Biggles in the Terai Page 3

  ‘As far as Nepal, which is no great distance from here. For obvious reasons we did not cross the frontier of East Pakistan. As you must know, our relations with Pakistan are somewhat strained and we don’t want to aggravate them by violating their air space.’

  ‘Naturally. You say you searched as far as Nepal. Does that mean your pilots actually flew over Nepal?’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure about that. Do you know India, Mr Bigglesworth?’

  ‘Fairly well. I was born in India.’

  ‘Really. How interesting. Then you may have heard of the Terai, that strip of jungle which is regarded as a sort of no man’s land between India and Nepal?’

  ‘Yes, I have heard of it, but I’ve had no practical experience of it.’

  ‘You haven’t missed much,’ stated the manager somewhat grimly. ‘I gather the search was certainly carried as far as the Terai. As the nearest point is a hundred miles from here, that left quite a lot of ground to be covered. Whether the search was carried on over the Terai I don’t know. Pilots told me they had been as far as the Terai and I didn’t press for details. For a search for an aircraft to be any use, a pilot would have to fly low, and few care to fly low where an emergency landing would mean a bad crash. It would be impossible for a plane to get down in the Terai.’

  ‘Lacey may have crashed in the Terai.’

  ‘It is possible, of course, but if that is what happened there would really be no point in spotting the plane. It could never be recovered.’

  ‘Nepal has never thought it worth while to cut an airstrip for emergency landings?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Why should they?’

  ‘Do planes never cross it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. There may be an occasional flight from India to Katmandu, but I imagine such flights would be made at a high altitude to rule out any possibility of a forced landing in the Terai.’

  ‘Who were the pilots who did the search?’

  ‘They were strangers to me. They were sent up by Calcutta when I reported that Mr Lacey was missing. We have no pilots here for that sort of operation.’

  ‘And when they had finished they returned to Calcutta?’

  ‘Yes. If you want to see them you will have to go to Calcutta. Any more questions?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything else at the moment. There may be something later. I’m most grateful to you for being so helpful.’

  ‘You will stay here for a little while?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you any luggage?’

  ‘There are two small bags in our aircraft.’

  ‘I will have them taken to the rest-house.’ Mr Akbar got up. ‘Now I would be honoured if you would have lunch with me. You must be in need of a meal. Afterwards, I will take you to Ram Singh.’

  ‘Thank you. That is most kind of you.’

  ‘Then let us go.’

  After a pleasant lunch at the manager’s bungalow, washed and refreshed they walked with him to the hangars where Ram Singh was called out and introduced.

  He was one of those good-looking young Indians with fine aristocratic features and a skin no darker than that of a European who has been out in the sun. He was as slim as a lance, a little too slim perhaps for it suggested a delicate constitution. He wore an old suit of British type khaki overalls, and on his head the customary white puggaree. The eyes under it were bright and alert.

  Mr Akbar said, ‘If you’ll excuse me I’ll leave you to talk. I have work to do. When you have finished here, Mr Bigglesworth, if you would like to continue our discussion you will find me in my office.’

  He walked away.

  CHAPTER 3

  RAM SINGH

  As some other members of the aerodrome staff were moving about, Biggles took the young Indian to a quiet spot in the shade of the hangar. Some packing cases provided seats. Ram Singh looked at Biggles expectantly, no doubt wondering what this was about.

  ‘We have come here hoping to find our friend, Mr Lacey, or solve the mystery of his disappearance,’ began Biggles. ‘I understand you had charge of his plane while he was here.’

  Ram Singh confirmed this.

  Biggles went on. ‘I believe you served for some time in the British Royal Air Force, for which reason you speak very good English.’

  ‘I do my best, sir.’

  ‘Good. We are hoping you will be able to help us. How did you get on with Mr Lacey?’

  ‘Very well indeed. I liked him. He was always kind and considerate; a real gentleman. And I think he liked me.’

  ‘Capital. I trust you will get on as well with us. Tell me this. When Mr. Lacey returned here from Calcutta with a Hunter aircraft, did he give you any sort of hint as to why he wanted such a machine? You must have been surprised!’

  Ram Singh paused, his eyes looking up and down the hard-standing in front of the hangars. Biggles noticed it.

  Looking at the face of the young Indian in front of him, he went on: ‘Have you any objection to answering questions that might help us to find Mr Lacey? If you have you might as well say so here and now, because that will save our time — and yours.’

  ‘I will do everything in my power to help,’ answered Ram Singh simply. ‘Mr Lacey told me very little, either about himself or what he was doing here at Shara. I remember, when he came back from Calcutta in the Hunter, he did say, in a joking sort of way, something about if anyone got in his way now he’d better watch out.’

  ‘But you didn’t take that seriously?’

  ‘No. Mr Lacey liked his little joke.’

  ‘He didn’t say why he wanted a Hunter?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Mr Lacey ever tell you why he was in India?’

  ‘No. He never mentioned any particular reason to me.’ Again Ram Singh’s eyes flashed up and down the concrete apron.

  Biggles’s voice dropped a tone. ‘Are you sure you are telling me the truth?’

  ‘I always tell the truth.’

  ‘Good. Then what are you afraid of?’

  ‘I am not afraid, but...’

  ‘But what? Out with it. You can trust us. Anything you say will be treated in the strictest confidence.’

  Again Ram Singh hesitated before he went on: ‘One day a man came to me asking questions about Mr Lacey. He hinted that if I didn’t tell him what he wanted to know it would be bad for me.’

  ‘I see,’ said Biggles softly. ‘A threat, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell him anything?’

  ‘I told him the truth, which was I knew nothing about Mr Lacey. I only looked after his plane. What he did with it had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Who was this man?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had never seen him before.’

  ‘Have you seen him since?’

  ‘Once or twice, in the distance.’

  ‘Was he a European or an Indian?’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure. He looked Indian, but he wore European clothes.’

  ‘What language did he speak?’

  ‘He spoke to me in Hindi, but he could also speak English.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because once, when unthinkingly I spoke in English he answered in English — or it might have been American.’

  ‘Would you know him if you saw him again?’

  ‘I think so. That is, if he was dressed the same way. He wore clothes like yours.’

  Biggles was wearing a white linen suit.

  He lit a cigarette and went on: ‘Now listen, Ram Singh, because this is very important. I want you to throw your mind back and try hard to think of anything Mr Lacey may have said to you, even as a joke. It might help us.’

  Ram Singh searched his memory. ‘I remember one day, two or three weeks ago — and I think he was serious — he asked if I had ever noticed on the aerodrome a man with a wooden leg.’

  Biggles’s eyebrows went up. ‘A wooden leg,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Had you seen such a m
an?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. How would I know if a man had a wooden leg? If it was what you call a peg leg, such as people have who can’t afford a proper artificial leg, I might have noticed it, although there are a lot of those in India. But if it was an imitation leg, made of wood, hidden, under trousers, I wouldn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ conceded Biggles. ‘To come back to the Hunter. Was it fitted with guns?’

  ‘Yes. I think it was a standard military Hunter fighter.’

  ‘Were the guns loaded?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I looked to see.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Curiosity, I suppose. I couldn’t imagine why Mr Lacey should want such a plane in India.’

  Biggles half smiled. ‘Neither can I, if it comes to that. Up to this time he had done all his flying in the Auster, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes. He made many flights. Sometimes he was in the air a long time.’

  ‘And you have no idea where he went?’

  ‘No. He never told me where he had been except on one or two occasions when he said he was going to run down to Calcutta.’

  ‘How often did he fly?’

  ‘Nearly every day.’

  ‘I believe when he took off in the Hunter he headed north?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that the direction he went in the Auster?’

  ‘Usually. I might say always, for as long as I could see him.’

  ‘Did he ever mention the Terai to you?’

  ‘Now you remind me, yes, he did. One day when we were talking he asked me if I had ever been to the Terai? Was the jungle there as bad as it was said to be?’

  ‘What did you answer?’

  ‘I had to tell him I didn’t know because I had never seen it. I knew of it only by reputation, which is bad.’

  ‘You’ve never flown over it?’

  ‘No. The only flights I have made since I came here were to Calcutta, when there was a spare seat in a plane going there.’

  ‘Did you ever fly with Mr Lacey in the Auster?’

  ‘No. He never invited me.’

  ‘Had he done so, would you have gone up with him?’

  ‘Of course. I love flying. One day, not long ago, when he was getting ready to fly, I did ask him if I could go with him.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He laughed and said I was safer on the ground.’

  ‘What did you take that to mean?’

  ‘I didn’t know. I thought it was another of his little jokes.’

  ‘Did anyone apart from you ever service the Auster when it was on the ground?’

  ‘No. My orders were to take good care of it.’

  ‘Orders from whom?’

  ‘Mr Akbar.’

  ‘Did anyone ever ask you to interfere with it... I mean, to cause a forced landing?’

  Ram Singh looked horrified. ‘No.’

  ‘Did Mr Lacey carry any sort of weapon in the Auster — a rifle, for instance?’

  ‘I never saw one. Had one been there I’m sure I would have noticed it.’

  ‘Thank you, Ram Singh. Now I’d like to have a look at the Auster.’

  ‘Certainly. Please come with me.’

  ‘Has anyone else ever expressed a wish to look over the Auster?’

  ‘No.’

  As they made their way along to the open doors of the hangar, a man, apparently an Indian by the way he was dressed, came out and walked away. His back was towards them, so they could not see his face. He had a slight limp and walked with the aid of a stick.

  Biggles stopped short, a hand on Ram Singh’s arm. ‘Do you know that man?’ he asked tersely.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could it be the man who asked you questions about Mr Lacey?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but without seeing his face I couldn’t be sure.’

  Biggles frowned. ‘If he was standing just inside the hangar he could have overheard our conversation.’

  ‘It is possible.’

  Said Biggles quickly to Bertie: ‘Watch where he goes. He might suffer from rheumatism. Again, he might have a wooden leg.’

  Bertie walked on.

  Biggles and Ram Singh went into the hangar and on to the far end where Algy’s Auster had been parked out of the way. With Ram Singh watching, Biggles made a thorough examination, inside and out. ‘It seems to be in good order,’ he observed, getting down from the cockpit where, unsuccessfully, he had looked for notes Algy may have made.

  Bertie rejoined them.

  ‘Well?’ queried Biggles.

  ‘He had a car parked behind the main building. He drove off in it. I didn’t see his face. Not having a car I could do nothing more about it.’

  ‘What make was the car?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was too far off for me to see. It was a biggish car, an expensive-looking saloon.’

  ‘Did you get its registration?’

  ‘No. I don’t suppose I would have been able to read it, anyway. How about Algy’s Auster? Did you find anything wrong with it?’

  ‘Not exactly wrong. That is, I can see nothing to prevent it from flying. But there is one little thing that tells a story. Come round here.’

  They went round to the far side of the aircraft. Without speaking Biggles pointed to a tiny hole, near the bottom of the cockpit, so small that only an experienced eye would have noticed it.

  Bertie pursed his lips. ‘Great Scot,’ he breathed. ‘That’s a bullet hole.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘It went right through. Had Algy been in the machine when it happened, and we must suppose he was, the shot must have come near to hitting him. Now we know why he went to Calcutta to borrow a Hunter. If there was to be any shooting he was going to take a hand in it. When he told Ram Singh someone would have to look out he wasn’t joking. Well, there it is. Someone knew what Algy was doing and had a crack at him. The next time was successful. Algy was shot down. Anyhow, that’s how it looks to me.’

  Said Bertie, deadly serious: ‘When this happened, they must have caught him napping.’

  ‘Algy, not expecting anything like this, would probably be studying the ground. He was looking for something, although he may not have known exactly what it was.’

  ‘Have you told Ram Singh about this?’

  ‘No. Obviously he hasn’t spotted this bullet hole. I wouldn’t expect him to. We happen to have seen bullet holes before.’

  ‘Are you going to report it?’

  ‘No. Not yet, anyway. It would serve no useful purpose. The people we’re up against would get to hear of it. It would be better not to let them know what we know now. We’ll keep it to ourselves. Well, I think that’s as much as we can do here.’

  ‘What’s our next move?’

  ‘It’s getting time we did a spot of flying. It’s too late to start anything like that today, so it will have to be at sun-up in the morning, before it gets too hot.’

  They rejoined Ram Singh, who had strolled to the door of the hangar. Biggles said to him: ‘Thanks. That’s all for now. We shall be seeing you again, tomorrow morning if you’re early. We shall be here at dawn. In the meantime, if you happen to see a man with a wooden leg you might let us know at once.’

  Ram Singh stared. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘You think I might see such a man?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘There are a lot of men in India with wooden legs.’

  ‘I’m only interested in any you might see on the aerodrome. Don’t on any account allow such a man to go near Mr Lacey’s plane; or ours, for that matter.’

  With that they left Ram Singh and walked on towards the rest-house.

  ‘What do you make of him?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘I’d say he’s all right, although at the moment I wouldn’t trust anyone too far. If he isn’t, we shall soon know.’

  ‘And what about the manager here,
Akbar?’

  ‘He impressed me favourably. We shall have to trust him, anyway, or we might as well pack up and go home. He could, if he felt like it, make it impossible for us to stay here.’

  They walked on.

  CHAPTER 4

  A STRANGER OFFERS HIS SERVICES

  Although the heat was of course oppressive, Biggles and Bertie found they had been given comfortable quarters at the rest-house, where their wants were attended to by a staff of quiet, immaculate, white-clad “boys’. The rest-house, so called, was in fact a small modern hotel, built as a bungalow, with reserved accommodation for government officials. Apparently it had been decided they came into this category, for here they were given adjoining rooms, small but adequate. They appeared to have the place to themselves. Anyhow they saw no one in the lounge or at the bar. Later they had a light but enjoyable meal.

  Before retiring for the night, taking their coffee to deck-chairs under the great Indian moon, out of earshot of possible eavesdroppers, they had a few last words about the business that had brought them to India, and their first day at Shara.

  Bertie said, a trifle anxiously: ‘I suppose it’s safe to leave our machines unattended?’

  Biggles lifted a shoulder. ‘What else can we do? We can’t sit up all night ourselves for an indefinite period; and I don’t see how we can ask Mr Akbar to lay on a guard. It would imply that we didn’t trust his security arrangements. We shall just have to take a chance, that’s all.’

  ‘What do you make of this talk of a man with a wooden leg?’

  ‘No more than you. We can only suppose that one of Algy’s suspects had an artificial leg. Presumably he thought he might turn up here or he wouldn’t have spoken to Ram Singh about him. If we see such a man we’ll have a long hard look at him; although, as Ram Singh remarked, if a man is wearing long trousers how can you tell what he has inside them? You can’t go up to every man you see who walks with a limp and say: “Excuse me, but do you happen to have a wooden leg?”’

  ‘It’s strange that the only fellow we saw at the sheds, apart from the staff, walked with a limp.’

  ‘That’s why I asked you to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘You thought he might have a wooden leg?’

  ‘It seemed possible, if not probable.’