Читать книгу Biggles Breaks the Silence - W E Johns - Страница 4

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“As a job, ours is about the dullest ever. What’s the use of having Air Police if there are no air crooks?” Air Constable “Ginger” Hebblethwaite, of the Air Section, Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard, considered with moody impatience two of his colleagues, who were regarding him with sympathetic toleration from the depths of the arm-chairs in which they had slumped. One was Algy Lacey, and the other Lord Bertie Lissie, who for the purpose of his present duties had dropped his title.

Bertie polished his monocle with a screw of paper torn from the journal he had been reading. “Absolutely, old boy. I couldn’t agree with you more,” he agreed sadly.

“In the matter of entertainment it looks as if we shall soon be reduced to feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square,” observed Algy, yawning.

“For a bunch of disgruntled spivs you’d be hard to beat. Some people would call you lucky, being paid for doing nothing.” The voice came from the other side of the room, where Sergeant Bigglesworth, head of the Department, was regarding the street below through the window of his London flat in Mount Street, Mayfair. “After all,” he went on, “there were some air crooks when we started, which is why the air section was formed.”

“I know; but our mistake was we were in too much of a hurry to liquidate them,” grumbled Ginger.

“We did what we were paid to do,” Biggles pointed out.

“We left ourselves with nothing to do.”

“What’s wrong with that? Can’t you rest?”

“I shall have plenty of time to rest when I am drawing the Old Age Pension,” muttered Ginger.

“At the rate you’re fretting yourself to death you’ll be lucky to see the colour of that money,” asserted Biggles cynically. “But just a minute. Don’t get excited, but I fancy we’re going to have visitors.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“I can see two people coming along the pavement.”

“What makes you think they’re coming here?”

“Deduction, my dear sir, deduction. As detectives our job is to deduct.”

“Then what about deducting a pound or two from the bank and going somewhere,” suggested Ginger.

“We may have to do that presently,” replied Biggles. “I told you I could see two men on their way here. At any rate, they’re looking at the numbers of the doors, and I’ve seen one of them before.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen too many faces in my time to remember them all.”

“What does this chap look like?”

“Young, clean-shaven, smart, fair-haired, walks as though he had been in one of the services.”

“That description would fit just about a million fellows in London to-day,” observed Ginger with mild sarcasm.

Biggles ignored the remark. “The man with him is much older. Looks like a naval type. Yes, they’re at the door.”

Biggles turned away from the window smiling faintly. “You can now amuse yourselves trying to guess where this visit will ultimately land us,” he added. “You’ll have noticed that our callers usually want us to go somewhere and do something.”

“The penalty of fame, old boy, the penalty of fame,” murmured Bertie softly.

“Well, I’m game for anywhere bar the North Pole,” declared Ginger.

“Absolutely,” asserted Bertie. “Beastly place. Frightfully cold, and all that. No hot water for a bath. Miles and miles of absolutely nothing at all—so I’ve been told.”

There came a tap on the door, which was opened to admit the face of Biggles’ housekeeper. “Two gentlemen to see you, sir,” she announced.

“Thank you, Mrs. Symes. Bring them in,” requested Biggles.

The visitors entered slowly, and, it seemed, a trifle nervously. The first was the fresh-complexioned lad whom Biggles had roughly described. The other was much older, a shortish, heavily-built man, with a rugged, square-cut face in which was set two of the bluest eyes Ginger had ever seen. He wore a dark blue reefer jacket with brass buttons, and carried in his hands a faded peaked cap.

Biggles indicated convenient chairs. “Please sit down,” he invited. “My name is Bigglesworth. I gather you want to speak to me.”

The younger of the two answered, in a Clydeside accent. “Yes, sir. You remember me, sir—L.A.C. Grimes, fitter aero. I was in your Squadron in the Western Desert. The boys used to call me Grimy.”

Biggles’ eyes opened wide. “Of course. I knew I had seen you before, but I couldn’t remember where. One meets a lot of people in the Service.” He held out a hand. “How’s civil life treating you?”

“Oh, not bad, sir,” was the ready answer. “I’ve got a little business of my own, a bicycle shop, in Glasgow. Trouble is, I can’t get the bikes. I’ve brought my father along to see you. He wants—well, we both want—a bit of advice. I couldn’t think of anyone better than you to ask. Hope you don’t mind, sir.”

“Not in the least,” returned Biggles quickly. “What can I do for you?”

The ex-airman looked at his father. “You tell him, guv’nor,” he urged.

Biggles turned to the older man. “Been in the Navy?”

Grimes, senior, cleared his throat. “Mercantile Marine, sir,” he answered, in the rich Glasgow accent. “Jumbo Grimes they call me, in the ports where sailors meet.”

“Why Jumbo?” inquired Biggles curiously.

The old man looked a trifle embarrassed. “I once had to bring an elephant home from Bombay for the London Zoo. He didn’t want to come. When we were at sea he got loose and sort of stirred things up a bit. The story got out and I’ve been Jumbo ever since.”

Biggles nodded, smiling. “I see. And what’s the trouble now?”

The sailor looked doubtful. “It’s a long story.”

“No matter. We’re in no hurry. Take your time.”

“Well, sir, it’s like this,” explained the sailor. “I reckon I know where there’s a pile of money waiting to be picked up.”

Biggles nodded slowly. “I see. So in your travels you’ve tumbled on a treasure trove, eh, and you’d like to get it under your hatches.”

“Aye, that’s right.”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?”

The old sailor looked a little taken aback at the directness of Biggles’ question. “Well—er—I thought, mebbe——”

His son helped him out. “We thought you might give us advice. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“What you really mean is, you thought I might do something about it myself,” suggested Biggles shrewdly. “Am I right?”

L.A.C. Grimes moistened his lips nervously. “Yes, sir. I reckon that’s about the size of it.”

“You know, I suppose, that treasure hunts usually fail.”

“Well, it would be fun anyway,” averred Grimy.

“Very expensive fun for the man who provides the transport and foots the bills,” Biggles pointed out. “But let’s forget that for a moment,” he went on, selecting a cigarette from his case and tapping it on the back of his hand. “Where exactly is this pile of wealth?”

Grimes, senior, answered. “It’s down near the South Pole,” he said weakly.

Biggles stared. “Holy Smoke! That sounds like a tall order. Are you sure you’re not making a mistake? I mean, what lunatic would bury a pile of gold in the South Pole?”

“Well, it isn’t exactly a pile of gold,” admitted the sailor, looking somewhat crestfallen.

“What is it, then?”

“It’s a crown.”

“A what?”

“A crown. A gold crown with diamonds in it.”

Biggles frowned. “That doesn’t make sense to me,” he asserted. “How, may I ask, did a diamond-studded crown get to the South Pole? Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure it’s there?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the diamonds, but——”

The son, apparently not at all happy about the way things were going, chipped in. “Tell him about it, guv’nor,” he urged.

Biggles dropped into a chair. “Go ahead, we’re listening,” he said, offering his cigarette case.

“Not for me, thanks, but I’ll take a draw at my pipe, if it is all the same to you,” answered the sailor. He took from his pocket an old-fashioned silver-banded pipe, and from a coil of black plug tobacco cut with a ferocious-looking jack-knife a few slices, which he thumbed well in before applying the flame produced by a massive brass petrol lighter. He then emitted a blue reek of smoke of such pungency that Ginger backed hastily, stifling a cough.

“Well, sir, this was the way of it,” began the seaman. “I was homeward bound from Shanghai when the Japs came into the war. My ship was seized and I was sent to a prison camp for the duration. The less said about that the better. When the war was over I had to see about getting home, but there was a lot of people besides me and not enough transport, which meant a waiting list. While I was waiting my turn in Hong Kong a fellow came to see me. His name was Lavinsky—or so he said, and it may be true for all I know. His nationality was a matter of guesswork. I could tell that from the way he talked. He spoke English well enough, although he certainly wasn’t British. He mentioned one day that he was an Australian, but he didn’t look like one to me. He was a bit too friendly with the Japs for my liking, too, but he explained that by saying he was in business in the Far East before the war, and I suppose that could have been true. Anyhow, he had a proposition to make, and this was it. He had got a ship, which he had sold to the Chilean Government provided he could deliver it to Santiago. I believed it at the time because I had no reason not to, and it sounded reasonable enough, but in view of what happened later I reckon that was all just a pack of lies. He was no sailor himself, you understand. He was looking for someone who held a master’s ticket, and was willing to pay him well for taking the ship over. He’d be coming along as a passenger, he said. Well, it sounded fair enough, and as I had nothing better to do I said I’d go and cast an eye over this craft. One look should have told me that the whole thing was fishy, for of all the antiquated tubs I’ve ever seen she was about the worst. Her name was the Svelt, a Danish schooner with Italian engines, one of which wouldn’t work and the other looked as though it would drop through the bottom any minute. My first impression was to have nothing to do with her, and I would have been right; but Lavinsky told me he had a Scotch engineer, which was true enough, and he would see that everything was all right before we started. Apart from that, I thought it might be easier to get home from South America than from China.” The sailor relighted his pipe, which had gone out.

“Well, three weeks later we put to sea with as motley a crew as ever stepped on board ship—men of every race and colour, to say nothing of half-breeds. Lavinsky had certainly collected the scum of the water-fronts. Not that that worried me. I learnt my trade in the old school and I’d handled tough crews before. The only real white man apart from myself was Neil McArthur, my chief engineer, God rest him. He also was fed up with hanging about Hong Kong. Lavinsky was there, with, if you please, a couple of Jap passengers who wanted—so he said—to get to South America. I didn’t know they were below until we were well out of the harbour or I’d have put them ashore. Two smug guys they were—fairly fawned on me from the start. Not that that took me in for a minute. Not likely. It wasn’t long before I twigged that these two beauties were the real owners of the ship. Lavinsky was only a stooge. I couldn’t pronounce their real names, so I called them Shim and Sham for short. That was as near as I could get.

“Well, for a time it was all plain sailing. We had fair weather and it looked as if everything was going to be all right after all. Then Lavinsky started to take a particular interest in the ship’s position. Trouble started when we were getting pretty close to our destination. Lavinsky came to me on the bridge and told me to take up a new course south. I asked him what for. He said there’d been a change of plan and his owners wanted him to run to Graham Land. When I’d recovered from the shock, I asked him what in thunder he expected to find in Graham Land, which sticks out from the Antarctic ice-pack. He said that was a private matter, but I should know all about it in due course. I said it wasn’t in the contract, but he said he would make it right with me as far as money went. I didn’t like it, and I said so. I began to smell a rat and an ugly one at that. I went below and had a word with Neil—Lavinsky and the rest of the crew watching me all the time. It began to look as if me and Neil were the only people on the ship who didn’t know the real object of the voyage. Well, we could see there was going to be trouble if we refused to accept orders from the owners. I was thinking about my ticket. There wasn’t a man on board who could have brought the ship to port without me and Neil, and had the ship been piled up somewhere there would have been a row over the insurance which might have put me ashore for good. Well, to make a long story short, I agreed to the new orders, but I made a note in the log that I did it under protest. The result was, a fortnight later we were groping our way through the big bergs and drift ice of the Bellingshausen Sea. When the real polar ice brought us to a stop I said, well, here we are, and I hope you like the scenery. What do we do next. But I’ll tell you one thing, I said; if we get caught here in this ice your ship will crack apart like a matchbox under a steam-roller, and you’ll have no more chance of getting home than a fly in a treacle jar.” The sailor thumbed the bowl of his pipe vigorously.

“Well, it didn’t take me long to see what the game was,” he resumed. “Seals. I had hitched up with a gang of seal poachers. I told Lavinsky what I thought about him and his pals. We had a first-class row, but with the whole ship’s company against us, what could me and Neil do about it except threaten to report them when we got home. Mebbe I wasn’t wise in saying that, as I realised later. We had still got to get home. Lavinsky offered me a share of the profits if I’d keep my mouth shut, but I told him I wouldn’t touch his dirty money with the end of the mainmast. Things looked ugly. Meanwhile, the slaughter of seals went on, and this was the state of affairs when a queer thing happened, something that put a new complexion on the whole expedition. We were drifting along near the ice ready to get out the moment we looked like getting caught, when, lo and behold, what do we see but the masts of a schooner sticking up out of the ice some distance back from the open water. She was fast in the pack, no doubt of that. Lavinsky went off to find out what ship it was. Shim and Sham went with him.

“They were away about a couple of hours, and when they came back I could see that something had happened. They were as white as ghosts and had a funny sort of wild look in their eyes. I asked them what they’d found, and they said nothing but an old hulk. There was nothing worth salvaging. I, of course, asked them for the name of the ship so that I could enter it in the log. Lavinsky said he couldn’t make out the name, she was so smothered up in ice and snow—which was another lie, if ever I heard one. After that he couldn’t get away from the place fast enough, which suited me, though I’d have given something to know what they’d found.”

Biggles interrupted the narrative. “I take it they brought nothing back with them?”

“Not a thing. I’m sure of that.”

“But if they’d found something worth having they would hardly be likely to leave it behind,” Biggles pointed out.

“I think that’s where you’re wrong,” said the sailor thoughtfully. “Had it been some jimcrack stuff they’d have brought it along, no doubt. But this was something big, and they didn’t trust me. It wouldn’t do for me to know what they’d found—not on your life. Anyway, there it was. I had orders to go back to Hong Kong. I didn’t argue. I’d have gone anywhere to get off that crooked ship.

“A few nights later Neil came to me in my cabin. There was a funny look on his face. He said to me: ‘Do you know what Lavinsky found in that wreck?’ I said ‘No.’ He said, ‘Well, I do. They found a gold crown studded with diamonds.’ I said, ‘How do you know that?’ He said, ‘I’ve been listening to them talking outside Lavinsky’s cabin. They were talking Japanese, but I happen to know a bit of the lingo, and made out something about a crown of diamonds.’ ”

At this point Biggles again interrupted. “But that doesn’t make sense,” he protested. “No one would take a diamond-studded crown to the Antarctic; and, anyway, if one had been lost the world would have been told about it. Was Neil quite sure about these words—crown and diamonds?”

The sailor hesitated. “Well, not exactly. The words were stars and crown, but he reckoned that stars could only mean diamonds.”

Suddenly a strange expression came into Biggles’ eyes. “Just a minute,” he said slowly. “Just a minute. Stars and crown, eh? That rings a bell in my memory. Never mind. Go ahead. We’ll come back to this presently.”

Jumbo Grimes, the sailor of the seven seas, continued. “As we drew nearer to our home port I could sense a nasty sort of feeling on the ship. Mebbe it was the way Lavinsky and his pals kept clear of me, or the way the crew took to muttering in little groups. I sent for Neil. ‘Neil, we know too much,’ I said. ‘This crew isn’t going to let us ashore knowing what we know. They’ll go to jail for seal-poaching, and they know it as well as we do. Keep your eyes skinned for trouble. It’ll come, I reckon, when we are close enough to port for these rats to handle the ship for themselves.’ I was right, too, dead right. The night before we were due to dock Neil rang me on the telegraph to say that he was coming on deck for a breather and to have a word. Things were looking pretty nasty, he said. He never came. A few minutes later I heard a splash. I didn’t pay much attention to it then, but as time went on and Neil didn’t come I had an uneasy feeling what had happened. When I went below to find Neil, he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his cabin, either. Then I knew they’d heaved him overboard. So that’s it, I thought. No doubt I’m next on the list. Well, I said to myself, we’ll see about that. I slipped into my cabin and got the gun I always carry. When I got back to the deck there they were, waiting for me. What was I to do? Well, it didn’t take me long to make up my mind. I couldn’t hope to fight the whole bunch and get away with it. I knew that. So I blazed a couple of shots at them and then went overboard. We weren’t far from land and I’m a pretty strong swimmer. It was pitch dark, and although they put a boat down to look for me I gave them the slip. I swam to the shore. It took me some time to make my way up the coast to Hong Kong, and when I got there I found that the Svelt had been in and gone. Lavinsky, I learned, had been looking for me. I told what I knew to the British Agent. What did it amount to? Mighty little. Anyway, the authorities had plenty to do, clearing up after the Jap occupation, without worrying their heads about a wild yarn such as mine must have sounded.” The sailor pocketed his pipe.

“Well, sir, that’s about all,” he concluded. “I was offered a chance to get home on the next boat and I took it. I told my boy here what I have told you, and he seemed to think that if we could get out to this old hulk we might pick up—well, some valuable salvage. The question was how to get there. Grimy said you might give us your opinion. You might even know someone who would—sort of—help us.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Biggles’ face. “I see,” he said softly.

“There is one thing I am sure of,” declared the sailor. “Lavinsky didn’t bring the crown away with him.”

“I’m quite sure of that, too,” said Biggles drily.

The mariner looked puzzled. “Why are you so sure of that?”

“Because,” answered Biggles slowly, “the crown he found would be too big, much too big, for him to handle.”