‘Yes.’
‘What part?’
‘Western Australia.’
‘Then I don’t suppose you would have heard of a place called Cooper Pedy. In Australian that means manhole.’
‘No.’
‘It’s in South Australia. No matter. It isn’t important. When I was a boy my father took a long trip, in a truck, across the desert to see a relation who was raising stock in the north. He took me with him to show me the country. On the way we passed Cooper Pedy. In fact, we stayed the night there. Although I didn’t know it, that was to change my life. I must tell you that Cooper Pedy isn’t a town, or it wasn’t in my time. It was not much more than a sandstone hill, miles from anywhere, in which men called gougers dig holes in the ground looking for opal. Some of them lived in the holes they dug. Do you know anything about opal?’
‘Very little, except that it’s a curious kind of precious stone.’
‘Then I shall have to tell you, so that you’ll be able to understand the rest of the story, which ends with me being here. Opal is valuable, but it isn’t popular because it’s supposed to bring bad luck. I don’t know why, or how, such a rumour ever started.’
‘Perhaps you’re about to find out if it’s true,’ suggested Biggles, with a faint smile.
‘We shall see. Now about opal. To me, and a lot of other people, it’s the most beautiful thing the earth produces. You can have your diamonds, rubies and emeralds. It’s not only the most fascinating, it’s also the most exasperating. There’s nothing logical about it, no natural law. There are no veins or seams to follow, as with most minerals. Either it’s there, or it isn’t. As the gougers say, “where it is, there it is”. You just dig and trust to luck. One man may dig for a year where opal is known to exist and find nothing. A man two or three yards away from him might turn up a thousand pounds’ worth in ten minutes, or five thousand pounds’ worth in a week.’
‘What makes it precious?’ asked Algy.
‘The same thing as will make most things precious; rarity. Once it was found only in two or three places in the world. Any that came on the market was found chiefly in Mexico and Hungary. Then it was found in Australia; and Australian opal is the best. It varies a lot in appearance. It can be any colour, from black to white, but it’s always translucent; or to use the correct word, opalescent. It all glows with the same living fire in its heart.’
‘What is it actually made of?’ asked Biggles.
‘Many things can turn to opal. There’s a variety called wood opal, which is wood turned to silica and still showing the grain. Ancient fossilized bones and shells can turn to opal. You may remember that when you first saw me I was working on a shell. I was scraping some dirt off it. One has to be careful because opal breaks easily, which is why you seldom see a large piece without a flaw. I’ll show you.’
Collingwood fetched what looked like a dirty piece of rubble and held it out for inspection. A small area that had been scraped revealed a glowing spark of crimson fire.
Algy pursed his lips in admiration.
‘I see what you mean,’ Biggles said. ‘How much would that piece be worth?’
‘I won’t know until I’ve finished it and polished it. But don’t run away with the idea that this is a matter of money. Gougers work for love of the stuff. They’re entranced by its beauty. They may start with the idea of making money, but many of them end up with keeping what they find. They can’t bear to part with it. It grows on you. In fact, you might say that opal gouging can become a disease. Once you’ve seen that flash of fire in the dark you’re its slave for life.’
‘Is that what happened to you?’ asked Biggles.
‘You could say that. When I was at Cooper Pedy a gouger gave me a little piece for luck, and from that moment — I was only a kid at the time — my one ambition in life was to become a gouger. But it didn’t work out like that. My father had different ideas. I was sent to school in England and that seemed to be the end of my ambition. But I didn’t forget it. Seldom would a day pass without me taking out my little piece of opal and having a quiet gloat over it.’
‘I’m beginning to understand the fascination,’ Biggles said.
Collingwood continued. ‘Then came the war. Naturally, I joined up and chose the RAF. I got my ticket on heavy bombers. Coming back from a raid badly shot up I had to make a crash landing. That put me in hospital and left me with some heart trouble. However, when I was convalescent they found me a light job. It was here.’
‘You must have thought there was something in the reputation opal has for bad luck,’ suggested Biggles.
‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ Collingwood answered. ‘Wait till I’ve finished. I was sent here, to Bonney Island, as officer in charge of a care and maintenance party consisting of a storekeeper, a cook, two radio operator mechanics and four fitter-riggers. We were flown out with a hefty load of stores in old Southampton flying-boats, landing on the lagoon. Another flying-boat brought a dozen Arab labourers collected from goodness knows where — probably from Egypt or Aden — to clear some ground for a landing strip. When that had been done they were taken off and I was left alone with my party of irks.’
‘I’d call that a slice of cake, well away from the war,’ offered Biggles with a smile.
The smile faded when something struck the tin hut with a noise like a bullet. Came another, and then two or three more.
‘Here it comes,’ shouted Collingwood. ‘You should have gone when I told you. There’s nothing you can do about it now. When these lumps of ice have finished with your machine it’ll look like a colander.’
‘Had I gone when you told me, and I’d run into this, I should have been beaten down into the drink, which would have been worse,’ reminded Biggles.
‘Instead, you’ll be stuck here to have your throats cut, which comes to the same thing in the end,’ Collingwood said calmly.
With that there was a continuous crash on the roof as if it had come under the fire of a battery of machine guns. The noise was deafening. Conversation became impossible. Collingwood made signs that it was no use trying to go on. Algy winced and put his hands over his ears. Biggles lit a cigarette.
CHAPTER 11
COLLINGWOOD ENDS HIS TALE
IT was nearly half an hour before the conversation could be resumed. All noise ended abruptly. The sudden hush was almost frightening after the long continuous uproar.
‘We are in the middle,’ announced Collingwood. ‘You can get this sort of calm in the centre of a cyclone. But it isn’t finished yet. Nothing like it. Presently the other half will catch up with us and it’ll start an over again, so we might as well talk while we can. When we were cut off I’d got as far as how I first came to Bonney Island. You seemed to think it was all fun and games. Up to a point it was, but it was pretty boring. There was so little to do. Machines didn’t come in every day. Sometimes weeks would pass without us having a visitor, particularly during the monsoon period. When one did come in it seldom stayed more than half an hour; just long enough for a check and for the passengers to stretch their legs. Between times, as I couldn’t find anything for my fellows to do, they spent most of their time playing cards. As for me, to pass the time I thoroughly explored the island, studying the natural history of the place — what little there was of it — collecting shells on the beach, and so on, with the idea of one day writing a book on life on a desert island.’
‘But you didn’t forget your passion for opal,’ hinted Biggles, cheerfully.
‘Actually, that was the last thing I thought about. I certainly didn’t expect to find any here, and that’s a fact. I certainly didn’t go out of my way to look for it.’
‘But I gather you found some.’
‘Yes. It’s here. How it came to be here I wouldn’t try to guess. I’ll leave that to the scientific wizards to work out. I can only suppose that the island, being of volcanic origin, the opal was always where it is now when the whole mass was pushed up from the bottom of the sea by an ear
thquake, or something of that sort. The coral would come later, of course. Islands can appear like that, you know.’
‘They still do,’ Biggles said.
Collingwood resumed. ‘Well, one day I was poking about in the hollow at the far end of the island when I picked up a piece of stuff that reminded me of the opal ore I’d seen at Cooper Pedy. You’ll believe me when I say I couldn’t believe my eyes. Now mark this. In all the RAF I was probably the only man who knew anything at all about opal. It isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Yet here I was, with a possibility of finding some. Extraordinary, wasn’t it? But life’s like that. Million to one chances coming off to confound the mathematicians. Just now you were talking about my opal bringing me bad luck. It begins to look as if it brought me good luck, doesn’t it?’
‘This frolic isn’t finished yet,’ reminded Biggles. ‘We shall see.’
‘Anyway, you achieved your ambition and were able to do a spot of gouging,’ Algy said.
‘You bet I did. I was trembling with excitement. That’s what opal can do to a man. I fetched a tool and started to drive a shaft into the steep side of the hollow. Within an hour I’d struck my first piece and picked it out from where it must have being lying for millions of years. A lovely piece of dark red fire opal. I took it to be a piece of fossilized bone, probably once part of some long extinct monster. Now I really had something to do. But I had to be careful not to let my lads see what was going on for fear they were smitten by opal fever, in which case I might have had no one on duty in the signals office. Well, that’s how things were when the war ended. By that time I had found a few nice pieces, but mostly flawed. Then, like a bomb, it was all over. There was nothing I could do about it.’
‘And your boys never suspected what you were doing?’
‘Of course not. Why should they? I don’t suppose one of them had ever seen a piece of raw opal, and wouldn’t recognize it for what it was if he did see it. They’d probably think it was just a pretty piece of stone. But I must press on before the other half of the cyclone hits us. An aircraft carrier came out to close down the station, collect the gear and take us home. I would rather have stayed here, but had I suggested it some smart psychiatrist would have declared I’d gone round the bend and I’d have been taken off, anyway, for observation — as they say. So home I went. A year later I was demobbed and I had no more chance of getting back to my opal mine than landing on the moon. Having no real money I had to take a job in England to keep myself.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the government what you’d found and apply for a concession to work your mine? They might have made you a grant of money.’
Collingwood’s lips curled in a sneer. ‘You’re joking. You know, or should know, how government departments work. For months I’d have heard nothing: then, if I pestered them hard enough to make myself a nuisance, they might have told me that a committee of experts had been set up to investigate the claim, or something of that sort. I shouldn’t have been in the picture, you can bet on that.’
‘Even so they might have paid you a sum of money for the information you’d provided. They’re not always ungenerous in that respect.’
‘All some people think about is money,’ scoffed Collingwood. ‘You still haven’t got the point. I wasn’t after money. Can’t you understand that? What I wanted was the fulfilment of a lifelong dream; to be a gouger, to dig my own opal. That gives some people, and that includes me, something money can’t buy. Many prospectors are like that. It’s doing what they want to do that makes life worth living. I had to nurse my ambition for years.’
‘Sorry,’ Biggles said, contritely.
‘About twelve months ago I had a stroke of luck, a real drop of gravy,’ went on Collingwood. ‘In the Aero Club I ran into a fellow, an ex-squadron leader type named Murdo Mackay, who had been one of the pilots on the wartime Bonney Island run. He was then a pilot working for Indian Airways, based on Calcutta. He told me he also had a private plane for his own use. He remembered me as being in charge of the party on Bonney Island. I told him that when I was there I’d discovered something valuable and was anxious to go back.’
‘Did you tell him what it was?’
‘Not likely. It wouldn’t have been my secret any longer. One word would have started a rush for the island. I asked him if he’d fly me to Bonney. He didn’t think much of the idea. I didn’t suppose he’d jump at it. I fancy he thought I was daft. He took a lot of persuading, but in the end, by promising to give him half of anything I found, I talked him into it. He said that if I could make my own way to Calcutta he’d fly me across when he had his next leave. So I dropped everything and raised enough money to get to India. Mackay was as good as his word and flew me here with as big a load of stores as his machine could carry.’
‘Where did you land?’ asked Biggles.
‘On the old landing strip. There was nowhere else.’
‘That was taking a chance.’
‘We realized that, but we found a piece of clear ground and managed to get down without breaking anything. The old landing ground was in better condition than I expected it would be. Well, that was that. He went home and I was on my own, what you might call a willing Crusoe. He promised to come back when he had his next leave, which would be in about six months, to pick me up — if I was still alive.’
‘Had he any reason to think you might not be alive?’
‘He seemed to think I might go out of my mind and commit suicide. As I expect him here in a week or two, as near as I can judge not having counted the days, I’ve cleared any obstructions on the landing strip to be ready for him.’
‘Did you do that on your own?’
‘Not entirely. I had a helper. And that brings me to the next instalment of what must sound a fantastic yarn.
‘I had only been here a month when I had visitors. An Arab dhow came along and put a party ashore by way of the reef. I went down to greet them and I could see by their faces that they weren’t pleased to find me here. I never saw a more villainous-looking bunch of toughs. They went into a huddle to decide, as I learned later, how to get rid of me. Some were in favour of bumping me off then and there. One man saved me. He’d been one of the gang of labourers put ashore to clear the runway. Having come from Aden, he spoke English fairly well, so was able to act as an interpreter.’
‘Ali?’
‘That’s the man. We talked things over. I told him that as far as I was concerned they could do what they liked. I wasn’t interested and wouldn’t interfere. Ali said all they wanted to do was raise a small crop of corn for use when they made the island a deep-sea fishing base. When he was working on the runway it seems he had noticed a good piece of ground. Of course, I had no idea of the sort of corn they had in mind; not that it would have made any difference if I had. I was only interested in opal.’
‘They didn’t tell you they were going to produce hashish?’
‘No, and I can well understand that, because they were part of a big drug syndicate working in Egypt. As a matter of fact, at that time I knew nothing whatever about Indian hemp and wouldn’t have recognized it if I’d seen it. My instruction in that commodity came later, from Ali. To make a long story short we came to an understanding. I promised not to interfere with anything they did as long as they left me alone. That seemed fair enough. The next thing they did was blast a hole in the reef in order to get into the lagoon, which made it clear they intended to come here regularly. I thought that was going to a lot of trouble to grow a handful of corn. Obviously it couldn’t be much because there wasn’t enough suitable ground. Still I didn’t suspect the truth. Why should I? Anyway, when they’d planted their crop they pushed off, leaving one man here to take care of it.’
‘Ali?’
‘Of course. I think he was chosen because he could speak English.’
‘When did you realize what the stuff was?’
‘One day when I was looking at the crop, then starting to grow, I asked Ali what it was. Perhaps because he knew I was
alone and couldn’t do anything about it, he told me frankly it was hemp for making hashish. I’d got to know him fairly well by that time. I told him to get on with it. It was of no interest to me. He could rely on me to say nothing about it even if I had an opportunity. After that we got quite pally and I suggested that as he hadn’t much to do he might like to help me. I’d pay him. He agreed to give me a hand on the runway in return for an occasional tin of soup or corned beef, which to him were luxuries. That’s how things were when you rolled up to upset our little apple cart. Perhaps you can now understand why I didn’t exactly greet you with loud cries of joy.’
Biggles nodded. ‘Pity. Had you told me this earlier it would have saved us both a lot of trouble. Not being interested in either hashish or opal, anyway, as far as the island is concerned, I would have respected your confidence and left you alone. As far as I can see you weren’t doing any harm.’
‘Well, by spoiling the hemp you’ve properly dropped a hammer in the works,’ declared Collingwood. ‘I’ll do a deal with you. If you find the storm has put your machine out of action, and we can stave off these Arabs when they come back, when my pal Mackay comes for me I’ll get him to take you as far as India.’
‘What about you?’
‘I shall stay here. I’m happy, and I haven’t finished yet.’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘I shall have to think about your proposition. I may need your help. I wasn’t such a fool as to park myself on a spot like this without a lifeline. I, too, have made arrangements, in case of accident, to be picked up.’
‘I see. Please yourself.’
‘Tell me this,’ requested Biggles. ‘Have you found any opal?’
Collingwood’s answer was to move some stores and produce a small, flat wooden box, about twelve inches by six and two inches deep. He opened it to show it was lined with black velvet. And that was not all. On the velvet, carefully arranged, was what seemed to be a mass of glowing iridescent fire, ever changing colour as waves of light ran across it. Algy gasped.
Biggles and the Deep Blue Sea Page 9
