He slept under the pile of coats and rugs in the plane until dawn. Then the planes landed, and bumped along the ground on their huge wheels. Philip awoke at once.
He made a peep-hole through the rugs and watched to see what the two men in his plane were doing. They were getting out. What a bit of luck that they hadn’t even looked round the plane, or taken a coat from the pile!
Other men outside were greeting the new arrivals. Philip sat up and tried to hear what was said. But half of the speech was in a foreign language, and there was such a babel that it was impossible to make out anything.
He glanced round the plane. One of the crates was now in it, and a tarpaulin was tied loosely round it. Philip tried to see what was in it. Packed in straw was one of the statues, evidently one that was very valuable.
Philip peeped cautiously out of the window of the plane, for now the men’s voices had ceased. Where were the men? Could he slip out now and escape to get help?
He stared in surprise. The planes, and others too, were on a vast grassy plain — and in front and all round was the blue sea. All round! Well, then, they must be on some island somewhere.
He sat and thought for a moment. These men were rogues. They were doing a deal in valuable treasures hidden and perhaps forgotten during the last war; they had planes of their own — and a secret landing-ground. What could be better than a lonely island, say, off the coast of Scotland?
“Then I suppose they’ll have motor-boats or launches of their own to get the stuff away,” thought Philip. “A proper gang of them! I’ll never get away from here without being seen — never. If it’s an island — and it seems as if it must be — I’m as much a prisoner here as I was in the treasure caves. Blow!”
Then Dinah’s idea came into his mind. What about hiding in the crate? That figure would be sure to be put on board a boat and shipped off somewhere to be sold. Well, couldn’t he go with it?
He peeped out again to see where the men were. They were evidently having food and drink in a hut some distance off. Philip reckoned that he would have at least half an hour to get to work.
He loosened the tarpaulin a little more. He found that the crate was fastened by a hasp. He pulled it undone, and the whole side of the crate opened, like a sideways lid. Straw began to tumble out.
The figure was inside, packed loosely round with straw. Philip thought it must be the statue of some old-time saint. He looked at it closely. Could it be made of gold? It looked like it. Anyway, it didn’t matter. It was going to lie where Philip had just been lying — under the pile of rugs and coats. And Philip was going to take its place.
It was not really very difficult to get the figure out of the straw, but it was heavy once it was out. Philip almost fell under its weight, though it was only about as big as he was himself.
He dragged it to the pile of rugs. He put it right underneath, and piled the things over it so that not a scrap of it showed. Then he cleared up the fallen bits of straw and pushed them carefully back into the crate.
Then he had the task of creeping into the straw himself. The statue had made quite a hole, and Philip settled down in the same place. He pulled the straw carefully round him, and dragged the sideways lid shut. But he could not fasten the hasp, and had to leave it, hoping that if the men saw it open they would simply think it had come undone by accident.
It was terribly warm in the straw. Philip began to be alarmed in case he might not be able to breath after a time, and he burrowed a little tunnel from his mouth and nose to the outside of the straw. After that he felt better.
He had been in the crate about a quarter of an hour when two men drove up in a cart. They unloaded all the planes. They carefully slid the crate that Philip was in out of the plane, and when the side swung open, fastened the hasp carefully. They did not guess for one moment that a live boy was inside, instead of a silent statue.
Philip’s crate was loaded into the cart with other things. Then the cart was driven off towards the sea, bumping over ruts as it went. Philip was terribly jolted. The straw tickled and pricked him everywhere. He could hardly breathe.
But he didn’t mind. He would soon be on board ship, and taken to the mainland somewhere. Then he could escape and go to the police. So he lay there patiently, trying to avoid the sharp prickles of the straw by wriggling about every now and again.
He could see nothing in the crate. He could only guess when the cart arrived at a small jetty, beside which a big launch was moored. He was carried on board and dumped on a lower deck.
Bump! Philip gasped, for he was very much shaken. Other things were dumped beside him. Then there came the sound of shouts and orders. The motor of the launch started up and Philip felt the vessel moving smoothly over the water. They were off!
“These men don’t lose much time,” thought Philip. “They don’t have these things on their hands very long. Wonder who buys them?”
The trip to the mainland, wherever it was, was a long one. Philip was now quite sure that the landing-ground for the planes was on some lonely island. But at last the launch eased into some kind of harbour and came to a stop. Men began to unload it at once.
The crate was rather roughly handled, and once poor Philip was put upside-down for half a minute. That was terrible. He thought he would have to call out. But just as he felt he couldn’t bear it any longer, he felt the crate being lifted again and put on a car or into a van, which drove off almost immediately.
After a while it stopped. Philip heard the sound of an engine whistling and his heart leapt for joy. They were probably at a railway station. Perhaps he would be put into the luggage van — or on a goods train. It would be easy enough to escape then. He had not dared to before, for he had felt certain that all the men handling the crate so far had been accomplices of the others.
He was not put on a train. He was left in a yard, along with other goods that were to go by a later train. He strained his ears, hoping to hear the van being driven off. Then, he thought, it would be safe for him to get out.
He waited for about twenty minutes. Then he began to try and wriggle out. But he could not undo the hasp. Blow!
He yelled. “Hi! Hi! Help me!”
A porter not far off jumped in alarm. He looked all round. There was no one in sight except a solitary passenger waiting for the next train, and another porter on the opposite platform.
Philip yelled again. “Hi! Hi! Let me out!”
The porter felt terribly scared. He looked at the waiting passenger. Had he heard the shouts too — or was it just the porter’s own imagination? The passenger had heard them, and he was looking most alarmed.
“Somebody in trouble somewhere,” said the man, walking to the porter. “Sounds as if he’s in that little yard there.”
“There’s nobody there,” said the porter, staring into the yard.
“Hi! Hurry up and let me out!” came Philip’s urgent voice, and to the horror of the passenger and the porter, the big crate began to rock violently.
“There’s someone in there!” cried the porter, and ran to the crate. He undid the hasp with trembling fingers and out came Philip, straw in his hair, straw down his neck, straw all over him, looking wild and terribly excited.
“I want the police station,” said Philip. “Can’t stop to explain anything to you now. Where’s the police station?”
“Over there,” stuttered the porter, pointing to a small square building about a hundred yards away from the railway station. “But — but — but . . .”
Philip left him “butting” away, and sped off to the police station, thrilled at his escape. He had managed it wonderfully, he thought.
He shot into the police station and almost scared the policeman there out of his life.