by W E Johns
“Boya,” grunted the boy, observing that Ginger had noticed the ripple.
“Crocodile,” translated Li Chi in a low voice. “The river is full of the beasts.”
Squatting on the bamboo floor, wearing a short kimona of yellow silk, into the wide sleeves of which his hands were thrust, he was now the complete Oriental, and Ginger found it hard to believe that this was the same man who, in London, had been so correctly dressed in western style.
A chuckle took Ginger’s eyes to Ayert, who was reclining in the stern. At first Ginger could not make out what he was doing. Then to his utter and complete amazement he saw that he was looking at a magazine. It was the title of the magazine that made Ginger’s eyes go round with wonder. It was a film paper.
“For the love of Pete,” he murmured, turning an astonished face to Li Chi. “Where did he get that?”
“He bought it.”
“Bought it—where?”
“When we were in India. He has a stack of them.” Li Chi smiled. “Didn’t you know that Ayert was a film fan?”
“A film fan!” Ginger was incredulous. “Do you mean he goes to films?”
“On every possible occasion. In fact, before the war it was no uncommon thing for him to go hundreds of miles out of his way to visit a picture palace at Calcutta, Singapore, Penang, Renong, Rangoon—or any place within reach. He adores the films.”
Ginger blinked. “Ayert at the flicks—that’s a knockout. It’s a picture I can’t visualise. Can he actually read that paper he’s looking at?”
“No, he can’t read English, but he loves to look at the pictures. He recognises the actors and actresses. Indeed, he knows all the stars by name.”
“Who’s his favourite?”
“Ask him.”
Ginger spoke to Ayert. “Who’s your favourite actor?” he asked.
“Donald Duck,” returned Ayert without hesitation. “Very clever, wise guy.”
Ginger looked at Biggles. “That beats cock fighting.”
“In the thriller section he prefers westerns,” volunteered Li Chi. “I make him leave his pistol with the cloakroom attendant, otherwise he’s liable to take part in the shooting.”
Ginger smiled. “I’d like to go with him some time. It should be fun.”
Biggles broke in. “You’re liable to get all the fun you want before this show is over. How much farther have we to go, Li Chi?”
“As you could fly in an aeroplane the distance to the Major’s bungalow is not more than eight miles; but as the river wanders we must travel twenty miles,” was the reply. “We’re fortunate. Evidently there has been no rain at the headwaters of the river, so the current is slight. We have made good time.”
“If it is only eight miles overland to the bungalow would it not be quicker to park the boat and walk?” suggested Ginger.
Li Chi smiled. “No, it would not be quicker. The ground is a bog and the jungle is thick. Also, there are many leeches, and other creatures which it is well to avoid. In such country as this it is more comfortable to travel by the river.”
Biscuits were produced from the food bag. Ginger munched his ration moodily, watching the banks glide past with monotonous repetition. At each bend the same view was presented. Apart from an occasional bird, or the swirl of a crocodile sliding into the water, there was nothing of interest, nothing to attract the eye. An hour passed with hardly a word spoken. Then one of the Salones rested in a listening attitude. He said nothing. His expression did not change. The man who held the steering oar looked back down the river.
“They hear something,” said Li Chi quietly.
Presently they all heard it—the distant chug-chug of an engine.
Li Chi spoke to one of the Salones in his own language. The man answered briefly. Li Chi switched his glance to Biggles. “A patrol boat is coming up the river,” he announced.
“The men, who are quick to recognise sounds, say it is the Lotus, a launch of about fifty tons with a shallow draft for river work. It was once owned by a trading company, but it is now, of course, in Japanese hands.”
“What do you make of it?” asked Biggles.
“It may be merely on a routine patrol, although why the Japanese should patrol this river, where there is hardly a kampong, is hard to understand,” answered Li Chi thoughtfully. “It may be that our passage has been reported by a spy, and they are following us to find out what a kabang is doing so far up the river. The alternative is that the launch is making for Shansie, the Major’s estate. There is nowhere else for it to go. I hope it is not.”
“That would be awkward.”
“Awkward for us, but probably worse for Major Marling.”
“What had we better do about it?”
“For the moment there is only one thing we can do. The launch will quickly overtake us; we must not be seen, so obviously we nust hide.” Li Chi spoke quickly to the Salones who, clearly, understood the danger. One man took the pole and put his weight on it, while the other, leaning on the oar, turned the boat towards the reeds. He then ran forward, and parting the weeds with his hands enabled the boat to enter in such a way that it left practically no sign. It came to rest with a thick screen of reeds between it and the river.
“Quiet, please, now,” said Li Chi in a low voice. “Sound travels far over smooth water.”
Biggles dropped his cigarette into the ooze. Silence fell. The only sound was the throb of the screw of the approaching river craft. Minutes passed, with the launch drawing ever nearer, but it seemed a long time before it entered the stretch where the kabang had taken cover. Voices could then be heard. Ayert, regardless of the foul mud that came nearly to his waist, stepped overboard and made his way cautiously forward through the reeds until only a thin screen remained between him and the river, a position in which he remained while the launch passed. The others saw nothing. As the sounds began to recede Ayert came back, and with significant gestures whispered something to Li Chi, who allowed a little while to elapse before he translated. It turned out that the gist of Ayert’s report was this: the Salones had been right. It was the Lotus, manned by a Japanese crew. There were about eighteen or twenty soldiers on board, with an officer.
The launch was proceeding at full speed as if on a definite errand. “It was not looking for us, though,” asserted Li Chi.
“How do you know that?” asked Biggles.
“Because had it been pursuit of anyone watchers would have been posted. The soldiers, Ayert says, were lounging on the deck, which suggests that the vessel is still some way from its objective. It must be going to Shansie—there is nowhere else. I’m afraid something has happened to send it there at such short notice. Had the trip been a routine affair it would have been arranged some days ago, in which case I should have heard of it through my spies. Only yesterday one of my men came to me from Victoria Point and there was no talk then of a visit to Shansie I confess this unexpected development alarms me—not for myself, but for Major Marling.”
“Has he anything to fear?” inquired Biggles.
Li Chi shrugged. “We don’t know, but it is not unlikely. If the major is taken by surprise, and the place searched before certain things can be hidden, it will be bad for him—bad for everyone at Shansie. I don’t like this. I have an uneasy feeling that the major has been betrayed by a spy.”
“Did that fellow Pamboo know of your association with Major Marling?”
“I could not say for certain,” answered Li Chi slowly. “It is possible. Some of my men know. They were bound to know. Pamboo may have heard them talking amongst themselves. One thing is certain. The major must be warned of the approach of the launch.”
“How? We can’t overtake it.”
“Ayert will have to go on, to travel direct overland. It is the only way.”
“Let us all go.”
“No. Alone, Ayert, who knows the jungle, will travel fast. We should only be a hindrance. Wait, please, while I speak to him.” Li Chi addressed the Malay in his native tongue. Ayer
t answered with a single word, whereupon the Salones, who had been listening, thrust the kabang out of the reeds and soon had it moving towards the opposite bank. As soon as the boat touched Ayert sprang ashore, and without a backward glance plunged into the jungle.
Ginger could see no path, no track. “Will he be able to find his way through that maze?” he asked.
“A panther needs no signposts,” returned Li Chi scornfully. A sharp word to the Salones and the kabang proceeded on its way up the river. “Ayert will know where to find us when he has accomplished his mission,” stated Li Chi confidently, as he resumed his seat on the bamboo floor. “And there is no fear of our meeting the Lotus coming back for we shall hear it long before it comes into sight,” he added.
For about an hour no one spoke. Then Biggles remarked, “Are we going right up to the estate in this boat?”
“Practically,” replied Li Chi. “When we get so near that it would be incautious to stay on the open river we will go ashore and proceed on foot to a point where Ayert will come to us and report what is happening. If the alarm turns out to be a false one, and the Lotus returns down the river, we will go forward to the major as if nothing had happened.”
“But surely the Japanese will recognise him for an Englishman?” put in Ginger.
“That will depend largely on how he is dressed,” averred Li Chi. “He has lived so long among the natives that he might easily pass for one if he so wished. But sometimes he has things lying about—English books, for instance—which would betray him, if he is not warned in time to hide them. The last time I was there I saw such things—a violin which his son had been playing; I told him then that he should be more careful, but he seemed to think there was no risk of the Japanese coming so far up the river. You must understand that he rules like a king, and it is not easy to advise a king without giving offence. I told you that he can be a difficult man. And,” added Li Chi as an afterthought, “his son can be a difficult fellow, too. He has courage, but also the pride of a native prince—as perhaps you will see.”
Again silence fell. No sound came to indicate what was happening on the river or in the jungle. The Salones, conscious that the expedition had become urgent, laboured in heat that became more sultry as the sun climbed towards its zenith. Sweat glistened on their brown bodies. For nearly two hours the kabang forged on through the sluggish current, and then, rounding a bend, Li Chi spoke tersely. The Salones responded by turning from the main stream into a narrow backwater almost choked by water lilies. Up this they proceeded, not without difficulty, for some fifty yards, when the backwater broadened out and ended in a stagnant pool about the size of a tennis court. Evidently it had been used previously for the same purpose, for at the far end there was the mouldering remains of a landing stage. Behind it, a track, much overgrown, gaped like the mouth of a tunnel in liana-festooned casuarina trees. There was also a narrow mossy path round the pool.
“Ayert will find us here,” said Li Chi, rising. “This is where, years ago, Major Marling kept his boat. We are about a quarter of a mile from the bungalow, but less from the cultivated land which surrounds it.
“The Lotus must have been here for some time,” remarked Biggles.
“Not so long as you might think, because, before approaching the bungalow, the river makes a big sweep,” answered Li Chi. “As I expected, the Japanese did not know of this short cut.”
“What had we better do?” queried Biggles. “Shall we have a scout round or wait here for Ayert to come?”
“I think we had better wait,” decided Li Chi.
The words had hardly left his lips when from some distance ahead came a sharp fusilade of rifle shots. There were shouts, a few more sporadic shots, and again, silence.
Biggles looked at Li Chi. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said in a tense voice.
“Nor I. I’m afraid there is trouble,” muttered Li Chi anxiously.
From no great distance came the patter of footsteps, swift with the desperate urgency of a man running for his life. Branches crackled. Twigs swished as they were flung aside.
Biggles drew his pistol, and jumping ashore took up a position behind a tree. Ginger did the same. The Salones crouched in their boat, knives in their hands.
With a final spurt the runner crashed into the clearing. It was Ayert. He was panting through lips that were drawn back showing the teeth: his manner was as savage as that of a tiger brought to bay. Seeing the others, who now stepped out from cover, he came to a skidding stop, and addressing his master broke into furious speech.
Li Chi listened with the impassive calm of his race until Ayert had finished—or until he had to stop to draw breath.
Then he turned to Biggles. “It is worse than we feared,” he said quietly. “Much worse.”
“What’s happened?” asked Biggles shortly.
“As I supposed, the Japanese objective was the bungalow at Shansie. They burst in upon Major Marling, giving him no time to hide things which he could have put away had he known the Japs were coming. He has been arrested.”
“But I thought the object of Ayert going ahead was to warn him?”
“It was. Unfortunately some of the Japanese also disembarked higher up the river, and by marching overland, forestalled him. They marched along a track, which compelled Ayert to keep in the jungle. He was just too late to be of any use.”
“How does he know what happened at the bungalow?”
“Prince Lalla escaped and told him. They attempted a rescue. It failed. They were shot at, and were compelled to retire. In the confusion that followed they became parted.”
“Where is Prince Lalla now?”
“In the jungle somewhere, presumably hiding. Ayert, of course, made for this spot, to warn us.”
“Are the Japs still at the bungalow?”
“They were still there a few minutes ago. If I know anything about them they will remain there, eating and drinking until there is nothing left, making a search of the whole place an excuse for staying.”
“What about the major? Where is he?”
“They were about to question him when Ayert and Prince Lalla attempted the rescue.”
“What will they do if he refuses to speak?”
“No doubt they will torture him. Be sure they will do their utmost to make him incriminate himself.”
“We can’t allow that,” decided Biggles quickly.
“Can we prevent it?”
“We can try.”
“Very well,” agreed Li Chi imperturbably. “What do you suggest?”
“You know the layout of the bungalow and its immediate surroundings, I assume?”
“Yes.”
Biggles took out his notebook. “Make a rough sketch-map of the place for me.”
“Certainly.” Li Chi took the pencil, worked rapidly for a minute and handed back the result.
CHAPTER VII
WAR COMES TO SHANSIE
IT was not long before certain noises ahead made it clear that the objective was at hand. Surprisingly, thought Ginger, they were those of revelry and merriment.
“Sounds as if the Japs have found some booze,” he opined in a low voice.
“Maybe you’re right,” murmured Biggles. “But don’t forget that the Japs often laugh at things which we shouldn’t consider funny,” he added shrewdly. “This may be such an occasion.”
The forest gave way to a tapioca swamp, which in turn ended in a field of rice, nearly full grown but still green. Beyond it, at a distance of about a hundred yards, appeared a number of palm-thatched roofs. One was considerably larger than the rest.
“The major’s bungalow,” said Li Chi, pointing, as the party halted at the edge of the rice.
“Is the river between us and the bungalow, or does it flow on the far side?” asked Biggles.
“The far side,” replied Li Chi.
Ayert spoke to him, and he translated: “The Lotus is moored to a landing stage which is just above the bungalow.”
“
Let’s get nearer,” suggested Biggles—and then moved like lightning as from the branches of a tree that hung low overhead there came a sharp rustle. A second later, with a swish of twigs, a body dropped lightly to the ground.
For a moment the whole party looked startled. Then Li Chi spoke and the intrusion was at once explained. “Lalla!” he exclaimed.
“Who are these people?” asked the new arrival breathlessly, in English, spoken with a peculiar accent.
“They are friends—British,” answered Li Chi. To the others he announced, “This is Prince Lalla, Major Marling’s son.”
Ginger gazed with curiosity on a young fellow of about his own age, slim, straight as a lance, dark-eyed, with skin the colour of café au lait and as smooth as that of a girl. His dress was part European, part Eastern. A khaki shirt was thrust into well-worn riding breeches of the same colour, clipped tight into the waist by a belt which carried a heavy hunting knife with a jewelled handle. Mosquito boots encased his legs. On his head he wore a turban of blue silk, fastened across the front with a gold pin on which was mounted a ruby of considerable size. In the crook of his arm he held a light sporting rifle. He smiled half shyly, half sadly, at the visitors.
No time was wasted on conventional introductions. Nor did Biggles pay any heed to the rank, real or complimentary, of their reinforcement. “What is happening at the bungalow?” he asked tersely.
“The Japanese have arrested my father,” answered Lalla. “They have tied him to a tree, with the object, I think, of questioning him. He will not answer, so if they follow their usual methods they will torture him to make him speak. I was watching from the branches of this tree when I saw you emerge from the forest.”
“Where are your servants—the men of the village?” questioned Biggles. “Couldn’t they have put up some sort of resistance?”
“Most of them were far away, working in the plantations,” explained Lalla. “The house servants did what they could. From this tree you may see them lying dead in the compound. I myself was some distance away, riding my horse, when I heard shots. I galloped home to find out what was happening, but by that time the house, had been seized.” Lalla drew from his shirt a small silver whistle. “I could recall the labourers with this,” he went on, “ but the Japanese would also hear it, and understanding the meaning of it they would take steps to prevent us from organising.”
