Biggles Takes it Rough Read online

  The machine came on, heading directly for the island. A couple of minutes passed. Nobody spoke. All eyes were on the aircraft which, to Bertie’s surprise, turned slightly to a course that would bring it over the harbour rather than the beach. When it had made its landfall it turned again, dropping slowly towards the beach. This brought it broadside on, and what Bertie saw shook him as much as it must have shaken those standing by him.

  The ‘chopper’ carried military markings. There was more than that. Painted in white on a dark blue background were two large letters. They were R.N..

  Bertie stared. He no more knew what the machine was doing there than did the men with him. Moreover, he was staggered by this swift fulfilment of his prophecy. He still thought the arrival of the machine was purely fortuitous, but he saw the possibilities it offered and made the most of them. As the machine sank slowly to the beach with the obvious intention of landing, he said carelessly, as if he had been waiting for this to happen: ‘There you are. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’d better make yourselves scarce.’

  ‘Was this the machine that brought you here?’ asked the smart man.

  ‘Not this one, but one very much like it,’ replied Bertie casually.

  ‘What’s it going to do?’

  ‘If you wait here, or care to walk down to the beach, perhaps the officer in charge will tell you.’

  Apparently this suggestion did not appeal, for the man said to those with him: ‘Come on.’ They walked away, keeping to the bottom of the bank.

  Bertie watched them go, well satisfied to be rescued from a predicament he did not know how to handle. That is to say, how Biggles would have handled it, or wished him to handle it. It was not the moment for violence, and he had done the best he could in the circumstances. Feeling the time had come to find out what was happening on the beach, he had started up the rocks when his party appeared from the opposite direction. They were not alone. With them was a Fleet Air Arm lieutenant, with a Chief Petty Officer and a rating loaded with equipment.

  Said Biggles as he joined Bertie: ‘This is Lieutenant Martin from Invergordon. He tells me orders were received at the station, from the Admiralty, for Rod’s boat to be examined, right away, to ascertain its condition.’

  Then, of course, Bertie understood. Algy had got through to the Air Commodore who had wasted no time getting things moving.

  Biggles went on: ‘Did anything happen here while I was away? I thought I heard you cry out, but I wasn’t sure. The gulls were making such an infernal din.’

  ‘Matter of fact, old boy, I hollered because a crab tried to shake hands with me. I had visitors, but they hoofed it when the Navy waffled in. I’ll tell you about that later.’

  ‘I see,’ said Biggles, looking very hard at Bertie.

  ‘Did you find anything on the beach?’ Bertie wanted to know.

  ‘Nothing, except that Ginger was right about the horse. We found hoof marks on a patch of sand.’

  While this exchange of information had been going on the sailor had been getting into a frogman’s outfit.

  ‘He’s going to have a look at the damage, if any, before there’s any talk of salvage operations,’ Biggles told Bertie.

  Standing with the lieutenant, who was the pilot of the aircraft, they watched what to the Petty Officer and the man he had brought with him was clearly nothing more than elementary routine.

  ‘How did this happen?’ Lieutenant Martin asked Biggles, as the sailor disappeared under the water.

  ‘We think we know, but we hope you’ll be able to tell us for certain. Macaster happens to own the island — or at least he has a lease on it from the Government. He came over alone and went for a walk round leaving the boat moored here. When he came back he found her on the bottom, although the island is presumed to be uninhabited. We can only think she must have been scuttled.’

  ‘But who’d do a thing like that, and why?’

  ‘We don’t know. Macaster called in the Air Police and here we are.’

  ‘Some sort of smuggling racket?’

  ‘Could be. I sent a man back to Scotland Yard to report what had happened, and that of course brought you into the picture. Macaster would have been in a mess without us, as must have been intended. We have a small quantity of canned stuff with us. Naturally, he’d left his stores in the boat.’

  ‘Queer business. Are you staying here?’

  ‘Until we get things buttoned up. Our aircraft will come back for us, but Macaster doesn’t want to lose his boat. She’s brand-new and all his food and gear were in her.’

  ‘We should be able to get some up for him.’

  ‘They should be all right. The stuff was properly packed.’

  The frogman reappeared and was helped up the rocks. ‘The sea-cock’s open,’ he reported. ‘Looks like somebody was careless or else she was deliberately scuttled.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘That’s what we suspected. Is there any other damage?’

  ‘None that I can find, sir. She just quietly filled and went down.’

  Biggles looked at the officer. ‘Would it be a difficult job to raise her?’

  ‘Nothing to it with the proper tackle; but we haven’t come equipped for that sort of job, so all I can do now is report back to base.’

  ‘I understand that. Can you do anything about Macaster’s stores?’

  Lieutenant Martin looked at his watch. ‘I don’t see why not as long as I leave myself enough time to get home before dark.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  The officer spoke to his men, with the result that the frogman dropped back into the water and parcels were soon being handed up.

  In half an hour a stack of cases had been recovered, and the lieutenant, again looking at his watch, said that would have to do. The frogman got out of his diving gear and the naval personnel set off for the beach. Biggles went with them. On reaching the machine all that remained for him to do was to thank them for their assistance. The helicopter then took off and he returned to the harbour to find the salvaged stores being carried up to the cottage. He went straight to Bertie and said: ‘Now. What happened here while I was away?’

  The others stopped what they were doing to listen.

  ‘Three unpleasant bods rolled up. Took me by surprise.’

  ‘Took you by surprise! How could that happen?’

  ‘I don’t know, but that’s how it was. One thing I am sure about, and that is they didn’t come across the moor. If they had I must have seen ‘em.’

  ‘Did you keep a regular watch?’

  Bertie looked pained. ‘Of course I did; what do you think? I spent most of my time on my tummy at the ridge. I didn’t see a movement anywhere. They must have come along over the rocks by the sea. Not knowing it was possible, I’ll admit I wasn’t prepared for that.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, either. Where were you and what were you doing when they arrived?’

  ‘I was standing here, on this rock. I’d thrown a fish head into the sea as a bait, hoping to cop a lobster. Instead I caught a crab. I was about to chuck it back when suddenly they spoke behind me.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear them coming?’

  ‘What with the waves sloshing about and the gulls howling like scalded cats, I wouldn’t expect to hear anything else.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Wanted to know what I was doing.’ Bertie gave a brief account of the conversation. ‘They didn’t get much change out of me,’ he concluded.

  ‘Did they know we were on the beach?’

  ‘I don’t think so, or they wouldn’t have been so cocksure of themselves.’

  ‘You say there were three of them. What did they look like?’

  ‘One, the boss I’d say since he did the talking, was a smart alec in town clothes. Dark chap. Little black moustache. English, I’d say, from his voice. The other two were ordinary types. A bit scruffy. Nothing much about them. Scots. Only one of them spoke. He said I wasn’t Macaster, from which I gathe
r he must have seen Rod somewhere, either here or on the mainland.’

  ‘Hm.’ Biggles fingered his chin. ‘I’ve had about enough of this hiding in holes and corners. Algy might get back tomorrow. Whether he comes or not, if the weather isn’t too bad we’ll try to get to the bottom of this nonsense. Actually, the weather seems to be improving. This breeze should dry the place up a bit.’

  ‘How do you reckon to do that?’ asked Rod.

  ‘By having a look inside this castle of yours, and if that fails to produce results, the lighthouse. I can’t imagine these people sleeping in the open, so they must be living in one or the other. The horse suggests the castle. We know they use it to go to the beach, and it shouldn’t take us long to find out why.’

  ‘That suits me,’ said Rod firmly. ‘I don’t feel like creeping about my own property as if I was a poacher. We know they’re here. They know someone is here, so why beat about the bush any longer?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Bertie. ‘I’m with you all the way. I’m all for showing these stinkers our teeth.’

  ‘All right. Let’s leave it at that,’ said Biggles shortly.

  ‘Let’s get the rest of this stuff under cover and see what we have to put in the larder.’

  ‘I’d better go and pull my line in; I left it in the water,’ said Bertie. ‘Rod, I hope you don’t mind me using a bit of your spare line to try a spot of fishing?’

  ‘Of course not. Use anything you like.’

  Bertie went down to the edge of the rocks.

  The others were examining the cases when, a few minutes later, he returned with a broad smile of triumph on his face. ‘How about that?’ he inquired brightly, holding up a fair-sized lobster.

  Biggles was not impressed. ‘What are you going to do with that thing?’

  ‘Eat it, of course. What did you think I was going to do — train it as a house pet?’

  ‘How are you going to kill it?’

  Bertie considered a question which plainly had not occurred to him. ‘How do you kill a lobster?’

  ‘Shoot it,’ suggested Ginger.

  ‘And scatter the meat all over the place! Not likely.’

  ‘Then stab it to death.’

  ‘Where do you stab a lobster?’

  ‘Cut its throat.’

  Bertie turned the creature over and examined the underside. ‘It doesn’t appear to have one.’

  Rod chipped in. ‘I believe the usual way to kill a lobster is to throw it in a pot of boiling water.’

  Bertie looked shocked. ‘You don’t mean that!’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘But here, I say, what a ghastly thing to do.’

  ‘That’s why they turn red.’

  ‘By gosh! I’m not surprised. So would you.’

  ‘Where are you going to find a pot?’

  Biggles cut in impatiently. ‘Oh, quit this fooling. We’re not here on a picnic, neither are we on the point of death from starvation. Chuck it back in the sea. We’ve plenty to eat now without fiddling with things like that.’

  Bertie sighed. ‘How is it all my little schemes come unstuck?’ he inquired plaintively, as he flung the lobster far out into the water.

  CHAPTER 6

  AN OLD HIGHLAND TRICK

  THE rest of the day passed quietly without any incident of note. Watch was kept from the ridge, but no one was seen. The rocks by the edge of the sea were explored for the path, assuming there was one, by which the three men who had surprised Bertie had reached the harbour unobserved. There was no path, or even a suggestion of a track, but it was confirmed that an approach from that direction, along the foot of the cliffs, was possible at low tide by anyone who was prepared to take risks. It was certainly not a way a stranger would take willingly, and this, as Bertie pointed out, suggested that at least one of the men, probably one of the Scots, was familiar with the route, and in that case the whole island.

  Having satisfied themselves on this point, they did not press on to the end, seeing no purpose in it. The going was difficult and the rocks treacherous. Some had newly fallen and others looked as if it would not be long before they too crashed down. There was nothing unusual in this, of course, for it is a process which on any rocky shore subjected to gales is continuous.

  There was another hazard. While for the most part the cliffs, which varied from anything between fifty to a hundred feet in height, tended to overhang, there were a few places where they receded, with the result that anyone on the actual sea-shore would be in full view of anyone on the edge of the cliff above. This meant that a person on the cliff could make things very uncomfortable for anyone below, even without exposing himself, by throwing stones or pushing loose rocks over the edge.

  All this having been noted, the party returned to the harbour and spent the remaining hours of daylight discussing the situation.

  The weather continued to improve, which is not to say that it was all that could be desired. The rain clouds, hounded by a stiffish westerly breeze, had passed on, leaving a broad belt of greenish-blue sky smeared with odd wisps of wind-torn mist. Visibility was now fairly good. The lower air was clear but rather chilly. However, this did not worry anyone, and when darkness closed in everyone went to bed content with the way things were going. No one had supposed that the problem with which they were faced could be solved in a few hours.

  After some discussion Biggles decided that an all night guard was not necessary. There was no point in wearing themselves out until it became unavoidable. The unknown men on the island, whoever they were and whatever they might be doing, knew that someone was encamped by or near the harbour, even if they did not know the exact spot; but he did not think they would at this stage resort to open violence. After all, Biggles argued, they were dealing with civilized people, not savages. If the strangers contemplated anything of that sort there was no reason why they should wait for nightfall, because any such action would be more easily carried out in daylight, when the natural obstacles could more easily be seen.

  In the event this was a mistake; but at the time it seemed a reasonable line of argument.

  It was Ginger who awoke first. Still not properly awake he had a sensation that he was choking. Was it a dream? Was he still dreaming? Then, suddenly he was wide awake, and knew that it was fact. The place was full of smoke. At first, not unnaturally, he thought it was the house that was on fire. A spark had fallen on some dry bracken? Biggles had dropped off to sleep while smoking and set fire to his bed?

  Rising on an elbow, he saw at a glance that this was not so. A square of bright orange fight filling the open doorway told him the truth. There was a fire, but it was outside. With a shout of alarm he sprang up and ran out. What he saw gave him the shock of his life. It looked as if the world was on fire. The sky was a lurid scarlet glow. The air was thick with smoke. Sparks were flying. From no great distance away came a harsh crackling. It was as light as day. Birds were tearing past, screaming. Rabbits and hares were leaping over the rocks. He saw one, with its fur on fire, jump into the sea.

  By this time the others, aroused by his shout, were outside and could see what he could see.

  ‘My God! The whole island must be on fire,’ cried Biggles, coughing.

  ‘The heather certainly is,’ replied Rod, calmly. ‘The question is, which way is the fire running? If the wind hasn’t changed it must be coming this way.’

  ‘It is coming this way,’ rapped out Biggles. ‘Look at the sparks coming over us. How far away is the fire? How long have we got, that’s the point?’

  ‘I’ll find out.’ Ginger raced up the slope, and from the ridge saw such a sight as he had never seen before. But then, of course, he had never seen a runaway heather fire, fanned by a breeze. Those who have, and there are many in Scotland, will know that it presents a spectacle not easily forgotten, or to exaggerate.

  What Ginger saw was a wall of leaping flames ten feet high on a front nearly a quarter of a mile wide. It was less than a hundred yards from him and roaring straight towa
rds the whole area of the harbour. Flaming debris was being flung high and already he could feel the heat on his face. He tore back.

  ‘Quick!’ he panted. ‘It’s coming straight towards us. Nothing can stop it.’

  ‘Everyone grab as much as he can carry and make for the beach,’ ordered Biggles tersely. ‘That’s the only way we can go.’

  ‘We’ve only got five minutes at the outside,’ warned Ginger, snatching up the binoculars, the small-kit haversacks and the primus.

  ‘The fire will have to stop when it reaches the rocks,’ said Bertie.

  ‘By that time we shall have been suffocated by smoke,’ snapped Biggles.

  They seized as much stuff as they could carry and there was a rush for the beach. Only Bertie tarried for a few moments to throw the remainder of Rod’s food parcels down on to the rocks, where there was no heather to burn. Then he, too, hurried on after the rest.

  There was no more talking, for there was ample evidence that the peril was imminent. By the time the beach was reached flames could be seen shooting up from behind the ridge. Everyone was coughing, but on the flat shingle they could now run; and run they did, for it was not only heat that swept down the bank in front of the fire, although that was scorching. It was the acrid, pungent smoke, which brought tears to their eyes and almost blinded them. It bit into their lungs and kept them coughing without respite.

  The retreat ended in a desperate rush to get past the danger point by outflanking the end of the fire, the limit of which could be seen on the ridge. Where there was heather, bracken, or anything else that would burn, the fire came on down the bank; but here the herbage grew in tufts and clumps, which slowed it down as it had to jump from one to the other; and, of course, it had to end when it came to the beach, where there was nothing except stones and sand, and then the sea.