Biggles Hunts Big Game Part 7

Chapter 10.

Melancholy News THE International Pilots' Club turned out to be a private house standing behind tall hedges of the depressing evergreens that gave the place its name. But inside it was a different story. It was clear that every effort had been made to make the place a bright and cheerful home. It so happened that at the time of Tug's visit there was only one other pilot in residence, an uncommmunicative Frenchman who, so Tug was told, generally flew between London and Paris.

There was still no sign or mention of Stellar Skyways.

During the evening Black came in. Ivan was with him. They sat talking to Tug for a while. Apart from that the evening pa.s.sed without incident. Ivan said that as they would be moving off at dawn he was going to bed early, and advised Tug to do the same-advice which was accepted.

The break of dawn found them on the tarmac at Croydon Airport, and there at a glance, outside one of the private hangars, Tug found the answer to the big problem that had exercised his mind. It was a Pacemaker aircraft, bearing the flying dragon insignia of Stellar Skyways: The registration letters were not those of the machine of which he had seen a photograph. Ivan said it was the aircraft they were to take 118 to Cairo. There were no pa.s.sengers, no freight. He had only a letter to deliver. With a sly smile he handed Tug the licence and doc.u.ments he would have to carry as a civil air line pilot. How they had been obtained in the time was a mystery Tug did not try to solve.

"Expensive business, isn't it, taking a machine all that way just to deliver a letter?" he suggested.

"It depends on how important the letter happens to be," answered Ivan curtly. "In this case it is very important."

Tug said no more about it, and in a few minutes they were in the air, heading south. Tug took over control. Ivan sat beside him, watching, until it became evident that Tug needed no instruction. What little conversaation pa.s.sed between them was confined to technicalities. Tug had to be on his guard only once, and that was when they were flying across Italy. Ivan asked him, casually, if he had ever run into a fellow named Bigglesworth.

Tug said he thought he had heard the name.

"He's running an air cop service for Scotland Yard," Ivan told him.

"Is that so?" returned Tug, as if the matter did not interest him.

"It is because of him we are flying to Africa today," said Ivan in his stiff English. "Bigglesworth and his friends have some shocks coming to them," he added.

"I couldn't care less," murmured Tug, using the popular R.A.F. expression. Nevertheless he wondered with no small anxiety what these shocks were. "What about these shocks-are they anything to do with us? " he inquired carelessly.

"They might have been," answered Ivan vaguely. Tug dare not pursue the subject.

119 Cairo was reached without mishap, and after a night spent at the airport hotel, a night during which Ivan never left him -even going to the length of sharing a room with him-they returned to the tarmac, and the Stellar company's office.

Here there was a whispered conversation between Ivan and the booking clerk. At the conclusion of this Ivan came back to Tug and innformed him that certain events had necessitated a change of plan. There had been some trouble in Rome, and he, Ivan, would have to go there. This meant that Tug would have to carry on single-handed. The letter which Ivan had carried was to be delivered to Mr. Kreeze, manager of the company's hunting lodge at Kudinga. Tug was shown the place on the map. Ivan asked him if he was sure that he could manage the trip. Tug, who felt that things were going well, told him that he needn't worry about that. As they checked the compa.s.s course Tug was, in fact, elated. Nothing could be better, for happening to glance at the pa.s.senger list, which lay on the table in the office, he saw that the last two names registered were Major Lissie and Captain Hebblethwaite.

When, a few minutes later, he was told that he was to get off, Ivan handed him the important letter. There was nothing else to go. Tug put the letter in his pocket and was soon in the air, heading south down the Nile Valley.

The trip was made without incident, for the weather was fine and the machine gave no trouble. He pa.s.sed another Stellar aircraft heading north; that was all, and at noon precisely he touched down on the sun-scorched landing-ground at Kudinga. A steward came out to meet him to tell him that he was to report to the manager's office instantly. Tug taxied the aircraft into 120 the shade of the temporary hangar and then, climbing down, followed the steward to the lodge.

The manager greeted him brusquely. "I'm Kreeze. I'm in charge here," he announced. "You're a new man? "

Tug introduced himself.

"You managed to get here all right?"

"No trouble at all."

"Good. Make yourself at home. You'll find anyything you want at the lodge. Have a rest. I may have to ask you to go back to Cairo tonight. It depends on the contents of the letter which you have brought. I was advised of it by radio."

Tug handed over the letter.

Kreeze ripped it open and withdrew the rather bulky contents. Tug, watching, saw with mild surprise, but without particular interest, that these included a packet of photographs. Kreeze drew a deep breath, uttered a curious exclamation that might have been satisfaction, and arranged the photographs face upwards on his desk.

As Tug's eyes settled on them he ceased to breathe.

He stared, and stared again, as if the pictures mesmerized him. The background in each case was the same. It was the entrance to Scotland Yard. Four people were represented. They were Biggles, Algy, Ginger and Bertie.

"Just what I wanted," purred Kreeze, rubbing his hands together.

"Who are they, anyway?" asked Tug, trying to keep his voice steady. It made him sick to think that he, of all people, had been the means of betraying Bertie and Ginger, whom he knew must be somewhere about.

"They're the smart boys of the Special Air Police," answered Kreeze. "Only they're not so smart as they 121 think they are. A couple of them are going to discover that very soon. They happen to be here now. They have, as the saying is, stepped into the soup with both feet."

Now that he was able to think more clearly, what puzzled Tug was, where the photographs had come from. If Stellar already possessed photos why had they bothered to try to take fresh ones in Mount Street? He risked a question.

Picking up a print of Biggles he looked at it closely and inquired: "Neat work, getting hold of these. How did you manage it?"

"Two or three brainy fellows have got together and are running a little photographic library," answered Kreeze. "In the same way that the police have a library of people they don't like, so the people they don't like will now be able to get photographs of them, and their narks, snoopers, stool-pigeons, and so on. These lads are doing well, too, I believe-as they should, charging five guineas a time for prints."

So here, thought Tug, was yet another racket to outwit the forces of law and order. He would attend to it when he got back.

"You say two of these fellows are here?" he prompted. The thought had struck him that, if Kreeze were to send him straight back to Egypt, he might have to leave without seeing them; and his obvious duty now was to warn them of what had happened, even if it involved risks.

"They're out shooting," Kreeze told him.

"You'll be able to fix them all right, I suppose?" Kreeze gave a short unpleasant laugh. "They've no more hope of getting out of here than a rabbit has of getting out of a wolf pen. You'd better go and get some rest. You'll be going back to Cairo this evening with 122 another letter. There are some trophies to go up-you can take them at the same time. You'd better leave about six.

They tell me it's easier to fly in this country, not so b.u.mpy, after the sun goes down."

"That's right," agreed Tug.

He made his way slowly to the lounge. If Bertie and Ginger were out hunting there seemed to be nothing that he could do, except wait for them to come back. That, he reflected miserably, might be any time up to darkness. If they left it too late he would be gone. Even if they returned it might be a difficult matter to get in touch with them in the short time at his disposal.

He had lunch in the dining-room, and hung about all the afternoon, waiting and hoping, but in vain. There was no sign of the hunters. As the sun began to sink he found a seat on the verandah and from there kept watch. Presently, much to his annoyance, Kreeze joined him, and stayed chatting about nothing in particular.

After a little while a man, whom Tug did not know came up and spoke to Kreeze. "Kisumo and Lissie are back," he announced. "The other one's on the loose somewhere."

Kreeze spat a curse. "What's Kisumo playing at, the fool? He had his orders. How did it happen?"

"He says the young 'un sprained an ankle just after they left the wood. He couldn't walk, so he had to be left there.

When he and Lissie got back he wasn't there. They couldn't find him so they came on home."

Kreeze thought for a moment. "All right," he said slowly. "We'll clear this business up. The photos are just in. As I thought, Lissie and Hebblethwaite are police spies. Where are Kisumo and Lissie now? "

123 "They're about. I think Lissie has gone to his room."

"Send them both to my office right away," ordered Kreeze, and walked out.

Tug, taking a chance, for he was desperately anxious to see what happened, followed him. He fully expected to be told to stay where he was, but Kreeze, who seemed preoccupied, said nothing.

There was n.o.body in the office when they got there, but a minute later Bertie, accompanied by a stalwart black, came in. He saw the muscles of Bertie's face stiffen as his eyes fell on him. Then Kreeze turned, and apparently noticed him for the first time.

"What are you doing here? " said Kreeze sharply. " I told you to get some rest."

Tug had no choice but to withdraw. Deep in thought he made his way to the verandah, and there he waited for some time, hoping for a chance to get even two or three words with Bertie. A little while later he saw him with the black.

They disappeared into the sleeping quarters. When next he saw them they were walking along a track some distance away as if bound on an errand. He dare not risk following them. Like Bertie, he could only hope that they would get an opportunity to compare notes later.

Not long afterwards he was startled to hear a rifle-shot. It was followed closely by two more. He stood up, staring, for the reports came from the direction taken by Bertie and the black.

Kreeze joined him. "Where were those shots?" he asked tersely.

Tug pointed. "Over there."

"How many shots did you hear?"

"Three."

124 "Hm." Kreeze seemed puzzled. "One should have been enough," he muttered.

Some other men came to the verandah. Tug did not know who they were. One, smoking a big meerschaum pipe, Kreeze addressed as Doctor.

Tug was wondering what Kreeze could have meant by his remark, 'One should have been enough.' It sounded as if something had been arranged. Then, suddenly, the matter was explained when Kreeze, speaking to the man he had called Doctor, continued the conversation. "Lissie's a police spy. So's the fellow who came with him. They've been here long enough and they may have seen too much, so I told Kisumo to start liquidating. He knows what to do. As he should be carrying Lissie's rifle there ought to be no difficulty about it."

The Doctor nodded. "Another accident, eh?"

"It's the best way."

By this time the ghastly truth had struck Tug like a douche of icy cold water. Bertie had been sent out with the black to be murdered. The conversation he had just overheard could mean nothing else. The black would return alone to report that the rifle had gone off by accident and Bertie had been shot. This, then, was one way unwanted visitors were disposed of.

Tug lit a cigarette with hands that were not quite steady. It gave him an empty feeling in the pit of the stomach to think that he had actually stood there and watched Bertie walking away to his death.

"I'm puzzled about the three shots," said Kreeze. " One should have been enough. It's time Kisumo was back. I hope nothing went wrong. We'd better wait for a bit."

They waited for what Tug in his state of mind judged to be an hour, although in reality it was probably not 125 more than a quarter of that time. The black did not come. Then, suddenly, Kreeze seemed to reach a decision.

"Something must have gone wrong," he a.s.serted. "We'd better go and find out what's happpened. Doctor, get some of the boys together."

The search party when it set off numbered a dozen men, more than half of whom were blacks. The white men carried rifles. Nearly all carried an electric torch.

"Can I come along?" Tug asked Kreeze, in an offfhand way.

"Please yourself," was the curt reply. "But for this I should have finished the letter I want you to take to Cairo. You may have to start a bit later-not that it matters."

The party reached the edge of the forest without seeing any sign of Bertie or Kisumo, so torches were switched on and the march continued along the path that ran through the timber. A minute or two later there was an outcry from some of the blacks who were marching ahead. The rest, including Tug, increased their pace, but were soon brought to a halt by a bunch of natives who stood muttering among themselves. Torches cut a broad beam of light along the path, making the scene as light as day. Together they formed a spotlight on such a picture of carnage as Tug had not seen since the war. The place looked like a shambles.

The first object on which his horror-filled eyes alighted was the mutilated corpse of a black. It had been nearly tom in halves. Just beyond lay the body of the creature which had obviously been responsible. It was a buffalo. In the artificial light, backed by the inky shadows of the forest, it looked like some monster from another world. Gore was still dripping from its gaping mouth. There was blood on its horns. Tug moved his position and 126 saw, just beyond the animal, another figure, and once having seen it he lost interest in the others. It was Bertie. He lay flat on his back in a welter of blood, one leg doubled under him, one arm outflung towards a rifle that lay half-trampled in the mud. Congealing blood formed a hideous gash from his forehead to his chin.

Kreeze, after a pa.s.sing glance at the mangled black, went on to Bertie. He stooped over the body for a moment and then came back. "What a mess," he muttered. "My G.o.d! What a mess." He picked up the rifle and jerked an empty cartridge from the breech. He shrugged his shoulders and threw the weapon down again.

"It's plain enough to see what happened," he declared. "It's the old story. Lissie and Kisumo must have been walking along the path when the beast charged from cover at close range. They got the buffalo, but it finished them first. It would-the devils are like that. Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. We'll set a guard to keep the hyenas off till morning, then bring them in."

Tug, fearing that his emotion would give him away, walked back a short distance down the path, so he did not hear the rest of the conversation. Presently he was overtaken by the party returning to the lodge. He followed blindly, feeling that he was in the throes of a ghastly nightmare. He had his own idea of what had happened. He recalled that there had been a short delay between the first shot and the final two. Kisumo, he felt certain, had fired the first shot, probably shooting Bertie through the back of the head. The report had disturbed the buffalo, which had attacked on sight.

Kisumo had fired two shots into it and then gone down 126.

before its charge. The buffalo, mortally wounded, had then died. One thing was certain, thought Tug, in the depths of [image]

his misery; Bertie was dead, and nothing could alter that. He wondered where Ginger was, and what he was doing.

Had he, too, met with a fatal accident? It seemed not unlikely. Nothing could be done about it, anyway. Not that he, Tug, would be allowed to remain at Kudinga, even if he so wished. It would be better, he decided, to get back to Cairo as quickly as possible and by some means let Biggles know what had happened.

When they reached the lodge Kreeze informed him that he might get his machine ready, because he would now finish the letter, which would take only a few minutes.

Actually, it was nearly half an hour before he could get off, because, although he did not know the cause, there was another delay. He got the Pacemaker out, and looking over it saw that some trophies had been put in the luggage compartment. He paid little attenntion. The truth was, he was too sick to bother about anything.

At length Kreeze bustled up. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "I never knew such a night."

"Why, what's happened now?" asked Tug, consumed by curiosity.

"Those infernal n.i.g.g.e.rs that I left to guard the bodies, bolted. A few minutes ago they came tearing back shouting that they had been attacked by a lion. If there are lions in the forest hyenas won't be far away. It looks as if all we shall find in the morning will be bones-if we're lucky."

"What does it matter?" muttered Tug callously.

"Here's the letter," said Kreeze, handing him a 128 heavily-sealed envelope. "I want you to give it to the booking clerk at Cairo. I've warned him by radio to wait, so you'll find him at the office. You'll get your next orders from him."

Tug put the letter in his pocket. "Okay," he said, and climbed into the c.o.c.kpit.

For nearly six hours he roared through the luminous African night, and arrived in Cairo to find the booking clerk waiting for him. He handed over the letter.

"I'm going to find a bed," he announced. "I've had all the flying I want for one day."

The clerk nodded. "Please be here in good time in the morning," he requested. "There may be something urgent."

"Good enough," agreed Tug, and departed. Actually, tired though he was, what he really wanted to do was get a cable or radiogram through to Biggles, although he was by no means sure of his whereabouts. Still, a message addressed to Delmar would find him, he reasoned. Biggles would make provision for that.

As he turned the corner of the airport building a figure wearing a long arab burnous sidled towards him, crying for alms.

Tug's answer was short and not very sweet. His mood was far from charitable.

"All right, take it easy," said a voice quietly in English. "Slip in the first alley on the left."

Tug started violently, for the voice was Biggles'. He kept on walking. "Okay," he said softly.

He turned into the alley, and there, a minute later, Biggles joined him.

"Sorry about this pantomime disguise business," said Biggles as he came up. "I hate it, but I've been watching the Stellar office all day hoping to see you, 129 and I daren't risk being seen myself. I got your note and followed you out. Algy is with me. What's the news? "