by W E Johns
Biggles smiled again. ‘It’s surprising what one will do at a pinch to keep Old Man Death at a distance. You said two problems. What was the other?’
‘Sekunder. What to do when he came back, if I could live as long as that.’
‘You thought he’d come back?’
‘I was certain of it. What motive could he have had for murdering me — for that’s what it amounted to — if he didn’t intend coming back?’
‘Now you’ve had plenty of time to think, what do you suppose was his motive?’
‘I think that’s pretty obvious. He wasn’t sharing what we’d found with me or anyone else. He wanted the lot. If there’s treasure in the tomb he’ll keep it. If there’s nothing of value he’ll claim credit for the discovery.’
‘To do that he’d have to account for your disappearance,’ Biggles pointed out. ‘It’s known you started together.’
‘Forget it. He’d have no difficulty in dreaming up a cock-and-bull story to account for my death. Who would disbelieve him if he said I’d gone off on my own, lost my way in the desert — as can easily happen — and perished from thirst? No one could disprove it, even my father, if he was suspicious.’
‘If there is treasure in the tomb Sekunder would be bound by law to hand it over to the government.’
‘Don’t make me laugh. Not him — oh no. I can’t see him doing that, not after what he’s done to me. He’ll smuggle the stuff to a black market and put the money in his pocket. That must have been his scheme all along. Having had time to think, I’ve remembered little things, such as his behaviour in Siwa, where he went off several times without me. I believe now he was fixing something with somebody. Why didn’t he tell me he’d done some flying? By the time I knew that it was too late to turn back. I’d say it boils down to this. If we found nothing we’d go home and report failure. That would have cost him nothing. If we found something of cash value he’d get rid of me and keep everything for himself. Does that make sense to you?’
‘Yes, I think that just about sums up the situation,’ agreed Biggles. ‘You’re assuming he was able to take your machine to some point that suited him. I don’t think it could have been Siwa, or we’d have heard of him.’
‘Probably one of the abandoned oases on the way, nearer than Siwa. I think he’d manage that. It would be a perfectly straight flight. I’d already worked out a compass bearing for Siwa and he knew that. I gave it to him as a precautionary measure in case I had an accident.’
‘Very wise. How do you think he’ll come back? Fly?’
‘I doubt it. He may not trust his navigation to that extent. The plane had served its purpose. The tomb had been located. There’d be no need for him to hurry. As long as I had had time to die he could come back any old time, in any way that suited him. Perhaps by camel, which would enable him to bring more effective tools for opening the tomb.’
‘Camels cost money. He’d need several. If he couldn’t afford a plane, which I imagine was why he took you into partnership, where would he get the money to buy camels?’
‘Oh, he’d get over that by taking someone into his confidence, as he took me. He may have made arrangements before we started. At that time he didn’t know where the tomb was, or in fact if there really was one. Now he knows it’s here, and exactly where it is. That makes a lot of difference. He’s a slick talker. He’d raise the cash, whether or not the man who put up the money came here with him.’
‘You seem to have got it all worked out.’ Biggles smiled as he lit another cigarette.
‘As I’ve said, I’ve had plenty of time to think. There wasn’t much else I could do. Had it been possible I would have broken into the tomb and taken out, and hidden, any treasure. That would have queered his pitch. But I could do nothing with my bare hands. The tools were in the machine.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, I can only suppose they were. We didn’t unload them. Why do you question it?’
‘Only a minor point. The thought struck me that if Sekunder knew he was coming back, why take home a load of tools that might be useful here?’
‘I didn’t think of that.’
‘Did you look for them in case he put them out and hid them somewhere?’
‘No. To open up that mass of rock will be a big job. Sekunder knows that. We discussed it. He suggested a stick of dynamite would do the trick. You can be sure that when he comes back he’ll be fully equipped for the operation.’
‘He’s not likely to come alone.’
‘I realize that.’
‘And you still insist on staying here?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then tell me this. What do you intend to do when he turns up?’
‘That will depend on how many men he brings with him. I shall have one big advantage, don’t forget. Assuming I’m dead, he won’t give me a second thought. I’ll watch my chance to catch him alone, and then...’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll shoot him. I’ve got a gun.’
Bertie broke in. ‘Jolly good. That’s the stuff. Give the skunk what he deserves.’
Biggles was frowning. ‘Here, just a minute. Never mind what he deserves — you’d better think twice before you take the law into your own hands.’
‘Law! What law?’ demanded Adrian hotly. ‘What’s the use of talking about law in a place like this? Sekunder didn’t worry about the law, so why should I?’
‘Take my advice and have another think, because you haven’t much time. Unless I’m barking up the wrong tree you’ll soon be seeing him.’
Adrian looked hard at Biggles’ face. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘There’s a six-camel caravan heading in this direction now.’
‘The devil there is! How do you know?’
‘We overtook it on our way here. We’ve good reason to remember it.’
‘How so?’
‘We’ve reason to suppose they were responsible for burning our camp at El Arig. We came here yesterday looking for you, but we were a bit too far south. When we got back to EI Arig we found someone had called there and sabotaged our gear. That included half our reserve of petrol. Why anyone should do that was a mystery to us, but now we’ve heard your story it begins to add up.’ Biggles related in detail what had happened at El Arig. ‘Obviously, someone wanted us out of the way,’ he concluded.
‘That sounds like Sekunder,’ declared Adrian. ‘Well, let him come. That suits me. The sooner the better. It seems I wasn’t far out in my weighing up of the situation.’
‘That’s how it looks to me,’ agreed Biggles.
‘Good. With luck I shall be able to square things with that double-crossing little rat.’
‘Don’t you think it would be wiser to forget the whole thing and come home with us before the caravan gets here?’ suggested Biggles gently.
‘Not on your sweet life,’ retorted Adrian.
‘This is no place to start a shooting match. What if Sekunder has a bunch of Tuareg with him?’
‘I don’t care who he has with him. He’s not getting away with this.’
‘With what? Are you thinking about the treasure?’
‘I don’t care two hoots about that. I still have some self-respect. If I ran away it’d look as if I was afraid of him — and my guv’nor wouldn’t hesitate to say so.’
‘You know the old saying. He who runs away...’
‘I know — I know. Lives to fight another day. I’ll do my fighting now, thank you. There’s no need for you to get mixed up in this. It’s my affair. If that’s how you feel, you can push off and leave me to it. Just leave me some grub, that’s all I ask.’
Biggles’ frown deepened. ‘Now you’re talking foolishly. And don’t you talk to me in that tone of voice. Your father sent us here to fetch you, and when I go you’ll go with me, dead or alive — probably dead if you persist in the mood you’re in now. You’re in no state to take on a bunch of cut-throats and you know it.’
‘Sorry,’ sa
id Adrian contritely. ‘I’m a bit steamed up. I realize you’re talking sense. What’s the size of the caravan you saw?’
‘Six camels and, we think, five men. We were flying high when we saw it.’
‘When do you reckon it’ll get here?’
‘Tomorrow evening at the earliest.’
‘That gives us time to breathe. May I make a suggestion?’
‘Of course.’
Tomorrow morning, early, before sun-up, I’ll show you the tomb. You can tell me what you make of it. That’s if you insist on staying here with me.’
‘I’m not leaving you here alone.’
‘Okay. Have it your way.’
‘Are you feeling better now you’ve got some food inside you?’
‘Much, thank you. By tomorrow I’ll be back to normal. I still have a bit of weight to make up.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Biggles. ‘Now let’s see about getting organized.’
Adrian looked worried. ‘I’ll leave that to you. There’s one thing about this I don’t like.’
‘What is it?’
‘If anything should happen to your machine you’d be stuck here.’
‘So would you,’ returned Biggles dryly. ‘Don’t think I’ve overlooked that.’
‘What do you mean about getting organized, old boy?’ inquired Bertie. ‘I mean to say, what is there to organize?’
‘If, as I suspect, there’s going to be a spot of bother here presently, we’d better get acquainted with the general layout of the place. For a start I want to have a look at Adrian’s water-hole, because that might well become the decisive factor in any trouble. The side that controls the water supply will hold the trump card.’
‘Sekunder knows nothing about that,’ reminded Adrian.
‘Not at this moment perhaps. How long do you suppose it will take him to find it? When he discovers you’re still alive, he’ll realize there must be water here somewhere. Of course he’ll have water with him; but probably not more than he thinks he’ll need for a short stay. If, as we may suppose, he’s brought the right tackle to dismantle the tomb, he’ll reckon to have done the job and be on his way home in a couple of days.’
‘How are you going to prevent him getting to the water?’ questioned Ginger.
‘If we move the machine down in front of the cave, or whatever it is, he may keep clear. It depends on how he behaves. Remember, we shall have to guard the aircraft as well as the water, so the closer they are together, the better.’
‘So you’ll move your plane along to the water?’ asked Adrian.
‘I think it would be the sensible thing to do. The plane and the water could then be guarded together.’
‘There shouldn’t be any difficulty about that. What else?’
‘I’d like to have a look at the place where you parked your machine.’
‘Why?’
‘Sekunder may have left a clue as to his intentions.’
‘I didn’t notice anything.’
‘I imagine, in the state you were, you didn’t look very hard.’
‘When will you do this?’
‘Right away. I’d rather not go out in the sun as it is at present, but we’ve no time to waste.’
‘What about the tomb?’
‘That will have to wait till the morning. We’ll start early, as you suggested.’ Biggles got up. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
They all got back into the Merlin and he took it along the ravine, under Adrian’s direction, to where the foot of the cliff fell back to form a broad, shallow cave. They got out and Adrian led the way to the pool of clear water about a foot deep, ten feet long and half as wide.
‘This can’t be natural,’ decided Biggles, looking around. ‘There may have been a bit of a cavity originally, big enough to hold some of the water that dripped through a flaw in the rock when it rained. The people who once lived here, noticing that, simply had to enlarge it. They’ve gone, but their descendants, the Tuareg, may know of it. They, wisely no doubt, keep such knowledge to themselves. The oryx found it, as a camel will find water if there’s any about, either by smell or an instinct we don’t understand. You say they haven’t been back, Adrian?’
‘I haven’t seen them.’
‘Then there may be other water-holes in the hills and they’ve moved off to one of them. Well, that seems to be all there is to see here; let’s have a drink and go on to where you parked your aircraft. When we come back we’ll top up our water cans.’
They set off, Adrian again leading. The sun was now well over its zenith, but the heat was still devastating, particularly when they left the shade of the silent canyon for more open ground. No one spoke, aware that in such conditions it is wise to conserve moisture in the mouth by keeping it shut.
After half an hour of steady plodding Adrian stopped. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘This is it.’
At first glance there was little enough to see: wheel tracks and a few old dead-looking palms rising from drifted sand between a wilderness of rocks. The sand near to where the wheel tracks ended, that being apparently where Adrian’s plane had been parked, had been well trampled; but the sand, being light and bone dry, showed no definite foot-marks that could be identified. It was like seaside sand above the high-water mark, never washed by the waves.
For perhaps a minute Biggles stood still, studying the ground. Then he walked to where a little mound of sand had heaped itself over the mass of fibrous roots thrown out by a thirsty palm. He kicked some of the sand aside. He groped in it with his hands. They came out empty. He went to another palm and did the same thing. Again he drew blank. After gazing around with speculative eyes, he went a little way to where some dead palm fronds had apparently been blown against a small patch of sun-dried acacia scrub. Stooping, he dragged aside some of the accumulated debris. Then, reaching down, he pulled out a spade and threw it clear. A pickaxe and an iron bar followed. He looked at Adrian, but did not speak.
‘I call that very clever of you,’ complimented Adrian. ‘I would never have thought of it.’
‘Just common sense,’ returned Biggles. ‘Why should Sekunder lug home something that might be useful on a future occasion? The things may not be of much use to us, but as he may be relying on them as part of his equipment, we’ll see he doesn’t get them. We’ll take them to the aircraft. They can go in the cabin. That’s all. I can see nothing else here of interest, so let’s get back out of this blistering sun.’
‘If we wanted proof that Sekunder intended to return, this is it,’ remarked Adrian as, carrying the implements between them, they made their way back to the Merlin.
‘We didn’t really need proof,’ answered Biggles. ‘I’d say it was a certainty.’
‘Are you going to have a look at the tomb?’
‘Not now,’ decided Biggles. ‘Too much of this sun could knock us flat. A touch of sunstroke wouldn’t help matters. The tomb can wait till morning.’
They all had a drink and found seats in the shade.
Presently Adrian said thoughtfully: ‘If Sekunder is with that caravan you saw coming this way, he must also have seen you.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Biggles.
‘As you haven’t gone back, he must know you’re still here.’
‘Presumably.’
‘He’ll guess why you’ve come here.’
‘No doubt. For what other reason would a plane come to a place like this? But there’s still one thing, an important one, that he doesn’t know, and isn’t likely to imagine.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That you’re still alive and well and so able to tell us what sort of low crook he is. Until we see how he shapes, I don’t want him to see you. He can suppose we’ve stayed on looking for your dead body. Of course, we’ve no proof that Sekunder is with the caravan, so let’s not jump to conclusions until that has been established. We shan’t have long to wait.’
They sat on discussing the situation until the sun died in the spectacular blaze of colour that only
desert countries can produce. The temperature fell sharply with it, although as the sand and rocks gave off the heat they had absorbed during the day, the air was not as cold as it would be when, towards dawn, this was exhausted. During the brief twilight they had a meal, Biggles doling out rations from their depleted stores.
The moon soared up, huge, magnificent, a silver ball in a sky ablaze with stars, seeming to intensify the silence, the sort of silence that comes from a complete and utter absence of sound; which is something that never happens, cannot happen, in what is called civilization.
Biggles stubbed his cigarette in the sand. ‘I’m going to turn in and get some sleep while the sand is warm,’ he announced. ‘We’ll make an early start. We shan’t need waking. Without blankets the cold will see to that.’
CHAPTER 8
THE TOMB
Ginger was not sorry when, some time before dawn, he heard Biggles moving, for the thin air was so perishing that it seemed impossible he could be in the same world in which he had gone to sleep. He rose stiffly. It was not yet daylight. The moon, having completed its journey across the heavens, had departed, and with it had gone the grotesque shadows it had cast. The stars were losing their brilliance. The only sound was a cheerful one; the hum of the spirit stove which Biggles had lighted to boil a kettle of water.
Bertie sat up. ‘This cold is murder,’ he groaned. ‘Why did I leave my woollies at home? Give me tea, good old tea, to thaw my poor old bones.’
‘Get up and help yourself,’ invited Biggles. ‘You’re not in an hotel.’
Bertie dragged himself to his feet, his teeth chattering. ‘You needn’t tell me, old boy. I can see that for myself.’
