Biggles Makes Ends Meet Page 3

  “But if he helped us to pick up the pirates he’d be safe.”

  “His trouble is, I fancy, to do that would mean revealing the game he himself was playing. In any case, if the pirates were caught and put in the box they’d give him away, and he’d find himself in the box with them. He’d not only lose the insurance money but his liberty as well. The English of it is, at the moment, Mr. Tidore is between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

  “What’s the next move?”

  “We might as well have a look at this ship, the Shima, and then move on. We’re not likely to get far here unless we are lucky enough to pick up some casual gossip, and I don’t think that’s likely. If Carwell is afraid to talk about Tidore you can bet the native population, those who know anything, keep guard on their tongues. We ourselves may be on thin ice. I wouldn’t put it past Tidore to have us watched while we’re here in case we tried to make contact with his crew.”

  Little guessing that the matter was about to take a turn which no stretch of the imagination could have foreseen they walked on to where the masts of sambuks, dhows, baggalas and other sea-going craft marked the position of the moorings. Some had been hauled up on the beach for repairs, and Biggles had paused to survey the scene in the hope of spotting the Shima when a voice, one of the most extraordinary voices Ginger had ever heard, spoke from behind them.

  “I may be able to help you,” it said, in such an exaggerated “Oxford” accent that in different circumstances Ginger could have laughed.

  CHAPTER III

  ORIENTAL TACTICS

  LIKE Biggles, Ginger turned expecting to see a well-dressed Englishman, or at any rate a European, and his astonishment was great when he beheld a figure which was certainly not British. His skin, even allowing for sun tan, was too dark for that. Moreover, it had a suspicion of yellow in it. His eyes had a slight slant, although, incongruously, they were blue. He was dressed in a spotless white linen suit, with the trousers creased to a knife edge. On his head, at a rakish angle, he wore a panama. A black cheroot smouldered between his teeth.

  Actually, in his general appearance he was a type of Eurasian of the well-to-do class not particularly uncommon in the Orient. It was his voice, so out of keeping, that made Ginger stare. As Biggles said later, with a smile, the man had certainly learned to speak English at the right school; for apart from being la-de-da to the point of absurdity it was perfect. A little too perfect. Both his voice and his manner were those of a stage comedian “taking off” a member of the aristocracy.

  “Were you speaking to me?” inquired Biggles coldly, perhaps thinking, like Ginger, that the man was one of those unpleasant touts who, at all Eastern ports, prey on tourists.

  “But of course, deah man,” was the unabashed reply.

  “What gives you the idea that you might be able to help us?”

  The man smiled, showing gold-filled teeth. “Call it instinct,” he suggested, with a flourish of the cheroot. “I can give you the—ah—best advice you ever had— ah—in your life.”

  “How much will it cost ?” inquired Biggles, cynically.

  The man looked pained. “I’m sorry you should take me for one of those, deah man. The advice I have to offer will cost you nothing—absolutely nothing.”

  “In that case I’m prepared to listen. But make it short.”

  “I shall be the soul of brevity. It is simply this. Go home, deah man, go home.”

  Biggles stared, his expression changing to one of curiosity. “Why should I go home?”

  “You’ve been in dangerous company.”

  “Meaning whom?”

  “Why, our deah Mistah Tidore, who else?”

  “Of what interest is that to you?”

  “That, deah man, depends on how much he told you.”

  “He told me nothing I didn’t know when I came here.”

  “How extremely fortunate.”

  “For whom?”

  “For you.” The man was still smiling but his eyes were as hard and cold as ice.

  Biggles took a cigarette from his case and lit it. “I find this conversation entertaining,” he admitted.

  “I thought you might.”

  “Would I be right in guessing that Mr. Tidore is not a friend of yours?”

  “You would be more than right, my deah.”

  “And would I be right in supposing you know what I am doing here?”

  “But of course. At the moment you are looking for the Shima.”

  “Would I also be right in supposing that you know why it was attacked?”

  “The ease and pace with which you follow the conversation delights me.”

  “Then let us continue it. Will you go on or shall I?”

  “Let us take it in turns.”

  “Very well. You go first.”

  “There is one little mattah we should settle, I think, to prevent any possibility of misunderstandings, now or latah.”

  “What is it ?”

  “Do we agree to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  Biggles laughed.

  “You find it amusing?”

  “Let us say, rather, a little odd. My sense of humour may have become a trifle warped. Lead off.”

  “Why did you go to see Mr. Tidore?”

  “To discuss his claim for insurance in respect of one of his ships.”

  “Was that the only reason?”

  Biggles frowned. “You’re having this too much your own way. Why should I discuss my business with you?”

  “Because, deah man, it will be to your advantage to do so. Your turn will come. You would like, I think to fill in the gaps in Mistah Tidore’s story of what happened in the region of the Nicobar Islands not long ago. Am I right?”

  “You are. Do I understand you could supply the missing links?”

  “I have come here for that very purpose.”

  “I see,” said Biggles slowly, studying the man’s face. “And how much is this information going to cost?”

  “I have told you, deah man, that this is not a matter of money. Do I look like a poor man?”

  “No.”

  “I should hope not. I am not here to sell, but to give.”

  “Why should you give me anything? Come on. Out with it. We’ve wasted enough time in double talk.”

  “Very well, deah man. Don’t be impatient. Here we have time to spare. I have already made it clear that Mistah Tidore is not a friend of mine.”

  “Which means he is your enemy.”

  “If you like to put it that way.”

  “What has he done?”

  “For a long time he was foolish. He then carried foolishness to folly.”

  “And you took steps to cure him of that.”

  “Exactly. In due course, deah man, we shall complete the cure.”

  “Why the delay?”

  “The gentleman concerned took precautionary measures that caused us to hold our hand. He made it known to us that there is in his house a document which sets out certain information which friends of mine would not like to see made public. You will perceive the point of that.”

  “And you’re wondering how much of this information he has passed on to me?”

  The question was ignored. “Should Mistah Tidore die abruptly, a fate which he has invited, the document would be found in his papers—unless, of course, it were to disappear in some mysterious way before being found, as is not impossible.”

  “Suppose we drop the high-falutin’ stuff and get down to simple straightforward English,” suggested Biggles. “Tidore has the edge on you and you have the edge on him. The edges are beginning to cut. You daren’t cut Tidore too deep for fear a letter he has written to the police comes to light. Am I right so far?”

  “Perfectly right, deah man.”

  “Now tell me, where do I come in?”

  “We feel that if Mistah Tidore’s reputation for truth and honest dealing were shattered the contents of the letter would carry no weight even if it were published.”<
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  “And you think the company I represent could do the shattering?”

  “Exactly, deah man. If we exposed him nobody would believe us, but if you exposed him for the crook he is he would fall with such a crash that it wouldn’t matter what he said afterwards. That is why I am prepared to put into your hands such information as would not only save your company the insurance money but cut the legs from under Mistah Tidore should he try to come back on us.”

  “He must be very much in your way.”

  “For the moment. Only for the moment.”

  “All right,” said Biggles. “I’ll listen to what you have to say but I leave myself open to act as I think best.”

  “Very well. Now we understand each other I will proceed. Mistah Tidore has for many years been a smuggler in a small way, yet on a scale large enough to enable him to live in the luxury you may have observed. Does that surprise you ?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “As you may know, the irregular transportation of dutiable articles, vulgarly called smuggling, is an ancient and honourable profession in the East, so no one could object to that.”

  Biggles smiled faintly. “Only the honest merchants who lose money by it.”

  “That is their fault for being honest,” declared the man blandly. “If they chose to go through life giving their profits to the government that is their affair. But let us not quibble about that. Recently Tidore has extended his activities into widah fields, fields that were the monopoly of other people, and in doing so increased the risk for all engaged in the trade. That was a grave error of judgment. He was asked to desist. He ignored the warning. What happened to his new ship was the result.”

  “Very interesting,” averred Biggles. “And what was the monopoly into which he had the presumption to intrude?”

  “Gold, deah man. Gold. You may have heard of it. It’s the stuff they used to make money of. When Mistah Tidore went on his now famous oyster fishing trip he was not looking for pearls. For oysters he went much farther than was necessary. Do you know where he went?”

  “No.”

  “He went to that convenient little settlement on the China coast called Macao, where things not easily obtainable elsewhere can be bought without questions being asked. Gold is one of them. There, by bribery and corruption he acquired a thousand ounces that had been earmarked for someone else. Naturally, he could not be allowed to keep it.”

  “Naturally,” murmured Biggles with biting sarcasm. “But if it was the gold you wanted why did you take his oysters?”

  “A natural question. Because, deah man, it was in the oysters, which he had gathered on the way for the purpose, that the gold had been concealed, the shells having been opened and carefully resealed. What Customs man would think of looking for gold in an oyster? One expects a fish, and sometimes a pearl, but nevah gold. It was clevah, but not clevah enough.”

  “You knew the gold was in the oysters?”

  “But of course. In our business we must have eyes everywhere.”

  With what astonishment Ginger listened to this fantastic story can be imagined. And it was because it was so fantastic that he did not doubt the truth of it.

  Biggles lit another cigarette. “Thanks,” he said, in a curious voice. “What you have told me will save me a lot of trouble.”

  “It should save your company a lot of money.”

  “And you want nothing in return?”

  “Keep away from Tidore.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “It should be enough. Now that you know what you came here to learn take my advice and go home, deah man, for to those who know too much our climate is dangerous. The night air is full of mosquitoes, and their bite can be deadly. I wish you good day, and, I hope, a safe journey to London.”

  With that the man flashed a last smile, raised his hat and walked away.

  Biggles looked at his retreating figure. He looked at Ginger. “ That engaging masterpiece is one I shall remember for a long time,” he said simply.

  “Do you believe what he told us?”

  “Every word of it. Or at least, that part that really matters. By thunder! He must be pretty sure of himself to squeal on Tidore like that. He daren’t kill Tidore while that document exists so he does the next best thing. By exposing Tidore for what he is he hopes to destroy any value it might have in court or elsewhere. He’s gambling that now we’ve got what we came for we’ll go home and spill Tidore’s beans in the newspapers. He had the situation well weighed up except in one respect.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s taken us for what we pretended to be—insurance agents. It hasn’t hit him that we might be police. Let’s go back to the airport and have a dish of tea.”

  “What are you going to do about all this?” asked Ginger, as they set off.

  “That will need some careful thought before we reach a decision. Our unknown friend was startlingly frank, and not the least frank of his remarks was the one about the climate. He wasn’t fooling. For us, from now on, should we stay here, it’s likely to be decidedly unhealthy—particularly if Tidore gets wind of what has happened. The set-up now sticks out like a bandaged finger. There are two gangs working smuggling rackets, obviously in a big way. Tidore, by fiddling with gold, has poached on the preserves of the other lot. That’s the best thing that could have happened because they’ll now try to cut each other’s throats. That, you’ll remember, is what started the gang warfare in America. If we can play one side off against the other....”

  “We, too, shall be in a fair way to get our throats cut,” interposed Ginger. “We’ve got the gen we came for. I’m all for getting out while the going’s good.”

  “Not all the gen,” disputed Biggles. “I’d like to know a little more about the bunch represented by the slant-eyed gent in the panama hat. I feel that if we could enrage Mr. Tidore by letting him know that the other side has squealed, he might squeal even louder about them, and so present us with the whole box of tricks.”

  Ginger turned startled eyes to Biggles’ face. “You’re not seriously thinking of doing that!”

  “It might be a short cut to the answer of our riddle.”

  “More likely a short cut to the churchyard,” protested Ginger. “To get wrong with one gang would be asking for trouble. To get wrong with both, in a place like this, would be suicide. We shall be watched every moment that we stay here. I’d bet both sides are watching us at this minute.”

  Still discussing the matter they reached the airport, and in the glow of a tropical sunset had their tea. Having finished, still talking about what they had learned, they were strolling towards the Halifax, still in the heavy shadows where they had left it, when two men in native dress appeared suddenly beside them.

  “Mr. Tidore wish to see you,” announced one, curtly.

  “I don’t know if I have time,” answered Biggles, frowning, for the man had spoken in the manner of an order.

  “It would be better to see Mr. Tidore,” said the man, and there was no mistaking the threat in his voice.

  “I’ll come along in the morning.”

  “No. Come now. The car is waiting.” As he spoke the man’s hand moved to his hip.

  “Perhaps this would be as good a time as any,” agreed Biggles, casually. “I was going to see him in any case.”

  They went to the car. An Indian sat motionless in the driving seat. Biggles got in. Ginger, feeling anything but comfortable, followed, and the car glided away into the darkness.

  Nothing more was said until they were challenged at the gate.

  The car was admitted. The gates were closed behind it.

  “One day, if we go on playing this game of jumping from one lion’s den to another, we’re going to get mauled,” predicted Ginger, morosely.

  CHAPTER IV

  DEATH STRIKES IN THE DARK

  THEY were taken to Tidore on the patio where they had seen him earlier in the day. This time he was not seated, but standing, with his ha
nds clasped behind his back. His pose of smooth complacency had gone. In its place was an uneasy alertness which warned Ginger that the interview was likely to be a difficult one. The area within the tree-ferns and flowering shrubs was lighted on one side only, by a single pendant electric lantern. Ginger noted that it was to this side they were guided, Tidore pacing nervously on the dark side. He opened the conversation, and he lost no time in coining to the point.

  “When you left me I understood you were going straight back to England,” he said, looking at Biggles.

  “I didn’t say so,” returned Biggles, evenly.

  “On the sea front you had a long conversation with a man.”

  “It would be more correct to say I was accosted by a man who spoke to me for some time.”

  “Do you know who and what he is?”

  “No. He was a complete stranger to me.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that he is one of the most dangerous men in Asia?”

  “Nothing you could say about him would surprise me.”

  “What were you talking about?”

  “As I had nothing to say to him he did most of the talking. As he said nothing about speaking in confidence I may tell you that his conversation was confined almost entirely to you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me a long rigmarole about you being concerned with smuggling.”

  “Did you believe that?”

  “As I know enough of the East to be aware that smuggling is not regarded as a dishonourable profession I thought there might be some truth in his allegations.”

  “In other words, you believed him.”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “Why do you suppose he gave you that information?”

  “There could be only one reason. He has a grudge against you and was hoping to make mischief to your disadvantage. Forgive me if I am wrong, but I formed the opinion that he also is engaged in contraband and you had somehow butted in on his line of business. He knew I had been to see you, from which I gather you are being watched by him or his men. It could have been for no other reason that he approached me, a stranger.”