Biggles' Second Case Read online

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I: AFTERMATH OF WAR

  CHAPTER II: BIGGLES ASKS SOME QUESTIONS

  CHAPTER III: VON SCHONBECK STRIKES FIRST

  CHAPTER IV: BIGGLES LOOKS ROUND

  CHAPTER V: THE WHALER

  CHAPTER VI: TRAGEDY ASHORE

  CHAPTER VII: DITCHED

  CHAPTER VIII: ALGY TAKES A HAND

  CHAPTER IX: WHAT HAPPENED ON THE ICE

  CHAPTER X: ALGY CARRIES ON

  CHAPTER XI: CUT AND THRUST

  CHAPTER XII: GINGER STARTS SOMETHING

  CHAPTER XIII: VON SCHONBECK TRIES AGAIN

  CHAPTER XIV: THE PACE QUICKENS

  CHAPTER XV: THE CLOCKED THAT TICKED AGAIN

  CHAPTER XVI: BIGGLES OFFERS TERMS

  CHAPTER XVII: CLEAN-UP ON KERGUELEN

  CHAPTER XVIII: THE END OF THE TRAIL

  CHAPTER I

  Aftermath of War

  Constable ‘Ginger’ Hebblethwaite, of the Scotland Yard Air Squad, regarded the other three members of his division with moody disfavour. They were Sergeant Bigglesworth, D.S.O., D.F.C., and Constables Algy Lacey and Lord Bertie Lissie, all of whom had left the Royal Air Force to form the nucleus of a flying unit attached to the Criminal Investigation Department. It should be stated that Lord Lissie had for so long refrained from using his title that he had almost forgotten that he was a peer of the realm.

  ‘What I say is this,’ remarked Ginger, with gloomy emphasis, ‘if Raymond can’t find something better for us to do than sit here working out schemes to provide policemen with wings, schemes that are always turned down by the Treasury on account of expense, it’s time we asked for our discharges and went off on our own.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘Anywhere,’ returned Ginger vaguely, waving a hand in the direction of the window, presumably to indicate the blue sky.

  ‘Doing what?’ inquired Biggles.

  Ginger hesitated. ‘Anything,’ he retorted, still more vaguely. ‘I want action,’ he went on, warming to his subject. ‘I wasn’t cut out for the Chairborne Division. In six months we’ve had one case.’ A note of bitterness crept into his voice. ‘What’s wrong with our crooks? Have they lost their nerve or something? The miserable truth is, they’re not so snappy at getting into the atmosphere as Raymond expected they would be.’

  Biggles frowned. ‘I don’t know that I approve of the familiar way you refer to the Assistant Commissioner of Police, and an Air Commodore at that, by his bare surname, as if he were a sort of lackey. There’s something in what you say, I’ll admit, but he can’t help it if the best crooks continue to travel on wheels, or on the soles of their feet.’

  ‘While they do that we shall just sit here and wear out the seats of our pants to no purpose,’ growled Ginger.

  ‘All right. Our appointment was only temporary so there is nothing to prevent us from asking for our discharge tickets when we feel we’ve had enough of doing nothing. I don’t like it any more than you do. As a matter of fact, I spoke to the Air Commodore about it only yesterday. He said he’d try to find us a good line in crooks if we’d hang on a bit longer.’

  Ginger shrugged. ‘Okay. Tell him to get busy. This messing about an office waiting for an enterprising crook to take flight isn’t my idea of a gay life.’

  Biggles took a cigarette from his case, tapped it on the back of his hand and looked at Algy and Bertie in turn. ‘How do you fellows feel about it?’

  ‘Frankly, I’m getting a trifle browned-off,’ admitted Algy. ‘This is a nice little office, as offices go, but rooms always did give me a sort of shut-up feeling. I need air; and I like to be able to move without bumping into something.’

  ‘Same here, old boy — absolutely,’ declared Bertie. ‘The fug of the central heating in this bally mausoleum is slowly choking me to death — if you see what I mean? Give me the jolly old wide open spaces every time — yes, by Jove!’

  The door opened and Air Commodore Raymond stepped into the room. ‘Did I hear someone talking about wide open spaces?’ he inquired.

  ‘You did, sir,’ answered Biggles. ‘I’m afraid there’s mutiny brewing here. Apparently Scotland Yard isn’t big enough to house these skylarks.’ He indicated the others with a jab of his thumb. ‘They were just remarking that if they don’t soon stretch their wings their feathers will start to drop off.’

  The Air Commodore smiled. ‘In that case I shall have to do something about it,’ he announced. ‘As a matter of fact, I came here to discuss this very thing. Talking of spaces, I have in mind a space so wide that no one — as far as I know — has ever got to the other side of it. As for fresh air — why, they can have a million square miles of it all to themselves.’

  Bertie opened his eyes so wide that his monocle fell out. But he caught it deftly. ‘Really? By Jove! That’s marvellous, sir — absolutely marvellous.’

  ‘Come down to my office and I’ll show you what I mean,’ invited the Air Commodore.

  They all followed the Air Commodore to his private office where they were requested to be seated. Only the Air Commodore remained standing, and he took up a position — in the manner of a schoolmaster — in front of a large-scale Admiralty chart that had been fastened to the wall.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ he resumed. ‘We have before us a case that should provide you not only with those things for which you are pining, but provide them in quantities sufficient to satisfy even your extravagant requirements. The problem is not precisely the one for which you were originally enlisted into the air branch of the C.I.D., because, for one thing, the men against whom you will be opposed are outside the jurisdiction of the Yard. The matter is largely political, as opposed to criminal. Your opponents have as yet committed no actual crime in, or against, this country, although there is every expectation that they will unless we take steps to prevent it. Further, they are not airmen. They do not — as far as we know — possess an aircraft. They may never fly. Nevertheless, the case is one in which we on our side might with great advantage employ aircraft. Indeed, the time at our disposal is so limited that no other vehicle would be of the slightest use. Make yourselves comfortable while I run over the summary of evidence. It will take a little while.’

  There was a pause while chairs were drawn closer to the chart.

  The story opened during the latter part of the war,’ continued the Air Commodore. ‘The U-boat had been beaten in the Atlantic and our lines of communication with the Empire were running pretty well; nevertheless, a number of ships disappeared, in rather mysterious circumstances. They vanished. There were no survivors. Until recently there was not the slightest indication of what happened to them. Curiously enough, all these ships were lost in the same area; that is to say, within a few hundred miles of each other. The area concerned was the South Indian Ocean. The ships were on the Grand Circle route between West Australia and the Cape of Good Hope. Now it happened that these ships were important — or four of them were. They carried a considerable quantity of bullion, gold which had been mined in Australia and was on its way to Great Britain. When I tell you that the value of this gold was in the order of five million pounds sterling you will perceive that we are dealing with what the Prime Minister might call a sum of money of the first order. Naturally, the Bank of England and the Admiralty supposed this money to be at the bottom of the sea, beyond hope of recovery, but evidence has just reached us which suggests that they may be wrong; and the manner in which this evidence was brought to light was, to say the least of it, dramatic.’ The Air Commodore paused while he picked up a long ruler that lay on his desk.

  ‘A week ago to-day, a man, a German, reported himself at British Headquarters in Germany, and asked for an interview with the Commander-in-Chief, the reason given bei
ng that he had important information to impart. There was a delay. While the visitor stood in the vestibule, waiting, another man entered. This man, too, we presume, was a German. Without the slightest warning of what he intended, he drew a revolver from his pocket and fired three bullets at point-blank range into the body of the man who stood there waiting. Having done that he bolted, shooting down a civilian who tried to intercept him. The assassin, I am sorry to say, got clear away, but unfortunately for him, and fortunately for us, as it turned out, the victim of the attack was not dead. He died later, but before he died he made an astonishing statement. Admittedly, it was supported by no proof, but considered in connection with what we know to be fact there is sound reason for thinking that the man told the truth. A dying man has no reason to lie, anyway.

  ‘And now, here, briefly, is the statement of the man who was shot — as it was hoped, to seal his lips for ever.’ The Air Commodore picked up several sheets of foolscap paper pinned together at the corners.

  ‘The name of the murdered man is common enough in Germany. It was Muller. During the war he had been a sailor in the German Navy, serving for three years in U-boats. His final appointment was in the U-517, under the command of Captain Ulrich von Schonbeck. The Admiralty know all about von Schonbeck. He was a typical specimen of a hard-boiled Prussian Nazi — efficient, ruthless, and a fanatical admirer of Hitler. According to Muller, von Schonbeck was specially chosen for an assignment of unusual importance. It was this. In their pre-war preparations for a world war the Germans had established over the Seven Seas a number of secret U-boat bases. At the moment we are concerned only with one of them. It was on an unknown island in the South Indian Ocean. I’ll come back to this unknown aspect of the island in a minute. Von Schonbeck’s job was to get to this base and from it attack our ships that were operating between West Australia and South Africa. Actually, he was to do more than attack these ships. He was to seize the gold they were carrying, gold that would enable the Nazi leaders to buy badly needed commodities from neutral countries. It must be conceded that von Schonbeck did his job well. He got away with five million pounds’ worth. With that we have no quarrel. It was all part of the grim business of war. But it seems that in order to cover his traces he not only sent every ship which he intercepted to the bottom; he murdered in cold blood every man, woman and child aboard them. You must understand that some of these ships were steamers carrying passengers. If Muller is to be believed — and as I have said, there is no reason to suppose he lied — von Schonbeck’s usual method was this. He would stop a ship and order the crew and the passengers into the boats — having stated his intention of sinking the ship. He would then take the gold and sink the ship. This done, he would turn the U-boat’s machine-guns on the helpless life-boats — with what result it is easy to imagine.’

  ‘Swine,’ muttered Biggles.

  The Air Commodore ignored the interruption. ‘In this foul work Muller admitted that he had taken a hand, acting under orders which he dare not disobey. It now becomes easy to understand why these ships disappeared leaving no trace behind them. Very well. It was too far, and too risky, for von Schonbeck to come home after each sinking, so the gold was stored at his island base, pending instructions from Germany.

  ‘That was the position when the war ended. Von Schonbeck was still in the South Indian Ocean with the loot of his many raids safely tucked away. He had no intention of handing the gold back to us. With the Navy on the watch for him he dare not even risk trying to get it home. So he did what so many pirates have done. He buried it, and with an empty U-boat made his way back to Germany to find out what was happening. He didn’t hurry. He prowled home in easy stages. In fact, he was so long getting home that the U-517 was posted as missing, presumed lost. Another reason for the delay was this. Von Schonbeck, instead of proceeding to the nearest port, as he should have done, made his way to one of the small German islands in the Baltic. Leaving the submarine hidden, with the crew still on board, he went to Berlin to reveal the existence of the gold to the surviving leaders of the Nazy party. At least, that’s what he told the crew, and it may have been true. Apparently he failed to make contact with his Nazi friends, and finding himself with five million pounds’ worth of gold which nobody knew anything about, he conceived the bright idea of keeping it for himself — or so we may presume. As a proposition it must have looked not only attractive, but simple. Into this plot, on his return to the U-boat, he took his first lieutenant, a brutal fellow named Thom. They still had the U-boat, remember, and the idea now was that they should return to the island, collect the gold, refit and re-fuel from the secret stores and then go on to a creek in the Magellan Straits. From here the gold could be transported by easy stages up South America to a small town in Chile, where there was still a large German colony. Von Schonbeck, Thom, and the crew, could then live in luxury for the rest of their days.

  ‘That was the plan as it was put to the crew. The crew had to be told, of course, as they would be needed to man the U-boat. We now come to the first snag in this pretty scheme. Not all the men wanted to go. The murdered man, Muller, now comes into the picture. According to his dying statement, five men, of whom he was one, had had enough of the sea. Three were married and were anxious to get home to their families. Apart from that it seems that these men did not altogether trust von Schonbeck and Thom. Having seen something of their unscrupulous methods it seemed to these men that von Schonbeck, rather than share the loot, would be just as likely to bump them off when he had no more use for them. But the point is this. Von Schonbeck, having told the crew what he intended, now found himself in a quandary. If he allowed these five men to go it seemed not unlikely that they, or one of them, would sooner or later spill the beans — perhaps sell the information to us. But it did not come to that. Von Schonbeck took jolly good care it didn’t. The suspicions of the five men who refused to go were well founded. Von Schonbeck and Thom, aided by the rest of the crew, shot them in cold blood and threw their bodies into the sea. Now, had all these men been dead we should have known nothing of this; but for once von Schonbeck’s brutal efficiency let him down. Muller, although wounded, was still alive, but unconscious. The cold water revived him, and with the help of the tide he was able to reach the nearby shore. But he must have been seen, or else some peasants who befriended him unwittingly betrayed him. About that we don’t know. Muller didn’t know. All we know is, Thom was soon on his track. Unfortunately Muller was unaware of it. He made his way to Berlin, and burning for revenge after the foul attempt to murder him, as soon as he was able he went to our people with the object of betraying the plot. You can guess the rest. Thom, still on his track, caught up with him while he was waiting for an interview at General Headquarters. Thom shot Muller, got away, and no doubt made straight back for the U-boat. Muller, this time mortally wounded, only lived long enough to tell us the story I have just told to you. By this time no doubt the U-517 is on its way to get the gold.’

  CHAPTER II

  Biggles Asks Some Questions

  ‘If I may interrupt, I’d like to be a little more clear on that point,’ put in Biggles. ‘Are you sure the U-boat has headed back for the Indian Ocean?’

  ‘Not absolutely sure,’ admitted the Air Commodore. ‘Muller gave us the name of the island in the Baltic where the submarine had hidden herself, and we weren’t long getting to it; but by the time we were on the spot she had gone. Of course, there is just a chance that von Schonbeck is still lying low somewhere in the Baltic, but if the vessel has gone, and it certainly has gone, it seems far more likely that it is on its way to its South Indian base. I can think of no reason why von Schonbeck should delay putting his plan into operation — can you?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Biggles. ‘If the U-517 has got clear of the North Sea, then von Schonbeck looks like getting away with it.’

  ‘If our judgment of the situation is correct the U-517 has been on its way for a fortnight,’ said the Air Commodore. ‘Muller was unconscious for some days; we had
to wait for him to come round to learn what it was all about. Von Schonbeck had plenty of time to slip away. But there is one thing he does not know. He doesn’t know that we are wise to his scheme. He doesn’t know that Muller talked. He thinks Muller was shot dead by Thom — that he died instantly.’

  ‘How can you say what von Schonbeck thinks?’ asked Biggles quickly.

  A ghost of a smile softened the Air Commodore’s austere features. ‘Our Intelligence people are good at dealing with situations of this sort,’ he said dryly. ‘They issued a story of the shooting for the Press. It was not exactly true, in that it asserted that the man murdered at British Headquarters had died without opening his lips. His name, and that of his assailant, were unknown. The motive of the crime was, therefore, a mystery. That was the story we put out in the newspapers. Thom would certainly see a newspaper because a criminal always makes a point of reading the Press notices of his crime, in the hope of learning how much the police know, or what they think. Thom would show the paper to von Schonbeck, and we can imagine the two scoundrels patting each other on the back at their astute handling of the situation. No word of the truth has been allowed to leak out, so von Schonbeck and his crew of cutthroats must believe that they are now safe from pursuit. That is about the only trump card that we hold.’

  ‘The Navy has been looking for the U-517, I presume?’ queried Biggles.

  ‘Of course. So have Coastal Command and the Fleet Air Arm; but von Schonbeck must be an expert at dodging anti-submarine patrols or he would not have lived as long as he has. He’s a wily bird. We haven’t seen a sign of him.’

  Biggles frowned. ‘But we ought to be able to catch him.’

  The Air Commodore shook his head dubiously. ‘I should like to think so. But we are up against a big snag. We don’t know the name of the island for which the U-boat is making — the island where the gold is hidden.’

  Biggles looked surprised. ‘But surely Muller told you the name of the island?’