Biggles Buries a Hatchet Read online

  ‘Well, let’s have something to eat and then we’ll talk,’ suggested Biggles. ‘Did anything happen to worry you while we were away?’ he asked Algy.

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Had your lunch?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you might keep watch while we have a bite. There was a rumpus this morning, what with Manton making a break and Miskoff braining one of the guards, so a patrol may come this way. I’ll tell you about that later. You’ll be able to hear what we say here.’

  ‘Okay.’

  They made a hearty meal, the American eating ravenously like a man half-starved, as he assured them he was. Bertie had to boil two kettles of water to satisfy his appetite for coffee.

  ‘Now let’s get down to brass tacks,’ said Biggles at last, handing round cigarettes. ‘First of all, Pat — you won’t mind if I call you that — which would you prefer? To push on with your scheme of pinching a boat, or taking your chance with us? Before you make up your mind I must warn you that it may be some time before we leave. You know what we came here to do.’

  ‘I’ll stick around with you if I may,’ decided Pat, without hesitation. ‘It’s something to be with pals and sniff gasoline again. It feels more like home.’

  ‘Okay. That settles that. Now tell me this. Knowing what you know, what would you say is our best chance of grabbing von Stalhein — while he’s in the prison or when he’s outside?’

  ‘Outside, without any argument.’

  ‘Can you think of any way I could make contact with von Stalhein before trying to get hold of him?’

  ‘What’s the idea of that?’

  ‘Two reasons. First, to let him know what’s afoot so that he’ll be ready when the time comes, and secondly, to make sure he’s willing to come with us.’

  Pat’s eyebrows went up. ‘Come with you? Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t he come with you?’

  ‘He’s a queer fellow, with peculiar notions about likes and dislikes.’

  ‘He’d be more than queer to turn down a chance of quitting Onor. He’d be nuts.’

  ‘Maybe he is. But let that pass. Where would be the best place of getting in touch — if you had to do it?’

  Pat thought for a moment. ‘I can think of only one place where it might be done and that’s at the coal face.’

  ‘What sort of place is that? I haven’t seen it.’

  ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t see it, from a distance, if you’re prepared to risk bumping into a patrol. The coal, pretty poor stuff, is a few feet under the round. A face has been opened about two to three hundred yards long. It looks like a low black cliff. In front of it, looking towards the face, are all the heaps of muck and dirt that has been cleared — stuff that’s no use. There are also heaps of coal dust from the screening. The stuff that’s wanted, the bigger pieces, are stacked in a line ready for loading.’

  ‘In other words, it’s a big untidy mess.’

  ‘Sure. Just like you’d imagine. I could take you there to see when the gang isn’t working.’

  ‘When would be the best time?’

  ‘Around dawn, before the gang arrives, or mebbe by moonlight.’

  ‘Do the working parties always go to the same place?’

  ‘More or less. Sometimes it’s necessary to work on top of the ground, beyond the face, cutting the trees and clearing the soil so that the face can go forward without a lot of rubbish falling on the coal that’s been exposed. Good timber is hauled away by hand; the rest is burnt.’

  ‘Tell me exactly what happens when the gang starts in the morning,’ requested Biggles.

  ‘First, there’s a roll call in the prison yard, with the gang standing in a single line, covered by the guards. The prisoners are then formed two deep and marched to the gate. Some carry any new tools that are wanted, as I did this morning. The gate is opened and the gang marches off to the workings.’

  ‘Is the gang always in the same order?’

  ‘Yes. That’s the result of the roll call. We take our places from the right in the order in which the names appear on the roll.’

  ‘What happens when you get to the workings?’

  ‘The gang is broken up and given its different tasks.’

  ‘What I’m trying to get at is this,’ explained Biggles. ‘If the gang arrives in the same order every day the same men will be detailed for the job they were on the previous day.’

  ‘More or less, unless there happens to be a change the routine.’

  ‘So that if I saw where von Stalhein was working today I might reasonably expect to find him near the same place tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. But how would you get there?’

  ‘I would already be there when the gang arrived, hidden on one of the coal dumps, or something.’

  Pat stared. ‘Holy alligators! That’s taking a chance.’

  Biggles shrugged. ‘Whatever we do will mean taking a chance. We’re taking a chance sitting here. That’s why I don’t want to be here longer than is necessary. Wherefore I suggest that provided there’s no trouble in the meantime we go along tonight and have a look at the dump. I should be able to see in moonlight all I need to know, and there’d be less chance of our being seen than if we tried it in daylight.’

  Pat agreed that this was so and thus the matter left.

  There was now every reason to hope that the day would end without further cause for anxiety, but was not to be.

  Just before sunset, Ginger, who was on watch, announced that a launch, which looked as if it might be a patrol boat, had rounded the headland on the far side of the estuary and was moving slowly along the coast, keeping closer in than was to be expected had it not a particular purpose in view.

  ‘I’d say that’s a coastal patrol boat,’ opined Biggles after a long look at it. ‘I’d say that its appearance here isn’t merely a matter of chance. It’s looking for something or somebody and we can guess what it is. The hunt for you, Pat, is on. Had you pinched a boat as you intended you wouldn’t have got far. They’d have spotted you. I’ll wager no more boats leave this river without being searched.’

  ‘Thank goodness it isn’t coming along this side, anyway,’ said Algy.

  Biggles did not answer, but remained in a position from which, peering between the rushes, he could keep an eye on the unwelcome visitor.

  It held its course down the far side until it disappeared from sight behind a point not far from where the river flowed into the salt water, which was no great distance from where the fishing boats were tied up. The chugging of its engine still came faintly to their ears across the desolate expanse of water, now stained with the orange glow of the setting sun. Presently it reappeared, now cruising along their side, sending up clouds of ducks and geese that had roosted there.

  ‘I was afraid of that,’ muttered Biggles. ‘They’re going to do the job properly.’

  ‘They won’t be able to see much by the time they get here,’ asserted Ginger, optimistically. ‘It’ll be nearly dark, and they won’t dare to come too close in for fear of running ashore.’

  ‘Well, as there’s nothing we can do about it we shall just have to take our luck,’ stated Biggles.

  ‘How many people do you think there will be on board?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Bertie knows more about small craft than I do,’ replied Biggles. ‘What would you say, Bertie?’

  ‘Not more than half a dozen, old boy,’ conjectured Bertie. ‘Actually, a little job like that could be handled by a couple of men, a navigator at the wheel and an engineer type. Reckoning on two or three hands to keep watch there shouldn’t be more than four or five on board. Why did you want to know, Pat?’

  ‘I thought we might grab the boat and make a dash for Japan.’

  ‘Oh no,’ put in Biggles, promptly. ‘I came here to grab von Stalhein and I’m not going without him. I don’t care two hoots what that boat does as long as it keeps out of our way. I shan’t turn to piracy unless I have to.’

  The launch came on throug
h the fast fading light. As it drew nearer two figures could just be made out behind the glass screen that protected the wheel. A man stood in the bows, obviously acting as look-out. Another was standing nearer the stern, watching the shore.

  Just before the launch drew level with the belt of rushes in which the Otter was concealed, and some fifty or sixty yards out from them, the note of its engine changed. Presently it stopped, and the launch came slowly to rest.

  ‘They’ve seen us,’ breathed Ginger.

  ‘I doubt it, in this light,’ returned Biggles.

  An anchor chain rattled.

  ‘So that’s it,’ murmured Biggles. ‘Rather than risk running aground they’ve dropped their mudhook for the night. There wasn’t much point in them going on in the dark, anyhow.’

  ‘What stinking luck that with the whole estuary in front of them they should choose to park themselves here,’ muttered Ginger, irritably.

  ‘They probably chose this particular area for the same reason that I did,’ answered Biggles, evenly. ‘It happens to be protected from what wind there is. We shall have to talk in whispers or they may hear us. You know how sound travels over water. Don’t strike a match or show any sort of light, anyone. They’ve no idea we’re here so they may push on at daybreak, or perhaps even when the moon comes up.’

  ‘What about the plan for going to the workings?’ asked Pat, softly.

  ‘Let’s wait to see what happens,’ decided Biggles.

  An uneasy silence fell.

  CHAPTER 9

  PREPARATIONS

  TIME passed.

  The launch put up a riding light and a narrow yellow glow from the cabin fell aslant the water. One or two scattered pin-points of light appeared in the far distance, on the opposite side of the estuary, to mark the homes of those who dwelt in a land where happiness was a thing more rare than gold.

  From time to time a low murmur of voices reached those who sat in darkness in the cabin of the aircraft, but although Fritz listened intently they were too indistinct to convey the subject of the conversation. To Ginger it was a weird situation, more in the nature of a dream than reality. To Bertie it was an awful bore, and he said so. To Biggles it was a period of irritating anxiety, for while the launch remained in its present position nothing could be done. Moreover, there was always a possibility that, attracted by the light, a patrol would arrive on the waterside track. This did not necessarily mean it would discover the plane, but Biggles would have preferred not to have enemies as close as that.

  Some time after midnight a new sound came from the launch to bring those who were dozing to the alert. It was the staccato buzzing of radio morse. Fritz could not read morse, and as those who did could speak no Russian, the instrument might as well have remained silent as far as those in the Otter were concerned.

  Whether or not this signal was responsible for what happened next there was of course no means of knowing. Not that it mattered in the least, as Biggles was the first to point out when sudden activity on the launch suggested that it might be going to move. The anchor could be heard coming up. The engine was started, seeming to make an astonishing amount of noise after the long silence. The boat was turned about, making a gentle swell that brought a rustle of protest from the disturbed rushes, and then set off on a straight course across the estuary.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Ginger, with a sigh of relief.

  They watched the launch vanish round the point from which it had appeared.

  ‘Jolly good,’ said Bertie. ‘Now I know how a mouse feels with a cat outside its sitting-room.’

  Biggles, who had sat deep in thought through the long silence, lit a cigarette. ‘That’s better,’ he observed, taking a deep draw. ‘When I’ve finished this we’ll move off and have a look at this coal mine affair. I’d better tell you all exactly what I have in mind, then you’ll be able to keep pace with things. If I can find a suitable place to hide within speaking distance of where von Stalhein is working, having warned him that friends are near, I shall tell him what we intend to do.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ asked Fritz.

  ‘Yes. I feel it would be too haphazard to spring it on him suddenly and then, almost in the same breath, expect him to fall in with what we are doing. He’s going to have a shock, anyway, when he hears my name, your voice; but knowing what his nerve is like I shall reckon on him remaining calm. If he knew, well before any attempt to escape was made, where we were and what we hoped to do, he’d be ready to spring into action the instant I gave the word to go. Being forewarned might even be able to put himself in the best position for the break when the moment comes. It would certainly be a great advantage if he knew the drill from the outset. The difference between knowing and not knowing we were there could decide the success or failure of scheme. For that reason I think it’s worth trying.’

  ‘How are you going to get away after you’ve made contact with him — or even if you don’t?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘I should have to wait until the gang packed up and went back to the prison. Obviously I wouldn’t be able to move while there were guards about.’

  ‘But that means you’d be stuck in the hide all day!’

  ‘Of course. There’s no getting away from that. With a flask of coffee and a biscuit I should be able to hold out. We can talk about that later. For the moment I want to have a good look at the ground. That will be enough to go on with.’

  ‘Who are you taking with you on this preliminary recce?’ inquired Algy.

  ‘I’d like Pat to come with me to show me over the place.’

  ‘Sure. That’s okay with me,’ agreed Pat.

  ‘And it might be a good thing if Fritz came along to do any talking should we bump into anyone. In any event, as I shall have to ask him to stay with me in the hide, to speak to his uncle, he ought to know every inch of the ground. The rest of you will have to wait here.’

  ‘You might take me along,’ suggested Ginger. ‘There’s nothing for me to do here and you may need a spare hand to do some job or other.’

  ‘Just as you like,’ agreed Biggles. ‘If you’re so determined to look for trouble you can follow us, so that should things go wrong you could double home and give the gen to Algy and Bertie.’ He stubbed his cigarette with care. ‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘Let’s move off. You’d better wear your fancy overcoat, Pat, to cover your zebra suit. You may need it, anyway. It’ll be chilly outside.’

  Bertie took them ashore in the dinghy, and after a close scrutiny of the track had shown it to be deserted, the party set off in single file, Pat leading and Ginger bringing up the rear. They moved slowly, keeping close against the trees, ready to dive under them at the first sign of danger, and stopping to listen at frequent intervals. In such conditions in hostile country nerves are always at full stretch, and when with a crash and a grunt a bear, that may have been fishing, blundered out of the rushes into the forest Ginger’s heart jumped into his mouth, as the saying is. He could hear the animal for some time as it scrambled up the hillside.

  Soon after this they stopped when to their nostrils came the reek of wood-smoke. When the party had closed up Biggles whispered: ‘It’s coming from Miskoff’s house. It’s just round the next bend. He must still be there, unless he’s done what he said he would do — burn it down. Let’s see.’

  They went on, taking even greater care not to make a sound, and presently, peering through the trees, saw from a heap of smouldering ashes that the unhappy Russian had carried out his intention of destroying his home. Ginger noticed that the body of the dead guard had gone.

  As they stood gazing at the glowing ashes, and were in fact about to move on, there came a sound that froze them in their tracks.

  There was no mistaking it. Somewhere in the darkness a horse had shaken its head, causing its bridle to jingle. There was no other sound. It was not repeated. From exactly where it had come Ginger found it impossible to judge. Surrounding the little clearing was the black wall of forest forming a pit too deep fo
r the moon to reach the bottom although it painted the pointed spires of the firs with silvery grey. The only light was the dull crimson glow of the smouldering embers, and this was too weak to reach more than a few feet from the ruin.

  Biggles stood motionless, as did the others, each aware that if a harnessed horse was there its rider would not be far away. Miskoff did not own a horse, so such a man could only be an enemy.

  Seconds dragged by to merge into minutes, and Ginger, his eyes striving to probe the dark recesses of the glade, was beginning to feel the strain when what they were all waiting for happened. A voice spoke. A man’s voice, sharply and clearly. This was followed by the creak of leather accoutrements. Against the hard background of the trees vague shadows moved, and into the open, each leading a horse, came two men. Standing in silhouette against the dying ashes of the fire they mounted, and moving off at a walk were lost in the gloom in the direction of the track.

  Not until the soft thud of hooves and the squeaks of harness had faded into the distance did Biggles speak. Then it was to Fritz. ‘Did you catch what that man said?’

  ‘Yes. He said it was no use waiting any longer; he wasn’t coming back.’

  ‘Meaning Miskoff.’

  ‘I suppose so. Who else could he have meant?’

  ‘Apparently they’re looking for him, Pat, as well as for you,’ said Biggles, softly. ‘This shows how careful we shall have to be. We might have walked into those two Cossacks. But I think it’s safe for us to move on now — I mean, as safe as it will ever be.’

  They continued on along the track, moving with even more circumspection than before. To Ginger there was something dreadfully sinister about the whole business. And when, after a while, Pat took to the forest, it was uncomfortable as well. The purpose of this was to make a detour round the dwellings which they knew occurred along the river bank. Eventually, when they returned to the river some distance higher up, it had, as they were already aware, narrowed considerably.

  Ginger, knowing that the workings were on the other side, was afraid they would have to swim or at least wade through the ice-cold water, and was mightily relieved when Pat reminded them of the old wooden footbridge, mentioned by Miskoff, a little farther on. They went along to it, and found it spanning the river at its narrowest point and on the downstream side of the place where Pat had made his dash to escape. Because the river was narrow there it was also deep, he said. As for the bridge itself it was an ancient wooden pedestrian crossing in such a state of disrepair that it looked anything but safe. Pat said he had never seen anyone using it, although that may have been because the civilian population, such as it was, had no business at the workings. Those at the dwellings nearer the river mouth used boats if they wished to cross.