Biggles In Australia

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I: A Pressman Sets a Poser

  CHAPTER II: Wide Open Spaces

  CHAPTER III: An Uncomfortable Night

  CHAPTER IV: Island Without a Name

  CHAPTER V: A Word with Sergeant Gilson

  CHAPTER VI: Forestalled

  CHAPTER VII: Outlook Vague

  CHAPTER VIII: The Opposition Strikes Back

  CHAPTER IX: Murder in the Outback

  CHAPTER X: Claws Out at Tarracooma

  CHAPTER XI: Move and Countermove

  CHAPTER XII: Disturbing News

  CHAPTER XIII: Desperate Measures

  CHAPTER XIV: Goodbye to the Auster

  CHAPTER XV: The Battle of Daly Flats

  CHAPTER I

  A Pressman Sets a Poser

  When Biggles, in answer to a call on the intercom, entered the office of his chief, Air Commodore Raymond of the Special Air Section at Scotland Yard, he was greeted with a smile which he knew from experience was not prompted entirely by humour.

  ‘I’m not much for betting, sir, but I’d risk a small wager that what you’re going to tell me isn’t really funny,’ he observed as he pulled up a chair.

  ‘That would depend on how you looked at it,’ answered the Air Commodore drily. ‘Serious matters can sometimes provoke an ironical smile. Take a look at this. I thought you’d like to see it.’ He pushed across the desk a picture that had obviously been cut from a newspaper.

  Biggles studied the photographic reproduction for some time without speaking and without a change of expression. It showed a group of seven men standing on a sandy beach with the sea in the background. The subjects were in tropical kit, creased, dirty, shrunken and generally disreputable. They were hatless, and all needed a hair-cut and a shave.

  ‘Recognize anybody?’ asked the Air Commodore, whimsically.

  ‘Of course. Our old friend Erich von Stalhein, no less. He appears to have slipped into the soup — on this occasion without being pushed by me.’

  ‘Do you know any of the others?’

  ‘I fancy I’ve seen one of them before, but not recently, and on the spur of the moment I can’t place him. Where, may I ask, was this fascinating snapshot taken?’

  ‘On the coast of north-west Australia.’

  Biggles’s eyes opened wide. ‘Australia! For Pete’s sake! Where will the ubiquitous Erich turn up next? What was he doing there?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. At the time the photo was taken he had just come ashore.’

  ‘What did he say he was doing?’

  ‘He said he was, or had been, studying oceanography.’

  Biggles smiled cynically. ‘Imagine von Stalhein sitting on the sea bed watching the winkles and things. How did this enchanting picture come into your hands?’

  ‘It was spotted by Major Charles of Security Intelligence in a batch of newspapers just in from Australia. Actually, the picture was in several papers. He thought we might like to see it.’

  Biggles pushed the paper back across the desk. ‘You know, sir, von Stalhein is becoming a nuisance.’

  ‘I’d say he’s a menace.’

  ‘Then why don’t you do something about it?’

  ‘I’ve told you before that we’ve no case against him; nor shall we have while he’s clever enough to keep on the right side of the law.’

  ‘With the result that I spend half my time looking for him and the other half dodging him.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What do you mean, of course?’

  ‘While he’s engaged in espionage, and you in counter-espionage, it’s inevitable that you should always be bumping into each other — in the same way as in football the two centre-forwards are often in collision. He has to earn his living somehow and it’s natural that he should stick to the job for which he was trained in one of the most efficient spy schools in the world — the Wilhelmstrasse. He’s no more likely to settle down in a routine occupation than you are.’ The Air Commodore smiled. ‘Don’t forget you must be as big a nuisance to him as he is to you.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right. At least he keeps us busy and provides us with an excuse for staying in our jobs. How did this Australian affair come about?’

  ‘Quite simply. A few weeks ago north-west Australia was visited by one of those devastating storms which we would call a hurricane but are known locally as willie-willies. They do immense damage, both at sea and ashore. After the one in question, three pearling luggers, out from Broome, failed to return to port, so aircraft of the Royal Australian Air Force were sent out to locate them, or possible survivors should they have been wrecked. One of the rescue aircraft spotted a ship’s lifeboat, under sail, making for the mainland miles from anywhere — by which I mean miles from the nearest point where food and water would be available. The pilot radioed the position, whereupon supplies were rushed to the spot where the boat was making its landfall. It seems that a newspaper reporter, scenting a story, also went along in a chartered plane, taking his camera. He got his story, such as it was, and, as you see, a photograph. In the matter of the picture a curious thing happened. At least, it struck the reporter as queer, and he referred to it in his article. When these shipwrecked mariners realized they had been photographed they kicked up a fuss and demanded that the film be destroyed.’

  ‘What reason did they give for that?’

  ‘They said that as scientists they were opposed to any form of publicity.’

  ‘I bet they were,’ murmured Biggles, bitingly.

  ‘Actually, that was a mistake, because, as I say, the reporter made a note of it, and certain sceptical editors, in their columns, asked for what possible reason these men should object to being photographed.’

  ‘We could tell them.’

  ‘Of course. Von Stalhein has good reasons for not wanting to see his face in any newspaper.’

  ‘What story did he tell? He’d have to offer some explanation.’

  ‘The spokesman of the party said they were a scientific expedition studying marine life in tropical waters. Their ship, the See Taube, out from Hamburg, was caught in the storm and cast ashore on an island. The seven were the sole survivors of a crew of twenty-two. The ship was pounded to pieces on a reef, but by good luck a lifeboat was washed up more or less intact. Having patched it up, they set a course for the mainland. They had, of course, lost everything except the clothes they stood up in. Considering the state they were in their story was not questioned. We can assume that the shipwreck part of it was true.’

  ‘They would remember their names and nationalities — or did they lose those too?’ inquired Biggles sarcastically.

  ‘No. They gave their names. You’ll find them in the paper. They were four Germans, two Poles, and a Britisher who said he was simply a member of the crew.’

  ‘Did von Stalhein’s name appear among them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. And I gather they could all speak English.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘Very convenient, if they were going to land in Australia.’

  ‘They said they had no intention of landing in Australia — until they were cast away.’

  ‘Then the fact that they could all speak English must have been one of those curious coincidences we sometimes hear about,’ remarked Biggles, with a faint sneer of scepticism. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘No one knows, and, frankly, no one seems to care. They’ve just disappeared.’

  ‘How could they disappear?’

  ‘They were flown to Darwin and provided with clothes and accommodation pending such time as arrangements could be made for them to return home. It seems that a few days later, an aircraft, chartered by a good Samaritan
in the south, turned up and collected them. They just went; and as Darwin is an international port apparently the local people couldn’t have cared less.’

  ‘Didn’t this sudden departure strike anyone as odd?’

  ‘Evidently not. Darwin is the sort of place where people come and go. After all, von Stalhein and his companions were not under any sort of suspicion. They were not being watched. They had broken no law. The police weren’t interested in them. They were free to come and go as they wished.’

  ‘All nice and easy,’ muttered Biggles. ‘This good Samaritan, as you call him, must have been a contact man. No doubt he saw the picture in the papers, and realizing what had happened, got busy. Which means, in plain English, there was already an enemy agent in Australia.’

  ‘That, as you would say, sticks out like a sore finger.’

  ‘Have you told Australia what we know von Stalhein to be?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t want to start a spy scare. At the moment von Stalhein is, I imagine, lying low, waiting to see what the outcome of this affair will be. If he decides that it has passed unnoticed by the Security people, both there and here, he may come into the open and proceed with what he went to Australia to do. In which case we may catch up with him.’

  ‘Who do you mean by we?’

  ‘Well — you.’

  Biggles reached for a cigarette. ‘Surely this is Australia’s pigeon.’

  ‘Australia is part of the British Commonwealth, and as such it is also our pigeon. Of this we may be sure. If von Stalhein is in Australia he’s not there for our good.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. No doubt he and the rest of the party quietly faded away because they didn’t want to be asked questions which might have been embarrassing. The point is, what questions were they asked when they were rescued. This island on which they were wrecked, for example. What’s the name of it?’

  ‘They didn’t know.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense! Of course they knew. Don’t ask me to believe that the skipper of a vessel that size didn’t know the position of his ship.’

  ‘What size?’

  ‘With a ship’s company of twenty-two it was obviously no mere cabin cruiser.’

  ‘There are plenty of islands off that particular coast.’

  ‘How long were they cast away on one?’

  ‘Three weeks — they said.’

  ‘If that’s true we should have no great difficulty in finding it, because apart from the wreckage of the ship, seven men in three weeks would leave their mark. But that’s a detail that can be gone into later — that’s if you think this business is of such importance that it should be followed up.’

  ‘I certainly do.’

  ‘But you’re not seriously expecting me to find von Stalhein in a place the size of Australia?’

  ‘If we don’t find the man we’ve got to know what he’s doing. Apart from the fact that Australia is a fast-developing continent in which the Iron Curtain brigade would like to get their teeth, there are a lot of things going on there that they would like to know more about. No doubt they would like to have more information than we have released about the new rocket and guided missile ranges. They would like to know more about the present and future production prospects of the newly-discovered uranium deposits.’

  ‘They wouldn’t need a ship for that.’

  ‘They’d need a ship to test the strength of any radio-activity persisting in the region of the Montebello Islands, where we exploded atomic bombs.’

  ‘You may have got something there,’ admitted Biggles. ‘Never mind what the ship was for, it was certainly needed or it wouldn’t have been provided. In which case it would seem that an investigation into the purpose of enemy agents in Australia would have to cover not only the mainland but the hundreds of islands within striking distance of it.’

  ‘That, I’m afraid, is what it adds up to.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say you’re afraid,’ said Biggles lugubriously.

  ‘You’ve good reason to be. So have I. You don’t often hear me say that, but the prospect of finding a man, or even a small army of men, in a place the size of Australia, strikes me as having about as much hope of success as a boy looking for a lost peanut on a shingle beach on a dark night. I once had occasion to fly over a stretch of north-west Australia, and what I saw didn’t make me pine to see more of it. I know it isn’t all like that, but there’s plenty that is.1 No, sir. This isn’t a job for one man. It’d be an undertaking for the entire Australian Police Force, and even then I wouldn’t bet on them finding an elusive customer like dear Erich, who knows every trick of the game.’

  ‘The police are not likely to take kindly to the idea of looking for a man against whom there is no charge.’

  ‘They could deport him as an undesirable alien.’

  ‘That would only make matters worse. Even if he didn’t slip back in he’d be replaced with someone else whom we don’t even know. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know is an old saying, and a true one. See what you can do. I’m not particularly interested in von Stalhein personally; but we must know what he and his party are doing. It’s our job to find out. Knowing what we know we can’t just let the thing slide.’

  Biggles shrugged. ‘Very well, sir. You win. I’ll do my best to get a line but it’s likely to be a slow business.’

  ‘Can I help in any way?’

  Biggles thought for a moment. ‘You can let me have the name of the reporter who took that photo, the name of the pilot who sent out the S.O.S., and the pinpoint he gave on first spotting the boat at sea. That’s where I shall start. It’s the only place I can start. If, too, you can identify the aircraft that collected von Stalhein and his party at Darwin it may save me some time there. The control tower should know. It would be something if we knew where that machine came from, who hired it, and where it went. It might also be helpful if you could let me have the name and address of an Australian Security Officer with whom I could get in touch should the need arise.’

  ‘I’ll attend to that. Anything else?’

  ‘That’s all I can think of at the moment, sir. I’ll press on and get ready. It looks as if I shall need two machines, one for marine work and the other for overland. But we can talk about that later.’ Biggles got up.

  ‘The Australians are a hospitable lot so you might be going to a worse place,’ remarked the Air Commodore comfortingly.

  ‘Then don’t be surprised if you hear I’ve packed up chasing myself round the globe and gone in for sheep raising or something,’ was Biggles’s last word as he went out.

  Returning to the Operations Room he passed on the latest intelligence to his team of pilots.

  ‘What’s your own idea of this business,’ asked Algy, when he had finished.

  ‘I haven’t one,’ admitted Biggles. ‘Von Stalhein could be engaged on one or more of a dozen shady undertakings — all with an espionage background, of course. We can, however, be reasonably sure of one or two things. He was given a definite assignment, and an important one covering a wide field, or he would be working on his own instead of with a party. It involved, at any rate in the first place, marine work — unless the ship was provided to enable the party to get ashore without passing through a normal port of entry, as would be necessary if they were carrying equipment that would be questioned by the Customs officers.’

  ‘Are we sure they had a ship?’ put in Ginger.

  ‘Yes. They wouldn’t be likely to start from Europe in a rowing boat. They admitted a crew of twenty-two men. Why did they volunteer that information? I’d say because they knew that the story was more likely to be believed than if they had said they were in those dangerous waters in a small craft. Ships are expensive things, so behind von Stalhein there must be big money; which suggest a foreign government. The ship was the See Taube — Sea Pigeon. It came from Hamburg so we can check up on that. The rescue people didn’t question it. That’s unders
tandable. The first thing they would do would be to get the castaways to civilization, leaving the questions till later; but by that time, the party, as we know, had disappeared.’

  Bertie interposed. ‘But look here, old boy. If the blighters lost their ship they must have lost their gear, if any.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping happened,’ answered Biggles. ‘If the ship broke up, and I think it must have done considering the plight the survivors were in, some of it, or some of the stuff it carried, might have been cast ashore. Working on that assumption I shall start by looking for the island.’

  ‘How many islands are there to be searched?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Biggles. ‘We shall know more about that when we’ve studied the chart. Speaking from memory there are quite a lot; but that needn’t worry us unduly, because the one with which we’re concerned can’t be any great distance from the spot where the lifeboat was first seen. As the pilot of the aircraft pinpointed the position it will be on record.’

  ‘This seems to be a more hopeless job than most of those that come our way,’ remarked Algy.

  ‘That’s what I told the chief. But he argued that it wasn’t as sticky as all that because although Australia is a big slice of land there’s a limit to the number of places in which von Stalhein would be interested. I hope he’s right. But we’d better see about getting organized. We shall need a land plane with plenty of endurance, which means the Halifax; but I’ve no intention of cruising around the Timor Sea in something that’ll sink if we get ditched. I’ll take Ginger with me in the Sea Otter we used on that West Indian job.2 I’d take the Sunderland but there might be difficulties in refuelling. From that angle an amphibian would be safer. Algy, you and Bertie can trundle out to Darwin in the Halifax. We’ll travel independently and meet there. Now let’s have a look at the chart and see where we’re going. When I say going I’m thinking particularly of where we’re going to park the machines. There’s no dearth of aerodromes, even if they’re a long way apart; but except for refuelling I shall endeavour to keep clear of them, for if ever it reaches von Stalhein’s ears that we’re in Australia he’ll know why, and our job will be even more difficult than it is now. And while I think of it, as we’re talking about moorings, never forget that on the north-west coast of Australia the difference between high water and low can be up to nearly forty feet. So watch your tides. Now let’s look at the map.’