Part 12 (1/2)
The two pilots stared at the speaker aghast. ”Murdered? What are you talking about?”
stammered Biggles.
Colonel Grivin crossed the room in swift silent strides and flung the door open. A red-fezzed native whom Biggles recognized as the petrol effendi who had just helped him fill the ”Vandal's ” tanks was leaning against a wall in the pa.s.sage.
”What do you want?” barked the Colonel. ”What are you hanging about here for?”
”Baksheesh,” muttered the man sheepishly.
”Well, get out of it,” snarled the Colonel. He watched the man out of sight and then returned to his visitors, mopping his face with a large handkerchief. ”What was I saying?
” he muttered absently.
”You said something about Dawlish and Makins being murdered,” Biggles reminded him.
”They were. They were murdered for the freight they had on board.”
Biggles raised his eyebrows.
”Gold,” said the Colonel, in a curiously quiet voice. ”We are s.h.i.+pping gold from here to Paris. I've got a contract that will make the firm-or I had. The quickly changing price of bullion makes every moment it spends en route important. These consignments are British, but we are only taking them as far as Paris. We fly them through this sector. The first one or two lots went through without trouble. Then Dawlish cracked up. I had to call in Service machines to find him, but what they didn't know, what n.o.body knew except me, was the nature of the cargo. When we got to the wreck it had gone. I suspected foul play at once and I told Bert so-he was due to take the next lot through. He only laughed, but he knew well enough that it was true, that someone had got on the trail of the metal. Well, they got him too, and the gold he was carrying. But how? Why did he try to land at Karouma; that's what I want to know.
How did the crooks force him down?”
”Someone tinkering with the machines at this end,” suggested Algy.
”That's what I thought at first, naturally, but in that case how could they know that the machine wouldn't crack up taking off here? How could they time the crash at the only emergency landing-ground between here and Matruh, which is the last English-speaking petrol-station between here and Tripoli? Well, I'm going to get the, swine who killed those two boys, if I spend the rest of my. life doing it. I only wish I could fly myself, but I can't. And I've got another consignment to go through today.”
”But you've more pilots and machines?”
”Yes, but who on earth is going to fly to certain death? I've two pilots left. Thomson is one, but he's down with. fever, or, maybe, he'd go. Lorne is the other, and he's dug his toes in. He says he's a married man and is willing to fly anything anywhere-except gold. He has refused to fly any machine if an ounce of metal is put on board. That's what he says, and he means it, and I can't blame him.”
”What do you expect me to do ?” asked Biggles quietly.
”I'm asking you to take this consignment through,” said Colonel Grivin simply. ”If it doesn't go, the Company's broke, busted wide open, and that's that. Apart from that, if there is any man I know who might get to the bottom of what's going on, it's you.”
”You mean you want us to take it in our machine?”
”In yours, or one of mine; I don't care which. There are three machines for you to choose from in the sheds. They're all enclosed-cabin types. I can't offer you anything big to make on the job, because I haven't got it, but I'll make it worth your while. I am willing to give all I've got to keep up the reputation of the firm, which is an all-British show, and in trying to find out who killed those two lads.”
”I understand,” said Biggles. ”Do you mind if I talk this over for a few minutes with the others? Give me, say, half an hour, then I'll let you have a decision. By the way, has any particular machine been booked for this particular trip?”
”Yes, there she is; they are just bringing her out of the sheds,” replied the Colonel, pointing to a single-engined cabin-monoplane, which was being slowly drawn out of the firm's hangar.
”Thanks,” returned Biggles. Outside he settled himself down in the shade of the office and cupped his chin in his hands.
”Well, what do you make--?” began Algy.
”Don't talk for a minute; let me think,” Biggles told him.
A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed in silence; then he rose to his feet and walked slowly across to the aircraft that now stood on the tarmac in readiness for the flight. He stared at it for a long time, studying it closely from several angles He climbed into the c.o.c.kpit, examined the control-column, instruments, and short-wave wireless equipment. Then he closed the door, took up the small piece of matting and studied the floor of the c.o.c.kpit intently. He climbed down from the machine still deep in thought and a trifle pale.
”I'm going to fly this machine,” he announced harshly.
”You mean 'we',” corrected Algy.
”I said I,” replied Biggles firmly. ”You're going to stand by here with the 'Vandal', with Smyth and the Colonel. Don't argue,” he concluded shortly, turning towards the Company's offices.
”I'm going to fly your machine,” he told the Colonel. ”Where's the gold?”
”In my safe.”
”Good. Keep it there. Make up some more packets to look like it and have it put aboard when I'm ready. The best thing would be to knock up some sc.r.a.p lead to give it weight.
Stand by with the real stuff, ready to slip it into the 'Vandal' when I give the word. How far away is this place, Karouma?”
”About an hour's run.”
”Who's in command of the R.A.F. units here?” ”Bruton-Group-Captain.”
”Do you know him?”
”Quite well.”
”Good; let's go across. I want you to introduce me to him. I may want some a.s.sistance if what I have in mind comes off. And, Algy, I want you to slip into Cairo as quickly as you can in the Colonel's car and do a bit of shopping for me.”
”What do you want?”
”A pair of white mice in a small cage.”
Algy stared at him incredulously, and then a look of understanding slowly dawned in his eyes. ”Great Scott!” he breathed. ”So that's it.”
”That's how I figure it,” replied Biggles shortly. ”There are still some things I don't quite understand-but I soon shall,” he added grimly. ”Come on, Colonel; let's go down to the Station Headquarters.”
II.
The blueness of the Mediterranean is proverbial, but seen from five thousand feet, with depths varying from the shallows near the beach to the deeper water farther from the land, the riot of colour is indescribable. Every shade of green, blue, and purple is represented, according to the depth and the nature of the sea-bed.
But Biggles was too engrossed in other matters to enjoy the beauties of nature; his eyes only left the small cage suspended from his instrument-board to probe the surrounding sky. Every nerve was tense, for he was waiting-waiting for something to happen. Just what that would be he was not sure, but he thought he knew. If his deductions were correct, the cabin in which he sat was slowly being filled with one of the most deadly gases in the world, monoxide-an insidious poison, invisible, odourless, but deadly; presently it would induce unconquerable sleepiness that would quickly become a coma that could only end in death.
He glanced at the watch on his instrument-board and saw that he had been in the air nearly forty minutes; if his suspicions were correct, then it was time the gas was making its presence felt. He had not long to wait. Five minutes later, one of the two mice slid slowly from its perch to the floor of the cage and lay still. The other clung desperately to the frail stick for another minute and then collapsed beside its fellow.
Not until he groped into the canvas pocket beside him did Biggles realise how far the poison had worked on him; his movements were sluggish and his power of concentration already weakened. Desperately he held his breath until he had dragged out a bulky object from the pocket and slipped it quickly over his face. It was an ordinary Service gas-mask. He needed both hands to adjust it, and the machine rocked slightly as he released the control column. So much the better, he reasoned; the unusual behaviour of the aircraft would lend colour to the part he was about to play. A wave of rage swept over him, for he knew now for certain how the two air-line pilots had met their death.
Too late poor Makins must have felt the presence of the unseen death, and tried to land.
Indeed he had got the machine to the ground, only to collide with the rocks and perish, unable to find strength to climb out of the blazing machine. And yet-Biggles started as a new thought flashed through his mind. Perhaps he had landed safely. Men who were ruthless enough to poison a pilot in the air would not shrink from destroying all possible evidence on the ground. Yes, that was it. It was they who had run the machine into the rocks, and then set fire to it, leaving the helpless pilot in his seat. Biggles trembled for a moment under the cold fury that gripped him, but with an effort he controlled himself and looked downwards and ahead.