Biggles In Africa Page 14

  ‘Very well, let us say that we did,’ suggested Biggles.

  ‘Then that’s all I want to know,’ said Collison briefly.

  ‘Maybe its all you want to know, but there are a lot of other things you ought to know, and a lot of things you’ve thundering well got to know,’ declared Biggles coldly. ‘If I’m right in my judgement, the information you hold was furnished by one man. It’s his word against ours. Now look, Collison: I’ve been a soldier. I was a soldier while you were a kid squealing in a cradle, so I’m not ignorant of military procedure. If you’re going to take things for granted because a renegade Frenchman shot a cock-and-bull story into your ear, you’re heading for a court martial. This is a bigger thing than you imagine. I’m not threatening, but by the Lord Harry, I’ve been through too much to stand for any nonsense, from you or any one else.’

  At the word ‘Frenchman’ Collison started. ‘What do you know about—?’

  ‘Leroux ? More than you do. His real name isn’t Leroux, for a start, and he’ll be doing a ten years’ stretch when this show is finished. I suppose he went and saw you at Juba?’

  ‘Malakal.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter where. He told you about Sarda, and sent you off after us. Gave you a lift to Insula to hurry things up, as likely as not.’

  ‘Matter of fact, he did, in his aeroplane.’

  ‘Our aeroplane, you mean. Or, to be absolutely accurate, Mr. Marton’s aeroplane. That machine was bought by Mr. Felix Marton, of Birmingham, to enable us to search for his son.’

  Collison stared. ‘Do you mean that you’re here looking for young Marton, the boy who disappeared on a Cape flight a year or so ago?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why we’re here.’

  ‘Can you prove that?’

  ‘Easily, but it will take a few hours. The documents referring to the matter, with my log-book and small kit, are in my kit-bag at an emergency landing-ground a few miles to the east of this place. We hid them when we pushed on here. If you care to send a couple of runners to collect it and bring it here give you my parole until they come back.’

  ‘Whose was that crashed aeroplane I saw there? We came that way, of course.’

  ‘Harry Marton’s, but he didn’t crash it. It was stolen by the man who calls himself Leroux.’

  Collison’s manner changed as he grew interested. ‘Stolen? What on earth for?’

  ‘For one of two reasons. Either because Marton had tumbled on the secret activities of a firm, with headquarters in Cairo, for whom Leroux acts as pilot, or because Leroux wanted the aeroplane the better to pursue those activities.’

  ‘And what are these activities—do you know?’

  ‘Dope running. The biggest dope racket that any one has ever run in the Middle East is operating between Karuli and Cairo.’

  Collison stared. ‘What is the dope?’

  ‘Hashish.1’

  It was some seconds before Collison spoke. ‘Are you pulling my leg?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘I certainly am not. This is no time for leg-pulling. Do I look as though I should be likely to waste time talking rubbish?’

  ‘But why didn’t you report this to the authorities?’

  ‘Because I’ve only just discovered what is going on. You see, when I was last at that landing-ground on the other side of the plain, I was standing by the crash when I caught a whiff of an aroma that reminded me of something, something that I had smelt once before. You know how the memory of a smell will persist for ages, and can bring back a scene as nothing else will. At the time I couldn’t remember what the smell was, or what it reminded me of. Lacey and I once had a spot of trouble with a Greek in the Red Sea; curiously enough his name was Stampoulos, and he may be the same man for all I know, although it isn’t an uncommon Greek name. I saw some hashish then, and just now the whole thing came back to me.2 That Puss Moth which you saw crashed there has been used for a year by Leroux, and the inside of the three-ply luggage compartment smells of hashish. Go and smell it for yourself if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘But what about young Marton? What happened to him—do you know that?’

  ‘I believe he is within ten miles of us at this moment, a prisoner on Stampoulos’s alleged tobacco plantation—which I suspect isn’t tobacco at all, but the hemp from which hashish is made.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘You may well look shaken.’

  ‘I think you’d better tell me the whole story,’ suggested Collison.

  ‘Certainly,’ answered Biggles willingly, and he related the events that had occurred since their arrival at Insula. ‘Now look here, Collison,’ he went on quickly, when he had finished, ‘I know you’ve only got my word for all this, but I can soon furnish proof if you still feel you need it. Don’t lose sight of the fact, though, that we are within an ace of finding Harry Marton, and, frankly, that’s all we’re concerned with. From your point of view the hashish business is, no doubt, a much bigger thing. Well, you can take all the kudos that may be coming on that account. I want Harry Marton, that’s all, and I’m going to get him, with or without your consent. To waste time now would be fatal. If once Stampoulos and his crowd get wind of what’s happened here to-night, or learn that we are talking together, they’ll get into my machine and fly away; and they won’t come back. Either that or they’ll get rid of everything incriminating that may be about. Either way, Harry Marton will disappear for ever.’

  ‘What do you suggest ?’

  ‘I suggest that first of all you send a couple of your men off to fetch our kit-bags; then, that you give us—that is, Lacey, Hebblethwaite, and myself—full rein for twenty-four hours. You can come with us and watch us if you like. At the end of that time, whether we are successful or not, we’ll report back to you. You can have my parole on that. That lets you out if we are mistaken—not that I think there is any likelihood of that. Frankly, I should feel happier if you would row in with us, but I see the drawbacks to that from your point of view. If there was any trouble—shooting, for instance—and our plans went wrong, you’d be in the cart when you went back to your headquarters for letting us go. But don’t forget this. I’m not going to attempt to apprehend Stampoulos or Leroux. As long as I get young Marton and my Dragon they can go on growing hashish, and eating it if they like, until they’re blue in the face. That’s not my affair. I don’t feel inclined to lumber myself up with prisoners, or hang about Africa for weeks waiting for the trial to come on. But I’ll do this. You throw in your lot with us and we’ll go for a clean sweep—work together for a complete roundup. Then, if we get away with it, I’ll take Marton and you can have the hashish crowd. I’ll give you a written statement describing how Sarda met his death if you like, or I’ll come back to Africa in person and tell the story to a jury. Now make up your mind, for there’s no time to be lost.’

  ‘What would be your plan if I agreed to this ?’

  ‘Go straight to Karuli just as soon as we’ve had a bite of food and settle the whole thing one way or the other.’

  Inspired by Biggles’s enthusiasm, Collison was on his feet in a moment. ‘I’m your man,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘I think I know a true story when I hear one. Between ourselves, I didn’t like the look of that fellow Leroux, but as you must see, I was bound to follow the thing up.’

  ‘Of course you were,’ agreed Biggles emphatically. ‘Are you going to take command, or am I?’

  ‘I suggest that we all go to Karuli together. When we get there we can scout round and decide on the best course. I shall have to have proof before I—’

  ‘Harry Marton will supply you with all the evidence you’ll need if we can get hold of him,’ declared Biggles grimly. ‘Find us a biscuit or two and a tin of bully, and we’ll be ready to trek just as soon as you are.’

  * * *

  1 Hashish is an insidious drug used widely in Egypt and the Far East, where it is called bhang, or Indian hemp. Produced chiefly in Greece, it is smuggled in large quantities into Egypt where it is in
great demand in spite of the vigilance of the special officers whose duty it is to combat the traffic. The history of the tricks that have been employed to smuggle the drug into the country would fill a volume. Most of the big men in the ‘trade’ are Europeans, chiefly Greeks and Armenians, although the actual distributors are natives. To a vast number of Egyptians hashish is what tobacco is to other races, and while the demand for it exists no doubt unscrupulous traffickers will risk imprisonment for the large sums of money successful smuggling produces.

  2 See “The Sheikh and the Greek” in the book of short stories entitled Biggles Flies Again.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE ROUND-UP

  TWENTY minutes later the column was on the march, the four white men walking in front and the askaris in file behind. In scouting round the village for signs of the evacuated natives they had found a path leading in the direction of Karuli, so there was no danger of losing the way. Smoking had been forbidden, and the passage of the party was almost as stealthy as that of the wild beasts that occasionally crossed their path.

  For two hours the party marched, and then a small cluster of lights ahead told them that they were nearing their destination. Thereafter the party moved with extra caution, the order ‘no talking’ being passed from man to man down the column, and they were not more than a quarter of a mile away from the lights when Collison gave the order to halt.

  ‘Have you any idea of the lay-out of this place?’ Biggles asked him in a whisper.

  ‘Not the remotest,’ was the answer. ‘What’s your idea of the best plan of procedure?’

  Biggles thought for a moment, eyeing the lights speculatively. ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ he said quietly. ‘If we all go forward, and anything happens to warn them of our approach, they’ll clean everything up by the time we get there—including Marton. As likely as not they’ll try to do the same thing if you walk straight up to the place, whether we are with you or not, for they can hardly refuse you admission. That in itself would look fishy. At the same time, it’s a bit difficult for you as a serving officer in an official capacity to go snooping about the place like a spy; I mean, you’d look a bit cheap if they caught you at it. With us it would be altogether different. I suggest therefore that you detail all your men except one or two to surround the place. We will then go forward and reconnoitre. If there is anything to report, we’ll come back and let you know. If you hear any shooting, or anything in the nature of a rough house, you can hurry along to the bungalow—or whatever it is—at the same time blowing your whistle for your men to close in. At present our great advantage lies in the fact that our presence here must be absolutely unsuspected.’

  ‘How many people are there likely to be in the bungalow, do you think?’ asked Collison.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ admitted Biggles. ‘It’s almost certain that Leroux is there because we watched him land here this morning. There is a Greek, who may be Stampoulos, about somewhere, but the last we saw of him was at Insula. Whether he’s got back or not I don’t know, but I should think it’s quite likely if he managed to get across the river.’

  ‘What do you mean? There’s no difficulty about that.’

  ‘We had an awful time getting across this morning in that ramshackle canoe.’

  ‘Why use the canoe? That was abandoned long ago. There’s a flying bridge.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A kind of flat punt affair that goes to and fro on a wire ; there ‘s a rope on it so that whichever side of the river you happen to arrive at you can pull it over to you.’

  ‘We didn’t see it.’

  ‘Possibly you wouldn’t unless you knew it was there because it is some distance above the pass.’

  ‘I see. Well, never mind that now; what do you think of my idea? Shall I take my party for a look round?’

  ‘I think it’s a sound scheme. I’d like to come with you, but I see your point about keeping out of the way for the time being.’

  ‘All right, then; we’ll get off. If you hear nothing, wait until we return; if there’s a row, come along at the double.’

  ‘That’s clear. Off you go, then.’

  Biggles touched Algy and Ginger lightly on the arm. ‘Come on, chaps. This should be the last act,’ he added quietly as he glided away into the darkness in the direction of the lights.

  He pulled up in the dark shadow of a tree at a point where the open veldt gave way to cultivated country, and beckoned the others to come nearer. ‘We’ve got to watch our step,’ he said quietly. ‘Remember, we’re not alone; we have Collison to consider, which doesn’t give us quite the same freedom as we are accustomed to. Still, it’s useless to say what we may or may not do until we see how the land lies. The landing-ground must be on the other side of that building, which I take to be the bungalow,’ he went on, peering into the darkness. ‘The lamps are still alight, so Stampoulos and Co. haven’t yet gone to bed although it must be getting late. We mustn’t waste time; the lights may go out at any moment, and I’d sooner arrive while they are alight because we shall stand a better chance of learning something. Have your guns handy, but don’t for heaven’s sake use them unless it becomes absolutely necessary.’

  They walked on again, only to stop once more while Biggles examined the crops that now appeared on either side of the path.

  ‘What is it?’ breathed Algy, as Biggles fingered the broad leaves of one of the plants that grew in seried ranks as far as they could see.

  ‘It’s tobacco all right, there’s no doubt about that,’ was the mystified answer. ‘Stand fast,’ added Biggles, and walked several yards into the growth. He was soon back. ‘Cunning devils,’ he almost hissed. ‘There’s something else growing in the middle which I take to be hemp; the tobacco round the edges of the field is merely camouflage.’

  In silence they crept nearer to the lights that marked the position of the bungalow, and as they drew nearer it became possible to see the dark silhouette of other buildings near at hand. One, a large one, particularly attracted Biggles’s attention, and he made his way towards it cautiously.

  Another few paces and the crops ended abruptly, leaving them facing a vast, open area, silent and mysterious in the dim starlight, on the edge of which stood the building.

  ‘Here’s the aerodrome, and that, I fancy, is the hangar,’ breathed Biggles. ‘Watch out, there may be a guard.’

  They saw no one, however, and it took them only a few minutes to confirm that the building was, in fact, a reed-built hangar like the one at Insula. Moreover, the Dragon was inside with her tanks filled ready for flight, a condition that Biggles ascertained while the others remained on guard. He also found something else, something that gave him a thrill of elation when he discovered it. In the cabin were a number of neat packages, each marked with a number.

  ‘We could get away now if we wanted to,’ he murmured, as he rejoined the others. ‘In the ordinary way all we should have to do would be to find Marton, but as things are we’ve got to stay and help Collison to clean up. Let’s go and have a look at the bungalow.’

  In single file they began to walk quietly towards the building, from which three shafts of yellow light lit up the bare earth outside. From it came the sound of voices, one raised high as if in anger. At the same time a low murmur became audible from another building some distance farther on, a long, low structure, the roof of which was illuminated from time to time by a flickering orange glow, as if a fire were burning somewhere on the other side of it.

  ‘I should say that’s the native compound,’ breathed Biggles. ‘They’re bound to employ a lot of labour here, so whatever we do must be done quietly or we shall stir up a hornet’s nest.’

  Nearer they crept to the bungalow, approaching it from an angle, so that the details of its construction could be seen on two sides. One side, which was, in fact, the end of the building, was in complete darkness, although they could see the black square that marked the position of a window. But the other elevation, which was the front
of the house, was ablaze with light which came from three windows. Two were quite small, but the other held their interest, for it ran nearly half the length of the building, and ended at a door, which stood open. So much they could see, although the whole of the front of the house was shaded to some extent by a roof that overhung for several feet, supported at intervals by stout posts, forming the usual shady veranda. As far as they could make out, the room behind it into which the door opened was the main room of the building, for both the door and the long window commanded a broad view of the path, the plantation, and, to one side, the native compound.

  Unfortunately, the door was at the far end of the window from where they stood, and Biggles observed that the only way it could be reached without crossing the front of the big window, and thereby risking discovery, was to go round the dark side of the house.

  He might then crawl under one of the smaller windows, the sill of which was about three feet above the level of the veranda, and survey the interior of the room before going on to the door—not that it was by any means certain that he would find it necessary to enter through that particular door.

  At this stage his plans were still rather in the air, because he did not know what the men inside were doing. He realized that if they were engaged in some quite harmless occupation it would be in the nature of an anti-climax to walk into the room and make charges which they would certainly deny. In any case, he decided, that was Collison’s job. His primary object was to find out if Harry Marton was in the building, and if so, rescue him before any harm could come to him. Nevertheless, a peep into the lighted room was clearly desirable, and with this object in view he edged his way a little to the right in order to get into the dark shadow on the unlighted side of the building.

  With the others following him unquestioningly, he crept stealthily towards the wall, approaching it almost at right angles.

  It may be that such a small thing as a stone, or a kink in a chain, saved his life, for although he was alert for any emergency, he was certainly not expecting danger from the direction in which it came. The first warning he had of it was a faint chink as if a small piece of metal had dropped upon another. At the time his attention was divided between the dark wall which he was attempting to reach, and the door on the lighted side of the bungalow in case any one came out of it; for which reason his eyes were fixed at his own level and not on the ground. But at the metallic noise, slight as it was, his eyes switched to the point whence it came, which seemed to be on the ground at the base of the wall. At first, all he could make out was a smallish, black shadow, but as he stared at it, trying to see what it was, it moved, and the movement brought it into a new angle of starlight. As if suddenly illuminated from within, two green orbs of light glowed in the darkness.