The headlights cut a gleaming path through the dark, tree-lined road, and only the roar of the engines broke the hot stillness which, like the miasma which emanates from the malarial marshes, hung over the whole of that fever-stricken country.
Three miles out of Ressano Garcia, Darkie turned to the policeman who was supporting him on one side. ‘Tell him to turn left a hundred yards after we’ve passed the big tulip tree that we’ll be coming to in a minute,’ he muttered; ‘it’s only a track so he’d best slow down or else he’ll miss it.’
The policeman leant over and spoke to Sandy, and soon the cars were lurching from side to side through a narrow opening in the dense scrub. Alternately they wound along comparatively flat stretches and then dived headlong down short steep slopes to plough through water splashes at the bottom and shoot up the other sides. Between the fever trees thorn bushes and acacias they glimpsed patches of cloudless starlit sky, yet with the coming of night no cool breeze relieved the suffocating atmosphere. Their chins were already covered with the abnormal growth of bristly stubble which comes from a long day spent in torrid heat. Their shirts were sticking to their backs with the perspiration that still oozed from them, and as they were bucketed from their seats by the continuous jolting of the car their limbs were sore and aching from fatigue. After a couple of miles Darkie gave the word to halt and the Captain descended from the car.
‘It’s about half a mile from here,’ Darkie muttered painfully, ‘and the going’s terrible. I don’t see how I’m going to make it but you’ll never find the place unless I do.’
‘We must carry you,’ said Sandy quickly. ‘We’ll make a sling out of the car rug for you to sit in.’
Darkie was still bleeding badly but they adjusted his bandages and, carried by two of Moorries’ burly policemen, he gave them fresh directions. Then the whole party set off into the bush.
It was a nightmare journey. The Captain led, thrusting his way steadily between great creepers and tall grasses. Darkie was carried next and Michael and Sandy, despite their terrible impatience, were forced to bring up the rear with Cornelius, Ernest, and the fourth policeman. Everything they touched seemed imbued with some special malice against them. The thorny bushes tore their clothes, the grasses that they thrust aside cut their fingers and poisonous nettles stung them as they brushed them from their way.
Every now and again a quick rustle in the undergrowth told of the wild life which was all about them, and every hanging branch under which they had to stoop their heads seemed, as Moorries’ torch flashed upon it, to bear a hanging snake. The dead weight of the stifling fever-laden air pressed upon them, and a cloud of malarial mosquitoes hovered, dancing in the little patch of light which stood out like some supernatural halo, where Moories led the way through the all-pervading blackness; and as though their present bodily and mental distress was not sufficient an occasional coughing roar from the far distance told them that lions were out.
The half-mile through that ghastly, pitch black bush seemed never ending, but at last Darkie told Moorries to put out his torch and they came to the edge of a wide clearing lit by the dim starlight. In its centre, a hundred yards from where they were standing, rose a solitary tree. It was a wild fig, centuries old and of immense dimensions.
From where they stood, concealed on the edge of the bush, they could see nothing at first to indicate that it held the cage of the Gorilla, but as they peered towards it they saw that a faint light showed at one spot about thirty feet up between the thick foliage of the branches. Cautiously moving out from their hiding-place they made a complete circuit of the clearing, seeking the best position to attack, but when they again reached the spot where they had started Moorries shrugged despondently.
‘We’ll never get him alive in a place like that and we’ll be lucky if he and his friend Ginger don’t kill half of us if we rush in. I’m scared, too, that the moment he knows we’ve found him he’ll slit the throats of both the women.’
At that moment a thin, hesitant contralto came to them from the tree—clear in the silence of the night. The voice had melody but it was full of tears and after a few bars it choked upon a sob of heartrending distress.
Sandy, standing there with his nails biting into the palms of his hands and the sweat streaming down his face, recognised the voice instantly—and the song. It was Sarie being tortured into singing ‘Sarie Marais’. Preparatory to carrying out his other threats, Philbeach was indeed making the caged birds sing.
29
The Caged Birds Sing
With a choking cry Sandy sprang forward, but Moorries tripped him and he pitched his length into the long grass. Another policeman grabbed Michael, who also tried to dash towards the tree, by the collar of his shirt.
‘You fools!’ the Captain muttered angrily. ‘D’you both want to be shot out of hand?’
‘We’ve got to risk it,’ Michael panted. ‘Listen!—that devil is torturing them up there.’
Again Sarie’s voice came to them across the clearing and then another joined it, Patricia’s, uneven—sobbing—and a little out of tune.
‘Let me go. I can’t bear this any longer,’ Michael almost wailed. His hands were quivering, his lips white and his eyes nearly starting out of his head.
‘God! If only I could think of a way to get him down from that tree,’ muttered Moorries desperately.
‘You’ll be mighty clever if you do,’ Darkie murmured, with impartial interest, but next moment Cornelius had swung upon him:
‘By thunder, I’ve got it! and you’re going to do it for us. We’ll carry you out and leave you just underneath it—then you must call up to him. He’ll think that you’ve managed to make your way back here in spite of your wound and they’ll both come down to carry you up.’
‘An’ what about me?’ said Darkie gruffly, ‘he’ll shoot me the second he finds out that I’ve double-crossed him.’
‘I’ll shoot you if you don’t!’ Sandy snapped.
‘That’s enough of that.’ The Captain’s voice was curt. ‘But listen, Rickhartz, now we know that you’re a member of this gang there are a lot of charges against you that I’ll be able to hunt up if I take the trouble. You needn’t be afraid of the others—we’ll look after them directly they’re on the ground. If you’ll do what Van Niekerk suggests I won’t put my nose into the old files at headquarters as far as you’re concerned.’
Darkie considered for a moment. ‘All right.’ he said, ‘but you must give me back my gun.’
‘Here, take it,’ said Ernest promptly, evidently much relieved to be rid of the weapon.
‘That’s fair,’ Moorries agreed, as it was handed over. ‘Then you’ll have the drop on them if they start in on you before we’ve had a chance to get busy.’
The two policemen carried Darkie across the open space and left him near the vast round tree trunk that supported the reed and wattle dwelling which had been so cunningly devised in the centre of its great branches. The others followed to within thirty yards and, Moorries’ men rejoining them, they all lay down flat on their stomachs in the coarse grass, to await events.
The hearts of all of them were pounding with sick distress as the shaking, uneven voices of the two girls continued to float out in that terrible melancholy serenade from the tree-tops. The last bars of the song quavered into silence, then the crack of a whip lash sounded like a pistol shot. There was an agonised scream while the waiting men gritted their teeth below. Then the sobbing voices started the song over again.
‘Hallo above there—Phil!’ On Darkie’s hail the singing ceased. Then a surprised shout came from Philbeach.
Tense in the grass the watchers waited, and soon a dark form dropped from the lower branches of the tree.
‘Steady!’ breathed Moorries. ‘We’ve got to wait till Ginger comes down too.’
Philbeach said something in a low voice to Darkie and disappeared up into the branches again. Then Sandy, easing his strained position for a moment, noticed that Ernest was gone fro
m behind him.
‘Where’s Ernest?’ he whispered to Cornelius who was next in the line.
‘Funked it again, I expect,’ Cornelius replied abruptly, ‘though we can’t blame him as he hasn’t got a gun. Hush!—here they are.’
Philbeach had appeared again and beside him the tall figure of Ginger. They walked the few yards to where Darkie was sitting, propped up against a boulder, and spread out a sling by which they evidently intended to hoist him up.
‘Now!’ cried Moorries, and his whole party, leaping to their feet, dashed forward.
Before the shout ended Philbeach had whipped out his gun and was blazing away at the running figures. Sandy felt a shot zip through his jacket and loosed off his automatic. From a few yards to Philbeach’s right another succession of flashes stabbed the blackness of the night. Ginger was in action. One of the policemen fired and they ceased suddenly. Moorries was yelling to them to surrender but, catching his foot in a low bush, fell—his weapon going off in his hand.
With incredible speed for one of his bulk Philbeach dodged behind the great bole of the tree, but Sandy had seen him and followed. While shots were crashing on the farther side he charged in and Philbeach’s pistol went off within a few inches of his ear, almost deafening him.
Sandy pressed the trigger of his automatic but the magazine was empty; he had forgotten to put in a fresh clip after the fight at Komati River. Dropping his gun, he lashed out with his right fist. The blow caught Philbeach full in the mouth and he went sprawling backwards. Sandy was on him like a leopard, his thumbs pressing into his antagonist’s fleshy throat; but Ginger, whom the others had lost in the darkness, had crawled to the far side of the tree. Now he leapt at Sandy and struck him a glancing blow in the back of the head with his gun. Blinding stars circled before Sandy’s eyes for a second, then he passed out and Philbeach, rolling from underneath him, sprang to his feet again.
‘Where’s Darkie?’ he snarled at Ginger. ‘I’ll get that swine if it’s the last thing I do.’ Then, thrusting Sandy’s body aside, he groped on the ground and recovered his gun.
In those few moments, Moorries, with his men and Cornelius, had been mixed up on the far side of the tree, afraid now to shoot for fear of mistaking each other for their enemies in the darkness, but Michael, coming round the trunk, ran full tilt into Philbeach.
‘Got you!’ he yelled and, pressing the trigger of his pistol, poured its remaining contents into the crouching figure. With a snarl of pain Philbeach was upon him and struck him flat with one blow of his great fist, but the others had rushed up instantly and a new burst of shooting lit the darkness.
Ginger went down to the Captain’s gun, but Philbeach had blundered round the tree again and dashed across to Darkie. They fired together, Philbeach crumpled up with a scream of pain, and Darkie collapsed sideways with a grunting gasp, the blood pouring from his mouth.
The fight seemed over. One of the policemen flashed his torch into Ginger’s face and saw at once that he was dead. The other two were helping Sandy to his feet, for Ginger’s blow had only momentarily deprived him of his senses. Michael was already scaling the tree on his way to the two girls, with Cornelius hard behind him, and the Captain stooped over Darkie Rickhartz.
Realising that there was nothing to be done for him, he lowered Darkie’s head to the ground, and turned to the place where Philbeach had dropped. His gun ready in his hand, he walked forward cautiously, but could find no body, so, calling up his men, they slipped fresh clips into their automatics, and began to hunt for the wounded desparado.
‘He can’t have got far,’ Moorries muttered, and then his eye caught a faint movement in the darkness. There was a sudden grunt and a figure seemed to rise from the ground; the Captain and one of his men fired together. A coughing gurgle came from the spot and at the same time a sharp cry. Then, running forward, they found two bodies huddled in a heap.
Philbeach lay underneath, blood streaming from him by half a dozen wounds—quite dead. The other lay limp across him. The Captain shone his torch and one of the men turned the body over.
‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s the chap they call Ernest.’
‘Phew!’ The Captain whistled as he focused his light on the trickle of blood which ran down Ernest’s forehead. ‘He’s had a narrow squeak and no mistake.’ A bullet had grazed the top of Ernest’s head, cutting its way through his hair and knocking him unconscious.
They left Ernest propped against the tree trunk and came round it just in time to find the others lowering the two girls.
Their clothers were in rags and tatters, their faces white and haggard, but they were so overjoyed at their unexpected release that they were now weeping from excess of emotion. Sarie clung to Sandy as though she would never let him go, while Patricia sobbed hysterically on Michael’s shoulder.
The Captain went up with his men to the Gorilla’s cage and for twenty minutes, while the others comforted the girls, they were busy there ransacking the place for the diamonds, but when they came down Moorries’ face wore a disappointed frown.
‘They’re not up there,’ he said. ‘We’ve searched every nook and corner. He hadn’t got them on him either. Let’s have a look at Ginger.’
Ginger was searched but the diamonds were not forthcoming and so, reluctantly, Moorries was compelled to agree that they should start back to the cars and accept Sandy’s suggestion that Philbeach had probably buried the stones in some secret cache for fear that Darkie or Ginger might rob him.
They were becoming anxious about Ernest. He had not come round, although the wound on careful examination seemed to be quite a small one. However, it was bleeding still and they had no means of ascertaining if it was only a scalp wound or if the bullet had fractured his skull.
Apart from the fact that they were free now of anxiety about the girls, the struggle back through the bush seemed more terrible than ever. Ernest—unconscious—was carried by the police in the rug that had supported Darkie on the outward journey, but Michael, Sandy, and Cornelius—the latter now dragging his leg wearily—staggered on, doing their best to help the girls. They all seemed to have reached the limit of endurance for none of the men had slept for more than thirty-six hours and the girls only fitfully, during their long drive gagged and bound, in Philbeach’s car the night before and for a short time during his absence that afternoon.
When they at last reached the cars Ernest was placed carefully in Sandy’s, then Cornelius turned to Moorries.
‘We’ve got to get him to a doctor at the earliest possible moment.’
The Captain nodded. ‘I should think there’s one in Ressano Garcia.’
‘If there is he wouldn’t be up to much in a rotten little dorp like that,’ Sandy cut in, ‘and Komati Poort won’t offer us anything much better. The nearest place of any size is Lourenço Marques.’
Moorries hesitated. ‘You’re not supposed to be in Portuguese territory at all, you know.’
‘I can’t help it,’ said Sandy. ‘If his skull is cracked it’s essential that he should have the very best attention.’
‘We needn’t worry about the Portuguese,’ added Michael. ‘The nice lad in the sunshine pyjamas gave us cards, and we can put our position right by seeing the British Consul in Lourenço Marques to-morrow morning.’
‘It’s eighty miles, you know,’ Moorries hazarded.
‘Well, Barberton is all of that, if not more,’ Sandy countered, ‘and that’s the nearest place that’s any good to us on the other side. Besides the road to Lourenço is so much better than those in the Union. We’ll be able to make it in half the time.’
‘All right, as you’ve seen the Portuguese authorities I’ll content myself with telling them at the frontier that you’ve gone on—since this whole business has been a bit unofficial. Good luck to you.’ Moorries turned away to where his own men were already waiting in his car, then suddenly he halted and came back—just as the others had settled themselves.
‘You’re mighty keen to g
et to Lourenço, aren’t you? I wonder now. Come on. Out you hop!’
‘Why, what’s the matter?’ exclaimed Michael.
‘The matter is that I believe you’ve got those diamonds after all. You were up in that tree-top before I was.’
Michael shrugged and stepped out again. ‘I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree this time. We’ve always told you that we’ve never had them. You can search the lot of us if you like.’
Moorries beckoned over his men and together they thoroughly searched the whole party. The girls allowed themselves to be gone over rather than be hauled back to the frontier and even the unconscious Ernest was lifted out that his pockets might be turned out and his trouser-tops pulled down. Then the police turned their attention to the car, took out the seats, rummaged the tool box and opened up the bonnet, but at last the Captain had to confess his suspicions unjustified and made them a generous apology.
They piled back into their car, Cornelius relieving Sandy of the wheel again, and bumped their way to the place where the track joined the road. Here the two cars separated, and after a cheery farewell to Moorries and his men, who were now chortling over the fact that they had put and end to the desperate criminal, known as the Gorilla, who had caused the police such trouble in the Northern Transvaal ten years before, Cornelius turned east along the broad highway to Lourenço Marques.
The headlights threw long beams of wavering light on the bush and trees edging the road. Patricia was sitting on Michael’s knee, her arm round his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Little tremors shook her and Michael patted her gently—soothing her frayed nerves as the car swept on. Sarie sat, tense and rigid, next to Sandy. He stole a look at her face occasionally and was worried to see the fixed stare of her eyes. Suddenly a bird came into the short arc of light above the bonnet of the car—flying straight as an arrow for the screen in front of Sarie’s face. Just as it seemed that it must smash itself and the glass it swerved up—swift as thought—and vanished into the darkness. The shock seemed to break her calm—she put her hands up to her eyes and shuddered—Sandy saw that she was crying silently.
The Fabulous Valley Page 26
