Biggles in the Terai Read online

‘He didn’t look like an employee doing some sort of work, yet he appeared to be strolling about the airfield as he liked.’

  ‘So what? This isn’t London Airport or anything like it. We’re in India, where life is taken a little more casually.’

  Bertie changed the subject. ‘What’s the drill tomorrow?’

  ‘Sitting here won’t get us anywhere, that’s certain. I’ve asked all the questions I can think of. The only thing left for us to do is a spot of aviation to the north of here to have a look at the sort of country Algy was flying over. North is a bit vague, I must admit, but it is at least a rough guide, which is a lot better than having no idea to which point of the compass Algy was pointing his nose. We can only assume that he traced the source of this smuggling racket to somewhere north of where we are sitting now. Why else would he have switched his operational base from Calcutta? He had nearly got the thing wrapped up. He told us so in his last letter. He was almost ready to come home. Something went wrong, and, as he didn’t come back, he must now be on the carpet between here and the Himalayas. I can’t see him being daft enough to cross the mountains to Tibet, which is now Chinese territory. If he did he’s gone for good. Had he been forced down in Tibet, the Chinese government would have kicked up a stink before this, about the violation of their air space.’

  ‘Pity he didn’t tell someone what he knew,’ said Bertie lugubriously.

  ‘He wouldn’t dare. Who could he trust? Gold is big business, and a little of it is enough to most men. Enough of the damned stuff will buy anyone. As a cynic once remarked, every man has his price. That’s why international spy rings are able to operate successfully.’ Biggles stubbed his cigarette. ‘Well, I’m soon going to turn in, to be ready for an early start. Tomorrow will be another scorcher.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no doubt about the weather staying fair?’

  ‘None whatever. That’s one thing in India you can rely on. You don’t need to be an expert to be a prophet. At this time of the year you know beyond a shadow of doubt that tomorrow will be another day just like today. The sun will go blazing across a sky without a cloud in sight. It’ll do that the next day, and the next, and so on until the monsoon arrives with buckets of rain to give the thirsty ground more water than it can drink. That’s no weather for flying, believe you me. In Bengal it comes from the north-east, starting usually in late May or early June.’

  ‘Which means that we’ve got under a month to find Algy.’

  ‘Less than that if the monsoon happens to play its trick of arriving before it’s due. I can tell you this. If we haven’t found him by the time the monsoon breaks we shall never find him. Rain and hail can knock holes in a light machine like the Auster, and finish it off by beating it down into the ground.’

  ‘I suppose Algy would know that?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so. That, I imagine, is why he pressed on to finish the job quickly. Now let’s put in some blanket drill — not that we shall need any blankets.’

  Bertie reached out to touch Biggles on the knee. ‘Just a minute, old boy,’ he murmured softly. ‘I fancy we have a visitor. Anyhow, I see someone heading in our direction.’ He was looking past Biggles’s shoulder.

  There was a pause. Biggles did not look round. Then a slim figure, moving slowly and silently, appeared beside them.

  A softly modulated voice said, in perfect English, with no trace of accent. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. Would you be so kind as to allow me to use your table? A boy is bringing my coffee outside.’1

  ‘Sit down,’ invited Biggles. ‘The table and chairs are not my property.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ The speaker took a seat between them. He said no more until one of the rest-house boys had put his coffee on the table and, with a bow, withdrew. Then he remarked, ‘It is very hot tonight; I am sure you must find it so.’

  To which Biggles replied, having moved his chair a few inches: ‘Not too hot for us. The English climate, as you may know, leaves much to be desired, for which reason we have for a long time scattered ourselves in other countries.’

  ‘Such as India.’

  ‘We were always partial to India.’

  There was a pause while the newcomer sipped his coffee. He had chosen to sit with his back to the moon, so it was not easy to get a clear picture of his face. However, it could be seen that he was formally and immaculately dressed, black trousers, white jacket, black tie, giving the impression that he was an Indian of the upper class. A diamond sparkled on a finger of the hand that reached for the coffee. It was a beautiful hand, one that would have delighted an artist. The long slender fingers had obviously never known manual work.

  ‘I suppose you gentlemen are on a hunting trip,’ went on the self-invited guest.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Biggles, truthfully. He did not say what they were hunting. ‘Is that why you are here?’ he queried.

  ‘Oh dear no. Hunting has never appealed to me. It is far too uncomfortable. I am a business man forced to spend the night in this miserable place, having missed a connection to Calcutta yesterday. I am afraid there is room for improvement in our local air services. Am I mistaken or did I see you arrive in a plane — a small private plane?’

  ‘You might have done, since we arrived in one,’ admitted Biggles, lighting another cigarette. He offered his case, but it was waved aside.

  ‘No thank you. I don’t smoke. Pardon my curiosity, but how do you propose hunting in a plane, if it isn’t an impertinent question?’

  ‘We’re not likely to try shooting a tiger from the air, if that’s what you imagined. The purpose of the plane is to look over some ground before we start on foot, when we shall, I hope, have the services of a professional shikari.’2

  ‘Ah! There I may be able to help you. I know of just such a man.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but we have already made our arrangements,’ replied Biggles.

  ‘I wonder can I help you in the way of equipment — guns, rifles, camp gear, and that sort of thing? One of my companies is in that line of business.’

  ‘We’ve brought with us everything we’re likely to need,’ informed Biggles, his voice taking on a slightly cooler tone. ‘All the same,’ he went on, ‘if you would give us your card we could get into touch with you should we run into difficulties.’

  After going through his pockets the stranger expressed regret that he had left his card case in another jacket, in his room.

  ‘No matter,’ said Biggles smoothly. ‘I can always get your name from the office. They must know you.’

  ‘Quite so — quite so.’ The speaker did not seem so sure of himself and changed the subject. ‘Shall I call for some more coffee?’

  ‘Not for me, thank you,’ declined Biggles. ‘I was about to retire when you joined us. To run away and leave you alone would have appeared discourteous.’

  ‘As you please. No doubt we shall meet again in the morning.’

  ‘Perhaps, but the time of our departure will depend on how I feel,’ replied Biggles easily. He got up. ‘Well, good night to you, and thanks for your offer of assistance.’

  ‘We shall probably meet again somewhere, if not tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ answered Biggles. ‘To travellers like us the world is a small place.’ With that, he and Bertie strolled away in the direction of their quarters.

  Not a word was spoken until they were well out of ear-shot. Then Bertie said softly. ‘What do you make of that joker? He wanted to know a lot.’

  ‘Naturally,’ replied Biggles dryly.

  ‘Why naturally?’

  ‘Because, unless I’m mistaken, that’s why he came here.’

  ‘What gives you that idea?’

  ‘For one thing he happens to have a wooden leg — or an artificial one of some sort.’

  Bertie stopped short, staring. ‘Now how on earth do you know that?’

  ‘I suspected he was a phoney from the moment he joined us. No self-respecting Indian would have barged in as he did, without a very good
reason — a more convincing one than he gave. You must have seen me move my chair closer to his. Didn’t you guess why?’

  ‘No, old boy. Dash it all, I’m not clairvoyant.’

  ‘Neither am I, but it was a fairly safe bet that we should encounter a man with a wooden leg if we stayed here long enough. I must admit it has happened rather sooner than I expected. Someone suspicious of us was soon on the job. I moved to get within touching distance. I tapped his leg with the toe of my shoe. He didn’t feel it. Had he done so he would have moved, probably looked at me. From that I could draw only one conclusion. I can’t say I was particularly surprised. Someone, possibly the man who saw us talking to Ram Singh at the sheds, lost no time in informing his boss of our arrival. He came along to look us over. At least, that’s how it seems to me. What he said about missing his connection was all hooey. He’s only just arrived. I’d wager he came here in a car from somewhere not too far away. Let’s go round by the car park and check if I’m right.’

  They made a detour round the place reserved for cars.

  There were only two cars there, which simplified matters. One, as Biggles remarked, belonged to Mr Akbar, the manager. Biggles put a hand on the radiator cap of the other, a Daimler, and removed it quickly. ‘Still warm,’ he said. ‘Must have arrived within the last hour. She’d cool slowly in this weather. I’d say this is it. Our friend seems to have plenty of money. I’m surprised he hasn’t a chauffeur. Maybe he has one; but he wouldn’t wait here with the car if his boss intends to stay the night.’

  ‘How’s this going to affect us — if you see what I mean?’ asked Bertie seriously.

  ‘One thing it means is, we shall have to watch every step before we take it, in a manner of speaking. This fellow who’s been talking to us wasn’t inspired by amiability, or anything like that. He came here to look us over and try to find out what we’re doing here. Maybe he knows, or has guessed. Someone was quick off the mark to tip him off that we’d arrived.’

  ‘He seemed anxious to help us.’

  ‘Too anxious. People don’t go up to strangers and say, can I do anything for you? Ask yourself, why should he put himself to the slightest inconvenience on our behalf? He overdid it. He offered to find us a good shikari. I may be doing him an injustice, but I’d be sorry to go into the jungle with anyone he recommended. What position he holds in the organization that plotted Algy’s disappearance I wouldn’t try to guess. It doesn’t matter. I feel it in my bones that we’re up against a bunch of racketeers who will stop at nothing. That’s probably why Algy didn’t dare to commit anything to paper. If they’ve got him, as soon as they’re sure we’re friends of his, here to find out what happened, they’ll do their best to get us, too. There may be no immediate cause for alarm, although we’d be stupid to take chances. We should be away in the morning before our friend wakes up. Unless he has a private plane handy, he wouldn’t be able to follow us, anyway.’

  While talking they had strolled slowly on to the rest-house. The heat discouraged haste. The boy who had served coffee — actually he was about eighteen — was still on duty, sitting relaxed in a long chair. He got up when they entered.

  Biggles said: ‘The gentleman outside. We’ve been talking, but I forgot to ask him his name. Do you know it?’

  The boy’s face went blank. ‘No, sir. I have never seen him before.’

  ‘But didn’t he stay here last night?’

  The boy’s face remained inscrutable. ‘I don’t know, sir. I wasn’t here.’

  ‘Never mind,’ returned Biggles casually. ‘We shall see him in the morning, no doubt. What time did he ask to be called?’

  ‘I have had no orders, sir. Do you wish to be called?’

  ‘No, thanks. We may sleep late. We’ll let you know when we’re ready for our morning tea.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Our keys, please.’

  The boy took them from the key rack and handed them over.

  Biggles and Bertie walked on down the corridor to their rooms, which were at the far end. ‘Come in here a minute,’ said Biggles, opening his own door. ‘That boy may be telling the truth or he may not. I rather fancy he is. He doesn’t know anything. He’s merely been told not to talk. I don’t think our friend outside can be staying the night here or his key, unless he has it in his pocket, would be on the rack. The only keys were ours, so it looks as if we’re the only people staying here.’

  ‘What do you make of that chap?’

  ‘He’s a not uncommon cosmopolitan type. He could have been born anywhere in the world. He may not know his ancestry. I’ve had dealings with some of them. They can be good or bad. Some are clever enough to live in luxury without appearing to do any work. You’ll find them wherever there’s money. They’re not interested in anything else. The world is their oyster. London, Paris, New York, Monte Carlo, Switzerland, Cairo and the Middle East, it’s all the same to them. When they’re bad they become international crooks and spies. Owing allegiance to no one, they’re not troubled by conscience. I’d say his passport would make interesting reading.’

  While speaking, Biggles had unzipped his light travelling bag and examined the contents. ‘No one has touched my kit, anyway,’ he went on, taking out his pyjamas. He looked up at Bertie. ‘You realize we’re faced with a bit of a problem?’

  ‘Problem, old boy? What is it?’

  ‘This is a bungalow. If we sleep with our windows closed we’re liable to suffocate in this heat. The room will get like a Turkish bath. If we leave them open there’s nothing to prevent anyone stepping in from outside and doing us a mischief.’

  ‘You really think that might happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m only saying it could happen. Certain people know we’re here and have probably guessed why. That was unavoidable. Maybe I’m getting over-sensitive, but I don’t feel like putting myself at their mercy. We can lock our doors, but I shan’t sleep comfortably with the window wide open.’

  ‘What’s the answer? I mean to say, we shall have to get some shut-eye or I shan’t be at my best and brightest at sparrow-chirp.’

  Biggles thought for a moment. ‘Just a minute,’ he said, ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  He went out.

  * * *

  1 In case the reader may think it odd that in India so many people should speak English, it had better be said here that almost all educated Indians (and Pakistanis) speak English fluently. Most of the ordinary people have at least enough English to get along. Only in remote rural areas is one likely to find people who speak only their own local language, whatever that may be. It must be remembered that although the national language is Hindi (which Biggles, having been born in the country, is able to speak) there are fourteen major languages and over a hundred dialects used according to the district in which one happens to have been born.

  2 A hunter.

  CHAPTER 5

  DARK WORK IN THE NIGHT

  Biggles was away for a few minutes. When he came back he said: ‘I’ve had a look at some of the other rooms near us. They’re not occupied. The beds aren’t made up and there’s no luggage. That can only mean they’re not being used. You please yourself what you do, but I feel inclined to switch to one of them, bearing in mind that the fellow who spoke to us outside knows which rooms we’ve been given.’

  ‘How would he know that? Ask the boy on duty?’

  ‘There’d be no need for that. As we’re the only people here, he’d merely have to look at the key-rack to see our numbers.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘I shall go to the room next but one. It’s a double, so you can join me if you like.’

  ‘That’s not a bad scheme. Let’s do that,’ agreed Bertie. ‘If there’s any trouble one of us should wake up. I’m not all that crazy about fresh air, but I must say I don’t feel like stewing in my own juice all night behind a closed window.’

  ‘Nor I.’ Biggles went over to his bed, stripped off the sheet, arranged the bolster an
d pillow lengthways and replaced the sheet to give the impression that the bed was occupied. ‘That should fool anyone who decides to play Peeping Tom,’ he observed. ‘You might do the same thing in your room.’

  ‘I will.’

  In Bertie’s room the same procedure was followed. ‘Sleep well, old chap,’ said Bertie, giving the dummy sleeper a parting pat. This done, taking their pyjamas they went along to the double room Biggles had mentioned. ‘We won’t switch on the light, it would be seen from outside,’ he said. The bright moonlight pouring in gave all the light that was necessary.

  They had started to undress when the sound of a car engine being started took them to the window which, as it happened, overlooked the open area used as a car park. In the silvery light of the moon a white-jacketed figure could be seen in the driving seat of the Daimler. The car moved off and presently disappeared down the dusty approach road to the airfield.

  ‘It looks as if our inquisitive friend doesn’t intend to stay the night here, after all,’ observed Biggles. ‘I suspect he never had the slightest intention of doing that. If nothing worse he’s a glib liar, although not a very convincing one. Well, that’s all to the good. At least we shan’t be worried by him. Now, as we’re going to make an early start, we’d better turn in.’

  They lay on their respective beds.

  Bertie was fairly tired and expected to fall asleep at once without any difficulty; but this did not happen. For a long time he lay still with his eyes closed, but it was no use, and eventually he reached the stage when, as sometimes happens, he realized that while courting sleep he was becoming more wide awake. It may have been the heat that affected him, for although the window was open the room was like an oven. Even lying motionless, his pyjamas were damp with perspiration. Or it may have been his brain was too active, going over the events of the day.

  The only sound was the regular breathing from the other bed telling him that Biggles had not shared his sleeplessness.

  Finally he decided there was only one thing to do, and that was make a break and start afresh. It sometimes works. Without a sound, anxious not to disturb Biggles, who was a light sleeper, he got off the bed and stepped softly to a chair by the window. It was a cane chair and it creaked a little as he lowered himself into it; but Biggles appeared not to hear it. Actually, it was no cooler by the open window, but at least he had something to look at, to take his mind off other matters.