Biggles - the Boy

by W E Johns

  He walked slowly up the hill, steep in places, and in due course reached his objective. He looked around. He could see women working, but they were some distance away so he did not speak to them. He could not see Sula. He waited under a tree for some time and when he did not appear he began the return journey. It was now, really, on the steep part of the hill, that the trouble began.

  He came on an old man (or to James he looked old) sitting beside the road with a rather heavy pack beside him. Apparently he had found this a burden and had sat down to rest. James noticed an ugly scar on his chin. He would have passed on without stopping had the man not spoken. From his rather dark skin he took him to be a Gond. (One of the original tribes of India. They have dark skins and black, curly hair.) The man smiled amiably, and putting his hands together raised them to his forehead in the customary formal salute. He said something, but James did not catch what it was. That was why he stopped; to ask the man to repeat what he had said. He spoke, naturally, in Hindi. The man answered in the same language, but haltingly, and with a strange accent, as if the tongue was unfamiliar. James next tried him in Urdu, another common language, of which he had some knowledge, but this was worse. However, somehow they managed to make themselves understood.

  As a matter of courtesy more than for any other reason James asked the old man where he was going and what he was doing, for, as far as he knew, apart from the tea estate the track led to nowhere in particular, but eventually disappeared in the forest or in the higher ground beyond. The man’s answer was that he was on his way home, in the mountains, which James thought explained his unusual way of speaking. At the moment, the man said, he was waiting for a friend who had promised to join him to help him with his pack. He moved aside a little on the bank to make room and invited the sahib to sit beside him to keep him company and he would tell him the story of his travels.

  Rather than hurt the old man’s feelings James accepted. He was always willing to learn more about the country from an aspect other than his own. So they talked for some time, the man doing most of the talking and James listening. At length, seeing that time was getting on, and thinking he had done as much as common courtesy demanded, James said he would have to move on. Whereupon the man also said he would have to be on his way. He would wait for his friend no longer, although how he would manage alone, with a pack, he did not know, James saw in this an implied request for help; but not being prepared to go as far as that he made excuses, saying he would have to hurry home as he was already late. It did cross his mind to wonder if the old man was trying to detain him, and if so, why.

  At this moment Sula Dowla arrived on the scene, saying he had heard James had been seen on the track. He asked what he was doing. James explained the situation, saying he had merely stopped to keep the old man company while he waited for a friend to help him with his pack up the hill. Without hesitation Sula offered to do that. If James didn’t want him for any particular reason he would be going that way home. He picked up the pack, and with that they parted, James putting his best foot forward to make up for lost time, Sula and the old man, profuse in his thanks, proceeding in the opposite direction. The last James saw of them they were walking up the hill together.

  At this juncture James had not the remotest suspicion that there might be anything wrong in this; that the story the old man had told was anything but the truth. There was no reason why he should be suspicious. There was nothing extraordinary in the old man’s behaviour, unless it was, perhaps, his obvious attempt to detain him. By the time he reached home he had dismissed the incident from his mind.

  He arrived to see a man mounting a horse that had been tethered at the gate. He perceived from his uniform that he was a policeman, or one of the special “runners” who acted for them. In passing he asked if there was anything wrong.

  The runner said there was nothing wrong, but he had been sent to warn the sahib—meaning James’ father—to let it be known there might be a Thug in the district. He had murdered a woman in the valley and was last seen walking in this direction. James said that in the absence of his father he was sure Lalu Din, who had charge of the office, would do all that was necessary. The runner went on his way and James entered the house, where, after a wash, he sat down to his lunch. The apprehension of a Thug being nothing to do with him he was prepared to forget the affair.

  Had he been asked when the first glimmering of a suspicion entered his head he would not have been able to answer. He was not even thinking—at any rate, not consciously—of the stranger he had seen on the hill track. But suddenly he found himself pondering. Could it be possible that he had seen and spoken to the murderer? The possibility having taken root his brain began to race and he remembered details. The dark skin... the unfamiliar accent... the ingratiating manner... the way he was going, heading for the forest and the mountains, for no apparent purpose...

  James rang the bell on the table. To the servant who answered he said: “Ask Lalu Din to speak to me.”

  Presently Lalu Din came. James asked him if he had spoken to the police runner, Lalu Din said yes, he had. They had talked while he had given him some refreshment.

  “This Thug,” said James. “Was the runner able to give a description of him?”

  “No. He looked like any other beggar, except that he had very dark skin, and it was known that he had the scar of an old knife wound on his chin.”

  “Thank you,” James said, and Lalu Din withdrew, leaving James with a sinking feeling in the stomach as he remembered he had last seen his friend, Sula Dowla, walking towards the forest with a stranger who had a dark skin and a scar on his chin. His appetite gone, James thought fast; and the more he thought the more he became convinced that the man he had seen on the hill was the one for whom the police were looking. His pose of amiability; the way the old man had hinted that in the absence of his friend he might help him up the hill. Had that been a trick to get him into the forest? Had there been a gleam in the man’s eyes when he had made this proposal—or was it imagination in view of what he now knew? Sula had gone with him —towards the forest.

  Suddenly James made up his mind. There was only one thing to be done if he was not to have a sleepless night wondering if Sula was all right... safe and sound... or... He dare not think of the alternative. There might still be time to save him. He knew that the usual Thug method was to wait until after dark before strangling their victim; if possible when he was asleep.

  If it is thought that James was unduly upset it must be remembered that for a boy he led a rather lonely life. There was no other British boy of his age near his home, so it was almost inevitable that for a companion he should sometimes turn to one of the Indian boys he knew. Such a one was Sula Dowla. He liked Sula and they had more than once shared danger.

  One thing that puzzled him, and gave him hope, was this. Why should a Thug murder him? He possessed nothing of value. Certainly no money. Even his clothes were not worth stealing, consisting as they did of nothing more than a loin-cloth held up by an old leather strap from which hung a small, cheap, very ordinary knife, an almost indispensable article for the sort of life he lived. His footgear was an old pair of tennis shoes which James had given him, and of these he was proud. But they had no market value.

  But then James remembered that to Thugs wealth was of secondary importance. They killed for the sheer lust of killing, and they were not particular about a victim as long as they had one. In the forest it would be a simple matter to strangle Sula and dispose of his body where it was unlikely ever to be found. Scavengers would soon leave no trace of it. James went cold at the thought.

  He told the servants he was going for a walk and that he might be out for some time; but he didn’t say where he was going. This, as he was later to realize, was a mistake, and he was to regret it. He went to the gunroom, took his light rifle from its rack, put some cartridges in his pocket and set off. All of which was not very wise; but he was acting on impulse without taking into account the possible consequences of what
he was doing. He was not so much concerned with the Thug as the horrid thought of what might happen to Sula if he failed to reach him in time.

  Again, it may be wondered why he didn’t tell Lalu Din, or some of the house servants, where he was going and what he intended to do; which would have been a sensible precaution. But it must be remembered that he was still only acting on suspicion and he hesitated to make himself look foolish by starting what might turn out to be a false alarm. Aside from that, Lalu Din, who was supposed to be responsible for him during his father’s absence, might forbid him to go out. True, he was not likely to use force to restrain him; but there would be an argument, and to defy the trustworthy and conscientious servant would be unfair to him. He would only be doing what he had been told to do; carrying out his orders to the best of his ability. In any case, let us admit it, James had not yet reached the years of discretion.

  He set off up the hill track at his best pace, for the day now being far advanced he had no time to lose. Reaching the tea plantation where Sula lived with his parents he went straight to the bungalow and asked if he was at home. Sula’s mother told him no, he had gone out that morning and had not yet returned. She was not worried; but then, as far as she knew, she had no reason to be. Sula usually was out. On hearing this news James’ stomach seemed to sink a little lower. It was what he had dreaded to hear, for it looked as if his worst fears were likely to be realized.

  On his way back to the road, such as it was, he saw one of the women who had been working going home. James asked her if she had seen Sula, whom of course she would know. She answered that she had seen him but it was some time ago. He had then been walking up the hill towards the forest with two men, strangers to her. James’ stomach dropped still lower. But he wondered. Two men? Did that make Sula safe? Then, as they say of the automatic machines, the penny dropped. The Thug had been joined by the friend he had mentioned. He would certainly be another Thug. That meant there were now two of them. There was nothing surprising in that because James knew they often worked in pairs.

  Now cold with apprehension he strode on up the hill towards the forest more than ever determined to find Sula; or, failing that, demand an explanation from the Thugs if he could overtake them.

  There was this about the situation: Sula, dead or alive, must be somewhere in front of him because there was only a single track, so should he return he could not fail to meet him. Of course, he hoped this would still happen. It was all he needed to put his mind at rest.

  Still travelling uphill he came to the jungle that fringed the forest proper. He knew this was a dangerous place where anything could happen, and for the first time he found himself regretting that he had not left word of where he was going. But it was too late to think about that now and he held on his way purposefully. So he came to the forest, still without seeing a sign of Sula.

  The sun was now well down, and already under the great trees a dim green twilight had fallen. He was now both hot and tired and he had to consider how much farther he would be able to go before he became exhausted. He did not relish the idea of being benighted in the forest. Already it was an eerie place, full of strange sounds and stealthy rustlings, both on the ground and in the trees, as nocturnal creatures left their lairs in their nightly search for food.

  But the thought that spurred him on was the certain knowledge that Sula must be somewhere in front of him. More than ever he now feared the worst. Why Sula had gone so far into the forest with two strangers he could not imagine. But then Sula was like that. He would have gone anywhere with anybody who wanted to be friendly.

  James went on a little way and then, with the twilight deepening, hesitated. He had not expected to come as far as this. Doubts arose. What if the Thugs did not stop, but went on to the high hills where they would be safe? The obvious danger, that they might ambush him and murder him, did not occur to him. He knew he was doing wrong; that if his father ever heard of this exploit he would be very angry. Another thought that made him feel uncomfortable, and even ashamed, was the knowledge of the hue and cry that would be started to search for him if he failed to return home before dark. Poor old Lalu Din would be in a panic. It wasn’t fair to him.

  Only once had James been up the track as far as this and on that occasion he had not been alone. He had been in the care of an experienced officer of the Forest Service whose purpose it had been to inspect a damaged dak bungalow1to see if it was worth repairing. That was some time ago, and he did not know if the old wooden building had been put in order or demolished. As far as he could remember the place was about half a mile ahead. He thought the Thugs might be making for it as a place to pass the night. He felt sure they would not be too keen on travelling after dark. What became of the track after that point he did not know.

  After giving the matter some consideration he decided to go on as far as the dak bungalow, or the site of it, to see if it was still there. If it was, should he find it unoccupied he would return home forthwith and report his suspicions, feeling he had done as much as was reasonable. He realized that to go alone beyond that point would be the limit of folly. If the Thugs had not stopped there they might by this time be in the mountains. His final resolution was this. If the Thugs were there alone, and this he thought he should be able to ascertain by careful scouting, they could remain unmolested as far as he was concerned; but if they had Sula with them he would have to tell him who his companions were and see him safely home. He no longer had any doubts about the man he had seen, and spoken to, on the road being the man who had murdered the woman in the valley; for he could think of no possible reason why a normal Indian should come as far as this into the forest at such an hour. Indians knew the risks even better than he did.

  His mind made up he went on, eyes and ears very much alert, for let it not be supposed that he was happy about the situation in which he had put himself. He knew he was asking for trouble. If the truth must be told, in his fast-beating heart he was regretting that he had started on such a foolhardy enterprise, for that, really, was what it was; and he was intelligent enough to know it. But the thought of Sula, unconscious of his danger, was the magnet that drew him on. If it was learned later that he had been murdered the knowledge that he had abandoned him to his fate would haunt him all his life. No. Anything rather than that.

  He reached his objective, the dak bungalow, without incident. There was still just enough light for him to see the clearing. Approaching with extreme caution he saw the dilapidated building was still there. A faint flicker of firelight came from the window. From inside, the murmur of voices. That told him all he needed to know. Someone was there. It could only be the Thugs. It couldn’t be anyone else. But the big question remained to be answered. Was Sula with them? He listened, hoping to hear his voice, for that would at least tell him he was still alive. That was all that mattered.

  James’ rifle was already loaded. He slipped off the safety catch with his thumb to be ready for instant action and step by step advanced to the window. One quick peep was enough. Sula was there, sitting cross-legged on the floor, Indian fashion, between two men. A pack lay on the wooden boards beside them. In front of them a small fire of twigs was burning, presumably to make smoke to deter insects. It gave just enough light for James to identify the man, the man with the scarred face, who had accosted him that morning on the hill. The other man looked younger, more agile. Sula was laughing at something that had just been said, obviously unaware of the danger he was in. Of course, James still had no definite proof that these men were Thugs. Many Indians could show scars of old wounds. It may have been instinct but something told him he was right. These men were Thugs.

  His first feeling was one of immense relief that he had arrived in time. That Sula was still alive. This was followed by wonderment that Sula should have been so stupid as to travel so far into the forest with two strangers. But then, as we have said, he was not of a suspicious nature. He would no more imagine that his companions were Thugs than had James when he had sat beside t
he old man on the hill that morning. Moreover, Sula knew his way about. He had been born in the district. He lived there. He was wise to all the common dangers. But Thugs were not common. It was unlikely that he had ever seen one. He would not be thinking of the possibility of being murdered for no reason whatever.

  James worked his way silently to the door. It stood ajar. In fact, as it was hanging on one hinge it could not be shut. With his rifle at the ready he pushed it wide open with a foot, took a pace inside, poised, prepared to move fast. Instantly the talking ceased, ended as abruptly as a radio switched off. Three pairs of eyes flashed to him, staring. Not the least surprised of the three on the floor was Sula. His astonishment at seeing James at such a place was understandable. His eyes saucered. His amazement was revealed by the way he gasped James’ name. “What—what are you doing here?” he stammered.

  James spoke sternly and clearly although his heart was pounding. “Sula, come with me,” he ordered.

  “But why?”

  “Don’t argue. Come. I have reason to suspect these men are Thugs.”

  Sula’s expression changed. He sprang to his feet, as did his companions, uttering cries of protest and abuse.

  James kept them covered. Not for a second did he take his eyes off them. “Silence!” he commanded crisply. When the order was obeyed he went on: “You say you are not Thugs?”

  “We are not Thugs,” shouted the two men together.

  “You have killed a woman in the valley.”

  “We have not been in the valley! We have not touched a woman!”

  “We will see,” retorted James, grimly. “Sula, cut open that pack.”

  More cries of protest from the men.

  “If either of you move I will shoot,” threatened James, speaking as if he meant it. Knowing his own life was now at stake he did mean it.

  Sula opened the pack and began to drag out the contents. The first thing to appear was a woman’s dress, a sari, torn and blood-stained, as if the owner had died struggling. As Sula held it up, from the folds fell three of the fine gold wire bracelets commonly worn by Indian women, who do not care much for artificial jewellery.