BIGGLES OF THE INTERPOL

by Captain W. E. Johns

6. EQUATORIAL ENCOUNTER (Pages 96 – 118)

“Biggles was in the Air Police office discussing some recently released aircraft performance figures with his police pilots when the intercom. telephone buzzed”. “That will be the Old Man,” he said, as he reached for the receiver. “I know his buzz. Hello, sir,” he went on, speaking into the instrument. He listened for a moment. “Okay, sir; I’ll be down right away”. He glanced at the others as he got up. “Wants to see me,” he explained. “From his tone of voice I’d say he has something urgent on his mind so stand by to pull on your seven league boots”. (Seven-league boots are an element in European folklore. The boots allow the person wearing them to take strides of seven leagues per step, resulting in great speed. "Seven-league boots" originally arose as a translation from the French “bottes de sept lieues” popularised by Charles Perrault’s fairy tales. A league (roughly 3 miles or 4.8 km) was considered to represent the distance walked in an hour by an average man). At Raymond’s office, Biggles is offered the usual cigarette. He is told that some years ago a certain foreign motor tyre manufacturer thought he could produce rubber more cheaply than he could buy it from us in Malaya. After a failed trial in Brazil, they had jungle cleared in Liberia “the negro state on the coast of West Africa”. “It seemed that the people there didn’t care much for manual labour, so as it is no place for a white man to work with his hands, again the scheme looked like being a failure. However, later on, as the trees matured and the price of rubber went up, some people did muster the energy to tap the trees, and a fair amount of rubber is now exported”. A Scot named Anderson, and others, planted certain other trees that yielded valuable gums and essential oils in demand by modern industry. These products were exported from Monrovia, the capital. “We came to rely on this source of these particular commodities”. “A short while ago these supplies, for no apparent reason, began to dwindle. They became less and less and have now fizzled out altogether, greatly to the concern of the people who depended on them”. An agent has been infiltrated and he reports the works are still going on, harder than ever. “Where is the stuff going?” asks Raymond. The agent, “a coloured man, a Jamaican named Joseph Nelson” used to report regularly but nothing has been heard from him for a month. “Nelson was a thoroughly reliable man”. Raymond says “We are now being compelled to buy these commodities in another market, and pay through the nose for them. There is a suspicion that we are actually getting the same stuff though different channels – at double the price”. Raymond goes on to say “If the raw material goes up in price it follows that the finished product must go up too, with the result that our competitors can undercut us and we lose the orders. But as I say, this is fair enough provided the natives are getting a square deal; but if they have been turned into a sort of labour force, with the deliberate intention of working against our interests, if becomes a different matter altogether”. The place from where Nelson wrote would be within easy flying distance “of our colony of Sierra Leone” or the French Ivory Coast, Raymond tells Biggles, and no doubt Marcel Brissac of the Paris Surete would arrange facilities at French airfields should it be necessary. Raymond wants Biggles to find out what has become of Anderson and Nelson due to the speed of aircraft. Biggles agrees to go and Raymond warns him “Be careful. It’s a bit tricky. Don’t upset Liberia. Like all backward countries they’re very touchy”. Biggles thinks he will base himself in Freetown, Sierra Leone or Kankan in French West Africa and make a general survey for this landing strip, or any other signs of aviation. “If there is dirty work going on it’s pretty certain there will be a white man in the background, in which case he’ll have a headquarters”.

“From his base at Freetown, Sierra Leone, using the Air Police Wellington with its full crew, for nearly a week Biggles had searched the northern frontiers of Liberia without result”. “Marcel Brissac, of the Surete, knew what he was doing, but having no particular interest in the assignment had not joined him”. On the morning of the sixth day, whilst flying over scrub county Ginger exclaims “Bandit below us under the port bow”. Biggles sees an aircraft flying two thousand feet below their own and he climbs to a position between the stranger and the sun to escape observation. Ginger thinks the aircraft is “one of those twin-engined Samsons the Americans were mass-producing at the end of the war for freight hauling” and Biggles agrees. Looking down Ginger sees “the astonishing spectacle of shrubs and bushes moving aside to leave an open area between them”. “Well, knock me for six,” he ejaculated. “Honest men in peace-time don’t need to camouflage their airfields,” observed Biggles cynically. “Whatever their game is they’re up to no good. No wonder we couldn’t find the airstrip!” Biggles decides to land on the airstrip as well. He announces his plan to the others. “When we get on the floor I shall take Ginger with me and have a look round. I want you, Algy and Bertie, to remain in the machine, in the cockpit, ready for a snappy take-off should it become necessary. It might be as well if you kept your heads down so that the people below won’t know there’s anyone else on board”. Biggles lands and he and Ginger get out. Biggles notices several palm-thatched huts far enough back under the trees to prevent them from being seen from above. They walk towards some men. “Two were definitely white men. There was a doubt about two others. Nearby a filthy negro squatted on the ground gnawing a bone. From his fantastic dress he was clearly a witch-doctor, or perhaps some sort of chief”. Biggles says “Good morning”. “Lost your way?” queried one of the men in a strong American accent. “Not exactly” returns Biggles. He says that spotting the airstrip and not finding it on the map, they dropped in to make sure there were not fooling themselves. He asks what the men are doing there and is told that they are surveying for a new air route. Biggles asks if they are in Liberia or on French colonial soil. “I wouldn’t know. Does it matter?” is the reply. Biggles sees a line of “negroes carrying heavy loads”. Beside them marched a white man, carrying, and sometimes cracking a whip. The “blacks dropped their loads and sank down like men exhausted by a long journey”. “Do you have to do that?” asked Biggles quietly. “Use a whip on these fellows”. Biggles is told “It lets them see who’s boss” and the witch-doctor organizes it and keeps the mob in order. “Funny business, this mumbo-jumbo stuff, but the poor fools believe in it” he is told. Biggles is asked not to say anything about this near the coast. “What goes on here is no concern of yours, so forget it”. Biggles and Ginger walk back to the Wellington. “Are you going to let ‘em get away with that?” demanded Ginger indignantly, as they climbed in. “I hope not,” answered Biggles. He says they need to know if the ground is French or if it in Liberia. Biggles calls the men “rats”. “Little they care what mischief they do. Now you see how rumours get about of white men beating up the natives in their colonies”. They take off and see the bushes being replaced. “Looks as if we’re back to slavery, old boy,” came Bertie’s voice over the intercom. “It won’t go on much longer,” promised Biggles. Biggles speculates the gang may have gone to Anderson with an offer for his produce and he refused and as a result has disappeared. Biggles flies to Kankan to cable Marcel and find out whose territory the airstrip is on. “Anderson and Nelson may still be alive. We can’t abandon them”. Biggles adds “If they’ve been murdered – well, even though the roof flies off the House of Commons, or any other parliament building. I’ll see that somebody pays for it”. “The Air Commodore would throw a fit if he heard you talking like that,” said Ginger, smiling. Biggles says grimly “I’m not standing for murder for him or anyone else”. Ginger said no more.

“The Wellington flew on, and in the early afternoon landed at Kankan, the airport in French Guinea. From there Biggles sent a cable to Marcel asking him to join them as quickly as possible, bringing with him the largest scale map available of the district concerned”. They have to wait three days for his arrival. Biggles points out the location on the map and Marcel confirms “It is on our soil, but only just”. Marcel tells Biggles the customs men at Port Bouet on the Ivory Coast are complaining about the amount of freight coming from Boufle, in the interior. There is also an aerodrome at Boufle, to the east of the location on the map that Biggles pointed out. The plane they saw came from the east. Biggles asks Marcel “Do you allow slavery in your colonies?” “But of course not” is the reply. “This gang, operating on French soil, is forcing natives to work by threats and violence. You must investigate; and while you’re doing that we’ll do a little investigating, too”. Marcel says he will go and ask to see their permission to make an aerodrome on French soil. “Let us hope they are rude, and make trouble”. Biggles asks why. “Because if they say they are sorry, they make a mistake, what can be do? They retire to Liberia, and wait until we have gone to start again. But it they throw their weights about, la la, I put them in prison for resistance to the police”. They decide to go in the morning. Biggles says even if the bushes are out, they are light and can do no harm.

“Early the next morning, the Wellington, with Marcel and four French colonial policemen, in uniform, in the cabin, took off and headed for the secret airfield”. As it happens, the camouflage has been removed as the Samson aircraft is being loaded. Biggles lands and Marcel goes and speaks to a group of men, addressing the man who acted as spokesman on the occasion of Biggles’ previous visit. Marcel points towards “a huddle of negros” and asks who are these men and what are they doing there. Marcel says “You’re on French government property and I want to see your papers”. “I don’t need no papers” snarls the man. “In that case you are all under arrest” says Marcel. Biggles points to the pile of bundles awaiting shipment and asks “Does this belong to Mr. Anderson?” “There was no answer. The negros huddled closer together, eyes rolling, with furtive glances towards the witch-doctor, obviously terrified of him”. The gang draw their guns and make for their Samson aircraft. One of Marcel’s men runs between them and their plane. “Get out o’ my way, you n*****,” snarled the leader of the opposition. The policeman takes no notice and is then shot. Biggles and Marcel both fire together and the man who had fired the shot crumples. The others run for the machine. More shots are fired. “Let them go – we’ll get them later” shouts Biggles. The Samson goes to take off and the witch-doctor, who may have thought he would be hanged for his criminal activities runs in front of it to stop it and runs straight into a propellor (or “air-screw” as Johns calls it). “That’s about what he deserved, the dirty old scoundrel,” observed Bertie. “I reckon it'll take more than witches to doctor him on his feet again,” said Algy. The plane takes off and flies east. Biggles “walked over to the cowering blacks”. “You savvy Mr. Anderson, you men?” “Yaas boss,” answered one, tremulously. The man points at a small hut. “He’s over dare, boss. We work for Massa Anderson one time. Him good boss. We don’ want go back on him but we has to. We’se scared pretty bad, boss”. A “big negro” breaks open the padlock on the door of the hut and they find two men. One man is Anderson and the other is Nelson. Anderson is standing but Nelson is lying on the floor as “he’s had a rough time”. Biggles tells Anderson they are police officers and they have dropped in to tidy the place up. “It’s time somebody dropped in,” quoth the Scot, dourly. Algy and Bertie “bandage the coloured policeman’s wound with kit from the Wellington’s first-aid box”. He has a bullet in the shoulder. Biggles asks Marcel “How’s the fellow we shot?” “Dead”. “Oh dear! Any idea who he is?” Anderson tells them “His name’s Griggs, a bad hat who has been up and down the Coast for years causing trouble. Nobody will be sorry to hear he's had what’s been coming to him for a long time”. Biggles says they should bury him there. The witch-doctor is dead as well. Algy says “A blade caught him on the skull so he’s gone to where it’ll take more than mumbo-jumbo to bring him back”. Biggles will fly the French back to Kankan and then take Nelson to hospital in Freetown. Anderson elects to stay. He has a touch of fever but his bungalow is only a mile or two away and he has quinine. Anderson says Griggs came to him with the proposition of putting up the price of his produce. Anderson, knowing the man’s reputation would have nothing to do with it. Whereupon Griggs had bribed the witch-doctor to cause trouble in the plantation – an old trick – and then, while he was down with a bout of fever, made him a prisoner and carried him to the hut where they had found him. Nelson, who Griggs said was a spy, was brought in later. Biggles tells Anderson he was surprised they didn’t murder him. Anderson says that’s what they were going to do by withholding his quinine so he died of fever which would be a natural death. Biggles offers to fly some stores out for Anderson and take a load of his produce back to England for him. Anderson says he would be glad if he would and that he’ll give Biggles the name of his London agent who will collect it. Biggles flies the French back to Kankan and Nelson to Freetown “where he soon made a complete recovery”. Having located the airstrip he had been caught before he could get clear to make his report. Biggles and his team then take the supplies out to Anderson and spend a few days helping to put the place in order and then take a load of produce back to London. “That is not quite the end of the story, for it transpired that from Kankan Marcel contacted the authorities at Boufle, with the result that when the Samson landed there the police were waiting. Convicted on the serious charge of wounding a policeman the surviving members of the gang are now doing some really hard work in a French penal battalion”.