by W E Johns
Conversing in low tones, the comrades tried to visualise the scene outside, and as a result of their combined imaginations they arrived fairly near to the truth.
‘They’ve either brought up a cannon and shelled the place, or else blown it up with a stick of dynamite,’ declared Algy.
‘I only hope they didn’t get Biggles at the same time,’ muttered Ginger.
‘He’d been gone a fair while,’ Algy pointed out. ‘He should have got clear.’
‘We shall have to wait until he comes back.’
‘We should have done that in any case,’ reminded Algy. Time passed, a long time, and still Biggles did not return. There were no longer any sounds outside.
‘Surely it’s time he was back?’ murmured Ginger. ‘This is awful, sitting here doing nothing.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ agreed Algy. ‘If everything had gone according to plan he should have been back by now. It begins to look as if something went wrong.’
‘What can we do about it?’
‘Nothing. At least, I can’t think of anything. Have you any ideas, Eddie?’
Eddie answered that he had not. ‘I must have been nuts to set out on this jaunt with a pair of cheap crooks,’ he added disgustedly—which made it clear how he felt about the whole business.
‘How about striking a match and having a look at the slab?’ he suggested presently. ‘Perhaps we shall be able to see what’s happened.’ They had of course been sitting in the dark.
‘Yes, we might do that,’ agreed Algy. ‘But we shall have to go steady with the matches—there aren’t many left.’
‘Why is it nobody seems to have any matches when they are really needed?’ remarked Eddie bitterly.
‘I’ll see it never happens to me again,’ declared Ginger. ‘Before I set out on another trip I’m going to have a special belt made, one to go under my shirt. It will have little pockets all round it. In them I shall carry everything I’ve always wanted when I haven’t had them—a box of matches, and an electric torch, a penknife with all sorts of gadgets in it, chocolates, string—’
‘A few bombs and a Tommy gun,’ sneered Algy. ‘Pity you didn’t think of it earlier. Stop romancing. Let’s get down to brass tacks. I’m going to strike a match, so get ready to have a look round.’
As he spoke he struck the match. It flared up, dazzling them. As their eyes grew accustomed to the light they examined the slab eagerly, but there was nothing to indicate the cause of the trouble. Just as the flame was expiring a wild yell from Eddie nearly made Ginger fall off the step. The match went out.
‘What’s wrong? What are you yelling about?’ snapped Algy.
‘It’s gone!’
‘Gone? Who’s gone? I mean, what’s gone?’
‘The idol.’
‘You’re crazy! Where could it go?’
‘I tell you it’s gone,’ insisted Eddie. ‘I happened to glance that way. It’s no longer there.’
‘Strike another match, Algy,’ put in Ginger nervously. ‘I don’t like the idea of an image prowling about.’
In his haste Algy dropped all the matches, and several seconds passed—much to Ginger’s irritation—before they could be collected.
‘For the love of Mike get a move on,’ he growled.
Another match flared, and they all stared in the direction of the image. One glance was enough. Eddie was right. It was no longer there.
With one accord, prompted by mutual curiosity, they started walking towards the place where it had been, but before they were half-way the match went out. Still, they had seen enough to give them an idea of what had happened.
‘Strike another match,’ urged Ginger.
‘We can’t go on striking matches at this rate,’ protested Algy.
‘Wait a minute. I’ll tear a strip off my shirt,’ offered Ginger. There came a noise of tearing material. ‘All right, go ahead,’ he resumed. ‘I hope the stuff will burn.’
Another match blazed, and Ginger lighted the piece of material that he now held in his hands. ‘That’s better,’ he said, as it flared up.
It was now possible to see precisely what had happened. The explosion had evidently been more severe than they had supposed, for there were several cracks in the walls and ceiling. With these they were not concerned. Their attention was riveted on a more interesting development. At first they could not understand what had become of the idol, but as they drew near they saw that the shock of concussion had caused it to tilt forward, revealing a square aperture behind it, a hole into which the base of the idol had previously fitted.
In order to reach this opening Algy had to climb on the back of the idol, but as soon as he touched it it swung still lower in a manner that explained how it operated. The idol was, in fact, a door, hinged at the bottom by a balancing device similar to the one that worked the slab above. So perfectly poised was the idol that the slightest pressure was sufficient to move it, but what hidden spring actuated it could not be discovered. With such precision did the ponderous stone with the carved face fit into the recess behind it, that, had not the explosion exposed the secret, it would not have been suspected.
‘This is getting interesting,’ murmured Algy.
‘You bet it is,’ declared Ginger enthusiastically. ‘Go ahead. Let’s see what’s inside.’
‘You’ve got the light, go ahead yourself,’ invited Algy.
‘Say, why argue? Let’s all go,’ put in Eddie. And in a moment they were all standing in the dark doorway, Ginger holding up the piece of burning stuff in order to throw a light as far as possible.
As a means of illumination the strip of shirt left much to be desired, but in its smoky yellow glow they saw three broad steps that led down into another chamber, a long, low room with what appeared to be heaps of debris piled at intervals on the floor. There was only one piece of furniture—a curiously carved chair.
‘There doesn’t seem to be anything to get worked up about,’ observed Ginger in a disappointed voice, as they advanced slowly down the steps.
As Ginger trod on the bottom step it seemed to give under his weight, and he fell back with a cry of alarm. The light went out. Simultaneously, the chamber echoed to a dull, hollow boom.
Algy needed no invitation to relight the piece of rag. At first glance there appeared to be no change in the scene, and it was Eddie, who happened to glance behind him, who called attention to what had occurred. The entrance had disappeared. The idol had swung back into place.
‘When I was a kid,’ announced Eddie sadly, ‘my Ma always swore that my inquisitiveness would be the death of me. I guess she was right. Unless we can find the gadget that tips old frosty-face, I reckon we’re here for keeps.’
‘Let’s have a look before we try to find it,’ suggested Algy. ‘You may not have noticed it, but that idol fits into its socket like a piston into a cylinder. So does the outside slab. In that case, how does it happen that the air in here is so fresh? Look at the light. You don’t suppose it would burn like that if the chamber wasn’t ventilated somehow?’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Ginger, sinking into the chair.
In an instant he was on his back, for the chair had collapsed in a cloud of dust. It did not break; it just crumbled, like tinder. ‘That chair must have been standing there an awful long time,’ said Eddie slowly.
Ginger, sneezing, sat on a pile of debris. It sank a little under his weight, and gave a soft metallic clink. A curious expression came over his face as he picked up a handful of the stuff. He said no word, but turning an amazed face to the others, allowed the pieces to drop one by one from his hand. They fell with a dull clink.
‘For the love of Mike,’ breathed Eddie. ‘It’s metal.’
Ginger laughed hysterically. ‘Feel the weight of it,’ he cried. ‘It’s gold!’
In a moment they were all on their knees examining their find, and soon established that the objects were not coins, but an extraordinary collection of small carved objects, trinkets, flowers, ear
s of corn, and the like. Digging into the pile, Algy pulled out a drinking-mug made in the form of a potato.
‘It’s the treasure all right,’ he said in a strained voice, just as the light burnt out. ‘Unfortunately, it’s no earthly use to us at the moment, but it’s nice to know it’s here. Rip another strip off your shirt,’ he ordered. ‘Let’s see about getting out of this trap.’
Ginger obliged, and by mutual consent they returned to the steps, from where they made a close examination of the back of the idol. They tried coaxing it open, and failing in this, they tried force. But it was no use. They could see the cracks that marked the dimensions of the opening clearly enough, but nothing they could do would widen them.
‘We’re wasting our time,’ said Eddie in a melancholy voice.
‘Don’t you believe it,’ returned Ginger. ‘The old priests, or whoever made this dugout, wouldn’t fix the thing without making some way of opening it from the inside. There’s a trick in it. All we’ve got to do is to discover it.’
‘If they were cute enough to make a trap like this you can bet your sweet life the trick won’t be easy to solve,’ said Eddie. ‘Only those in the secret could get in and out.’
‘What I should like to know,’ remarked Algy, ‘is where the fresh air is coming from. It can’t percolate through solid stone.’
‘You’re dead right,’ affirmed Eddie. ‘There must be a hole, or a feed-pipe somewhere. And I’ll tell you something else. Even if there is a hole the air couldn’t get in if we were below the level of the ground.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Ginger. ‘Of course we’re below the level of the ground. We came downstairs.’
‘Unless the guys who built this hide-out installed a mechanical air-conditioning plant, which I’m not prepared to believe, then I say the air is coming in from some point below us,’ declared Eddie.
‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Algy thoughtfully. ‘If we can find the hole we shall know more about it.’
Abandoning the sealed doorway, they set about exploring the chamber, starting with the walls; but everywhere the massive stones of which the chamber was composed fitted so perfectly that the task seemed hopeless. Eddie turned his attention to the floor, dropping on his knees to examine it more closely.
‘You’ve got to remember that the ancients were clever engineers, but even so, their work was limited to simple mechanics,’ he remarked. ‘They had a primitive idea of hydraulics and levers, so—’ The voice broke off abruptly. It was followed by a soft thud.
Algy looked round. So did Ginger. Then they stared at each other.
‘Hi! Eddie!’ shouted Ginger.
There was no answer.
Ginger turned wondering eyes to Algy. ‘He’s—he’s gone!’ he gasped.
‘D’you think I’m blind?’ sneered Algy with bitter sarcasm, which revealed the state of his nerves. ‘Where was he when he disappeared?’
Ginger shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was looking at the wall.’
‘All right. Let’s not get excited. There’s dust on the floor. When we find the place where it has been disturbed we shall know where he was when he did the disappearing act.’
‘I hope he isn’t hurt,’ muttered Ginger.
‘He’s probably groping about on the wrong side of one of these slabs, trying to get back,’ asserted Algy, taking the light from Ginger’s hand and starting to explore the flagstones which formed the floor.
‘This is the place,’ he announced presently. ‘Apart from the dust, the cracks round this slab are wider than the others.’
‘Perhaps it tilts, like the one up top,’ suggested Ginger.
‘That must be the answer, otherwise Eddie couldn’t very well have fallen through,’ replied Algy. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he went on quickly. ‘The dust on this slab has disappeared. It probably fell into the hole, or whatever there is underneath, when Eddie went through. We’re getting warm. I expect it’s a case of applying weight to one particular spot. The most likely place would be near the edge, just here—Hi!’
Ginger grabbed Algy by the legs as the stone tilted suddenly and he started to slide. He nearly went in head first, and probably would have done had not Ginger dragged him back. As they struggled clear the stone swung back into place.
‘Why did you let the hole close up again?’ asked Ginger in a disappointed voice.
‘Don’t worry about that. We know the trick now,’ answered Algy breathlessly. ‘I don’t want to land on my skull. We’ll take this slowly; and as the trap closes automatically we’d better jam it open with something, otherwise it may close behind us and prevent us from getting back.’
Ginger went to one of the heaps of treasure and returned with what looked like a wand, or sceptre. ‘This ought to do,’ he said.
‘Fine,’ agreed Algy. ‘Slip it in the crack when the stone moves. As soon as the crack is wide enough we’ll drop a match in to see how deep the hole is underneath—if there is a hole.’
By the light of the match they ascertained that there was, a drop, but only of about six feet; and the first thing they saw was Eddie lying crumpled up at the bottom, evidently unconscious.
Algy dropped down to him. There was no other way. Originally there had been a wooden ladder, but it now lay mouldering in a heap of dust. While Algy was examining Eddie, Ginger observed that the newly discovered cavity bore no likeness to the room they were in. It was more like an artificial cave, with the sides left rough. He also remarked a definite draught of air, refreshingly cool.
‘How is he?’ he called from above.
‘He’s got a nasty bruise on the forehead. He must have landed on his head; the blow knocked him out, but I don’t think it’s serious.’
‘Is that a room or a tunnel you’re in?’
Algy held up the match and looked round. ‘It’s a tunnel,’ he said. ‘You’d better come down. Jam the flags open so that we can get back if necessary.’
Ginger dropped into the cave. ‘I say! A disturbing thought has just occurred to me,’ he remarked.
‘What is it?’
‘If Biggles comes back and finds no one in the chamber he’ll wonder what on earth has become of us.’
Algy clicked his tongue. ‘I’m afraid he’ll have to wonder,’ he muttered wearily.
16
CARRUTHERS TAKES A HAND
THEIR fears in this respect, however, had they but known it, were groundless. Biggles was miles away, sitting in a sylvan paradise between earth and heaven, wondering what to do next. Dusky, being a man of the country, was concerned only with the immediate danger—the Indians, who could be heard laughing and shouting some distance away.
‘i’m glad they chose Bogat for a target, and not me,’ remarked Biggles.
‘Dey know Bogat. Dey want him for a long time. Dey take you for an Indian.’
Biggles thought that this was probably the correct explanation. Not being a hypocrite, he made no pretence of being sorry for the brutal Bogat, or the treacherous Chorro, who had got no more than their deserts. An idea struck him.
‘is this carpet firm enough to walk on?’ he inquired.
‘Sure, massa.’
‘There’s no risk of falling through?’
‘No risk,’ declared Dusky confidently. ‘This stuff thirty or forty feet thick, maybe more.’
‘In that case we ought to be able to work our way along so as to get above the aeroplane. The river will serve as a guide.’
Dusky shook his head. ‘If we walk, dem old parrots will set up a squawking and tell the Indians where we are. Better if we wait. Presently de Indians go.’
‘Won’t they smash the machine?’
‘Dey too afraid to go near it,’ said Dusky definitely. ‘Dey tink, maybe, it’s a new god.’
Biggles was not so sure of this, but he was content to rely on Dusky’s judgement. After all, he reflected, the old man had spent most of his life among the Indians, and should know their habits.
‘Did you know the I
ndians were there?’ asked Biggles, while they were waiting. He remembered that Dusky had stopped before the Indians had revealed their presence.
‘Sure, massa.’
‘How did you know?’
‘I smelled dem,’ explained Dusky simply.
Biggles nodded. He was prepared to believe anything.
That Dusky had judged the situation correctly was presently proved when the Indians passed along the trail, in single file and in silence. As soon as they had disappeared into the dim corridors of the forest Dusky announced that it was safe to move. He did not descend straight to the ground, but kept to the treetops, picking his way carefully, with Biggles following. They were soon escorted by parrots and monkeys, which, coming close, but taking care to keep out of reach, set up a hideous clamour. Evidently they resented the intrusion into their domain, and left the invaders in no doubt as to their disapproval.
In several places there were holes in the floor, usually near the trunks of trees, such as the one through which they had made an entrance, and Dusky took care to keep well away from them. Eventually, however, he selected one, and stamping with his feet to make sure that he was on a branch, worked his way towards the hole. He pointed, and Biggles, to his infinite relief, saw the Wanderer almost immediately below. There was no sign of any damage.
Getting down to the ground was tricky and hot work, and Biggles was not a little relieved to stand once more on terra firma. Watching the undergrowth closely, and with his rifle at the ready, he hurried to the machine, which, to his great satisfaction, appeared to be precisely as he had left it. Leaving Dusky on guard, he tore off the flimsy camouflage and prepared to cast off.
‘Okay, Dusky, come aboard,’ he said in a tired voice, for strain, exertion, lack of sleep, and the humid atmosphere were beginning to tell. He was weary, hungry and thirsty, not to say dirty.
‘Which way we go, massa?’ asked Dusky anxiously.
‘I’m just wondering,’ returned Biggles frankly, for now that the moment for departure had come he found himself in doubt. Two courses were open. The others, he knew, would be anxious about him, and he had an uncomfortable feeling that he had left them in the lurch. He had not stuck to his plan—not that this was entirely his fault. Algy and Ginger would no doubt agree that he had done the right thing when they knew what had happened, but in the meantime they would be worried. Nevertheless, it was not easy to see how he could rejoin them—anyway, until night fell. But apart from this he felt that the wisest course would be to go down the river and tell Carruthers what had happened.
