Biggles Forms a Syndicate Page 4

  The Air Commodore sat back and put his fingers together. “You’d better tell me about it,” he invited.

  “It all started a fortnight ago when Squadron Leader Digswell, an officer I used to know in the Service, walked into my office,” began Biggles, and then went on to give a concise account of what had followed.

  The Air Commodore heard him out in silence. “They seem to have made a mess of things,” was his first comment. “It would have been better had you come to me in the first place, when I would have tried to get you a permit and you could have taken charge of the operation yourself.”

  “I see that now, sir, but I’ve told you why Digswell wanted to keep the thing under the hat. Had I gone I would probably by now be missing myself, bearing in mind that not only were all three in the machine experienced pilots but Digswell knew every inch of the ground, having served at Aden for close on three years. As things have turned out I think it’s a good thing someone who knew all about the scheme stayed at home.”

  “You want to fly out to find out what happened?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When?”

  “The sooner the better. Right away.”

  “What machine will you take?”

  “The Proctor would do us.”

  “You’d take Lacey with you?”

  “I’d like to in case I need a reserve pilot.”

  “You realize that if this trip goes wrong you’ll leave me with some awkward questions to answer.”

  “I realize that perfectly well, sir, and I’m very sorry about it. I’ll do my best to see that nothing goes wrong this time. I wouldn’t have brought you into it had there been an alternative. But lives are at stake.”

  “That’s why I’m letting you go. What else do you want me to do?”

  “It would be a great help if you could make a signal to Aden telling them that the Air Police are involved in this business of the Dakota and that I’m on my way out to investigate. Will they please give me all facilities. As the Dakota has been taken back to Aden will the Air Officer Commanding allow me to examine it for a clue that might provide the answer to what has happened.”

  “Very well,” agreed the Air Commodore. “I’ll do that. Have you formed any opinion as to what might have happened?”

  Biggles shook his head. “No, sir. At this distance one can only make wild guesses, and none of them really line up. One might say the most likely thing to have happened was an encounter with hostile Arabs, possibly raiding tribesmen from Yemen or Saudi Arabia. Of course, I’m sure there would have been no shooting on our side except in really desperate circumstances; but if the machine was attacked on the ground, and it obviously wasn’t attacked in the air, those in it would have put up some resistance. Had there been a fight there would have been signs of it. One would expect to find empty cartridge cases, probably bullet holes in the machine. But apparently there was nothing of that sort. Had our party been wiped out their bodies would have been there.”

  “Could they have gone off and lost their way in the desert?”

  “I’ve considered that, but there are arguments against it. In the first place they had no reason to go into the desert, which would have meant going over the top of the hills. What they were looking for was less than halfway up, on the seaward side. Moreover, I can’t see them leaving the machine unattended. Two would go, leaving the other in charge. In the event of serious trouble this man would have flown back to Aden to report it.”

  The Air Commodore nodded. “That’s what one would think.”

  “The only place we shall solve the mystery, if it’s possible to solve it at all, is on the spot. That’s why, if you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to be getting along.”

  “Don’t be too long away.”

  “Thank you very much, sir. With any luck we ought to be back in a week.”

  “You might send me a signal if you have any news.”

  “I’ll do that, sir.”

  “All right. You’d better get on with it.”

  “I’m on my way, sir.”

  Biggles strode back to his office. “It’s okay,” he announced. “The chief didn’t even argue about it. We’re leaving in the Proctor right away. Let’s get cracking.”

  What happened during the next forty-eight hours can be imagined. Biggles could not get to Aden quickly enough. More worried than he had been for a long time, for not only was he faced with the loss of two friends but also the prospect of a public inquiry involving the Air Police if he failed to find them, he arrived red eyed from anxiety and long hours at the controls of the Proctor. It was with a deep sigh of relief that he touched down on the R.A.F. aerodrome in the evening of the second day after leaving England.

  With Algy he reported at once to the Station Commander, to find that the Air Commodore had been as good as his word with the result that they were expected.

  “I don’t know what you can do that hasn’t already been done,” said the Station Commander, frankly.

  “We may have certain information, unknown to you, that might help us,” returned Biggles.

  “What are you thinking of doing now you’re here?”

  “If it’s all right with you, sir, I’d like to have a look at the spot where the Dakota was found.”

  “There are some hoof marks in the sand but that’s nothing unusual.”

  “As it’s too late for us to go there today we shall have to wait until the morning. In the meantime I’d like to have a look at the Dakota.”

  “As I have authority to give you all facilities that’s all right with me on the understanding that what you do when you leave here will be entirely on your own responsibility. Naturally, if you get into trouble we’ll do anything we can to help, but for goodness’ sake try not to stir up a stink. Things are touchy enough as they are.”

  “You can rely on me to keep out of trouble if it’s humanly possible,” Biggles promised. “As I intend to start in the morning as soon as it’s light enough for us to see what we’re doing, I’d be obliged if you’d have my machine refuelled.”

  “It shall be done right away. I’ll get the Station Sergeant-Major to show you the Dakota.” The officer touched a bell. The senior N.C.O. who had apparently been waiting for the signal, marched in and saluted.

  “Take these police officers to the Dakota,” he was ordered.

  “Yessir.”

  Biggles and Algy followed their guide to the hangar where the Dakota had been housed.

  “We can’t find anything wrong with her,” said the Sergeant-Major. “Funny business if you asked me.”

  “I’m not asking you, Sergeant-Major, but you’re quite right,” agreed Biggles. “It’s a very funny business.”

  With Algy’s help he began a thorough examination of the aircraft. Having spent the best part of an hour without finding as much as a hint to account for the mystery, with darkness falling they were about to leave when Biggles, as an afterthought, opened the emergency locker and checked the contents.

  “Where’s the Red Gross box?” he asked, looking at Algy.

  “Isn’t it there?”

  “It is not.”

  “It should be.”

  “Certainly it should be. You heard Ginger promise to see that it was put in.”

  “It isn’t like him to slip up on a thing like that.”

  Biggles frowned. “I don’t understand this. I’d bet my last dollar he put it in.”

  “He couldn’t have done or it would be there now.”

  Biggles left the machine and returned to the Sergeant- Major. “Has anybody been in this machine since it was parked here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nothing has been taken out of it?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Are you quite sure of that?”

  “Quite sure, sir. Why, is something missing?”

  “Yes,” answered Biggles, slowly. “Part of its equipment was a complete emergency first-aid outfit. It was in the locker. Everything else is there except the medicine kit, a black box marked with a bold red cross.”

  “You can take my word for it, sir, that it wasn’t in the locker when the machine was brought in. I made the inventory myself. The G.O. has it. I wouldn’t swear that none of our lads is above doing a bit of scrounging, but a first-aid box would be no use to anyone. Orders were no one was to touch the machine, and as far as I know they’ve been carried out.”

  “Well, the box isn’t there now.”

  “Then either it was never put in or it was taken out before we took over,” declared the N.C.O.

  “I’m not suggesting you took it,” said Biggles. He turned to Algy. “It must have been taken out by one of them, presumably when the machine was on the ground since there’s no sign of it having been used in the cabin. Had it been used in the air, for what purpose I can’t imagine, one would have expected to see bits of bandage lint or something of the sort, lying about.”

  “If they took it out why didn’t they put it back where it belonged when they’d finished with it? They wouldn’t have left it lying about. They would at least have put it back in the machine.”

  Biggles shook his head. “This beats me. Well, standing here staring at the machine won’t give us the answers. We may find them in the morning. It’s no use looking for them in the dark. Let’s have something to eat and find a lodging for the night.” Biggles turned again to the N.C.O. “Thanks very much for being so helpful. In the morning, as soon as it’s light enough to see, we shall fly along and have a look at the place where the machine was found. By the way, have you yourself any ideas as to what might have happened?”

  “No, sir. I remember Flight Lieutenant Digswell, as he was when I knew him. He always was a wild one. All I can say is this: they’re not on the coast. Our machines, flying low, have searched every inch of it. If they’d been on it they must have been spotted, whether they were alive or dead. It’s days since the Dakota was first seen standing there. There was no one with it then, and no sign of Arabs anywhere near, so the officers reported.”

  “Where could they have gone?”

  “Unless they swam out to sea and were taken by sharks, of which there are plenty, they must have gone over the hills. If they did that, and lost themselves in the big desert over the other side, you haven’t a hope of ever seeing them again. A man can’t live there long without a lot of water.”

  “I’m afraid you may be right,” said Biggles, quietly, as he turned away.

  CHAPTER V

  MOSTLY SURMISE

  BIGGLES’ DEPARTURE in the morning was delayed for a few minutes by the Station Orderly Officer, a Flying Officer who said his name was Smith. He was of course on duty.

  “By the way,” he remarked, “they tell me Dizzy Digswell was one of the people in the Dakota.”

  “That’s right,” confirmed Biggles. “Did you know him?”

  “Knew him well. We were in the same squadron in Iraq. What was he doing back here?”

  Biggles hesitated. “Between ourselves I’ll tell you. While he was on the station he had a forced landing along the coast and lost something he valued. He was hoping to find it.”

  “When I heard he’d been here it struck me as a bit odd.”

  “Why should it strike you as odd?”

  “Because not long ago there was a fellow here asking questions about him.”

  Biggles’ attitude of casual indifference switched to one of interest. “Really!”

  “Yes. It happened I was doing assistant adjutant that day so it was me who saw him.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I couldn’t quite make out. He seemed mighty concerned with Dizzy’s movements although I told him he wasn’t here any longer. Wanted to know how long he was here, how long since he left, and so on.”

  “Did you give him this information?”

  “As near as I could remember it. There was nothing secret or confidential about it.”

  “Did he say why he wanted this information?”

  “No. He simply said he was an old friend and wanted to get in touch with him. Queer type. I fancy Dizzy must have got to know him when he was serving here.”

  Biggles was frowning. “Was this before the Dakota arrived?”

  “Oh yes. Some time before. That’s why it struck me as so odd that Dizzy should turn up here soon afterwards.”

  “What was this chap’s name?”

  Smith searched his memory. “He did tell me but I’ve forgotten it. Nasty looking piece of work for Dizzy to pal up with. Wore a bit of a beard.”

  Biggles spoke slowly. “Was his name by any chance Majoli?”

  “That’s right. You’ve got it. Do you know him?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of him.”

  “Well, he certainly knew his stuff. Spoke English like you and me. Also Arabic. I heard him speak to one of our labourers. He was writing a book of some sort, he told me.”

  “Did he say where he came from?”

  “Yes. He told me he was born not far away, in Abyssinia.”

  “In other words, he was an Ethiopian.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “As far as I know. He came here alone. He talked for about an hour; then he went off and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I see,” said Biggles, thoughtfully. “Thanks, Smith. Now we must be getting off.”

  “So long.” The Orderly Officer walked away.

  “What do you make of that?” asked Algy, as they walked on to the Proctor.

  “I hardly know what to make of it. We know this fellow Majoli is interested in this part of the world so he may have been coming here anyway. It sounds as if he’s still hoping to get a clue as to where Dizzy found that coin. I suppose that’s understandable if he really is writing a book. He comes from Ethiopia. That’s interesting in view of what Dizzy told us about King Menelek of that country; but I can’t see anything sinister in it. The point that concerns us is this: he was here asking questions about Dizzy before the Dakota arrived, and I don’t see how he could have known he intended coming here.”

  “Which means he doesn’t know he’s here now.”

  “I don’t think we can be too sure of that. He may have been staying in Aden when the Dakota arrived. There’s just a chance that he may have seen Dizzy, or learned he was one of the party in the Dakota. Again, he might have read in the newspapers of the Dakota having been found abandoned along the coast after giving its destination as South Africa. If he knew that Dizzy was in it, it wouldn’t need much brain work to put two and two together. But let’s not bother about him. We’ve something more urgent to attend to.”

  Algy agreed.

  “The C.O. said he’d fill us up but we’d better check it,” said Biggles, when they reached the machine. “You might have a look to make sure the water bottles are full, too. This is going to be thirsty work when the sun gets high.”

  “Are you telling me?”

  Although he did not harp on his fears to Algy it was with a heavy heart that Biggles took off and turned the nose of the Proctor towards the rising sun. He had very little hope that the crew of the Dakota were still alive. They had been missing for too long. They must now have been on the ground for days, and even if they had started walking with full water bottles they must have been emptied some time ago. That, in such a climate, could only be fatal. He knew, and he knew Algy must know, that what they were doing was little more than a matter of procedure. It would not bring the lost men back to life, if in fact they were dead, but the least they could do, if only for their own satisfaction, was try to find out what had happened. There was little hope now even of that, but if they failed the mystery would haunt them for the rest of their days.

  From the air, to their left now stretched the waterless desolate hinterland of Southern Arabia, parched, colourless and without outline. Nowhere was there rest for the eyes. The only conspicuous feature was the range of hills running more or less parallel with the sea. To the right, glittering in the sunshine, was the blue Arabian Sea of the Indian Ocean. The only craft on it were two Arab dhows close in, making for port, and some distance out a white-painted yacht, sails set, making an attractive picture as it headed eastward.

  As yet the air was as soft and smooth as milk, not having been lashed into protesting turbulence as it would be as the sun climbed towards its zenith. For the short flight before them Biggles did not trouble to climb for height but took the shortest way to the objective, which was of course the emergency landing ground about a hundred miles distant. With the sea as a guide there was no possibility of losing the way.

  In half an hour the landing ground, marked by a white circle and a limp rag on a pole to serve as a wind indicator, was in sight. As Dizzy had told them it was unmistakable. The landmarks he had mentioned were there, exactly as he had described them; the dry river bed and the long spit of loose rocks running from the hills nearly to the sea. They saw, and remarked on, the small area of blackened sand where Dizzy’s machine had crashed after he had baled out.

  Biggles spent ten minutes surveying the area, circling in widening circles; then, as there was no sign of life anywhere he went in and landed. He did not switch off at once, but for a little while taxied up and down trying to locate the actual spot where the Dakota had stopped. But he soon gave this up. There were tyre marks everywhere in the soft sand where the machines from Aden had landed. There were also hoof marks, as they had been told. At one place they appeared to be concentrated, and there Biggles cut the engine and got out.

  “We can’t be sure of it but I fancy it was about here that the Dakota switched off,” he said, examining the ground. “This is where the hoof marks seem to converge.” He pointed to some spots of oil on the sand. “An aircraft stood here not so long ago, anyway.”

  “There must have been a powerful bunch of Arabs here, judging from the hoof marks,” observed Algy, morosely. “I’m no tracker, but it’s pretty clear they came here, stopped, and went back the way they came. I’m wondering why they came and what they did while they were here.”

  Biggles didn’t answer.

  “There should be some European shoe marks.”