if he went along with him—having nothing more to do— and pick up such news as he might, particularly anything concerning Castanelli. The point was—and in this the others agreed—that there had been a long delay in which there was just a chance that Castanelli had discovered the pearl-bed. If that was so, the news would certainly have got back to Tahiti. So Sandy had gone. One of the very first people he had seen on stepping ashore at Tahiti was Castanelli himself. Before he could get back to the boat trouble had been caused—deliberately, of course—by Castanelli's Solomon Island boys, and although he had tried to avoid it, in the melee he had been stabbed in the arm. Naturally, he had been tempted to report the matter to the governor of the island, but, realizing the danger in which he stood, he had gone straight back to the boat and persuaded Namu to return to Vaitie. He had got back to Vaitie all right, but he was still incapacitated by his arm. He had only just got back. Namu and his lugger were still there. That, briefly, was Sandy's story.
Biggles examined the wound and saw at a glance that Sandy was not fit to travel, nor would he be for the next ten days. The gash was an ugly one and looked inflamed, while Sandy himself was feverish. To go on in such circumstances was to court trouble, for wounds heal slowly in the tropics, and should it turn out that medical attention became necessary, the expedition would have to be abandoned at the very outset of operations. Rather than risk this Biggles resolved to delay the final journey to Sandy's island until it was clear that the wound was healing satisfactorily.. It was an unfortunate beginning but it could not be helped.
Instead of doing nothing while they were waiting, Biggles suggested that, as the lugger was still at Vaitie, two of them might go to Tahiti to pick up any news that might affect the expedition—assuming, of course, that the Polynesian was willing to make the journey for a monetary consideration. He would not use the aircraft for fear of attracting undesirable publicity to themselves in Tahiti. The weakness of Sandy's scheme had been that he was known to Castanelli, but this need no longer apply. And so it came about that the night following their arrival at Vaitie saw Biggles and Ginger on the lugger bound for Papeete Harbour, Tahiti. Algy had been left behind to look after Sandy, but 22
with instructions to risk the consequences and fly him to Tahiti should the wound become worse.
Three days on the open sea in a small boat was a new experience for Ginger; he was rather nervous at first, particularly when sharks kept them company, as they often did. However, fair weather and a favourable breeze prevailed, and they sailed unobtrusively into the famous island harbour of Papeete on the evening of the third day. Ginger was breathless at the tropical beauty of the coastal scenery as they sailed along it, and as soon as they were ashore he would have explored it further. But Biggles pointed out that they were not visiting the island for pleasure, and declared his intention of returning to Vaitie as soon as their inquiries were complete. Ginger took what consolation he could from the fact that there would be plenty of time for exploration when they got to Sandy's Island. With the object of pursuing the inquiries forthwith, Biggles directed his steps towards the Restaurant du Port, as Sandy had advised. It was nearly full, and Ginger gazed at the extraordinary assortment of humanity it held with fascinated interest. There were a few well-dressed tourists, mostly Americans, brawny island skippers, bearded down-at-heel white men of many nationalities, half-castes of every shade between black and yellow, Chinese traders, and good-looking Polynesians, some with hibiscus or other tropical blossoms tucked behind their ears or into their hair. Odd words of English, French, German, and unknown languages reached Ginger as he followed Biggles across the room.
Biggles found two seats in a corner and ordered some food. 'It's rather hard to know where to start making inquiries,' he said, above the babble of conversation. Namu said he would come along if he could manage it, after he has finished some business he has to attend to. I hope he does. I think he could help us.'
`You haven't told him anything about Castanelli?'
'No, but he knows that in some way we are concerned with him. Apparently he was with Sandy when he got knifed in the arm, and although Sandy didn't tell him any details, he no doubt drew certain conclusions. In any case,
23
he probably overheard enough scraps of our conversation at Vaitie to give him an idea of how the wind blows.'
Ginger had taken a liking to the big, athletic, open-faced Polynesian skipper, and he said so. 'I think we might have done better had we taken him into our confidence,' he murmured 'He would be better able to deal with this situation than us. He must hear all sorts of gossip. Ah! here he is, coming in now.'
Ginger noticed that more than one pair of curious eyes followed the Polynesian across the room as he walked straight over to the table where Biggles and he were sitting. He pulled out a chair and sat down. 'You look for Capitan. Castanelli, peut-etre?' he said softly, in an odd mixture of English and French.
Biggles regarded him thoughtfully for a moment without answering. Then he nodded. '
Yes, we are interested in Castanelli,' he said.
`Bad man.'
`So I believe.'
`Tres mauvais. Be on your guard.'
`Why? Do you know of any reason why he should have anything against us? He doesn't even know us.'
`That one make trouble with everybody. He make trouble yesterday. He pull out in the morning.'
`You mean—he's in Papeete now?'
`Yes. His schooner Avatara is down in harbour. He back from Rutuona. He sail at dawn. Him plenty stores on board now.'
`What was the trouble?'
`He steal boy from Rutuona. Yesterday boy get ashore here and run away. Castanelli catch him and beat him pretty hard. Say he signed on for voyage and try to desert. Haul him back.'
`You say he is sailing in the morning?'
`Yes, Governor tell him to clear out.'
`Where is he going?'
`He not say. Nobody knows except Castanelli and his boys. They wink and grin when anybody ask.'
`How did you learn all this?'
`My boys talk on waterfront—plenty gossip.'
`But what happened about the boy Castanelli stole from Rutuona? Has he still got him?'
24
The Polynesian shook his -head. "Fraid he have to go with Castanelli. Every one afraid of Castanelli.' Èven the Governor?'
`Maybe. Castanelli make much trouble.'
`But that's a scandalous thing,' cried Ginger, indignantly. Ì savvy bymeby that boy ShellBreaker he jump overboard.'
Ginger stared at the name. Biggles frowned and stared into Namu's face. 'What name did you say?' he asked, tensely.
`Shell-Breaker.'
`You mean—the boy Castanelli took from Rutuona?' `Yes.'
In a flash Biggles understood. Castanelli had been to Rutuona. In some way he had learnt that Shell-Breaker had picked up Sandy, and must therefore know the approximate position of the island. Now, with the boy and stores on board, he was going in search of it.
Ì think it's a good thing we came here,' Biggles told Ginger grimly. 'That's as much as we want to know. We'd better get back to Vaitie right away.' He glanced over his shoulder to ascertain the cause of a disturbance that-had started near the door. A sudden silence fell. All eyes were on a short, thick-set man, with an Italian cast of countenance, who was advancing slowly down the room. His smooth, swarthy face was flushed, his eyes were half closed, and from the way he fingered his sleek black moustache he was evidently enjoying the mild sensation his appearance had created. Namu had half risen to his feet, but he dropped back again into his seat and touched Biggles on the arm. `Castanelli,' he whispered nervously.
`What about it?' asked Biggles. 'You've nothing to be afraid of, have you?'
`Maybe you not understand. If Castanelli go for me I do nothing.'
`Why not?'
`Castanelli white man. Me hit Castanelli I get into bad trouble.'
Àh, I understand,' nodded Biggles, counting out some change to
pay the bill. He looked up, however, as out of the corners of his eyes he saw that the Corsican had halted at their table. He was looking down at Namu with an expression of sinister animosity.
`What for you go sneaking round my schooner—eh, you scum?' he grated. Ì no go near your schooner, Capitan Castanelli,' answered Namu quickly. The corners of Castanelli's mouth came down in an ugly snarl. He drew back his fist. '
You lying ' He broke off and stared belligerently at Biggles who had risen swiftly to his feet.
`Just a minute,' snapped Biggles. 'This is my party. I don't remember inviting you.'
There was dead silence in the room.
Castanet glared at Biggles. 'You seet down,' he gritted viciously.
`Who do you think you are talking to—one of your boys?' asked Biggles, curtly.
`Get out of my way.'
`What do you think you are going to do?'
`Pulp zis nigger.'
Biggles shook his head. 'Oh, no, you're not,' he said evenly. "If there's any pulping to be done I'll take a hand.'
Castanelli's eyes opened wide. `Do you know who I am?' he snarled, in a voice that was evidently intended to intimidate.
`Yes, I know who you are and what you are,' returned Biggles evenly. 'Your name's Castanelli, and you're just a cheap bully who thinks he owns the Islands. Now get away from my table.'
Castanelli's arm moved like lightning. His hand flashed to his pocket. It came up with a knife in it.
Biggles snatched up a glass of ice water from the table and flung it in his face. He took a swift pace forward. His left jabbed Castanelli in the solar plexus, and, as the Corsican's head jerked forward under the blow, Biggles's right fist hooked his jaw with a crack that sounded as if some one had broken a cricket stump across the middle. Castanelli grunted, staggered, and went over backwards, taking with him a table at which a young American tour-ist had been sitting. The American jumped aside in the 27
nick of time. 'Oh, boy, oh, boy! ' he breathed. 'What a beauty!'
Nobody else in the room moved. The proprietor stood nervously wringing his hands, but made no attempt to interfere. Biggles remained where he was, watching Castanelli slowly pick himself up.
The Corsican clambered to his feet and shook his head. His little eyes, glinting with hate, flashed round the room . at the witnesses of his discomfiture. They came to rest on Biggles. For a moment he hesitated, breathing heavily. 'I shall see you again some time,'
he hissed through his teeth.
`Wait for a dark night when I'm looking the other way, eh?' sneered Biggles. 'You crooked little swine! Go and get on with your work of trading liquor round the islands.'
Castanelli glanced again round the room. Several people were smiling, but their smiles faded quickly when the Corsican's eyes came to rest on them. Castanelli slowly put his knife away, walked quietly to the door, and disappeared into the darkness. Instantly a babble of voices broke out.
`Time somebody handed him that,' declared a down-. at-heel beachcomber in a dirty cotton jacket with no collar or tie.
`Then why didn't you do it?' asked Biggles, coldly. 'You look as if you've had plenty of time.' He turned to the others. 'Come on,' he said. 'Finish your drinks and let's go.'
While he was waiting for them a tall fair-haired man, obviously a Scandinavian, in a well-worn skipper's uniform, came across and held out his hand. 'I'm Sven Orlaffsen,' he said. 'Good work, boy. I own the Caramayo. If I can do anything at any time just let me know.'
`Thanks, Orlaffsen,' returned Biggles. 'I'll bear it in mind.' He turned and walked towards the door, watched by every one in the room. 'Have you finished your business?' he asked Namu as soon as they were outside.
`Yes, boss. I've finished.'
`Ready to sail?'
`When you say.'
`Good. I'm going to find the Governor and ask him to
inquire into this business of Shell-Breaker,' declared
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Biggles. 'We've got to get that boy out of Castanelli's hands.'
Namu was staring across the moonlit harbour. 'It's too late,' he said.
`Why—what do you mean?'
Castanelli make sail. There go his schooner.' Namu pointed. Following the direction indicated, Biggles saw a schooner moving slowly towards the harbour mouth. Water still dripped from her anchor. 'He didn't waste much time, did he?'
he said bitterly. 'I'm afraid we can't do anything about it now. But I have a feeling we shall meet that gentleman again. We'd better get back
Vaitie.'
They began walking towards where the lugger was moored.
ON their arrival at Vaitie they found Sandy's arm much improved, but he was definitely alarmed by their news that Castanelli had got hold of Shell-Breaker. Ì can tell you what happened,' he declared furiously. `Castanelli was cruising about looking for the shell-bed and put in at Rutuona for fresh water. He would be bound to put in there because it is one of the biggest islands in the group, and at the same time the one nearest to the area where I went overboard. The natives must have told him that I had been there; you can't blame them for that. Very little happens on the Islands, and my staying there would
29
be regarded as a first-class piece of news. Naturally, Castanelli would make inquiries and so find out the names of the boy and girl who picked me up. He was too wise to lay hands on the girl; white men have lost their heads for less—even in recent years; but he got hold of young Shell-Breaker and carried him away. His stores were probably low, so he came back to Tahiti to refit before going on to the pearl-bed. I'll bet you any money that is what hap-. pened.'
Namu, who had been listening to the conversation, nodded. 'Yes, he bring plenty stores, and new diving-suit,' he said.
`How do you know he's got a diving-suit?' asked. Sandy sharply. Ì sell my copra to Sing Hoo. I know Sing Hoo has diving-gear. When I go this time, no diving-suit. I say, "Where diving-suit?" Sing Hoo say, "Castanelli buy it."
`Well, that's plain enough,' declared Biggles. 'We needn't argue about it. It looks as if we'
d better get along right away; we can still get there before Castanelli.'
Àll the same, it's a pity he's got that boy with him,' muttered Sandy with a worried frown. Ìt depends on how much the boy has told him,' returned Biggles. 'I suppose he'd tell everything?'
Ì'm not so sure of that. Marquesans can be a funny lot. Their fathers were cannibals, don'
t forget; in fact, there are still whispers of cannibalism. If they like a white man they'll do anything for him; if not, you could cut them to pieces before they'd speak. Shell-Breaker might have told the truth, but on the other hand he might have led Castanelli up the garden path.'
Castanelli call at Rutuona on the way to your island, assuming that the boy has told him where it is?' asked Biggles.
`Bound to. It's a long run to the island. He'll want fresh water. His boys will want fresh nuts.'
`Then how about going on to Rutuona and waiting for him to turn up? If the natives would help we might make him give up Shell-Breaker,' suggested Ginger. 'We could still get to the island first.'
`There's something in that,' declared Sandy. 'By this time Castanelli will be thinking that he's got clear away. The 30
last thing he'll think of is that we've got an aircraft, and that we might get to Rutuona first.'
Àt any rate, it's worth trying,' decided Biggles. 'We'll get to Rutuona for a start, and see how the land lies. We'll leave the final decision until then.'
The 'Scud' floated on the placid lagoon ready for an immediate take-off. What petrol and stores were not immediately required had already been hidden by Algy while the others were away, so as it was still forenoon there was nothing to delay their departure. After thanking him for his assistance, they said good-bye to Namu and his crew of three grinning boys, and took their places in the machine. The engines were started, and in a few minutes her keel was cutting a creamy wake across the limpid surface of the blue water. Biggles was at the j
oystick, with the chart and a compass-course pinned on the side of the instrument-board.
For hours they flew on at a comfortable cruising speed over an illimitable expanse of sea, sometimes passing an island which looked like an emerald lying on blue velvet. On one occasion they flew high over a tiny black speck which Sandy declared was a native canoe. Late in the afternoon he pointed to a spot on the horizon. 'Schooner! ' he shouted. '
That must be Castanelli.'
Not long afterwards a faint blur appeared ahead. Sandy had already announced that they were approaching Rutuona, a fact which he was able to deduce, he said, by the colour of the sky in that direction; instead of the customary deep blue it held a suspicion of reflected green. That he was correct was soon made manifest when the distant blur crystallized into a line of jagged peaks.
`That isn't my idea of a South Sea island,' stated Ginger, as they drew nearer.
`The Marquesas are not South Sea islands in the generally accepted sense of the word,'
Sandy told him. 'Most islands are coral formations, and lie low, like the Paumotos. The Marquesas are a wee bit terrifying at first; some of them stick straight up out of the sea for a thousand feet or more. But most of them have good beaches, although they run up to wild crags in the interior, which, for the most part, is a mass of jungle.'
Àny snakes?' asked Ginger. 'They're my pet aversion.' 31
`No, but there are some nasty ten-inch centipedes that you'll do well to leave alone. In fact, you'd better not touch anything until we've had a stroll round. I'll show you what to leave alone.'
By this time the machine was gliding down, and Sandy went forward to show Biggles where to land. 'There's the village,' he said, pointing to a few palm-thatched shacks on the edge of a bay. 'There's another village on the far side of the island, but it doesn't amount to much; this is the centre of the island's social life. You can come down anywhere in the bay; there are no rocks or anything, but keep an eye open for canoes.'
Biggles circled slowly round the village, losing height, and then dropped the nose of the machine towards the blue bay, which was bounded on one side by a long, curving strip of golden beach.
Biggles In the South Seas Page 3
