by W E Johns
‘But why interfere with us?’ asked Ginger hotly.
‘That’s what I’m wondering,’ answered Biggles slowly. ‘This explains another mystery.’
‘Mystery?’
‘Yes. Now I’ll tell you something that’ll surprise you. That tiger of yours has only got one leg.’
Ginger blinked. ‘One leg?’
‘Yes. One hind leg, on the left side.’
‘That’s absurd. Is this some kind of a joke?’
‘Anything but that. When I first saw those pug marks I thought there was something queer about them. I’ve seen tiger tracks before. On my way back I had a really close look at ’em, and I saw I was right. We assumed, naturally, that a tiger had been to the pool to drink, which shows you can’t always believe what you see. When a tiger drinks it crouches, with its weight falling on its front legs. Those pugs were made by a hind foot, which, with any ordinary tiger would be some way out behind. Not only that, but both pugs marks had been made with the same pad. So not only has this tiger no front legs it has only one hind leg—unless it has two on the same side, on the left. Work that one out.’
There was a long pause. Then Ginger said. ‘Are you telling me those marks weren’t made by a tiger at all?’
‘There is no tiger.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Those pugs were made by a man using a stuffed, or preserved, tiger’s foot. There’s no other explanation. And now I have a pretty good idea of who that man was.’
‘Well,’ breathed Bertie. ‘Chase Aunt Annie round the gasworks. That’s a good one.’
‘It all boils down to this,’ went on Biggles. ‘Someone doesn’t want us here. He wants us out of the way.’
‘So he tries to scare us off.’
‘That’s how it looks to me.’
‘But why should anyone do this to us?’
‘I don’t know—yet. Chinese traders are shrewd, and drive hard bargains, but on the whole they’re decent enough fellows.’
‘What about that scream we heard?’ Ginger asked the question. ‘What do you make of that?’
Biggles laid his rifle carefully across a fallen tent pole and lit a cigarette. This is only a guess, but in view of what’s happened here I have a feeling it was a decoy to take us away from camp. As it happened we were going up the hill for water, anyway; but had we simply been sitting here, no doubt curiosity would have tempted us to investigate. I may be wrong. It may have been a genuine cry for help. Anything can happen in the jungle. But as the call wasn’t repeated, I suspect it was a trick.’
‘But that implies someone is definitely out to do us a mischief.’
‘That’s pretty obvious.’
‘But why? For what possible reason? Could it be that coastguard, what’s his name—Yomas—who...’
Biggles shook his head. ‘He had nothing to do with this, although I’m not fooling myself that we’ve seen the last of him. With the law to back him up there would be no need for him to use roundabout methods. Besides, had he been responsible for this he would have made it clear, still hoping we’d buy him off to save ourselves further trouble.’
‘But someone is trying to drive us away.’
‘That’s the answer. It leads to another question, why? Again, there can only be one answer. Someone has a pretty good idea of why we’re here. Maybe more than one person. First we had the coastguard. There was really no reason why he should have gone out of his way to interfere with us. Now this. I’m afraid we’ve got more trouble on our plate than we bargained for.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’
‘What can we do about it—except carry on and watch how we go?’
‘How about going round to the junk?’
‘For what purpose?’
‘To ask them what the hell they think they’re playing at.’
‘We might find we’d bitten off more than we could chew. There could be a dozen men aboard that craft.’
Bertie came back. ‘But listen, old boy; we can’t stay here in these conditions, unless we’re prepared to risk having our throats cut one dark night.’
Ginger supported his argument. ‘If they’re prepared to go as far as murder we could be shot in broad daylight by someone skulking on the edge of the jungle. Why not move to another island?’
‘That’s just what someone wants us to do,’ returned Biggles. ‘As for shooting us, that could have been done already without much difficulty. I always jib at having to give way to force. Suppose we did move to another island? I can’t see that would make a lot of difference. What has happened here could happen there. I feel inclined to stay here until we see how far these people are prepared to go. Apart from anything else we shall have to see Mac. He must be on his way here. He may be able to throw some light on the business. There wouldn’t be much point in him dumping our stores here if we’d abandoned the place.’
Polishing his eyeglass thoughtfully, Bertie gave his opinion. ‘You say stay here until we see how far these scallywags are prepared to go. Dash it all. Short of knocking us stone-cold, they can’t go much farther than they’ve gone already—if you see what I mean. Taking it all round we’ve been lucky. Had we been away another five minutes we should have come back to find tent gone, stores gone, plane smashed—the lot. Then we would have been up the creek without a paddle.’
Biggles threw down his cigarette end. ‘We’ve done enough talking. It isn’t getting us anywhere. Before we do anything else I think we’d better tidy up this mess to see how much damage has been done. If we’ve lost our mosquito nets, the next thing we shall all be down with fever. I see Chintoo’s on his feet. That’s one good thing.’
Ginger raised an arm, pointing. ‘Look!’
Moving slowly on a gentle breeze, the junk was standing out to sea.
‘Jolly good,’ declared Bertie. The blighters are pulling out. That settles the argument. Now we can get on.’
Biggles did not answer. He stood watching the junk with a wrinkled brow.
‘What’s on your mind?’ asked Ginger.
‘I’m wondering.’
‘Wondering what?’
‘Why they’re going.’
‘Isn’t the fact that they’re going enough?’
‘It might be another trick, to throw us off our guard.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘How do we know all the crew are on board? Some may have been left ashore. But we’ll deal with that if and when the time comes. Let’s get the place shipshape. But before I do anything else I’ll get these leeches off my legs. I see you have some, too. What a curse they are. One can’t step off the beaten track without them finding you. A pinch of salt dropped on one will usually cause him to let go.’
CHAPTER 8
BERTIE GETS TOUGH
The camp was put back into order, things not being as bad as might have been expected. Chintoo, in spite of protests that this was unnecessary, helped with the work. Like many of his type, apparently he had the faculty of making a quick recovery from a wound that would have kept most Europeans on their backs for days.
An eye was kept on the junk until it was hidden from sight by a hump-backed island that stood up out of the blue water like a great green mushroom about two miles away. It was one that had not yet been explored. ‘When we get into the air we’ll see whether it has really gone or only moved to another anchorage,’ remarked Biggles casually.
Watch was also kept for the Alora, but it did not appear.
The tent was re-erected. It had a hole in it, not in the roof, fortunately, but in one side; but apart from that had suffered no serious damage. It was thought it might be possible to repair this later on. From time to time Biggles threw an anxious glance at the sky. Its usual cerulean colour had faded to a more pallid hue and there was a misty look on the horizon. ‘The wind’s freshening,’ he observed. ‘I hope we’re not going to have a blow. It could hold us up. We’ll get the machine head to wind and be ready to anchor her down if need be. There’s plent
y of sand. We’ve enough bags of one sort or another we can fill. They should hold her.’
More water was needed, most of the supply which Ginger had fetched having been used on the tent as a fire extinguisher. Bertie made light of it. Taking the empty buckets, and the rifle, he went off, presently to return with them full and report there were no more tiger marks at the pool.
‘How are we going to find out if that junk left anyone ashore here?’ Ginger wanted to know as they sat down to a meal of boiled rice, which was now their staple in place of bread, with canned meat and vegetables. ‘I was thinking,’ he went on. ‘We can’t take the machine off without noise, so anyone on the next beach, realizing what we were doing, would have ample time to take cover.’
‘You make a good point there,’ answered Biggles. ‘I must say it would be a relief to know they’d all gone. If we’re not sure of that I’m afraid it’ll mean mounting a night guard, or we’d be asking for trouble. A guard is no great hardship, but it’s a nuisance. It never occurred to me that anything of the sort would be necessary on these islands.’
‘If we’re not in a hurry to go anywhere how about me doing a spot of scouting?’ offered Bertie.
‘How?’
‘I could either go to the top of the hill, using the path, and look down on the next beach, or I might be able to find a way along the coast. It can’t be more than a couple of miles to the beach, and if anyone was left here that’s where he’d be.’
‘Fair enough,’ agreed Biggles. ‘It’s up to you. We shan’t do any flying today.’
‘In that case I might as well go with him,’ said Ginger.
‘All right. Two’s company. One never knows what’s going to turn up on a place like this, and it isn’t really wise for anyone to wander about on his own. I’d send Chintoo with you, but he’d better not exert himself too much just yet. Take the rifle. If you can get something for the pot we could do with it. We don’t want a monkey, though. I’m told it isn’t bad, but I never could fancy monkey meat. It’s a bit too much like eating a baby. Don’t do any shooting till you’ve had a look at the beach and made sure there’s nobody there.’ Again Biggles threw an anxious eye round the sky. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he continued. ‘This scud might blow over, but it could mean something nasty. Just a minute. I’ll see what the barometer is doing.’
He went to the aircraft. When he returned he had an automatic in his hand. He said to Ginger, ‘I may need a gun here, and you’d better take the rifle; you may need it,’ he said. ‘The glass is falling,’ he announced. ‘At this time of the year that can only mean a change of weather. Pity. But it may only be temporary. Press on and see what you can find out.’
‘I shall try to get round by the coast,’ decided Bertie.
‘Good idea. It’ll be interesting to know if it’s possible, in case of emergency. If not, try the hill.’
Bertie and Ginger set off.
At first there was no great difficulty, although they had to do a fair amount of climbing over boulders rising out of the sand. When these were dry, above the high-water mark, while they made the going heavy they were merely obstacles. Below the water-line it was a different matter, the seaweed being slippery and treacherous. Sometimes they found it easier to wade. Before them, always, on patches of sand, they were watched suspiciously by armies of red crabs.
Behind the narrow strip of open ground, which varied between twenty and forty yards, the jungle pressed down like a solid green wall, hiding everything except monkeys which, leaping from tree to tree, sometimes kept pace with them for a distance.
For a while they made steady progress and were soon out of sight of the camp. Surmounting a considerable chaos of rock, which formed a little promontory, the next stretch of coast was revealed; but not the beach that was their objective, for this was still hidden behind another barrier of rock. Progress was now harder, and consequently slower, but there was no serious obstruction, so they were able to continue on.
‘We should be able to see the beach when we get over that next big lump of rock,’ said Bertie, encouragingly, during a pause for breath.
‘Biggles was right about the weather,’ was Ginger’s reply. ‘I don’t like the way the sea’s getting up.’ No longer flat calm, it was heaving in a long oily swell, with waves, not very high as yet, beginning to pound the land. ‘You realize, I hope, that in a really big sea we wouldn’t be able to get back this way.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that, dear boy,’ returned Bertie, casually. ‘The island isn’t likely to sink and we can always go back over the hill.’
‘I trust you’re right,’ answered Ginger. ‘We’ve been caught like this before. I don’t trust islands as much as I did since that business in Scotland.’1
They continued on their way until they were brought to a halt by what Bertie had referred to as the next lump of rock. From the closer view it was more than a lump. It was a massive buttress which started in the jungle and ran on down into deep water, so that it was not possible to get round it. The side facing them was in the nature of a low cliff perhaps twenty feet high, and presented a formidable obstacle.
‘We shall be able to get over it somehow,’ declared Bertie cheerfully. ‘From the top, if I’ve got my bearings right, we should be able to see the beach. That’s all we came for. Here, lay hold of the old bundook while I see what I can make of it.’ He handed the rifle to Ginger and began to climb.
Slowly and laboriously, feeling for fingerholds, taking risks that made Ginger hold his breath, he made his way up the face of the barrier and eventually dragged himself to the top. Lying flat he looked beyond, keeping quite still.
Ginger became impatient. ‘What is it? What are you looking at?’
Bertie turned slowly and crooked a finger. ‘Come and have a dekko. I’ll take the rifle.’ He reached down.
By following the route Bertie had taken Ginger was soon able to pass up the rifle. With his hands free he went on up until, getting some help from Bertie, he was able to join him and take in what had been hidden.
The first thing he noticed was, the drop on the far side of the rock was not sheer. It sloped down at a fairly steep angle, like the roof of a house, to sand that had been piled up against it by wind or water. This ran down to the beach. On it a dinghy had been drawn up. Well behind, above the high-water mark and some forty or fifty yards from where they lay, two men squatted by the smouldering embers of a fire. Their attitudes were peculiar. One, stripped to the waist, had his shoulders hunched, while his companion, close up, appeared to be scratching his back with the point of a dagger. Their positions reminded Ginger of a pair of monkeys searching for fleas.
In the dirty, ragged, blue cotton trousers commonly worn by Asiatic labourers, from a distance it was impossible to make out their nationalities. Their skins were on the dark side, so they might almost have been anything—Burmese, Siamese, Indonesians, Philippinos, or a mixture of any of these. Intent on what they were doing, they did not look up. Ginger’s first thought was, so Biggles had been right. The junk had left some men behind.
‘What on earth are they doing?’ he whispered.
Bertie chuckled, although there was a glint in his eye. ‘I can tell you, old boy, because I once had to go through the same ordeal after a silly ass, firing blind through a hedge at a rabbit, plastered me with a charge of number six shot. I was a kid at the time. Our gamekeeper, scared of what my father would say, made me strip to the waist so that he could pick out the pellets with the point of his knife. Having gone through a thick jacket, they were only just under the skin. That johnny having his back done must be the one I pooped off at this morning. So I did hit him. Stung his hide good and hard, I hope. If I had the gun instead of the rifle I’d give the swine another packet for coshing poor old Chin-Chin on the boko.’
‘And cutting down our tent. Why were they left here, do you suppose?’
‘Not for our good, you may be sure. It could be they hadn’t returned when the junk, seeing the weather changing, de
cided to move to a safer anchorage. It can’t be far away.’ Turning on an elbow, Bertie looked across at the next island.
‘Yes, there she is,’ he observed. ‘You can see the top of her mast. I imagine it’ll come back for this pair of scabs when the sea goes down.’
This remark caused Ginger to look back the way they had come. Waves were now breaking all along the shore. ‘We shall never get back over the rocks,’ he said anxiously.
‘Then we’ll go home across the hill. What does it matter?’
‘That’s assuming there’s a path.’
‘There’s bound to be one, or the chap having his back prodded couldn’t have got here. He came to our camp and he didn’t go home along the coast. He bolted into the jungle.’
‘If we go down to the beach they’ll see us.’
‘What of it? Are we scared of ’em? Not me. I feel like kicking them in the pants for what they did in our camp this morning. Dash it all; we’ve every right to ask questions.’
‘I wonder what Biggles would do in a case like this?’
‘He isn’t here, so we can’t ask him. It’s time we could make up our own minds.’
‘How are you going to talk to ’em? They may not speak English. This is where we need Chintoo.’
‘They won’t need to speak English to understand what I’m going to tell ’em, the lousy dogs,’ asserted Bertie in a hard voice.
‘You’re really going down?’
‘Too true I am. Are we going to let a couple of ruffians get away with attempted murder, to say nothing of trying to burn our tent? Not on your nellie, old boy; not on your sweet nellie.’
‘Okay, if that’s how you feel. I’m with you. What if they won’t talk?’
‘We’ll kick ’em off the island. They’ve got a boat. They’re not staying here, no bally fear, not if I know it.’
‘The sea’s getting pretty rough.’
‘So much the better. They won’t drown. If they do they’ll be a treat for the sharks. After what they’ve done I’m not exactly overflowing with the milk of human kindness.’
