by W E Johns
‘You do whatever you think best,’ replied the Professor; ‘I leave things absolutely to you.’
‘All right; then that’s what I’ll do,’ answered Biggles; and then started as his practised ears detected a slight change in the note of the engines.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Dickpa quickly, observing his startled expression.
‘Nothing, I hope,’ replied Biggles casually, but all the same he hurried back to the cockpit. One glance at Algy’s face was sufficient to tell him that something was wrong.
Instinctively his eyes flew to the engine-revolution indicators, and he caught his breath sharply when he saw that the revs of both engines had fallen considerably. But the thing that astonished him most was the fact that both had fallen to precisely the same mark.
For two engines to fail at the same moment would have been remarkable, but that they should both fail in equal ratio was an even more amazing coincidence. To his consternation he saw that both engines were still losing power, and what was more incredible, the needles of both indicators were falling in perfect unison. They might have been synchronized instead of being separate units. Never could he have imagined such a remarkable state of affairs, and he stared at Algy speechlessly, for once at a loss to know what to do.
‘What do you make of it ?’ shouted Algy.
Biggles shook his head. ‘Beats me,’ he replied tersely. ‘Let me have her: I’m going down.’
Curiously enough, neither of the engines appeared to be getting hot, and both oil and pressure gauges were registering normal figures.
He sat down in his seat, took over the joystick, and swung round in a wide circle in order to examine the whole area for the best place to effect a landing; but as he turned away from the mountains the roar of the engines increased in volume, and to his dumbfounded astonishment he saw both rev-counters climbing steadily. He shook his head, like a man faced with a problem for which there is no answer, and turned back on his course with the intention of pursuing his original plan. Instantly both engines started to fail again, very slowly, but definitely. They reminded him of a gramophone motor running down.
Quite bewildered, he turned away again with his eyes seeking a landing-place.
‘Am I going crazy or are they?’ he shouted to Algy, pointing at the instruments, the needles of which were now creeping back up the dials. In spite of the seriousness of their position, the expression on Algy’s face made him smile; never had he seen his partner so completely taken aback.
‘It’s no use,’ he continued, ‘we can’t go on like this. Something must be wrong; we’ll go down and see if we can find out what it is.’
They were now quite close to the nearest foothills, running along the face of a very steep escarpment from which a stream bubbled and spilt itself on to the plain. Below, the ground was flat, and as far as they could see free from rocks or other obstructions. There was little wind, if any, and with the idea of being as near to fresh water as possible, Biggles decided to land as close as he could to the cliff, in preference to the bleak open plateau, where moreover the machine would be exposed to the mercy of a gale should one arise.
He throttled back and flew low over the prospective landing-ground, subjecting every inch of it to a careful scrutiny before he attempted to land; then, satisfied that the ground was clear, he lowered his wheels and dropped lightly on the coarse grass and shingle that covered the earth at that spot.
A moment later the Explorer had run to a standstill; the roar of the engines ceased abruptly and was succeeded by an overpowering silence as he switched off and jumped to the ground. ‘Well,’ he observed, ‘we’re here, anyway.’
CHAPTER 4
THE MOUNTAIN OF LIGHT
THE door in the hull opened and the others stepped out, stretching their limbs after the long spell of enforced inactivity.
‘Well, so far so good,’ cried the Professor. ‘What is the programme, Biggles?’
‘First, all hands to refill the tanks, in case we have to get off in a hurry; second, we shall have to look over the engines; third, a square meal. I can do with one. We can talk about what we are going to do after that while we eat. It’s well on into the afternoon, so we shan’t be able to do much today, anyway. Come on, the sooner we get this spare petrol into the tanks, the happier I shall feel.’
Everyone helped to get the drums out of the cabin on to the ground, and the spirit they contained was transferred to the tanks in an aluminium can. It was slow work, and it took them an hour to complete the task. The empty drums were then filled with shingle and placed under the wing-tips, to which they were attached by ropes, thus forming efficient anchors which would keep the machine steady should a high wind get up.
‘Good!’ exclaimed Biggles, examining their handiwork with satisfaction. ‘Nothing short of a typhoon will shift her now. Let’s have a look at these engines. Dickpa, I think you and Malty might be preparing lunch while the rest of us are doing that.’ He turned to where Algy and Ginger had already started an examination of the port engine.
‘Well, if there’s anything wrong with that, I don’t know what it is,’ declared Ginger half an hour later. ‘I’ve pulled these engines to bits and reassembled them in the workshops at Brooklands, and I think I know every nut and bolt in them. One thing is certain: if there is anything wrong, it will be a bench job to put it right.’
Biggles climbed off the plane on which he had been standing to examine the engine, and leaned against the leading edge. ‘I wonder,’ he mused.
‘You wonder what ?’ asked Algy.
‘I can’t get over the fact that both engines seemed to be affected simultaneously, and I was wondering if it could be anything here, any local conditions, that made them behave as they did. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but why the dickens should the two of them fluctuate like a single power unit? They were both getting petrol all right, and lubrication seems to be O.K.. If it had been one engine only I should have said it was something to do with ignition; magneto trouble, for instance. Could the mountain that we are looking for have any effect on them, or—’
‘Or what ?’
‘The Blue Ray.’
Algy started. ‘It’s beyond me,’ he declared. ‘I know this, though. At our altitude it will take us all our time to get off if the engines won’t give their full revs.’
‘I was thinking that, but I fancy we shall be O.K. provided the trouble gets no worse. We shan’t have so much of a load to lift. We’ve only about two-thirds of our original petrol supply; and we could dump the stores in an emergency, reckoning on getting back to Chittagong in one hop.’
‘That’s true,’ admitted Algy. ‘But come on, lunch is on the table – or rather, on the grass. Hello, where’s Ginger?’
‘I’ve sent him for some water,’ replied Dickpa, nodding towards the stream that burbled a hundred yards or so away. ‘ Hi! Ginger! Come on. What are you doing? We’re waiting,’ he called.
Ginger, who was walking up the stream, waved his hand to show that he had heard, but he continued walking upstream for a little way before he filled the can he was carrying and set off back towards the camp. The can he held in his right hand, but in the other, gripped between two sticks, was a dirty white object.
‘What the dickens has he found ?’ muttered Algy, who was watching him.
There was an expression of alarm and disgust on Ginger’s face as he strolled into the camp. ‘I had to go some way to get well above this thing,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t fancy water that came from anywhere near the place where I found it.’ He threw the white object to the ground with a shudder.
The others stared at it for a moment in silence, but the same expression was common to all their faces. It was loathing, for the white object was a dead centipede of huge proportions. Biggles thought it was the most repulsive object he had ever seen. It was about the size of a sausage, bloated in a disgusting way; its toad-like skin of fish-belly white glowed with a metallic lustre. Black, beady eyes glittered banefull
y, even in death; and from a cruel shark-like mouth protruded needle-like, incurved teeth.
‘For the love of Mike, don’t bring things like that into the camp, you little ass,’ snarled Biggles. ‘Gosh! what a horror. How do you expect anyone to eat – ugh!’
The exclamation was accompanied by a violent shudder, and even the Professor turned pale. Ginger, evidently with the idea of removing the offensive reptile, had stabbed it with the end of one of the sticks he carried; instantly a stream of dark red blood gushed out, while the reptile collapsed like a pricked balloon.
‘If I step on one of those things by accident,’ said Biggles in a tense voice, ‘I shall have the screaming willies for the rest of my life. I hope they’re not common about here. If they are, then by the Lord Harry, the sooner I’m the other side of the Himalayas, the sooner I shall sleep o’ nights.’
‘Take it away, Ginger,’ said the Professor sharply.
‘And let’s get the grub round to the other side of the machine,’ suggested Algy. ‘That baby has an old-fashioned odour that doesn’t agree with my stomach.’
‘Nor mine,’ declared Malty, holding his handkerchief over his nose. ‘Goodness! what a shocking fug!’
Lunch was accordingly moved to a more salubrious spot, and under the press of healthy appetites the incident was soon forgotten.
‘What do you propose to do next, Biggles?’ asked Dickpa when they had finished.
‘I don’t think it’s any use thinking of flying today,’ replied Biggles. ‘I reckon we’ve got about enough petrol for two one-hour flights, and then we shall only have enough left to see us home. There is no point in staying here longer than is necessary, so I suggest that we take off first thing in the morning and try to locate the mountain. It’ll be a job, I’m afraid, unless there is a village or a town near it. We’ll decide what to do next when we’ve found it. I don’t think it’s any use making plans until we know how far away it is. In the meantime, as the air seems to be a bit nippy, I suggest that we unpack the tent and get everything fixed up for the night. At a pinch we could all get into the cabin, of course, but it would be a tight fit, and as we shouldn’t all be able to lie down it wouldn’t be very comfortable.’
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ agreed Dickpa. ‘We might as well be comfortable while we can.’
The tent was accordingly taken out of the machine and erected, while blankets, waterproof ground-sheets, small kit, and a supply of food were placed in it. While this was being done Biggles unloaded their complete armament, which consisted of a Lewis machine-gun, an express rifle, a twelve-bore double-barrelled gun, and two revolvers.
The Lewis gun had been brought purely for defence, and while the rifle and sporting gun could be used for the same purpose, they were primarily intended to provide food for the pot if any game was found.
‘There doesn’t seem to be much to shoot at, does there?’ smiled the Professor, as he saw the weapons.
‘I never saw such a lifeless place,’ confessed Biggles. ‘Still, we may see something: one never knows. I’ll have a walk round presently.’
But it was nearly dark by the time camp had been made ship-shape.
‘What about a good square meal presently and then turning in early?’ suggested Dickpa. ‘One uses up a lot of strength without knowing it in these high regions, and we shall want to be on the move early.’
This was agreed upon. Indeed, there was nothing else to do, for the sun, a fiery crimson ball, was already hanging low over the mountains. In spite of the chill in the air, the party in the tent soon developed into a picnic; a lamp was lighted and hung on the tent-pole, while the explorers clustered round a primus stove that had been set in the centre.
‘Well, I think it’s time we thought about turning in,’ said Dickpa at last. ‘Are you thinking of mounting a guard?’
‘Certainly,’ replied Biggles promptly. ‘We should be asking for trouble if we didn’t. I know we haven’t seen anybody about, but that doesn’t mean that the local gentry –if there are any – are unaware of our arrival. I don’t think there’s any necessity for you to do duty because you’re not really fit yet. The rest of us will do two-hour spells, times to be decided by lot in the usual way.’
The Professor insisted on taking his turn, however, although it was agreed that he should take the first watch, which is generally reckoned to be the easiest.
‘Sentries will carry the twelve-bore and patrol between the machine and the tent,’ ordered Biggles. ‘A gun is better than a rifle in the dark. I’ll just go outside and see what the weather is doing.’ There was a moment’s pause, and then his voice, pitched in a queer tone, came from outside. ‘I say, come and look at this,’ he called.
There was something in his voice that sent the others scrambling through the narrow doorway into the open, but when they reached it they all stood still and stared in the direction of the mountains. It was a clear night, with a myriad stars glittering like diamonds in the frosty sky, but the moon was not yet up. Immediately above the mountains the sky was illuminated by a phosphorescent glow. It was not constant; it waxed and waned like the reflection of a colossal blast-furnace, but instead of being red it was a cold, vivid, electric blue. For some seconds they watched it in silence, all subdued by the unearthly manifestation.
‘It must be the Northern Lights – the Aurora Borealis. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen them before,’ said Malty in an awed whisper.
‘I have, but they weren’t like that,’ muttered Biggles slowly. ‘It may sound a funny thing to say, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it is the reflection of the – thing – we’re looking for. The Mountain of Light.’
‘But it’s incredible,’ whispered the Professor. With the others he was strangely moved by the weird spectacle. ‘Why —why —’ He seemed to be at a loss for words.
‘I’ll soon settle the question,’ declared Biggles, moving quickly.
‘What are you going to do ?’
‘I’m going up to the top of this scarp. It’s a fairly easy ascent a little farther along to the left, and from the top it ought to be possible to see over the panorama in the direction of the light.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ cried Dickpa.
‘And I,’ vowed Malty.
‘All right, then let’s all go,’ suggested Biggles. ‘The machine should come to no harm for the short time we shall be away; we shall be able to watch it, anyway.’
He fetched the lamp, but switched it off while its light was unnecessary, and without further delay the whole party set off quickly in the direction of the escarpment. It proved to be steeper than Biggles expected, but it was a fairly open ascent, without any involved rock climbing, and in twenty minutes, panting from their exertions in the rarefied atmosphere, they were within striking distance of the top. Unable to restrain their curiosity, they broke into a run, but as they breasted the final rise they all pulled up short, staring incredulously at the source of the phenomenon. No one spoke but Dickpa. ‘Great heavens!’ he gasped, and that was all.
At an indeterminable distance away in the heart of the mountains, a conical point of glowing blue light rose high into the heavens. The general effect was that of an iceberg, the top of which had been floodlit by lamps that alternated turquoise and violet, but infinitely more intense. At times it was so bright that the spellbound watchers had to shield their eyes, while at others it faded to a dull, purple glow.
Only the very tip of the mountain was affected; what lay below it they could not tell, for in contrast to the brilliant radiance, the base of the mountain was an indistinct, shapeless black mass.
‘Well, there she is,’ said Biggles at last, in a voice that he strove to keep matter-of-fact.
‘Yes, there she is,’ repeated the Professor in an awed whisper. ‘There must be a tremendous amount of radium –if it is radium – in that mountain, to produce such an effect. At today’s value the man who owned it could buy the rest of the world.’
‘And perhaps cure half the
suffering in the world,’ put in Malty in a voice that trembled. ‘What a sight to have lived to see. What a discovery! It will revolutionize – everything. Hello, what are you doing ?’
Biggles had taken a small instrument from his pocket, and was squinting over it in the direction of the mountain. ‘It’s a pocket-compass, that’s all,’ he said. ‘I’m just marking her down so that we shall know her again tomorrow, in daylight, when the lights may not be working.’
‘A wise precaution. Trust you to think of it,’ observed Dickpa warmly.
‘Experience has taught me to take my bearings while they are apparent,’ replied Biggles sagely, as he closed the instrument and replaced it in his pocket.
‘How far is it away do you think ?’ asked Ginger.
‘It’s impossible to tell,’ answered Biggles, ‘but I should say it’s not less than four and not more than seven miles. One might easily be mistaken, though,’ he added guardedly.
For half an hour or more they sat on the hill and watched the amazing spectacle, entranced by its beauty, and it was the bitter cold that finally drove them back to the warm interior of the tent.
‘Well, I think we’ve done a good day’s work,’ observed Biggles as he unrolled his blankets. ‘We’ve got here and we’ve found the mountain. Tomorrow, with luck, we may stand on it.’
‘Stand on it! But aren’t you going to fly to it?’
‘We might try to fly over and have a look at it from the air, but I have a feeling that if we are to reach that mountain we shall have to go on foot. In any case we can’t land on it, for obvious reasons, so if we want specimens of the rock we shall have to walk.’
‘Why do you say try to fly over it ?’
‘Because I have an idea that that super-airway beacon is having some effect on my engines,’ replied Biggles slowly. ‘I shall know the truth tomorrow. If we can’t fly, then I imagine we shall walk. Having come so far it would be a pity to go back without taking a bit of Tibet rock as a souvenir. Well, we shall see. Call me when your watch is over, Dickpa. Good night, everybody.’
