BIGGLES AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA

by Captain W. E. Johns

3. CLARENCE COLLINGWOOD CRUSOE (Pages 34 – 43)

“Algy has made a comprehensive inspection of the man before moving away. He judged his age to be in the late thirties or early forties. He was clean-shaven with finely drawn features, a face that might have been described as artistic, or intellectual, an impression enhanced by large horn-rimmed spectacles. His hair was black, rather long and brushed well back, although that did not prevent a loose piece from drooping over a high forehead. It was evident from his well-modulated voice that he was a man of education and refinement”. The only thing surprising about him was his clothes. “They comprised a woollen shirt under indescribably dirty denims, and, on his feet, heavy leather boots. So while his face and hands were those of a man of culture, even refinement, his attire was that of a navvy”. Algy says to Biggles “Was I right or was I right? I was sure there was someone here”. “Okay – okay, so you were right,” retorted Biggles. “There’s no need to make a song about it”. Algy asks Biggles what he makes of him and Biggles says either he is a nut case or a slick phoney. “He’s no genuine castaway. At least, no shipwrecked mariner I ever heard of walked up the beach out of the sea humping a bed and a metal stove”. Algy says “He’s hoping that by giving us the cold shoulder we’ll go”. Algy wonders if he is pearling but Biggles says they would have seen the oyster shells left out to rot and smelt them. Biggles decides to go and ask him “a few straight questions”. Algy suggests they look at the final hut firstly, the one that Algy saw him go into when they arrived. The hut contains dry palm frond spines, but hidden amongst it is a spade and a crowbar. Algy thinks they were hidden in a hurry. Biggles finds a piece of dry mud, dark greyish in colour. It’s out of place with the sand. He keeps it. They go to speak to the man who asks them if they have finished their snooping. “Far from it,” returned Biggles smoothly. “I’ve only just started. What are you doing with that shell?” “It isn’t a shell. It’s a fossil. I happen to be a biologist” answers the man. “I see” says Biggles, “You don’t mind if I ask you one or two questions?” “I do mind,” says the man. “I object strongly to this intrusion, even more to an unwarranted interrogation. Run away. You can see I’m busy”. “You won’t mind telling me your name?” “Why do you want to know?” “Call it curiosity”. “You can go to the devil” says the man. “You seem to be a very churlish fellow,” accused Biggles. “Have you some reason for withholding your name? In the circumstances it’s a perfectly natural question, you must agree”. “If it will make you any happier to know it, it’s Clarence Collingwood”. Biggles asks him why he is on the island. “I happen to like it. Isn’t that a good enough reason?” When Biggles asks how he got there, Collingwood says he objects to being questioned. “I don’t know who you are or where you’re going, so will you please press on and mind your own business?” Biggles says it is his business and he is going to stay until he’s found out what Collingwood is doing. Further questioning reveals that Collingwood was a pilot. Biggles guessed this because he used an expression that started in the R.A.F when he told Biggles to press on. During the war he had flown to this island then. “I liked the place, and when I was demobilized, I decided to live here. Now trot along and pester someone else with your damned questions”. “Just one more,” Biggles says quietly. Biggles shows Collingwood the lump of mud he found. Collingwood says he thinks it is phosphate and he wanted to improve the quality of the soil in his little garden. “I happen to be a vegetarian. That’s all I’m going to say. Now leave me alone before I lose my patience with you”. Biggles tells Collingwood not to think he’s seen the last of them. They are going to stay on the lagoon. “Good. Then I wish you joy” Collingwood said with a faint smile. Biggles and Algy walk away. At the top of the little rise that looks down on the lagoon they find a slab of rock stood on end in the manner of a tombstone. “On it had been roughly painted, in letters that had faded but where still just discernible: Jean Bonney. John Grant. Master. October 21, 1821”. “So this is where our worthy Scots mariner, long since gathered to his fathers, staked his claim,” soliloquized Biggles, and passed on.