned. He was shot. Bearing in mind the blood on the beach, this begins to make sense. There’s been murder done here. That’s something I didn’t expect We shall have to watch our step.’

  ‘Where are the others?’ Ginger said.

  ‘That’s something we shall have to find out,’ returned Biggles. ‘I think Brunner must have been shot on the beach, but managed to get to the boat, where he died. It may have been his pistol we picked up, he having dropped it when he was hit.’

  ‘What’s that lying along there, tangled up with that mass of seaweed?’ Bertie was pointing. ‘Is it a man or a log?’

  They walked along to the object. It was a man, unknown to any of them. No wound could be found, so he appeared to have been drowned. ‘That’s three,’ Biggles said. ‘We’re doing fine,’ he added with grim humour. ‘There must have been a battle here, probably over the money.’

  ‘There are still three more,’ reminded Ginger.

  Biggles raised a hand, his head in a listening attitude. ‘Listen! Did you hear something?’

 

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