Biggles sees too much, p.14
Biggles Sees Too Much, page 14
part #98 of Biggles Series
‘Seagull,’ said Bertie.
‘Sounded to me more like someone calling for help,’ opined Ginger.
‘Where did it come from?’
‘Over here, I think, among those rocks.’ Bertie started walking inland.
‘Watch how you go,’ warned Biggles, his eyes busy on the skyline. ‘There’s a murderer not far away. He can’t get away. The Shearwater has got a fair-sized hole below the water line.’
A groan from the rocks brought them all to a halt. Then Biggles, pistol in hand, walked on again. ‘Watch it,’ he said tersely. ‘This may be a trap. Here we are,’ he went on quickly, hurrying forward.
Between the rocks a man was lying as if he had fallen. He was about fifty years of age, dressed in stained blue overalls with a black beret on his head. His face was chalk white, making a heavy black moustache the more conspicuous. Biggles went up to him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked curtly. Then, in a quick aside: ‘This place is looking more like a battlefield every minute.’
The man looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Parlez-vous francais, m’sieur?’
‘Oui. Who are you and where are you from?’ asked Biggles, in French.
The man said he was a French fisherman from St Malo.
‘What are you doing here?’
The man admitted he had come hoping to catch some lobsters.
‘You come here alone?’
‘Oui, monsieur.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’
The man said he had been shot.
‘Where?’
The man pointed to his groin.
‘Who shot you, and why?’
The man said he didn’t know. He looked as if he was speaking the truth. ‘Men were here. There was a battle,’ he explained, wincing with pain.
To the others Biggles said: ‘We’d better see how badly he’s hurt. He’s lost a lot of blood by the look of him.’ He examined the wound. A glance showed the man had not lied. It was serious but not likely to be fatal if he could be got to a hospital. With their combined handkerchiefs Biggles did as much as was possible in the circumstances. With a wad and a tight bandage he stopped the bleeding after which the man seemed more comfortable.
‘This is a complication,’ Biggles told the others, looking worried. ‘We can’t just leave him lying here. Somehow we shall have to get him to our boat. For that we shall need help.’ To the wounded man he said: ‘How did you get here?’
The man said he came in a small boat, his own.
‘Where is it?’
‘At the bottom of the sea.’
‘How did that happen?’
The man told his story. He had landed on the island. Then he had heard shooting, so he had tried to see who was shooting and why. There were men fighting on the beach. There was a boat on the rocks. He was trying to run away when he had been shot. Then two of the men had tried to steal his boat; but they were bad sailors, and in trying to raise the sail the boat had capsized. He thought the men in it had been drowned. He didn’t see them come ashore. He heard more shooting. Then he thought he must have fainted. That was all he knew.
‘Who were these men you found here?’ asked Biggles.
The man said he didn’t know. He looked like fainting again from the effort of talking.
‘We shall have to do something about this,’ Biggles told the others. ‘It means we shall have to get extra hands from the Sea Scout. We’ll never manage to carry him alone.’
‘What can Cole do about it?’ questioned Ginger. ‘He won’t want to take the man to France. He’d be held there pending inquiries.’
‘We shall have to leave that to him,’ Biggles said. ‘He might have a first-aid kit on board.’
‘Hold hard, chaps!’ exclaimed Bertie, who was looking at the Sea Scout, which had moved a little closer in. ‘Somebody’s waving a white towel; sending a signal, I think.’
‘He’s sending Morse,’ observed Ginger.
Together they read the message. It was short and simple. ‘French boat approaching from far side island.’
‘That just about queers our pitch,’ muttered Biggles angrily. ‘It must be coming here by arrangement to pick up the two men Brunner brought here yesterday. As I understand it, the two men already here were waiting to be taken to England.’
‘What can we do about it?’ asked Bertie. ‘If we try to stop ‘em landing there’s likely to be another shooting match.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Biggles rapped out. ‘I’ve got an idea. This may suit us.’
‘Tell me how, old boy, tell me how,’ requested Bertie. ‘I don’t get it.’
CHAPTER 17
HOW IT ALL ENDED
BIGGLES explained what he had in mind. ‘If the men on this French boat come ashore, as I imagine they will, we should be able to persuade them to take this poor fellow back to France. After all, he’s one of them. He isn’t a crook. His only sin was doing a little quiet poaching in British waters, and there’s nothing outrageous about that. Wherefore I suggest that Ginger stays here to look after him while Bertie comes with me to see if we can make contact with these other Frenchmen.’
This was thought to be a reasonable plan, one which, if it worked, would relieve them of their new responsibility. So Biggles and Bertie, knowing they couldn’t have far to go, set off across the island. When they reached the highest part they could see what previously had been hidden from their view. The fishing-boat was close in, hauling down its single sail. They also saw something else. Two men were already on the scrap of sandy beach in a little cove for which the French boat was obviously making. One carried a suitcase. They were waving to those on the oncoming boat.
‘Where’s the third man?’ said Bertie. ‘There should be another. We’ve only seen three.’
‘There shouldn’t be any more if our wounded friend was right in assuming that the two who tried to pinch his boat were drowned,’ Biggles pointed out. ‘The fact that only one, the one we saw, was washed up on the beach is neither here nor there. The other may be on the bottom with the boat. We’ll deal with those we can see.’
At this moment one of the men on the beach happened to look round, and, of course, saw Biggles and Bertie striding down the slope towards them. He said something to his companion, whereupon both men ran to the end of the little cove and disappeared behind some rocks.
‘They must know we’re from the coastguard cutter,’ remarked Biggles. ‘If they start shooting this won’t be funny.’ He continued to walk forward. This produced the report of a pistol shot. The bullet smacked against a rock some distance away, suggesting that the man who had fired was not very good with a pistol unless it was merely intended as a warning. Biggles fired an answering shot. ‘We’ll let him know that two can play at that game, if that’s how they want it,’ he growled.
There was no more shooting. Biggles and Bertie went on to the beach, and there, presently, the French boat arrived. Its name, and port of registration, St Malo, could be read. Biggles waved, remarking: ‘As they come from the same place as our wounded friend, they may know him.’
Two men got out of the boat and waded ashore. There was no sign of hostility; but, of course, they could not have known the state of affairs on the island. Biggles walked forward to meet them and spoke to the first man to step on dry land. Speaking in French, he said he wanted to see the captain. They were British Government officers, he explained. On the island they had found a wounded Frenchman. He had been shot. Would they take him on board and put him ashore at St Malo, which was where he came from? It would be better, and quicker, than taking him to England. He had come to the island for lobsters, in his own boat, but it had been stolen.
As can be imagined, the men listened to this in wide-eyed astonishment After staring at each other, one went back to the boat, now with its bows on the beach, and with much gesticulation held a conversation presumably with the captain, or the man in charge. He joined the others at the spot where Biggles and Bertie were standing waiting. Having announced himself to be the captain, he asked, naturally, what had happened on the island.
Biggles explained. He said he had nothing against the French boat, although the British police knew what had been going on. He himself was a police officer and the traffic would have to end, or there would be trouble. There had been murder done on the island. A man, a Frenchman who had taken no part in the trouble, had been wounded. He had dressed the wound, but could do nothing more. The man should be in hospital. He came from St Malo. Would the captain take him there?
The captain did not argue. ‘Merci, m’sieur.’ He said he understood. ‘Where is this wounded man?’
‘Come, I will show you.’
The captain beckoned the two members of his crew, and the party, now five in number, with Biggles leading the way, trooped across the island.
When they arrived at the place where the wounded man lay, Ginger was sitting beside him. ‘He’s fainted,’ he said. ‘Loss of blood, I suppose.’
The captain recognized the sick man instantly, which was not surprising as they came from the same port. ‘So it is Paul Ouray,’ he said shortly. ‘He lives near me. I warned him he would get into trouble one day if he came here alone.’
‘Did he know what you were doing?’
‘Non, monsieur.’
‘Will you take him home?’
‘Mais certainement.’
‘And will you promise me never to come back?’
‘On my honour, m’sieur.’
‘There are two men here, waiting for you, I think. I will deal with them.’
The captain said he understood. That was all. The Frenchmen picked up their wounded compatriot and carried him to their boat He was put on board. The captain said: ‘Bonjour, monsieur, et merci.’ The boat pushed off. The sail was hoisted and it headed out to sea, towards France.
‘That gets rid of one difficulty,’ Biggles said thankfully. ‘Ginger, dash back to Cole and let him know we’re okay. We may be a few minutes.’
‘Right,’ said Ginger, and departed at a run.
‘And now what?’ inquired Bertie. ‘What are you going to do about these two villains here?’
‘I’ll try to have a word with them,’ replied Biggles. ‘If they won’t give themselves up, they can stay here till they starve to death or wait till someone else comes to fetch them. I’m not risking getting a bullet in my ribs in a place like this, not on your nellie.’
‘I can see one of ‘em squinting round a rock. Must be wondering what goes on.’
‘I can see him.’ Keeping well down, Biggles shouted: ‘Hi, you. Can you hear me?’
‘What do you want?’ came back the answer.
‘I want you. Are you coming quietly?’
‘Go to hell. Come and get us.’ This was followed by a pistol shot.
‘Listen, you fools,’ shouted Biggles. ‘The game’s up. I’m giving you a chance. No more boats will come here. The Frenchmen have gone for good. Are you prepared to be stuck here for months, or will you pack it in?’
This was followed by a silence in which the men may have discussed their position. Presently one of them announced the decision. ‘We’re staying. Try getting us, copper.’
‘Okay, if that’s how you want it,’ called Biggles. ‘I hope you enjoy a diet of limpets and salt water.’ He turned to Bertie. ‘Come on, chaps. Let’s get out of this. I’m in no mood for heroics.’ So saying he started back across the island.
A shot followed them, but it did no damage.
They reached the cove to find Ginger waiting by the dinghy. ‘Where are the crooks?’ he asked.
“We’re leaving them here to sweat it out,’ Biggles told him. ‘They can’t get away, so it isn’t worth taking chances. If by some stroke of luck they did get to France, they’d be arrested for attempted murder. The Frenchmen know all about them. Let’s collect some of this money lying about. Cole can decide what to do with the bodies. He can put us off in Jersey and we’ll press on home by air. When we’ve told the Air Commodore what’s happened, he can do what he likes about it. Maybe get the Navy to take a hand. We’ve done as much as we could be expected to do.’
Having returned to the coastguard boat, he told Cole the story of events on the island. ‘If you’ll put us off at Jersey, I hope I shan’t have to trouble you again,’ he concluded.
Cole swore. ‘I hate bodies on board, but I suppose I’d better take ‘em, or the gulls may find ‘em and spoil ‘em for identification,’ he grumbled.
‘We’ll give you a hand,’ offered Biggles.
Which they did.
So it worked out. Within the hour the Air Police party stepped ashore at St Helier, leaving the coastguards to continue on their way to their home station. A taxi took them to the airport where they found Algy waiting. As soon as the usual formalities were completed Biggles took off, and two hours later he was in the Air Commodore’s office reporting in detail the events of the day.
The Air Commodore heard him out without comment Then he said: ‘I think you did right in leaving those two men on the island. It wasn’t worth risking your life for a couple of common crooks who, knowing they had nothing to lose now there is no capital punishment, would not have hesitated to shoot you, given the chance. You can leave the rest to me. I’ll have a word with the Admiralty about collecting them, and any money still lying about on the beach. It’ll be an exercise for the boys in blue.’
‘What about Brunner’s brother — Julius? When I last saw him he was at “The Fishermen’s Arms”,’ Biggles said.
‘You needn’t worry about him. He won’t give any more trouble.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Dead! How did that happen?’
‘He shot himself. I don’t know what you told him, but apparently he realized the crooked business he and his brother had been running was all washed up and he couldn’t face the consequences. Somehow he managed to get home to Penlock Grange. I had sent Inspector Gaskin down with a couple of men and a search warrant. Unable to get a reply, they had to break in. There was no one there except Julius Brunner and he lay dead on the library floor with a shotgun lying beside him. He had blown his brains out.’
‘Silly fellow,’ murmured Biggles sadly. ‘He could have made plenty of money without turning to crime.’ He shrugged. ‘But some people are like that. They can never have enough. It seems a pity. I think his brother Stephen was the real culprit. He was a nasty piece of work.’
The Air Commodore got up. ‘Well, there it is. You’d better go home and get some rest. You look tired. Anyhow, you have the satisfaction of knowing your hunch about what you saw at Polcarron was right on the beam.’
‘The trouble with me is I see too much,’ returned Biggles lugubriously, as he turned to the door. ‘All I do is knock my pan out working overtime. I’ll be more careful in future.’
He went out.
As the reader may feel somewhat ‘left in the air’ over one or two details, here is a note by way of a postscript.
It is unlikely that what exactly happened on the island when the bank robbers arrived with their haul will ever be known, although Biggles’ interpretation of it was probably the true one. When the suitcase was burst open by the wave that wrecked the Shearwater, and its contents revealed, there was a fight between the newcomers, and those already on the island for possession of the bank-notes. This would be in accord with the characters of the men concerned. Stephen Brunner and his chauffeur had tried to intervene and had been shot for their pains. The same with the French lobster fisher, although it is quite possible that he was shot by accident.
Unfortunately, the two men who knew the truth, the two Biggles had left on the island, were not available for questioning, for when a party of marine commandoes arrived to collect them, they were no longer there; and it was some time before it was learned that they had been arrested by the French police for the attempted murder of the French fisherman from St Malo who had chosen an unlucky moment to visit his lobster pots.
The reason for the silence was no doubt due to the fact that the ownership of the barren mass of rock had long been in dispute. At all events, it came to the same thing in the end, in that the two men spent some years in a French prison instead of an English one. They were crooks who had been wanted for a long while.
Nor were any more bank-notes found on the beach. This was understandable, as they would be washed away at the next high tide. Certainly for some time afterwards there were whispers of English five-pound notes being picked up from the shores of holiday resorts on the larger islands.
With the deaths of the chief conspirators, at the inquest on Tom Draper, the barman at ‘The Fishermen’s Arms’, a possible charge of murder had to be dropped. The verdict could only be ‘accidental death’.
Taking the whole thing by and large, Biggles always regarded the case as having an unsatisfactory ending. But as Bertie on one occasion reminded him when the subject was raised: ‘You can’t always win, old boy, so you might as well forget it.’
THE END
Captain W E Johns, Biggles Sees Too Much
