by Sapper
The dwarf got down off his chair, and stood for a moment or two in the centre of the saloon. Jim was rummaging in a cupboard for the whisky: Percy was lighting a cigarette. And so there was no one to notice a head that suddenly appeared in the fan-light, with a pair of bestial eyes fixed on the short misshapen figure of the blind man. Amazement followed incredulity in their expression: gloating anticipation followed amazement. Then as Jim straightened up the head was abruptly withdrawn.
“Good night,” said the dwarf as Percy took him by the arm.
“Between half-past five and six,” grunted Jim.
“I shall be ready,” remarked the other.
“It’s the devil, Percy,” said Jim when his cousin returned. “I tried to bluff it out in front of that little swine, but they’ve got six to four the better of us. And anyone who is not bughouse can see they have.”
“You don’t think they’ll hurt Judy, do you?”
“No,” said Jim thoughtfully. “At any rate not tonight. Their only idea is to get the correct map. And they’re not going to do anything which would jeopardise their chances of obtaining it. But the fact remains that we shall have to give it to them. We must get Judy off that yacht, and they won’t let her come without it. It’s a pity, but it can’t be helped.”
“You meant to come back here?”
“Of course I did. Once we’d got Judy safe in Rio, we could have fitted out a properly armed expedition. And even if we’d found no treasure we should have had a lot of fun. But now that swab Miguel will know as much as we do. He may or may not decide to carry on now, when he finds the island is not uninhabited. And if he doesn’t the same idea will strike him – go back and refit. Which is where he will score. He’s got a yacht ready to hand: we haven’t.”
He rose and stretched himself.
“Ah! well. Absolutely nothing matters beyond getting Judy safely out of it. Hullo! what the devil do you want?”
He swung round and stared at the dwarf who was standing in the entrance white faced and shaking.
“Was it either of you,” he quavered, “who passed his hand over my face?”
“It was not. What happened?”
“A hand – a huge hairy hand – touched me. I could feel the fingers pressing on me gently.”
“Stay here,” snapped Jim. “Percy, get your gun, and come with me.”
He picked up his own revolver, and started along the corridor out of which the cabins led.
“Is there a light inside?” he muttered.
“No,” said Percy. “I didn’t bother as he’s blind.”
“Go back and get my electric torch. It’s in the small locker.” And suddenly his voice rose to a shout. “God! look at that.”
They had left the dwarf standing in the centre of the saloon. He was still there, but just above his head were two great brown hands, that, even as they watched, shot down and clutched him by the throat. Then, before their eyes, he was drawn up, screaming like a pig, and disappeared.
For a moment or two they stood motionless, rooted to the spot: then simultaneously they dashed back into the saloon. The fan-light was wide open: he had been lifted through it. They could still hear him screaming, but as they darted up on deck there came a heavy splash, and silence.
“The dinghy,” roared Jim. “Pull it alongside, while I get the rifle.”
They jumped into the little boat, and rowed feverishly for the shore. And having beached her they stood listening. Not a sound could they hear, save the monotonous roar of the breakers on the reef. And then from some way off the piteous shrieks of the dwarf began again. They raced along the beach, but the cries grew fainter and fainter. Some stones came rattling down beside them: the thing was climbing the hill. And after a while silence settled once again.
They made their way slowly back to the dinghy: any idea of pursuit was impossible. By day Jim would not have hesitated to fire, trusting to his marvellous eye not to hit Dresler. But in the darkness he was helpless.
“This is getting beyond a joke,” he said quietly, as they rowed back. “Not that I care a damn what happens to that little brute, but it’s going to make it the devil for us.”
“In what way?” cried his cousin.
“He was our guarantee for Judy. And now tomorrow morning we’ve got to tackle the yacht with neither him nor Barnet. Of course they won’t believe us. Damn it! Percy, I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
They tied up the boat, and went on board. And at that moment the moon rose from behind the hill. Silhouetted on the sky line was an enormous figure, and instinctively Jim threw up his rifle. Then he lowered it again.
“Too long a range,” he said regretfully. “But look at the size of the thing.”
A bellowing roar of defiance, twice repeated, came across the water: then the sky line was clear once more.
“I hold no brief for Dresler,” he went on gravely, “but he’s going to pay for his sins this night. Look at the marks of the brute on the deck.”
In the brilliant light of the tropical moon the wet footprints showed up clearly: marks just like those they had seen in the mud that afternoon.
“Probably the same one that took the wretched Lopez,” muttered Jim. “Gad! Percy, I’ll be glad to get Judy out of this.”
“Why don’t we push off now?” said his cousin. “This light is almost as bright as day.”
“You’re right, old lad. We will. I’d forgotten about the moon when I said tomorrow morning. Go and get the engines started.”
Percy went below, and Jim sat down on a coil of rope thinking. How to get Judy off the yacht – that was the problem. He had no idea which her cabin would be, and even if he could find out it would be impossible to approach the yacht unseen in the moonlight. There was certain to be some form of watch kept, however slack discipline might be. And then there was Bill too: it was out of the question to leave him behind. Still it was a good idea to go now: anything was better than this enforced idleness. And he would feel easier in his mind if he was on board the yacht himself.
He glanced at the opening in the rocks with anxious eyes. If only Bill had been still with them it would have made it so much easier. They wanted someone in the bows badly, to help con the boat.
“All ready when you are,” shouted Percy, and he rose to his feet. The sooner they were through the better, and if they were going to pile up there was no good putting it off. But their luck was in. Twice did a wet jagged pinnacle of rock show out of the swell within a foot of them: once quite distinctly they felt her graze. And then came Jim’s cheerful shout of “Full speed ahead”; they were through, and steering for the open sea.
“What did you make of that thing, Jim?” said his cousin, joining him at the wheel. “Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
“No, I haven’t,” answered the other thoughtfully. “But we’ve seen what happened to Lopez. And there is no doubt at all in my mind that he never went ashore of his own free will. They got him just as they got Dresler. Which shows pretty conclusively that they do not remain merely on the defensive, but are prepared to be the aggressors. Incredible though it may seem, Percy, my own belief is that very few people have ever got away from this island – that what Bill told us was true. And it’s that, far more than any harm Judy may come to from Don Miguel, that is making me so desperately uneasy.”
“You think they may attack the yacht?”
“I think it is a certainty. But my hope is that they may wait till a party goes ashore, as they did in the case of the Paquinetta. They evidently possess a certain low cunning, and then they may hesitate to board the yacht when she is fully manned. In which case it will be tomorrow night, because they won’t land anyone till they’ve got the map. That’s what I’m banking on.”
He paused abruptly, staring ahead. They were steering parallel with the edge of the swamp, over which the mist now lay like a blanket of cotton wool.
“Listen,” he cried. “My God! there’s another. Ra
ce her, Percy: take the bottom out of her. There is firing going on in front of us.”
His cousin sprang below, and the next moment the boat was quivering from bow to stern like a mad thing. But even above the sound of the engine came the ominous crack, crack, of firearms, followed after a time by an even more ominous silence. And sick with anxiety Jim stood at the wheel staring over the glittering silver water ahead. Did that abrupt cessation of firing mean that the things had been repulsed, or did it mean…? Not even to himself could he complete the alternative.
They rounded the point, and saw the yacht lying at anchor a mile away. Lights were shining through some of the portholes, but they could see no sign of any movement, though in the moonlight the deck and bridge were clearly visible. She was about a quarter of a mile from the shore, and the first thing they noticed as they drew alongside was that the steps of the gangway were sopping wet.
They made fast, and dashed up on deck. And the sight that confronted them was so incredible that for a moment or two they stood there unable to move. The yacht was a shambles. Just in front of them lay Bully McIntyre, a blood-spattered crowbar still gripped in his hands. His head was bent back, and round his throat were great red weals. His neck had been broken from behind. Others of the crew lay about with their heads battered in: the sickly smell of blood was everywhere. It was a ghastly scene in the cold white light at any time, but one that was calculated to make them numb with horror when they thought of Judy.
They rushed below; all the cabins were open. And inside the first one they entered they came on what was left of Don Miguel. But it was not on the crushed remnants that Jim’s eyes were fixed, but on the chair that stood by the bed. On it lay a little revolver, and he picked it up.
“Judy’s,” he muttered hoarsely. “The one I gave her. Oh! my God.”
“Jim: come here.”
A hoarse shaking voice which he dimly recognised as Percy’s came from outside, and like a man walking in his sleep he joined him in the corridor.
“Look at that.”
The door of the next cabin had been splintered to match wood, and on the bed lay Judy’s hat. For a while they stood looking at it, not daring to meet one another’s eyes. The situation was beyond speech: beyond thought. Judy was in the hands of these monstrous horrors, without even a revolver to protect herself with.
“What are we going to do, Jim: what can we do?”
“Do,” answered the other tensely, “do. Go after her, of course. And if there’s no other way out – shoot her. But there’s going to be another way out, Percy.”
His voice rose to a savage shout. “We’ll beat the brutes yet.”
CHAPTER 11
Judy Draycott bolted the door of her cabin in Don Miguel’s yacht, and tried to think coherently. Her brain was whirling: the events of the last few hours seemed like some hideous nightmare. She had been asleep when Jim and Percy went ashore, and had only awakened two hours afterwards to find Bill Blackett mounting guard and looking worried.
“Where are the others?” she asked and he told her.
“Madness, miss,” he remarked gloomily, “but there’s no use arguing with Mr Maitland. And what makes it worse is that the dago’s yacht has arrived. She passed some way out, and she hasn’t seen us yet, but if she comes to look for us there’s no way of hiding. And then we’re between the devil and the deep sea.”
He scanned the side of the hill through his telescope, but nothing stirred.
The afternoon dragged slowly on, and at four-thirty she went below to make some tea. To while away the time the sailor had been telling her some of Jim’s exploits, but she noticed that he never let five minutes elapse without searching the hill with his glass. And when she returned with the cups he was pacing up and down the deck looking anxiously at the sun.
“Another hour and a half, two hours at the most, and it’ll be dark,” he said. “Blast! here’s the yacht.”
She turned round: steaming slowly round the headland came the boat whose graceful lines she had last seen in Rio harbour.
“They’ve spotted us,” said Bill, shutting up his telescope. “Now what are they going to do?”
They were not left long in doubt: having arrived opposite the opening in the rocks the yacht’s engines stopped, and she remained there rolling lazily in the swell while a boat was lowered.
“Eight of ’em,” muttered Bill. “That dwarf I’ve heard you talk about is one of them, and a great red-faced fellow who looks English.”
The boat was being rowed towards them rapidly.
“Don’t let them come on board, Bill,” cried Judy.
“How can I stop ’em, miss?” he said gravely. “I can’t shoot the lot. Maybe they’ve only come to ask questions, and mean us no harm.”
“Is Maitland there?” sung out the red-faced man whom Judy at once recognised as Barnet, as the boat came alongside.
“He is not,” said Bill. “He’s ashore. What are you wanting?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” grunted the other. “Up you get, Emil.”
He helped the dwarf on board, and came up after him followed by four of the boat’s crew.
“We don’t want the whole Brazilian navy on deck,” cried Bill angrily.
“It doesn’t matter what you want. You’ll damned well take what you get. Now then where’s that map?”
“Mr Maitland has got it on him.”
Barnet stared at him suspiciously, and whispered something to the dwarf who shrugged his shoulders.
“When will he be back?”
“I know no more than you do,” answered Bill. “He went ashore three or four hours ago.”
And once again the two of them whispered together, evidently deciding to adopt a different line.
“My dear Miss Draycott,” began the dwarf ingratiatingly, “I feel sure we shall be able to arrange matters amicably. I must say that I have the greatest admiration for the way you have scored off us up to date, but I feel certain that you will be the first to admit that matters cannot go on as they are any longer.”
“I prefer to have no discussion at all with men who were responsible for my brother’s murder,” said Judy passionately.
“Come, come,” said Dresler, “I can assure you that was an accident. No one regretted it more than Sir Montague Barnet and myself. Anyway it is over and done with: it belongs to the past, and we are concerned with the present. Now then, are we going to work together or not?”
“Nothing would induce me to have anything to do with you,” cried the girl.
“But I fear you will have to,” said the dwarf suavely. “I don’t want to waste time pointing out obvious facts but we outnumber you by more than ten to one. And only my abhorrence of violence makes me discuss the matter at all. The position is this, Miss Draycott. Mr Maitland has the map: we want the map. Moreover we intend to have the map. Now if you will give me your solemn promise that you will persuade Mr Maitland to hand it over to us, then I, in my turn, will give you my promise that a fair share of the treasure, should we discover any, will be handed over to you.”
“And if I won’t promise,” said Judy.
‘Once again the dwarf shrugged his shoulders.
“Need we go into such an eventuality,” he said softly. “I will leave it to your imagination.”
“Then I will give you my answer, Mr Dresler. Rather than see that map in your hands, I shall ask Mr Maitland to tear it up and throw it in the sea. Oh! you brutes!”
She gave a sudden cry, as the four men, obeying a quick gesture from Barnet, hurled themselves on Bill Blackett. For a few moments he fought like a demon, and one of his assailants went overboard with a broken jaw. But it could only end one way when Barnet, with a loaded stick in his hand joined in as well. There came a dull thud, and Bill crashed forward on the deck unconscious.
“There’s no good wasting time, Emil,” grunted the baronet. “That fellow Maitland may be back at any moment. Put him in the boat.”
They lowered the motionless
sailor into the boat alongside, and Barnet picked up his rifle.
“Now, Miss Draycott,” he said curtly, “will you kindly follow your friend or have we got to lift you in too.”
“What are you going to do with us?” said Judy.
“Exchange your quarters for more comfortable ones on board the yacht. Emil, I’m going ashore: I will return with Maitland.”
And so having landed him she found herself being rowed to the yacht, with Bill still lying unconscious in the bottom of the boat. And though she tried not to notice it, a feeling of sick fear began to come over her as she saw the way the sailors looked at her. They were talking to one another in Brazilian and every now and then they laughed evilly, as if enjoying some secret joke. What a fool she had been to speak so precipitately: why hadn’t she temporised till Jim got back? But when she stared at the hill, the only moving thing she could see was the figure of Barnet slowly climbing.
An officer received her as she mounted the gangway, and she hated him even more than the sailors.
“In ze regretted absence of Don Miguel,” he leered in broken English, “it is to me much pleasure to receive you. Will you please to come: I show you ze saloon.”
She watched Bill being hoisted on board; then sick at heart she followed the officer.
“It is pretty, is it not?” remarked her guide, and as she glanced indifferently round the room, he suddenly seized her in his arms and kissed her.
It was just what Judy wanted to rouse her from her despondency. With a smack like the shot of a pistol she got him with her open hand on the cheek, and he staggered back snarling. Then muttering something in Brazilian he came towards her again, only to find himself looking down the wrong end of a small business-like automatic.
“Another step, you little swine,” said Judy, “and I’ll kill you.”
