Biggles and the Lost Sovereigns Read online

  ‘That’s possible; but he wouldn’t know about the gold stored below her deck. And if he contemplated salvage he wouldn’t wait for nearly twenty years.’

  ‘True enough,’ conceded Biggles. ‘But I can’t help feeling it may be more than a coincidence that the one man we know who must have found the gold, was shot. What’s happening there at the moment?’

  ‘Nothing as far as I know. How do you feel about flying out and having a look round? You could cover a lot of ground in an aircraft and there’s a chance you might spot something from the air—even under water.’

  ‘What’s wrong with letting the RAF, or Fleet Air Arm, have ago?’

  ‘That wouldn’t do.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Aircraft carrying British military markings might start something. At present everything is quiet, but any show of air activity would be sure to start rumours. One whisper of gold and you can imagine what it would lead to. Every country within striking distance would lay claim to the islands, even perhaps India, who now owns the Andaman Islands, which are not far off. Chinese junks, ostensibly fishing, would appear. We don’t want to start trouble. This must be kept quiet.’

  ‘Wouldn’t what you’ve just said about the RAF apply equally to me?’

  ‘No. Not a civil aircraft. You might be surveying for timber concessions. Or, if questions were asked, you could work the same cover story you’ve used before. Take a cine-camera and say you’re making a travel or adventure film for British Television. A lot of people seem to be doing that nowadays, even in the most inaccessible places.’

  ‘That’s an idea. All right, sir. If I’m going I shall have to ask you some more questions. You have the file. I imagine you’ve studied it.’

  ‘Very carefully. What do you want to know?’

  Biggles paused before he went on. ‘As you know, sir, I dislike anything to do with gold. It’s dangerous stuff. It can send men gibbering mad. Gold and trouble go together like bacon and eggs. The more people who know, or suspect, there’s a heap of sovereigns lying somewhere in the Archipelago, the more certain the trouble. How many people could have known anything about it? Let’s start with Macdonald and this old craft of his, the Alora. How many people saw him take that bunch of sovereigns off the dead man’s neck?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. Probably everyone on board. The chances are all the crew would be on deck, looking over the side at the canoe. It wouldn’t be easy to hide a string of gold coins even if Macdonald thought it advisable. I doubt if such a thought would occur to him. He runs the ship with a crew of five.’

  ‘You say runs. Does that mean he’s still doing the same job?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s his life. He’ll go on till he drops dead or the Alora falls to pieces under him. He’s that sort of man. At the time he found the necklace the crew were a mixed lot, as is usual in that part of the world. The chances are they’re still with him. You’ll have to ask him. At the time, according to a note in this file, his bosun was a Malay, named Laon. The engineer was an Indian. The cook was Chinese. The two hands were Burmese. This was his regular crew and they’d all been with him for some time.’

  ‘You said Macdonald sometimes picked up a passenger. Was he carrying one on this occasion? What I’m getting at is, how many people saw Macdonald find that gold necklace?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no record here of a passenger, although there may have been one. When Macdonald came on the canoe he was on his way south from Tavoy, making for Singapore, having called at several villages. It was when he arrived at Singapore that he reported what he had found.’

  ‘He’s an honest man, anyhow. There was nothing to prevent him from keeping the sovereigns. He’d know they would now be worth a great deal more than their face value. Has he been told that they were part of a consignment of twenty thousand?’

  ‘I would hardly think so. Naturally, every effort would be made to keep the facts secret. But when he learned, as he certainly would, that a naval frigate had for no obvious reason been messing about among the islands, not being a fool it wouldn’t take him long to put two and two together.’

  ‘What happened to the coins he found?’

  ‘I don’t know; but I imagine he’d be asked to hand them over.’

  ‘He’d get compensation, of course.’

  ‘Presumably.’

  ‘All right. So much for the Alora. Now this schooner Vagabond, which disappeared. How much is known about her?’

  ‘She was owned by a retired English business man named Drew. He was obviously well off because he was fulfilling an ambition to sail round the world in his own time. He had a crew of eleven, all British, which was perhaps one of the reasons why he was entrusted with the money. He was making his way home from Australia when he put in at Singapore.’

  ‘He struck an unlucky moment.’

  ‘Conditions couldn’t have been worse. Everyone had only one thought, and that was to get out before the Japs arrived. For all we know Drew may have taken some refugees on board. With everything in a state of chaos it’s unlikely that anyone would know about that. So the fact is, we don’t know for certain who was aboard the Vagabond when she sailed; and as she has been presumed lost with all hands it’s unlikely we shall ever know. One thing we do know is she must have left her course to reach the islands; and she must have reached the islands or how could that old native have got part of her cargo round his neck?’

  ‘Quite a problem,’ murmured Biggles, slowly stubbing his cigarette. ‘In what month did Macdonald find the canoe?’

  ‘In May.’

  ‘North-east monsoon, so the weather would be fine.’

  ‘That’s right. He wanted to get to Singapore before it broke in June.’

  ‘I think my best plan would be to start by finding Macdonald and getting from him his position when he found the canoe. Taking that spot as a centre I could work the islands around it. Even there I can see a snag. These natives, the Salones, are always on the move and over a period of time they cover long distances; which is why the Malays call them sea gypsies. That old man with the necklace might have picked up the coins a hundred or more miles from where he was shot, or where Macdonald found him. Even after he was dead the canoe could have drifted a long way in the maze of currents that divide the islands.’

  ‘Well, I shall have to leave it to you to see what you can make of it.’

  Which brings us back to the point where we began; and it will not be necessary to explain why Ginger was exploring a mangrove swamp in the Mergui Archipelago.

  CHAPTER 2

  CAPTAIN MACDONALD SPEAKS HIS MIND

  It was three weeks after the conversation in the Air Commodore’s office that Biggles, in the Air Police twin-engined amphibious aircraft Gadfly, with his assistant pilots Bertie and Ginger on board, arrived at Singapore. There had been a lot to do: charts to be studied; the geography of the Archipelago, particularly of the larger islands, to be memorized, and, by discussion, a broad plan of procedure made. Even more important, carnets for the requisition of petrol and oil had to be organized for wherever these were available along the coast of the mainland. There would be no fuel on the islands; and the only food, apart from what the aircraft could carry, what they themselves could obtain with gun or fishing lines.

  The Gadfly would, of course, carry stores to its capacity, but even if these were restricted to essentials they would not last long. Other things would have to be taken, and Biggles, knowing from experience that the success or failure of such operations are often decided on the ground before the start, went into the question of what should be taken with a great deal of care.

  To have to go to Singapore, 800 miles away, or even Penang, nearly 500 miles, every time they needed fuel, or anything else, would mean the aircraft spending much of its time doing that and nothing else. In fact, more petrol would be used in this way than on the actual search.

  Biggles had hopes of making an arrangement with Macdonald for the Alora to establish one or two dumps of s
upplies on beaches where this would be possible, the actual spots to be decided by the knowledgeable sailor. In short, distances were a major problem. As Biggles more than once remarked, the Archipelago was no place to risk running out of petrol.

  So all the preliminaries, while routine, took time. When complete Biggles flew out to Singapore in the hope that as the fine weather season had only just begun he would find Macdonald still there. In this he was to be disappointed. The Alora had already left on its first northward trip ten days earlier. There was only one thing to be done and that was follow it, overtaking it either on the open sea or at one of its ports of call.

  So after a day’s rest to recover from the long flight out from England, the Gadfly, having topped up its tanks, took off again, and back-tracking its own route came on the Alora at Victoria Point, a somewhat decrepit little port at the southern tip of Burma and opposite the south end of the islands forming the Mergui Archipelago. The Alora had tied up against the dilapidated jetty, and was about to cast off when Biggles taxied alongside and hailed the only white man he could see aboard, without any doubt, from his appearance, the skipper.

  Captain Macdonald was exactly as Biggles had visualized him. He was the typical sea-dog type; the sort of sailor who has lived a life at sea the hard way. They are to be found in all the odd corners of the oceans, taking trouble as it comes as they do jobs that would daunt any but the stoutest hearted. He was short, square-shouldered, with calculating blue eyes; shirt sleeves rolled up to show tattooed arms; a salt-stained peaked cap perched at a rakish angle on the back of his head. The colour of his skin had been tanned to tawny by the sun, with a yellowish tinge that spoke eloquently of recurrent fever. A pointed, grizzled red beard well streaked with grey, may have exaggerated a truculent expression. His teeth were clamped on a stubby black tobacco pipe.

  With slow deliberation he walked aft, and resting his hands heavily on the taffrail, looked down. ‘Mind what you’re aboot,’ he warned. ‘Scratch my paint and by God ye’ll be sorry.’

  It took Biggles all his time not to smile at the idea of a delicate aircraft wing damaging the rust-streaked iron side of the old coaster. He suspected the Scot hadn’t much time for aeroplanes. ‘May I come aboard?’ he called.

  ‘What do you want?’ was the uncompromising answer.

  ‘A word with you.’

  Acquiescence was conveyed by a grunt and a nod.

  Carefully, Biggles manoeuvred the Gadfly to the jetty well clear of the ship. ‘Watch her,’ he told the others as he prepared to climb up. ‘If we so much as graze that old hulk we’ve had it.’ Reaching the top of the jetty he walked along, boarded the Alora and joined her skipper on the deck.

  ‘What is it?’ inquired Macdonald, without removing the pipe from his teeth.

  Biggles glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. ‘Mr. Macdonald,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’ve been sent out by the British Government to try to find the spot where those sovereigns you found were picked up.’

  Macdonald’s eyes narrowed. He regarded Biggles with frank disfavour. Without haste he removed the pipe from his mouth and very deliberately spat overboard. ‘So that’s it,’ he breathed. ‘We’el, ye can awa’ hame and tell your bluidy government they’ll get na’ help from me.’

  Knowing the skipper’s reputation, Biggles was prepared for a cool reception, but not for such blunt hostility as this. Obviously something had happened to upset the old man, something of which he was in ignorance. The problem was to find out what it was without making matters worse. To gain time while he adjusted himself to the situation he took out his pack of cigarettes and offered one. It was refused with a gesture of disdain. He took one himself, tapped it on the back of his hand and lit it.

  ‘I’m sorry you should feel like that about it, Mr. Macdonald,’ he said evenly. ‘Naturally I was relying on you for information. If the government has annoyed you, and I can see it has, I don’t think you should hold me responsible. I have a difficult job to do as well as you. Knowing the sort of man you are, I’m sure any complaint you have must be justified. All I ask you to do is tell me what it is and so give me a chance to put things right.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone to put anything richt for me,’ growled Macdonald. ‘I can stand on my own feet.’

  ‘I’m sure you can. So can I if it comes to that. All right, skipper. Have it your own way. I don’t ask favours. But don’t nurse that grudge of yours too long or it’s liable to give you indigestion.’ Biggles half turned as if to go; then, as if as an afterthought, he added: ‘Would it be something to do with the money you found? What became of it?’

  ‘How the hell would I know?’

  Biggles turned back, staring. ‘Are you telling me they took it off you?’

  ‘Aye. After I’d been fool enough to hand it over I never saw it again.’

  ‘But you must have got full value in compensation!’

  ‘Not a brass farthing. I didna want the bluidy money, but I was entitled to know who it belonged to. Who says the government had any right to it?’

  So that was the trouble, thought Biggles, mentally cursing the stupidity of some official department for allowing this to happen. Macdonald had every reason to be disgruntled. In his ignorance of the facts he would naturally suppose he had a claim to the money. Indeed, even as things were he might be entitled to it. For the department handling the matter at Singapore to leave him out of the picture was inexcusable.

  He went on: ‘I agree with you, skipper, absolutely. But of this I am sure. Eventually this will be straightened out. Government departments don’t move at a rate of knots as people like you and me have to.’

  ‘It takes these pen-pushers at Singapore a hell of a time to move at all. They’ll get no more out of me.’

  Here Biggles nearly made a blunder. ‘Have you complained about this treatment?’

  Macdonald bristled like an angry dog. ‘Complain! What am I supposed to do, go crawling on ma hands and knees like a starving coolie?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ declared Biggles quickly.

  ‘I should bluidy well say not,’ snorted Macdonald.

  Biggles went on: ‘I’ve just flown up from Singapore. I shall now go straight back and play hell about the way you’ve been treated, and—’

  ‘I don’t want an apology,’ broke in Macdonald belligerently.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of that. I’d see that someone got a crack over the knuckles for being so damned discourteous. But before I go I’m going to tell you, in confidence, something you have every right to know. There’s more to this than you may imagine. It could explain why you’ve been kept in the dark—as a matter of general security. Let’s sit down—or are you in a hurry to get away?’

  ‘The next tide’ll suit me.’

  When they had found seats on some drums of paraffin which formed part of the deck cargo Biggles continued: Those sovereigns you found were part of a big consignment lost twenty years ago.’

  ‘Then why couldn’t they have said so?’ returned Macdonald in a more mollified tone of voice.

  ‘It was some time before anyone realized it. It took quite a while to sort out the facts. That had to be done in London. Government departments are slow. I’d be the last man to deny that. But eventually, by their own devious methods, they usually get somewhere. Now then. I know you were at Singapore just before the Japs took over. Do you by any chance remember a schooner by the name of Vagabond lying there? She’d be flying the Red Duster.’1

  ‘I never forget a ship,’ asserted Macdonald. ‘I remember her fine. Pretty little craft. I saw her leave.’

  ‘But you don’t know what happened to her?’

  ‘No. Do you?’

  ‘Nobody knew until you found those sovereigns. When she left Singapore bound for Calcutta she had on board twenty thousand gold sovereigns exactly like those you found round the neck of that dead Salone. Every one had the same date. They’d been sent out to a bank in Singapore, before the war, as a gold reserve. When it was
certain the place would have to be evacuated the gold was put aboard the Vagabond to be taken to Calcutta. It never got there. In view of what must have happened they’d have done better to put the money on the Alora.’

  Macdonald recharged his pipe with a calloused thumb.

  ‘So the schooner was lost.’

  ‘From the day she sailed she was never seen again. Of course, that happened to a lot of other ships about that time. She could have gone down anywhere, so nobody bothered much about her until you found those sovereigns. It’s now realized that she must have ended her life somewhere among the islands, otherwise part of her cargo couldn’t have found its way there.’

  ‘So that’s what that frigate was looking for,’ remarked Macdonald shrewdly.

  ‘Quite right. It didn’t find anything.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect it to, a craft of that draught. She’d have to keep well clear or she’d be aground herself; and after twenty years there wouldn’t be much left of a wooden-built craft like the Vagabond. If she was driven into the mangroves somewhere you’d see nothing unless you were right on top of her.’

  ‘Exactly. They realize that now. That’s why I’ve been sent out. If what’s left of the Vagabond is lying in shallow water, from the air I might be able to spot her.’

  Macdonald was now looking interested. ‘You been in these parts before?’

  ‘Yes. I was out here before the war, looking for the hideout of a submarine that was sinking our munition ships in the Indian Ocean.’

  Macdonald looked up. ‘I remember that business. So it was you! Well, things haven’t changed much. What I still don’t understand is why I wasn’t told about the lost schooner. I’m often among the islands and I might have done something about it.’

  ‘I’d say that as soon as it was realized that twenty thousand pounds in gold, worth more than four times that amount in cash today, might be in the offing, the Security people clamped down tight on the whole business. We can guess what could have happened had the story leaked out. There might have been a real flare-up, everyone on the make-haste to claim the salvage. Everyone with a craft that would float, Burmese, Chinese, Siamese, the lot, would have made a bee-line for the islands and the result would have been a nice old carry-on, everyone shooting at everyone else. After all, that quantity of gold is worth fighting for. No doubt that’s why the government decided to keep the whole thing under the hat, although to my mind that was no excuse for them not telling you. I’ll go back to Singapore and tell ’em what I think about it. How do they expect me to find the money without help from you? I’ll see to it you get your reward.’