Ginger In Australia
Chapter 5
From A View To A Check
Ginger searched the stands but there was no sign of the German. Vera was apologetic, but Ginger wasted no time on regrets.
"Who was he?" she wanted to know. Briefly Ginger mentioned von Stalhein's adventures so far and their involvement.
"Aren't you going to tell the police?" she asked him.
"I've no jurisdiction here," he replied. "I was effectively on leave to help Dr Jennings with his research. I should have gone home last week and would have done but for twisting my ankle," he reminded her. "Now I'm officially on sick leave! I've no more influence than you - less, because I'm a foreigner," he added, aware that he did not want to tread on any official toes when he was so far from home. He paused to think. "I shall have to get in touch with my boss," he decided, "and let him know what's happened."
He looked at his watch. It was getting on for a quarter to four and the crowds were starting to drift away from the racecourse. Back in London, it would be the early hours of the morning. Ginger hesitated. He did not want to wake Biggles with so little to report but if von Stalhein were up to something, and given his past performance, Ginger thought, he almost certainly would be, Biggles needed to know. He decided to wait until later that evening when Biggles was likely to be up and told Vera to go and collect her winnings.
She came back with a fistful of Australian pound notes. "You ought to share in this," she offered, feeling guilty at her good fortune, but he shook his head. "It was your money you risked. I'm pleased for you. It can't be easy being left a widow to bring up a young son alone."
"That's why I work," she replied shortly and Ginger was aware that he had unconsciously made a gaffe. He quickly changed the subject and suggested they try to spot the German as he left the course, if he had not already gone.
Finding one person among so many would not be an easy task, as Ginger well knew. Moreover there did not seem to be a vantage point which would allow him unrestricted view of the exits. He had almost given up hope when he had a stroke of luck. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the dark-haired man who had been talking to von Stalhein making his way across to one of the cars parked on the field. On a hunch, Ginger decided to follow the man in the hope that he might lead him to the German.
With Vera in tow, Ginger pushed his way through the milling crowds who now had only one aim; to leave the racetrack as quickly as possible. He thought for a moment he had lost his quarry, but then he spotted him again getting into a large black car. Peering against the glare of the sun, Ginger thought he saw a passenger in the front seat. As he got nearer, he saw that he was right and recognised von Stalhein.
"Can we follow them in your car?" asked Ginger urgently as it became clear the German and his driver were about to leave.
Breathlessly, for the pace of events was faster than she was used to, Vera agreed and they hurried across to where her car was parked. Ginger was in a fever of impatience, thinking that von Stalhein would lose them, but he had reckoned without the volume of traffic that had to clear the racecourse. In the event, they joined the queue only three cars behind the man they were following and Ginger breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had they got the car in sight, but they were unlikely to be spotted as a tail with the intervening vehicles acting as a shield.
They turned out of the racecourse onto Epsom Road. Ginger was intrigued by the naming of the streets after English racecourses, for after Epsom ran into Racecourse Road, they then proceeded to make their way through Ascot Vale and he saw a sign for Newmarket. He thought he recognised the districts they were passing through from his journey from Tullamarine when he arrived and wondered if von Stalhein were about to catch a plane, but after they had been travelling for about ten minutes, Ginger realised that they were no longer headed for the commercial airport.
"Try to keep at least one car between us," advised Ginger as the thinning traffic threatened to expose them.
"What if I lose him?" asked Vera.
"If he spots us," commented Ginger grimly, "he'll make sure we lose him."
Vera dropped back and let another car overtake them.
"Do you know where this leads?" Ginger asked as they turned into Matthews Avenue.
"Yes, to the small airfield at Essendon," she told him.
"Then it looks as though we've lost them," sighed Ginger. "We can't follow them if they get in a plane and I can't think of any other reason they would be going there."
They drove on in silence, still keeping a respectable distance from von Stalhein's car as it swung into the airfield.
"Pull up by the flight office," instructed Ginger, pointing to a low building, "and we'll watch what they do."
Vera parked where he had indicated and they watched as von Stalhein's car drove up to an Auster parked on the hard-standing. When the driver got out and walked over to the aircraft with the obvious intention of doing the pre-flight checks, he made a gesture, fiddling with his hair, that suddenly reminded Ginger where he had seen him before.
"Of course," he breathed, "it's Canton!"
"What?" asked Vera for he had spoken half to himself.
"I've just remembered where I've seen the man with the moustache before," Ginger told her. "It's Dick Canton, who was involved in the Barula Creek gold robbery1. Well, that settles it," he said firmly. "Once a thief, always a thief. Now I'm convinced von Stalhein is up to no good."
They watched in silence as Canton did the pre-flight checks while von Stalhein made himself comfortable in the plane. Ginger thought he would explode with frustration at the thought of letting them get away with no idea where they were going.
Canton spoke to von Stalhein and then started to make his way across to the flight office. Vera was taken by surprise as Ginger ducked down below the level of the windscreen.
"He might recognise me," he told her urgently. "Tell me what he's doing."
"He's just gone into the office," she commented. "I can see him through the window talking to whoever is in there." After a moment or two, she continued, "he's handing something over, it looks like a piece of paper."
"He's filed a flight plan!" exclaimed Ginger incredulously. "What a bit of luck - assuming he's telling the truth, of course," he added cynically.
"He's coming back out," she told him, and then a few moments later added: "you can sit up now, he's got into the aeroplane."
Ginger looked through the windscreen as the Auster's engine burst into life and the light plane started to taxi toward the end of the strip, facing into wind. Receiving permission to take off, it started to roll. Hurriedly Ginger got out of the car and made his way across to the flight office.
The man behind the desk looked up as he came in. Quickly showing him his police ID papers, Ginger briefly explained why he was enquiring and asked if he could see the flight plan.
The man hesitated and Ginger wished he looked older and more like a policeman. "The men were involved in the Barula Creek murders," he added desperately, hoping that the Australian would have heard about it.
The change in attitude was instant. "Why didn't you say, Blue?" he asked, handing over the paperwork. "There was no call to go killing the miners like that."
Ginger noted briefly that it was the second time he had been so addressed that day and thought it odd, but his attention was wholly taken up with the flight plan when he saw the stages of the flight that led to the final destination, a small township in Queensland. He scribbled a few notes on the back of an envelope he found in his pocket and handed the plan back with grateful thanks.
"I don't suppose there's anyone here who has an aircraft available for hire?" asked Ginger idly, more in hope than expectation, and he was not entirely surprised when the answer proved to be in the negative.
At least, he consoled himself, he knew where the pair were headed and he knew who was doing the flying. Since a leopard does not change its spots, Ginger reckoned there would be some skulduggery afoot and it could well be to do with mining precious metals like the last time or maybe gemstones. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ginger vaguely remembered reading something about Queensland and gems, but he could not quite bring it into focus. Then he remembered the scrap of paper he had picked up. He took it out and looked at it. "Have you still got your race card?" he asked Vera.
"Yes, why?" she asked him.
"Is there a horse called Kosminsky running?" he wanted to know.
"Kosminsky?" she echoed, surprised, "that's the name of the jewellers in Bourke Street."
Ginger felt enlightenment dawn. If von Stalhein had been investigating jewellers, he thought, there was a fair chance it was linked with something underhand.
He felt relieved that he had at last got something definite he could tell Biggles when he telephoned him that evening.