Biggles Takes it Rough Read online

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘An aircraft.’

  Biggles looked up. ‘Oh! Tell me how that happened.’

  ‘When I was at the island I slept in my boat. The food was handy, and anyway it was more comfortable than anything I could have found ashore. The second night, shortly after midnight, I was awakened by the sound of an aircraft. It seemed to be getting nearer. It wasn’t a big machine. It sounded like a small single-engined job. I went on deck. It was bright moonlight and dead still, but I couldn’t see a thing. I’m prepared to swear that machine was over the island. Then the engine died. Wondering what an aircraft was doing there, at night, miles from any regular route, I listened, expecting to hear a crash.’

  ‘You thought the pilot was in trouble and might try to get down?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought, and surely what anyone would think. Nothing happened. Mind you, there would have to be a fair amount of noise for me to hear it because, while the sea was moderate, the waves were splashing against the rocks. Actually, in the cove I was in a bad place to see anything, being at water level with walls of rock on all sides of me except directly out to sea. I was in my pyjamas, and finding the breeze a bit chilly I went back into the cabin to put on some clothes before having a look round. While I was doing that I heard the aircraft take off. I rushed out again, and by the sound of the engine I could hear the aircraft heading for the mainland.’

  ‘But you couldn’t see it?’

  ‘No. It couldn’t have been carrying lights or I must have seen it. Well, that’s it. There can be no argument about it. That night an aircraft came to the island, landed, and took off again.’

  ‘Where do you suppose it landed?’

  ‘There’s only one possible place, and that’s the beach.’

  ‘Would that be large enough?’

  ‘Just, for a small machine, provided the wind was right.’

  ‘How was it blowing on that occasion?’

  ‘Due north.’

  ‘So the machine could fly in straight up the beach from the southern end?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Very interesting. Did you do anything about it?’

  ‘As soon as it was light enough to see I went to the beach and had a good look at it.’

  ‘Find anything?’

  ‘Nothing. The tide had half covered the beach during the night and that would have washed out any wheel tracks.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Practically all. The next night I kept my clothes on and waited near the beach with a torch in my hand. But nothing happened. That’s all I can tell you; but I’m pretty sure something is afoot on my property, something that makes it worth while to run an airplane. I want to know what it is.’

  ‘You haven’t been back since your first trip?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you make further inquiries when you got to the mainland?’

  ‘No. What would have been the use of that? Some people must know what’s going on. That’s why they tried to stop me getting to the island. There’s a local policeman, but he’s never at home. At least, that’s what I was told. Deciding it was no use wasting any more time there I came here, and the officer I saw below suggested I had a word with you.’

  ‘Do you intend to go back to Tola?’

  ‘Sure I’m going back,’ stated Macaster with iron in his voice. ‘Do you suppose I’d let these smart guys run me off my own property? No sir. When I start something I aim to finish it.’

  ‘You still believe some of the Clan Macaster will return to their own home?’

  ‘I do. That’s what I’m doing myself, isn’t it? The people of the Highlands and Islands never forget their birthplace. It stays in their blood.’ Macaster shrugged. ‘If they decide to stay away, okay; I’ll run the island myself as a holiday home. There are worse places. With plenty of shooting and fishing I shall be quite happy.’

  ‘In that case why did you come here to tell us about it?’

  ‘In the first place to ask for your advice on the broad aspect of the business, and secondly to let someone in authority know what I’m doing in the event of things going wrong.’

  ‘Go wrong? What could go wrong?’

  ‘I might disappear. If I did you’d know where to look for me. I’m a rich man, and unless proof of my death could be established my fortune would be put in cold store for years in case I turned up.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘No. But I’ve a niece and a nephew in Canada I’d like to have my money.’

  Biggles looked at the Air Commodore inquiringly.

  His Chief thought for a few moments. ‘As an aircraft that travels at night without navigation lights appears to be involved, I think it might be a good thing if you ran up and had a look at this island,’ he decided. ‘You haven’t much on and it shouldn’t take long. Please yourself how you go about it.’

  ‘As you say, sir.’ Biggles got up. ‘If you’ll come with me to my office, Mr Macaster, we’ll go into this a bit further and maybe cook up a plan to find out just what’s going on on Tola.’

  CHAPTER 2

  AN UNEXPECTED SET-BACK

  THE new helicopter Kestrel, recently brought on the strength of the Air Police for patrol work in Home waters, with a feeble early October sun behind it whirled its way across the grey waters of The Minch, with the Atlantic beyond, towards the outlying Western Isle of Tola, now a smudge low over the horizon. It carried its standard complement of crew and passengers; Biggles at the controls, with Police Pilots Bertie Lissie, Algy Lacey and ‘Ginger’ Hebblethwaite in the other seats. Rod, as they now called Macaster at his own request after several meetings, was not with them, for reasons that had better be explained.

  There were two main reasons. The first was the question of load. Biggles had thought they might wish to stay on the island for a day or two, in which case stores, food in particular, would be needed. For this Rod’s little cabin cruiser, Gannet, was better equipped than the Kestrel with its limited space and four on board. Secondly, it was thought desirable to have an alternative means of transport in case of structural failure, or accident at a time when the aircraft might be grounded by weather conditions. Fog, according to information gathered from Admiralty publications, sometimes persisted for days on end.

  Biggles had said he would have more peace of mind if he knew there was a second means of transport to fall back on in an emergency. It was better to be safe than sorry; therefore, after some discussion, it had been decided that Rod should go on ahead, alone, in his boat, taking everything the party would be likely to require during their stay, even though this was likely to be short. Rod himself did not intend to stay longer than was necessary. What their investigations revealed, if anything, would determine the question of his taking up residence. Should he decide to do that, more ambitious preparations would of course have to be made. But all that could come later.

  For the present trip a list of foodstuffs had been prepared. These were to be packed in waterproof containers, in case the Gannet ran into bad weather and shipped water. There were one or two other things at Biggles’s request, such as a few spare cans of aviation spirit, to be on the safe side. If Rod wished to take anything else with a view to extending his stay on the island that was up to him. It was his boat, and his island, so he could take anything he liked within the accommodation of the Gannet.

  According to the time-table that had been arranged, he should now, weather permitting, have been on the island for two days and nights, an extra day having been allowed for a possible delay.

  For the rest, having no idea of what they were likely to encounter, or what might turn up, no definite plans had been made. The police would join Rod on the island and together they would explore the place thoroughly, mounting a listening post at night should the plane Rod had heard pay the island another visit.

  Biggles had not told Rod this, but to the others he made no secret of the possibility that they were on a wild-goose chase; for
it was difficult to see for what purpose the island could be used, or what object there could be in preventing it from being reoccupied. The only thing that really concerned Biggles was the mysterious aircraft, the visit of which, by night, showing no lights, implied behaviour which could only be regarded as suspicious. But even this might be an isolated incident, possibly accidental, the pilot having lost his way or his lights having failed. As Biggles was aware, such things do happen. After all, he argued with the others, Rod hadn’t seen it; he had only heard it; and alone on a dark night, with hills to throw off echoes, sounds can be deceptive.

  Should the machine, allowing that one had in fact landed on the island, make a return visit, it would be an altogether different matter. That would be too remarkable to be ascribed to coincidence. In short, Biggles’s main purpose was to see or hear this machine which operated at night without lights; so, as he said, it seemed likely they would have to play a game calling for patience. They could only wait, and watch.

  The outlines of Tola became more clearly defined as the Kestrel drew nearer. The little beach was conspicuous, as was the short rock jetty at the northern end of it behind which, Rod had told them, was the mooring where, on his previous visit, he had tied up his boat. This was where they expected to find him, there being no safe anchorage. The helicopter would of course have to land on a beach. They could now see there was just enough room for a light plane to land provided the wind was right.

  ‘I can’t see him,’ said Ginger, meaning Rod, as the Kestrel, now low, approached the mooring. ‘He may be in the cottage just behind. Even so, he must have heard us by now.’

  ‘I can’t see the boat, either, which strikes me as a bit queer,’ returned Biggles, frowning. ‘There’s nowhere else he could have put it. I expected to see him standing by it.’

  ‘I can see him,’ stated Bertie. ‘He’s on his way to the beach. He’s going through that birch scrub behind it. He must have been waiting in one of those cottages farther back.’

  ‘I still can’t see the boat,’ said Biggles, wonderingly. ‘What the deuce can he have done with it?’

  No more was said. The Kestrel stopped, sinking to the ground, and presently came to rest on it. Everyone got out as Rod hurried up and joined them. He carried a double-barrelled twelve-bore sporting gun.

  ‘We’d begun to wonder what had happened to you,’ greeted Biggles. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Anything but,’ answered Rod ruefully.

  ‘Where’s the boat?’

  ‘She’s gone to the bottom.’

  Biggles stared. ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Sunk.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the mooring.’

  ‘Don’t tell me such a thing!’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘But — but — how could such a thing happen?’

  ‘Search me. She was as right as rain when I left her. When I came back she wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe it. For a minute or two I could only stand there like a fool. Then I spotted her, sitting on the bottom in about ten feet of water.’

  ‘Did you leave her secure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Could she have holed herself, below the water-line, against the rocks?’

  ‘Not a chance. There’s hardly a ripple where she was moored.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Some time yesterday.’

  ‘You say when you came back she’d gone. Had you been somewhere?’

  ‘As I had nothing to do until you came I thought I’d take a stroll round and try to shoot something for the pot to help out with the grub.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘To the loch. I took a fishing-rod along to see what the fish were like. Lucky for me I did. I knocked off a duck and a rabbit and grassed a nice brace of trout. That’s what I’ve been living on.’

  ‘Where’s the rod?’

  ‘I left it by the loch ready for the next time I needed it.’

  Biggles looked thoughtful. ‘This is a nice start, I must say. No boat, no grub, no blankets, no nothing.’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘What’s your opinion? Could this losing the boat, in any possible way, have been the result of an accident?’

  ‘I don’t see how it could have been. I left her snug. There’s been no sea to speak of.’

  ‘Then what did happen?’

  ‘There’s only one answer to that. Some skunk scuttled her.’

  ‘Did you see anybody?’

  ‘Not a soul.’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Not a thing except the gulls and the waves breaking.’

  ‘If she was scuttled there must be somebody here.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘You must have been seen walking towards the far end of the island.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  “Those two shots you fired would be heard, anyway, by anyone here. He’d come out to see what was going on. You’d be spotted going to the loch. That was the chance to sink your boat.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘Let’s go and have a look at the damage,’ decided Biggles abruptly. ‘Can you see this beach from the harbour?’

  ‘Only a bit of the far end.’

  ‘If there’s someone here he must have heard the machine arrive, anyhow,’ Bertie pointed out during the short walk to the mooring.

  ‘In which case he’s likely to be watching us at this moment,’ put in Ginger, with a glance at the skyline above them.

  ‘We’ll attend to him in due course,’ asserted Biggles. ‘On a place this size he shouldn’t be hard to find. Can the mooring be seen from the castle, Rod?’

  ‘No. The ground rises too sharply.’

  A clamber over some rocks and the mooring lay close below them. ‘This is it,’ said Rod.

  Actually, the island’s only harbour, if that word can be used to describe something not much larger than a cattle pen, was of the most primitive description, although when the place was occupied no doubt it was large enough to hold the one or two small craft the islanders would possess.

  One side was a natural buttress of rocks ten or twelve feet high, which looked as though it might have been a landslide running into the sea. A short distance from this, to form the opposite side, a mole of rocks, of the same length, had been piled laboriously at an angle to form a breakwater. It was this that cut off the view of the beach. It would obviously serve its purpose except in very stormy weather. A few bollards had been fixed at intervals. Behind, the ground, covered with bracken and tufts of heather, rose some fifty feet to a ridge, which cut off the view of what lay inland. Gulls patrolled up and down endlessly, filling the air with their discordant yet strangely appealing cries.

  Standing on the rocks the visitors gazed down through transparent water to the deck of the Gannet about five feet below the surface.

  Biggles said: ‘How was she tied up?’

  Rod answered: ‘As the water was dead calm only by the bows, with a little play to let her swing with the tide rather than have her bump and scratch her paint. ’

  ‘The cable looks as if it’s still attached.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit odd — I mean, if this was sabotage?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that. I can see two possible reasons. In the first place, had she been cast off it would have been obvious at once that someone had interfered with her. Secondly, had she been free when she was sunk she might have drifted into the fairway, and by blocking it prevent another boat from getting in.’

  ‘The boat belonging to the man who did this, assuming he sometimes uses a boat?’

  ‘That’s how I worked it out.’

  ‘How’s the tide?’ asked Biggles, looking at the high water mark on the rocks, clearly defined by the limit of the seaweed.

  ‘Going back.
’

  ‘What sort of rise and fall do you get here?’

  ‘I haven’t paid much attention, but speaking from memory I’d calculate somewhere about five or six feet.’

  ‘Then at low water the top of the cabin should be nearly awash.’

  ‘I guess so. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘I see she settled down on even keel.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I was thinking, had she accidently knocked a hole in her side I imagine she would have gone down with a list.’

  ‘She couldn’t have holed herself.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve handled boats before so I’m not entirely a landlubber. I hung out fenders, fore, aft, and amidships. I say she must have been scuttled.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Somebody opened the sea-cock. That would account for her settling down dead level. What are the chances of raising her, do you reckon?’ Rod asked the question anxiously.

  ‘As far as we’re concerned, if that’s what you mean, not a hope. For a salvage team with proper tackle it would be a simple job. If we attempted even to move her we’d probably do more harm than good. I take it she was insured?’

  ‘Sure. She was fully covered when I bought her. I’m not worried about that.’

  ‘Then strictly speaking the insurance people should be told right away what has happened. That would mean salvage people here and all sorts of complications. But we’ll talk about that presently. I feel inclined to try something else first.’

  ‘What sort of complications?’ Rod wanted to know.

  ‘Well, if it was found she’d been bumped against the rock, and sprung a leak, that would be understandable. That might happen to any craft. But suppose it was discovered that the sea-cock had been opened; in other words, that the boat had been deliberately scuttled, imagine the questions that would lead to. There might even be a suspicion that you’d done it yourself.’

  Rod glared. ‘What the—’

  ‘Could you prove there was someone here who did it?’

  ‘Well — er — I suppose not.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. But we’re wasting time. Algy, I want you to fly home and tell the Air Commodore what has happened.’