Biggles and the Deep Blue Sea

by Captain W E Johns

  ‘How would I know?’ answered Biggles. ‘All I know is, while they scull about the lagoon with that line, it would be daft for us to try to get off.’

  They watched with interest as the lifeboat moved about with one man rowing quietly while the other two peered over the side into the blue water.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ exclaimed Algy suddenly. ‘They’re looking for the shark that swallowed their pal.’

  ‘With what object?’ inquired Biggles cynically.

  ‘To kill it, so it couldn’t get anyone else who happened to fall in.’

  Biggles did not answer.

  ‘I swear they must be fishing,’ Algy said presently. ‘I can’t imagine what else they could be doing.’

  ‘Fishing for what?’

  ‘The shark.’

  ‘Listen, Algy,’ protested Biggles. ‘To these fellows sharks must be as common as hens in a farmyard. Why should they bother with this one?’

  ‘I fancy they’ve hooked it, anyway,’ said Algy sharply as there was a yell and a stir of activity on the deck of the dhow. The rope was pulled taut. The small craft made back for the dhow at top speed. The men in it scrambled aboard. In the middle of the lagoon there was a great swirl and a mighty splash. A black dorsal fin raced through the water.

  Fascinated, Biggles and Algy watched the struggle that followed. The shark fought, but the small army of men on the dhow hung on to the rope like a team in a tug of war. Slowly but surely the big fish was dragged in close. Amid great excitement a tackle was slung round it. A winch pulled it up and it fell inboard, whereupon men with axes proceeded to dispatch it. When it was dead there was a pause as they all gathered round it.

  Suddenly there was a great shout of triumph.

  ‘By thunder! I believe they’ve got it,’ cried Biggles.

  ‘Got what?’

  ‘The money box. Of course! That was what they were after. Algy, old boy, you were right first time. I’ve never seen anything like this; nor could I have imagined it.’

  ‘So the opal is carrying on with its jinx,’ Algy said. ‘Now it’s the shark’s turn for the bad luck.’

  ‘Poppycock,’ scoffed Biggles. ‘The shark would have died the same way if it had been a box of money in its belly. What will the dhow do now the crew have found a treasure? That’s the question.’

  ‘I suppose they’ll know what the stuff is?’

  ‘Bound to. They must have seen it in jewellers’ shop windows, if nowhere else.’

  ‘If they have any sense they’ll chuck the infernal stuff overboard,’ growled Algy.

  Instead, it was the shark’s body that went overboard. Its entrails followed.

  Presently Biggles said: ‘I think the shark may have done us a good turn. It looks to me as if they’re satisfied with what they’ve got and have decided to pull out.’

  Activities on the dhow certainly suggested this. The anchor — a lump of rock — was pulled in, and the big lateen sail hauled up.

  ‘Good,’ Biggles said. ‘That suits us fine.’

  ‘Before they reach home they may be sorry they fiddled with a lot of opal,’ remarked Algy. ‘They’ve got enough on board to send a battleship to the bottom.’

  They watched the dhow approach the gap in the reef. It reached it and sailed through — almost. But just as it put its bows into the open sea it met one of the big swells that still occasionally rolled up. It was thrown back, and from where they stood Biggles and Algy could hear the splintering of timbers as it struck the side of the gap. The backwash threw it out again. There was some frenzied work on board. The sail was trimmed, and just as it looked as if the dhow would get clear, another wave came and threw it broadside on against the outer reef. There was a crunch that made Biggles flinch. The mast went by the board and the sail with it.

  ‘Now what about it?’ cried Algy. ‘This’ll teach ‘em to meddle with opal — dead men’s opal at that.’

  ‘She’s sinking,’ observed Biggles imperturbably as the dhow took on a heavy list and members of the crew began jumping on, or swimming to, the reef. ‘So the opal ends up in Davy Jones’s locker,’ he concluded, as the dhow, now tilted, began to slide down into the ocean.

  ‘Best place for it,’ Algy said.

  ‘This seems to be a good time to get airborne.’ Biggles got up. ‘Let’s go. These Arabs will have to take care of themselves. We can report what’s happened when we get home. A vessel of some sort can be sent out to take any survivors off the island.’

  In five minutes the Gadfly was on the water. Another five and it was in the air, circling over what might well have been named the Island of Misfortune. Satisfied that all was well, Biggles turned away and set the machine on a course for Calcutta.

  Five hours later it was on the airport, taxiing to the parking bay.

  CHAPTER 17

  BONNEY HAS THE LAST WORD

  AFTER they had checked in, Biggles’ first move was to contact the office in London to let them know all was well and he was on his way home. The next was to find accommodation for the night. There was no difficulty about this, and after the best meal they had had for days they enjoyed a comfortable night’s rest.

  Early the following morning Biggles was at the local office of Indian Airways inquiring for Collingwood’s pilot friend, Mackay, and may have been lucky to catch him just going on duty. As quickly and as briefly as possible he told him what had happened on Bonney Island, what Collingwood had been doing there and how he had died. Mackay agreed that this relieved him of any responsibility of making another trip to the island.

  In view of what happened later, when he had had time to think it over, he must have changed his mind. It came to Biggles’ notice like this. He and Algy had been home for nearly two months when they happened to drop into the Royal Aero Club for lunch. Afterwards, in the coffee room Biggles noticed a Flight Captain of Indian Airways. He didn’t know him, but on the spur of the moment he decided to take the opportunity of sending his compliments to Mackay.

  Having introduced himself and Algy, he said: ‘Do you happen to know one of your chaps named Mackay?’

  The Indian officer flashed a smile and answered: ‘Yes, I knew him well.’

  ‘Why the past tense?’ asked Biggles. ‘Has he retired?’

  ‘I think you could put it like that.’

  ‘Did something go wrong?’

  ‘Apparently. Do you happen to have heard of a place caned Bonney Island?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard of it,’ answered Biggles cautiously. ‘In the Indian Ocean.’

  ‘That’s right. Well, all I know is, some weeks ago, Mackay asked for time off to go there to fetch something — on his own plane, of course. When he didn’t come back one of our big machines flew out to see what had become of him. There was no one on the island. Not a soul. Nor was there any sign of an aircraft. What happened we don’t know, but it’s a safe bet that Mackay went down in the sea.’ The Indian looked at his watch. ‘Excuse me, but I must be going or I shall be late.’ He hurried off.

  Algy looked at Biggles. ‘So Mackay must have had engine trouble and ended up in the drink.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Biggles put out a restraining hand. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Don’t say it. Mackay may have gone looking for opal, but nothing will make me believe that that caused his engine to fail. The Arab who was grabbed by a shark would have died the same way had he been carrying a bag of nuts. It’s all a matter of coincidence. Let’s get back to the office.’

  THE END