Biggles and the Pirate Treasure Page 15

  By the time those in the machine were on the ground two white men were walking towards them. One was an elderly, good-looking man of perhaps fifty years of age, presumably the doctor; for his companion, a flaxen-haired fellow in the early twenties, was clearly too young to have been in the business for the length of time that Shultz was known to have been there.

  ‘Doctor Shultz?’ queried Biggles, as the two parties met.

  The older man bowed slightly. ‘At your service,’ said he, speaking, as was to be expected, with an accent.

  Biggles introduced himself and his crew, omitting to mention their police ranks. ‘We’re in the district on government business, and seeing this oasis in the wilderness decided to look you up,’ he explained. ‘We knew you lived somewhere near our course.’

  ‘How did you know?’ questioned Shultz, quietly.

  ‘When one’s line of flight is over this sort of country one naturally checks up on all available landing fields, in case of trouble,’ answered Biggles readily. ‘You have an aircraft, I believe.’

  ‘Yes. I use one for my business,’ confirmed the doctor. ‘This is my pilot, Herr Leffers. As you will believe, we seldom have visitors, so those who do call are all the more welcome. Come in, and allow me to offer such hospitality as my house is able to provide.’

  The airmen followed their host to the bungalow — Ginger, it must be admitted, conscious of a feeling of anti-climax. Although he had not formed a mental picture of Doctor Shultz he had imagined that only a ‘tough’ type would choose to banish himself in a place as remote and uncomfortable as the Kalahari Desert. The doctor was obviously a man of culture, and the charm that so often goes with education.

  A good deal of noise coming from the long hut Ginger recognized as the chattering of monkeys. Presently the doctor mentioned it. ‘You know what my business is, I suppose?’ he asked, with a smile.

  Replied Biggles, also smiling: ‘If I hadn’t been told I could guess.’

  The doctor showed them into a comfortably furnished room, decorated with trophies of big game. Antelope horns bristled from the walls and lion and leopard skins served as floor coverings.

  Over lunch the conversation turned, not unnaturally, to the doctor’s unusual occupation. He was willing to talk of it, and how it had come about. Until the war, he said, he had for some time been engaged in experimental work on monkey gland in connexion with the human body. This was, of course, stopped by the war, when monkeys became unobtainable in Germany. Afterwards, in order to complete his work he had set up a laboratory and surgery where monkeys could easily and cheaply be acquired — where they were at the moment. Finding that there was a steady demand for monkeys by zoological gardens and medical institutions engaged in the same work as himself, he had started to supply the market through the ordinary channels. Then came the atom bomb.

  The demand for monkeys, for research into the effects of radio-activity, soared, America alone being prepared to take five hundred a week. He alone could not supply that number, although to save time, and losses in transit by sea routes, he now employed air transportation. In short, monkeys had become more profitable than medicine. Doctor Shultz said all this so frankly that Ginger did not doubt the truth of it.

  The doctor went on to say that he did not catch the monkeys himself. They were brought to him by Hottentots who knew what he was doing and were experts at catching them. Several species were brought in. He took them all, paying the natives in cash or goods, as they wished. However, now that the post-war troubles of Germany were being settled he was thinking of packing up and returning home in the near future.

  Asked about his flying arrangements he said that his machine was a converted war-time Dornier, fitted with cages to carry sixty monkeys at a load. The Dornier took them to his depot near Algiers, from where they were forwarded on the regular air services. He had a load ready to go now. Leffers would be flying north the following day.

  ‘Do the Kalahari Bushmen ever trouble you at all?’ asked Biggles. ‘I’m told they can be difficult.’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘No. They never come near here. They have no reason to. Would you like to see my monkeys? We shall soon have to be loading them up, if Leffers is to get away at dawn.’

  Biggles said they would, so they went to the big shed, which turned out to be not only a hangar but a menagerie. The inside walls were fitted with cages, all full of monkeys. One or two larger species were secured by light chains to benches. Biggles stopped in front of one of these, a grey-faced beast with a long tail. With a bandage round its shoulders it was looking pathetically sorry for itself. Like the others, it wore a label round its neck.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘The silly fellow cut himself trying to escape, but he’s all right now,’ explained the doctor casually. ‘I’ve been to some trouble over him as you see. The grey-faces are hardier than most, and fetch the highest price.’

  He walked on.

  Biggles put out a hand and stroked the creature, whereupon it turned on him with a snarl and nearly got him.

  The doctor turned sharply. ‘That was foolish of you,’ he admonished seriously. ‘These are wild animals, not pets. You might have been bitten. A monkey can inflict a nasty wound.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Biggles contritely. ‘Stupid of me. May I buy this poor chap? I’ve taken a fancy to him.’

  ‘Afraid not. He’s already sold,’ said the doctor apologetically.

  They did not stay long after that. Doctor Shultz hinted that he and Leffers would have to start loading the plane, so the airmen took their leave. Shultz saw them to the aircraft.

  Biggles thanked him for his hospitality, took off, flew to Windhock, and arranged for the tanks to be topped up forthwith.

  The others looked surprised. ‘What’s the hurry?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘I’m going straight on.’

  ‘On. Where?’

  ‘Home — calling at Algiers on the way. I want to get there before Leffers. We’ve finished here, anyway, except for sending a cable to Marcel Brissac of the French Sûreté, asking him to meet us at Algiers.’

  Ginger stared. ‘You don’t mean — you think — Shultz has anything to do with the diamond racket?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure of it. I’m hoping to confirm it.’

  ‘If ever a man struck me as behaving innocent, it was Shultz,’ declared Algy.

  ‘It’s time you knew that’s often the case,’ averred Biggles drily.

  ‘Who carries the stones — Leffers?’

  ‘Not likely. That wouldn’t work. Sometimes even pilots are searched.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘That grey-faced monkey. Who would search a monkey?’ Biggles chuckled. ‘Watch the Air Commodore’s face when I tell him.’

  ‘But hold hard, old boy, what gave you that idea?’ put in Bertie. ‘I mean to say, are you guessing — shooting arrows in the dark, and all that?’

  Biggles lit a cigarette and became serious. ‘In the first place Shultz said the Bushmen never came near him. That was a lie. Those we saw in the desert had been there. In the house I saw a box of pipes, knives and trinkets, identical with those the Bushmen had. Not knowing that we had seen those fellows there was no need for Shultz to hide the stuff. Why did he lie? I’d say because the Bushmen are bringing him diamonds, and he’d rather not be associated with them. I’ve no doubt about the monkey-business being genuine; but it’s not as profitable as diamonds; so if Shultz wants to retire, as I can well believe, diamonds might offer a short cut to affluence in the Fatherland.’

  ‘But where does the grey-face come in?’ demanded Ginger.

  ‘You heard me try to buy it. He wouldn’t sell. Why not? My money is as good as anybody else’s. I knew he wouldn’t sell — at least, I’d have looked silly if he had.’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ cried Ginger. ‘The stones are in the bandages.’

  ‘That’s what I suspected, but I was wrong. Why do you suppose I risked being bitten by s
troking the beast? When that monkey reaches the man in England whose name and address were on the label round its neck, I fancy it won’t be wearing bandages. There won’t be any need.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the wound behind its shoulder is practically healed.’

  ‘The wound it made when it tried to escape?’

  ‘No. Escape nothing. The wound Doctor Shultz made when he operated on it and slipped the diamonds under its skin. If what I felt weren’t diamonds then that monkey has got a nasty row of boils on the way. But let’s get cracking. We’ve a long way to go.’

  Two days later, when, at nine o’clock in the morning, the Halifax landed on the big international airport at Algiers, Marcel Brissac, Biggles’s opposite number in France, was there to meet it. He was in civilian clothes.

  ‘What cooks, old cabbage?’ he demanded.

  ‘Let’s find a seat where we can have some coffee and watch the landing ground at the same time,’ answered Biggles. ‘I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Which he did. ‘Apart from deciding that you ought to know what’s going on, in case diamonds are being unloaded in Paris, I need your help,’ he went on. ‘This pilot, Leffers, knows us by sight, and if he sees us here he may suspect he’s being watched and change his plans. He should be along any minute now. That’s where you come in. When he lands, I want you to keep an eye on the monkeys and check what happens to them. You can pose as an airport official. In particular, keep an eye on the lad with a grey face and a long tail. According to his label he’s booked for London, but I want to make sure it hasn’t been changed. I don’t care much what happens to the rest. Do what you like about that, but I suggest you watch for grey-faces consigned to any address in France. There’s the Dornier coming in now. Get busy.’

  ‘Zut! What an affaire!’ muttered Marcel, as he went off. ‘Wait for me here.’

  The others watched him stroll over to the aircraft, now taxiing on to the concrete apron.

  They saw a covered van drive up to it, watched the monkeys transferred to it, watched it drive off. The airport trolley took a case to the luggage hall, but they dared not go near it because Leffers remained with it.

  It was some time before Marcel returned. Biggles occupied the period by composing a cable to the Air-Commodore.

  When Marcel breezed in he was smiling. ‘All goes well,’ he reported. ‘All the little beasts except grey-face go to the depot. You see the van, I think. Grey-face goes forward on the next Air France plane to London, in one hour. He wears a label to a man named Shultz, to be collected at London Airport.’

  ‘Good,’ said Biggles, getting up. ‘Where does the London plane stop en route?’

  ‘Marseilles and Paris.’

  ‘Even so, as it’s faster than we are we’d better push along if we want to get in first. I think, Marcel, you ought to travel on that plane as far as Paris, to make sure there’s no trick — see that grey-face isn’t dropped off on the way. Should that happen it’s your affair; otherwise let the animal go on to London.’

  ‘As I must return to Paris I go on that plane in any case,’ asserted Marcel.

  ‘You might send this cable for me, priority,’ requested Biggles. ‘It’s to Raymond at the Yard.’

  ‘Certainement.’

  ‘That’s all. We’ll press on. Thanks, Marcel.’

  ‘Au revoir. Bon voyage.’

  On the way to the machine Ginger raised a question. ‘What about quarantine? I mean, can this fellow Shultz just roll up and collect grey-face? I know about dogs, but what about other animals?’

  ‘I don’t think Shultz would have any difficulty in collecting the beast right away,’ replied Biggles. ‘In any case it would be safe at the airport. Now that nearly as many animals as humans travel by air they have their own waiting room; magnificent place, in the charge of the R.S.P.C.A. It’s chiefly for animals in transit. Apart from that, zoos and research places are reckoned to be quarantine stations in themselves.’

  They walked on, and in a few minutes were in the air, London bound. They were met at the airport by quite a number of people. The Air Commodore was there, as was Inspector Gaskin, a plain clothes man and a police surgeon, all from the Yard. Also present was the senior officer of Customs and Excise and a representative of the R.S.P.C.A.

  ‘I got your cable,’ announced the Air Commodore. ‘What on earth is all this about?’

  ‘Quite simple, sir,’ answered Biggles. ‘I’m expecting a parcel of diamonds to arrive on the Paris plane, due in in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘But why the deuce did you ask for a surgeon?’

  ‘Because without him they might be hard to get at.’

  ‘Have you seen these diamonds?’

  ‘No. But I think I know where they are.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘Inside the skin of a monkey. As I’m no use at surgery I thought we’d better have a doctor on the job.’

  The Air Commodore stared. ‘Why didn’t you grab this monkey?’

  Biggles smiled faintly. ‘I thought it better to grab the man who comes to collect it. After all, the wretched monkey doesn’t know what it’s doing. Moreover, there’s a snag. If we let the man collect the monkey we may never see it again, or the diamonds, because I imagine he’ll lose no time in killing the poor beast to get the stones. On the other hand, if we operate on the monkey here, and collect the stones, the man could swear that he knew nothing about the gems.’

  ‘I see your point,’ said the Air Commodore, slowly. ‘I’m taking no chances of losing sight of this animal. If our doctor and the Cruelty to Animals Inspector agree, we’ll examine it here, in the animal house. To whom is it consigned?’

  ‘A man named Shultz, probably a relation of the man of the same name who runs the monkey business in South Africa. That’s where the animal started. I saw it there.’

  ‘Ah!’ breathed the Air Commodore. ‘Now I see daylight.’

  The plain clothes man, who had been away, returned to say that a gentleman with a car was waiting to collect a monkey.

  ‘We’ll let him collect it, and then see what he has to say about it,’ stated the Air Commodore grimly. ‘Here’s the Paris plane being brought in now. Leave the talking to me.’

  The big machine landed. The passengers got out and filed into the Customs Hall. The luggage was unloaded. One large wooden box was put on one side. A man appeared and stood by it. The Air Commodore and his party joined him.

  Said the Air Commodore, politely: ‘Excuse me, but is this monkey consigned to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you want to take it away immediately?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t do that. It will first have to be examined for infectious disease. I have a doctor here.’

  ‘But I’ve never had any trouble before,’ protested the man.

  ‘Oh! So you’ve received monkeys before?’

  ‘Often.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘South Africa. My brother sends them to me.’

  ‘Ah well, this shouldn’t take long,’ said the Air Commodore casually, signing to some porters to take the case to the animal building. ‘Come with us if you wish,’ he invited.

  In a few minutes the party was inside. The doctor, after putting a cloth over the monkey’s head, lifted it from its case and ran his hands over it. ‘Hello!’ he exclaimed, ‘what are these lumps?’

  ‘Lumps,’ echoed Shultz.

  ‘I’m afraid we shall have to see what they are,’ said the police surgeon. ‘I brought an anaesthetic.’

  Shultz, who had been backing towards the door, found his way barred by the portly form of Inspector Gaskin.

  The Air Commodore’s tone changed. ‘I must tell you that I am a police-officer, and have reason to believe that this animal is being used to introduce precious stones into the country without a Customs declaration. Have you anything to say to that? We shall soon know the truth.’

  Shultz drew a deep b
reath. He shrugged. ‘I might as well own up. The monkey is carrying diamonds. How did you know?’

  ‘Have you had a burglar in your house lately?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you have him to thank for spoiling a neat, but nevertheless unpardonable, scheme.’

  ‘Shall I remove the diamonds?’ asked the surgeon.

  ‘I think you’d better,’ the Air Commodore told him.

  The end of this ingenious attempt to evade Customs duties can be imagined. Shultz — the one in England — wisely chose to make a clean breast of the business, from which it appeared that there were extenuating circumstances, although these did not altogether save him. He said that his brother in Africa was a genuine research worker, and it was only recently that he had succumbed to the temptation to buy, for a mere song, the diamonds that were sometimes found by the Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert. He did not keep the money thus made, but handed it to a charitable institution in Germany devoted to the care of war-mutilated German soldiers. This was confirmed. He appeared in court the day following his arrest and was ordered to pay a heavy fine. This, taking into account that he had lost the diamonds, was considered a sufficient punishment.

  His brother, in South Africa, was lucky, for had he fallen into the hands of the South African Police it would have fared badly with him. Whether he, or Leffers, became suspicious and took fright, or whether his brother sent a message that reached him before the police, was not known; but by the time the police arrived, he had gone, and neither he nor Leffers were seen again. It can be presumed that they fled to Germany in the Dornier, for which reason the monkeys in the district, although they were not to know it, have cause to be grateful to Biggles.

  Today, if you go to the Zoo, and happen to notice a grey-faced monkey with a long tail giving himself airs, it may be because he is the only one of his tribe ever to have carried a fortune in diamonds and lived to tell a tale of a real piece of ‘monkey business.’

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