by W E Johns
‘We heard no more about it, and had pretty well forgotten about the whole affair by the time we reached England; but as we were about to leave the boat at Southampton we were sent for by the captain. I must tell you, however, that as the Calamore Castle steamed into Southampton Water she ran into a dense fog and collided with a Norwegian tramp that was going out. The Calamore Castle was damaged below the waterline, and was leaking badly, but not dangerously, when she docked. You may have read about it in the papers. The water got into the hold, so the luggage was pulled out and put on deck, where it was examined by the Customs people before being released. When they came to the trunk that had been in my room no one claimed it, so they cut the cords and opened it.’ Dickpa paused to let the words sink in.
‘Go on,’ said Biggles impatiently. ‘What did they find in it? A cage of white mice?’
‘No; they found the body of a Chinese coolie,’ replied Dickpa steadily.
‘Dead?’
‘Of course. The trunk had been submerged and the fellow had evidently been drowned.’
‘But you said the trunk was empty.’
Dickpa shrugged his shoulders. ‘I did,’ he admitted.
‘But you can’t have it both ways,’ declared Biggles. ‘Either the box was empty or it had a man in it. It couldn’t be empty and have a coolie in it at the same time. What are you trying to tell me?’
‘I am not trying to tell you anything. I’ve merely stated what happened.’
‘A stowaway, perhaps — crawled into the trunk himself,’ suggested Biggles.
‘And then roped it up on the outside with my special knots? No, that won’t do.’
‘Are you asking me to believe that the trunk was corded up exactly as it had been when you last saw it?’
‘My knots had not been undone, I’ll swear to that. The ropes were the first thing I looked at.’
Biggles frowned. ‘Have you had a touch of fever lately, Dickpa?’ he inquired.
The Professor smiled. ‘I’ll forgive you for a natural, if rather pointed, remark,’ he said. ‘No, I haven’t had a touch of fever for some time.’
‘Then the fellow must have crawled through the keyhole,’ declared Biggles emphatically. ‘There was no other way in.’
‘You wouldn’t have thought so if you had seen him,’ returned Dickpa. ‘He was a hulking great brute. But let me go on; we won’t discuss possible solutions until you’ve heard the whole story.’
‘My goodness! You’re not going to tell me that you’ve any more stories like the last one, I hope.’
‘The next one is worse, if anything. At any rate, it’s just as inexplicable.’
‘Then for goodness’ sake fire away and let’s get it over,’ invited Biggles. ‘Nothing less than chloroform will make me sleep tonight, if you go on like this.’
‘I will pass on then to the time we reached home,’ continued Dickpa. ‘For some days nothing happened. Roger and I were kept busy looking after ourselves, keeping the place ship-shape and going over maps, with a view —’
‘To going back to China, eh?’ put in Biggles shrewdly.
‘Precisely.’
‘Is that why you didn’t engage any staff, servants?’
‘To be quite truthful, it is. There seemed to be no point in it. But don’t interrupt; let me get on with the story. The day before yesterday I was sitting here by the open window writing up my field notes. Roger had gone for a stroll, taking the forty-four rifle with him in order to try to get something for the pot. I suppose I must have dozed, but suddenly I was alert, conscious of danger; that’s the only way I can explain it. I could have sworn someone was in the room, but I could see nobody, so I sat down again, blaming myself for letting my nerves get into such a state. Then I saw something. It appeared to be a sort of blue light, a ray that began at an indefinable point near the door and shone across the room in my direction. At the same time I became aware of an unpleasant numbing sensation and the room began to grow dark.
‘I fancy my symptoms were almost exactly those of what is commonly called a stroke, and to be quite candid I thought for a moment or two that that was what had happened to me. My eyes were failing fast, and there is no doubt whatever that I was succumbing to a form of paralysis. I tried to shout in the hope that Roger was somewhere close at hand, but I couldn’t utter a sound. I tried to lift my arms, but they were as lifeless as leaden weights. And all the time the light was growing stronger. I must admit that at that stage I gave myself up for lost.
‘At that moment Roger walked through the door. I could just see him, faintly, through what appeared to be a deep purple mist that was rapidly closing in on me. He has since told me that it was broad daylight, so obviously my eyes were at fault. He also told me that I looked so dreadful that at first he thought I was dead. Then he saw the ray, and something more. He says he is convinced that he saw a shadowy form behind it. He still had the rifle in the crook of his arm but, of course, he had unloaded when he came into the house. Fortunately he still had some cartridges in his pocket, so he slipped one into the breech and let drive at the vague form behind the light.
‘I remember hearing the shot, but it was no louder than the crack of an eggshell. Then I lost consciousness. When I came round Roger was pouring some sal volatile between my lips. I could move, but only just. I seemed to have been stricken with chronic rheumatism in every limb. Well, to make a long story short, Roger got me to bed, and there I have been ever since, with Roger on guard. There is only one other point, but it is an interesting one. When Roger went back to the spot where he thought he had seen the figure he found something that supplied a real clue to what was going on.’
‘What was that?’
‘Bloodstains. There were bloodstains on the floor. A thin trail led to the door and out into the garden.’
‘Splendid!’ cried Biggles, with a sigh of relief.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because in my limited experience I know that what can bleed can feel; and what can feel can be tackled with good honest powder and shot. If you had asked me to help you to keep a gang of spooks at bay, you wouldn’t have seen me for a cloud of dust and small pebbles. But the bloodstains make it a different proposition. From your accounts, these lads from the wide open spaces have some funny tricks, but if, as it seems, a lead slug can make a hole in one of them, then it shouldn’t be beyond our power to settle any argument to our own satisfaction.’ He turned to Maltenham. ‘Tell me,’ he said, `what happened to you tonight?’
‘I was the victim of a similar attack to that made on your uncle, but it was not so severe,’ replied the young Earl. ‘You see, I felt I couldn’t keep awake indefinitely. While your uncle and I were fit we could take turns to mount guard, but with your uncle out of action it all fell on me. He saw I was cracking up under the strain, and suggested I should try to get in touch with you. I thought of the B.B.C., and went off to the village to telephone.
‘After I had rung them up I started off back, but was attacked in the drive by this infernal ray. I saw nobody, of course. When the light suddenly appeared in front of me I dashed into the wood and got hopelessly lost; as a matter of fact it was the lights of your car that gave me my bearings. I struck the drive near the house, but no sooner was I on it than I could feel – things – around me in the darkness. It was horrible. Then I saw the light again and I am afraid I panicked. I just sprinted for home for dear life. The ray followed me, and actually shone on me once; it produced a sort of numbing shock.’
‘I know,’ nodded Biggles; ‘I’ve felt it, too.’
‘You have! Where?’
‘Tonight, in the drive. The ray caught my arm and half paralysed it. It made me drop my revolver. It was not unlike an electric current shooting through my fingers.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well, what are you going to do about it ?’ inquired Biggles. ‘You can’t go on like this indefinitely. Sooner or later something serious is bound to happen to one or the other of you.’
‘Savages? Who said they’re savages?’ asked Biggles quickly.
There was a moment’s silence, and then the Professor nodded slowly. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You mean —’
‘I mean that people who have learned to control a death-ray, or a ray that can produce paralysis, at the same time making themselves invisible, can hardly be classed as savages.’
‘Invisible!’
‘There’s no other solution, bar a miracle, and miracles don’t happen nowadays. Obviously that fellow in your trunk was there all the time, but you couldn’t see him. You could see the weapon with which he proposed to kill you, and the bottle may have contained the dope that produced invisibility – we’ll call it that for want of a better name. That’s why the box was so heavy when the steward had to carry it. After death the fellow returned to normal form. Then again, the fellow in the room here. Malty says he saw a vague shadowy form – that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Maltenham. ‘It was a spectral shape –the sort of thing one imagines a ghost to be.’
‘Yet the human body was there all the time; the presence of the blood proves that. Spooks don’t bleed – at least, I’ve never heard of one that did. But what nonsense am I talking?’ he concluded angrily. ‘We should have to believe in fairy tales to consider such things seriously.’
‘I don’t think so.’ It was the Professor who spoke. ‘I think you’ve spoken nothing less than the truth. I begin to suspect that the whole thing is far deeper and more sinister than we at first suspected. And after all, these people came from the Mountain of Light. Light! Mark the word. How can a mountain produce light? I’ll tell you what I think. I believe that this mountain exists, and that its remarkable properties can be attributed to large radium deposits. I’ve always had a half-formed idea in the back of my mind that such might be the case. Radium would account for the curative properties. Good heavens! Why, nobody knows the full power of radium yet, and there’s no knowing what extraordinary things these people could do if they had radium in quantities. One grain is sufficient —’
He broke off abruptly as a loud knock came on the front door.
‘Ginger,’ cried Biggles, springing to his feet, ‘have you been watching the drive?’
‘No; I am sorry, but I’m afraid I got carried away by the Professor’s story,’ admitted Ginger frankly.
‘I see,’ snapped Biggles. ‘Come on, Algy – and you, Ginger. You’d better come too, Malty. Our friends seem to be in a hurry,’ he added, as the knocking broke out afresh.
He ran quickly downstairs into the hall with the others close behind. ‘Maltenham, take the twelve-bore and post yourself at the foot of the stairs,’ he ordered. ‘Ginger, take the rifle and cover me.’ He picked up the elephant gun. ‘Algy, open the door and stand clear. I shall be interested to see the man who can take a left and right in the breadbasket from this baby and still stand on his feet,’ he added grimly. With the weapon at the ready, he took up a position about three yards from the door, facing it.
Algy drew the bolts, turned the handle, and sprang clear. ‘Come in,’ called Biggles in a steady voice.
The massive oak door swung slowly inwards on its hinges. There was an instant’s silence, charged with tense expectancy, and then a short hysterical laugh broke from Biggles’s lips. The others stared in mute astonishment as a police sergeant, followed by a constable, entered.
‘Why, what’s all this?’ asked the sergeant, looking from one to the other in amazement.
‘Er – we were expecting some friends,’ explained Biggles.
‘Friends!’ ejaculated the sergeant incredulously. ‘Is this how you usually greet your friends?’
‘Well, not exactly perhaps,’ replied Biggles rather lamely. ‘But what can we do for you, sergeant? You’ve come up about my car, I suppose?’
‘So it’s your car in the tree, is it ?’ said the sergeant suspiciously. ‘Looks like you’ve had a close squeak, young man.’ He stroked his shin reflectively. ‘And it also looks to me as if you gentlemen have been having an evening on the spree,’ he added, winking significantly.
‘Is that what you’ve come here to tell us?’ inquired Biggles, rather coldly.
‘No, sir, it’s something much more serious than that,’ answered the sergeant quickly. ‘I’ve come to ask you if you can throw any light on this affair of the dead man that’s been found in the park.’
Biggles stared. ‘Dead man?’ he repeated foolishly. ‘No – but sit down, officer. Let me offer you some refreshment. Algy, close the door and bolt it. Maltenham, fetch the decanter and a couple of glasses.’ He laid the elephant gun on the table and sat down opposite the sergeant. ‘Now! what’s this about a dead man?’ he asked. ‘Who is it?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. He’s a foreigner, though. Looks to me like a Chinaman, though the Inspector says he’s a Jap. Naked as a new-born babe, too, that’s the funny part of it.’
‘How did he die ?’
‘Shot. Shot right through the chest. A single gun-shot wound. The sort of hole you’d expect a rifle about that size to make,’ he observed slowly, pointing to the forty-four.
Biggles caught Maltenham’s eye and flickered an eyelid. ‘Who found the body?’ he asked.
‘Bert Dalton. Maybe you’ve heard of him. ‘No? Ah, well, he’s a poacher. We know him all right. He was poaching when he found it. He don’t deny it. His story is that he stumbled on something in the dark, so he slips his torch across it to see what it was. He let out a yell, he says, when he saw it was a stiff ‘un and made for the police-station as fast as his legs would carry him, which was the best thing he could have done. Lucky for him he’d only got his old twelve-bore, so we know he didn’t do the shooting.’
‘Where’s the body now?’
‘We took it to the mortuary, and then the Inspector suggested that it might be a good thing if I slipped along here to see if you knew anything about it.’
‘No,’ said Biggles slowly. ‘I’m afraid we can’t help you.’
‘Funny. You’ve been doing a bit of shooting up here to night, haven’t you? People don’t often shoot after dark — except people like Bert Dalton.’
‘How did you know we’d been shooting?’
‘Dalton told us. He heard the shots.’
‘Quite right,’ admitted Biggles. ‘But that was after he’d found the body, so we couldn’t have shot your man.’
‘How did you know it was afterwards?’ asked the sergeant in surprise.
‘Because I know exactly when Dalton found the body. I heard his yell of fright, although, of course, I didn’t know what it was then, or who it was.’
‘I see, sir,’ said the sergeant slowly. ‘No, I wasn’t suggesting you had anything to do with the shooting of this Chink, or whatever he is. The doctor says he’s been dead some time, twelve hours or more. The bullet was fired at pretty close range, he says.’
Biggles nodded. ‘Between you and me, sergeant, we’ve seen some funny people about in the park this last day or two; we thought they were gipsies. They may have fallen out among themselves. As you may know, Professor Bigglesworth, who, by the way, is my uncle, has been abroad, and there has been no one here to look after things, so people could pretty well come and go as they pleased on the estate. It might be a good thing if you had a thorough look round as soon as it gets daylight.’
‘The Professor’s at home now, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, but he’s ill in bed.’
‘I see, sir. Then we’ll leave him out of the proceedings if we can, but there’s bound to be an inquest, and he may be asked to attend.’
‘Very well, sergeant, you know best. And I’ll tell you what. While these strangers are about I should be glad if you would ask one of your men to have a look round
here, say once a day, until further notice. Tell him to come up to the house to make sure everything is all right.’
‘Very good, sir, I’ll see if it can be arranged,’ agreed the sergeant, rising. ‘Good night, sir.’
‘Good night, sergeant.’
As the door closed behind the police officers Biggles looked at the others soberly. ‘Malty,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid you killed that cove.’
‘It looks like it, I must admit.’
‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about it.’
‘What had I better do?’
‘Nothing at present. Let’s get back to Dickpa and tell him what’s happened.’
They returned to the bedroom, where they told the Professor what had transpired.
The early hours of the morning found them still deep in discussion.
‘Well, I’m getting tired,’ announced Biggles at last. ‘The point you’ve got to decide is, what are you going to do about this whole business?’
‘I don’t know how other people feel about it, but I know what I should like to do,’ replied the Professor.
‘What’s that ?’
‘Go back to China, or rather Tibet, and get to the truth of the thing.’
‘Sounds crazy to me,’ observed Biggles. ‘You’re not by any chance thinking of asking me to fly you there, are you?’ he added suspiciously.
‘I was.’
Biggles frowned, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he looked his uncle straight in the face. ‘Do you know, Dickpa,’ he said reproachfully, ‘I believe you’ve had that idea all along. Really, if you’d admit the truth, that’s why you sent for me.’
