surrounding it was the small part of a dead white face. It did not move, but it glowed, as if imbued by inhuman fire.
VI
GINGER RUNS AWAY
WE have already said that Ginger was not superstitious. His life had lain along lines too materialistic for that. Nor was he easily frightened. He had looked Old Man Death in the face too often. But death was something he understood. What he now saw was something he did not understand, and to say merely that he was frightened would be to say nothing at all. He was, literally, paralyzed by fright. Perhaps for the first time he comprehended fully the meaning of the word fear—the fear that comes from something beyond human understanding. He was not conscious of this. If he was conscious of anything it was an overwhelming sensation of sheer horror, a nameless dread that gripped his tongue, dried his mouth to the dryness of ashes and turned his muscles to water. He could not turn his eyes away from the awful Thing, but stood rigid, as if mesmerised. The eye, unwinking, stared back.
How long he stood there, staring, with his heart beating on his eardrums, he never knew.
He forgot all about the gold. It might not have existed. He forgot everything. But in human existence everything has an end, and thus with Ginger's temporary petrification.
Fear was succeeded suddenly by panic, and panic has the quality of being mobile. So to Ginger returned the power of movement, and when it came it came with a rush. An inarticulate cry burst from his lips, and, turn-59
ing, he fled incontinently. Out of the dreadful chamber, straight down the passage he tore in a shower of ice-gems detached by the vibration of his flying footsteps, certain that something frightful was at his heels. He took the companion steps in three jumps, skidded across the glassy deck, and in another reckless bound reached the level ice. Nor did he stop there. On he sped, to fall with a crash as' he collided full tilt with Manton's ice tombstone. He had forgotten it. He did not see it. He did not stop to pick it up. He had taken a brutal fall, for the ice was hard; but he felt no pain. Gasping, he scrambled madly to his feet and raced on. At that moment he had one idea in life, one only; and that was to put as wide a distance between himself and the haunted ship as was possible in the shortest space of time.
Once clear, he risked a glance behind, but seeing nothing, some degree of sanity returned. Panting, he steadied his pace, and not until then did he become aware that it was snowing. That sobered him. Fortunately he had not gone far, and casting about, soon came upon one of his guide-sticks. That went far to restore him, for he knew that without it he would have been lost indeed. Apparently the snow had just started, and as there was no wind he could discern faintly the trail his feet had made on the outward journey. He followed it at a run. The crash and crunch of distant bergs formed a fitting accompaniment to his shattered nerves. The snow, after all, turned out to be only a shower, and slowly died away to a fairy clear but leaden calm.
When he came in sight of the camp he saw that the others were all home. All were engaged in clearing the new snow from the upper surfaces of the aircraft, a task they had almost completed. When they saw him coming
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they desisted and returned to the tent, there to await his arrival.
It can hardly be said that Ginger arrived back in camp. He tumbled into it, spent and shaken. Almost sobbing from reaction he sank down on the nearest packing case and buried an ashen face in trembling hands.
The others gathered round, looking from one to another.
Biggles was the first to speak. "What's the matter with you; he asked sharply.
Ginger drew a shuddering breath and looked up. "I'm sorry—but—I can't help it," he blurted.
"Can't help what?"
"Being like this. I'm all to pieces. I feel awful." "What happened?"
"I—I don't really know," stated Ginger. "It must seem silly to you, but nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I've seen—a ghost."
"You've seen what?"
"A ghost."
Biggles made a sign to the Skipper: "Get me the brandy flask out of the medicine chest,"
he ordered curtly. "I don't know what's happened but he's suffering from shock—pretty severe shock, too. Grimy, get a blanket and throw over his shoulders, then put some milk on the stove."
The Skipper brought the flask, poured a little of the brandy into a cup and passed it to Biggles, who thrust it at Ginger. "Drink this," he ordered crisply.
The cup rattled against Ginger's teeth as he complied, spluttering as the potent spirit stung his throat. Without a word he handed the cup back to Biggles and wiped away the tears that the unaccustomed liquid had brought to his eyes.
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"Now, what's all this about?" demanded Biggles. "Pull yourself together."
Ginger drew a deep breath and held out his trembling hands. "Look at me," he said weakly. "I didn't get like this for nothing."
"I can believe that," answered Biggles. "What caused it?"
"I don't rightly know," admitted Ginger. "I wasn't so bad until I saw the eye."
Biggles frowned, looking hard at the speaker. "Eye! What eye? Whose eye?" •
"I don't know."
Biggles caught Ginger by the shoulders and shook him. "Snap out of it," he ordered. "So you saw an eye. Okay Where was it?"
"In the ship."
"Ship! What ship?"
"The Starry Crown."
Dead silence greeted this announcement. Then Biggles went on, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Are you telling us that you have found the Starry Crown?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Ginger pointed. "Somewhere over there, about three miles for a guess."
Biggles made a sign to the others to be patient. By this time he had realised that Ginger had had such a shock, real or imaginary, that comes only once in a lifetime. "Go on," he invited. "Take your time. We're in no hurry. So you found the ship. What next?"
As the brandy took effect Ginger began to feel better. He became more coherent. "First of all I found the grave," he explained.
"Whose grave?"
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"Manton's. The cross Last put up is still there. I cut away the ice and saw the name. Then I knew the ship must be somewhere near. I found it, all covered in ice. It wasn't easy to see. I went aboard to see if the gold was still there."
"Was it?"
"Oh yes. It's there all right."
"Did you actually touch it?"
Ginger stared. "What do you mean—touch it?" "I mean—you didn't dream it."
"Dream it my foot," cried Ginger hotly. "I was hacking off a lump to bring home to show you."
"Why didn't you?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," protested Ginger. "While I was sawing away I heard a movement. I didn't take much notice of it at the time. Then I heard someone chuckle—
horrible."
"And then you bolted?"
"I did not," asserted Ginger. "I wasn't feeling too happy, I'll admit, remembering that a dead man was lying just outside; but I went on with what .I was doing. But looking up I caught sight of an eye watching me."
"So what?"
Ginger shrugged. "That finished me—and it would have finished anybody." Ginger frowned at the scepticism on Biggles' face. "Don't you believe me?"
"Well, you must admit it sounds a pretty tall story," returned Biggles. "But even if we take your word for it that all this really happened, what does it add up to. You heard a sound, and then you saw an eye looking at you. What's odd about that? You've seen an eye before to-day."
"Not like this one," said Ginger warmly.
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"Was there only one eye?"
"I could only see one."
"Are you trying to say you saw an eye wandering about without a face?"
"There was a little piece of face. The skin was white—a sort of dirty fish-belly white."
Biggles lit a cigarette and flicked the match away. "Did you by any chance have a fall and bump your head before you found the ship?
"
"Are you suggesting I knocked myself silly and imagined this?" cried Ginger hotly.
"I wondered—"
"Well, you needn't," declared Ginger vehemently. "I found the ship, I tell you. Aladdin's cave was nothing to it. It was marvellous, all rainbows and coloured lights, jewels—"
"Now, wait a minute," interrupted Biggles gently. "It sounds to me as if you've got this ship all mixed up with the neon lights in Piccadilly on a fine night."
"All right," said Ginger wearily. "Have it your own way. I'm telling you what I saw. I was as right as rain until that eye squinted at me."
"Where exactly was it?"
"Behind a sort of curtain of ice at the far end of the room."
"Didn't it move?"
"No."
"Then why get in such a sweat about it? Didn't you go up to it to make sure that it wasn't just another piece of ice with the light shining through it?"
"I certainly did not," answered Ginger coldly. "That was the last thing that occurred to me."
"What did you do?"
"I ran—and when I say I ran I mean I didn't dawdle to examine the icicles on the way.
No, sir. I was out
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of the ship so fast that a bullet coming behind me would have been left standing. My jump from the deck to the ice would be a world record if it could be measured. I nearly knocked myself out falling over Manton's grave. I took an awful purler, and it was only the thought of the dead man under me, and the eye behind me, that got me on my feet again. It was some time before I realised it was snowing. That should give you an idea of the state I was in. I didn't stop running all the way home. Look at me. My nerves are pulp. It takes more than imagination to do that."
"Imagination can play queer tricks," remarked Biggles quietly. "The result can be the same as reality, perhaps worse; but I must admit that when you arrived here you looked more like a corpse than a live explorer."
"You see, the trouble was, I wasn't expecting to find anyone else on the ship," explained Ginger.
"I can believe that," replied Biggles. "It wouldn't be the sort of place you'd expect to find a picnic in progress. However, I'll believe in this floating eye when I see it."
"I tell you, there's something, or somebody, in that ship," expostulated Ginger sullenly.
"Well, it should be fairly easy to confirm that," retorted Biggles. "I'm not really inquisitive by nature, but I must confess that I'm all agog to have a look at this remarkable eye. Would you mind coming back and showing it to me?"
"What—me?" cried Ginger, rising in alarm. "Go back to that ship? Not on your life—not if she was stuffed with diamonds as big as footballs. I shall see that accursed eye leering at me for the rest of my days. I won't even dare to sleep for fear it haunts my dreams."
"Okay—okay!" said Biggles impatiently. "Will you take us as far as the ship. If you'll show it to me I'll
65
guarantee to gouge out this disconcerting optic." Ginger hesitated. "All right. I wouldn't mind doing that —but I shall take a gun."
"Good enough. You can take a battery of howitzers as far as I'm concerned; but somehow I don't think you'll need anything like that. I suppose you'll be able to find your way back?"
"Easily. I left my sticks in. I came home in too much of a hurry to pull them out."
"I see," said Biggles. "We'll just have a cup of tea while you're catching up with yourself, then we'll go and collect the bullion."
VII
THE HORROR IN THE HULK
IT was late in the .evening although, of course, it was still light, when Biggles, Ginger and the Skipper set off to investigate the mystery. Grimy had been left behind as camp guard and mess orderly. As a matter of detail, Ginger, who was still not quite himself, had suggested that the trip be postponed until the following day, but Biggles was opposed to the delay, saying that he did not like the look of the weather. This was not to be disputed, for the sun, a gigantic crimson ball hanging low over the horizon, could only just be seen through a haze.
The sky overhead seemed reasonably clear, but the
Skipper agreed that there was a suspicion of more snow in the air. A rising temperature also threatened fog.
Biggles maintained that if they did not go at once they 66
might never go, for if the weather deteriorated it would be madness to stay on the ice at all.
If the gold was really there, then they would carry straight on, taking it out of the ship and putting it into a position from where it could easily be picked up, Biggles had said.
They would then radio for Algy, and with the gold stowed in the two machines, make for home. Ginger had protested at Biggles use of the word "if," which implied that he was still sceptical about the gold. Biggles had admitted frankly that he was. Had Ginger merely said he found the gold, he, Biggles, would have taken his word for it without question; but if Ginger's nerves were in such a state that he imagined he had seen a ghost, which was absurd, he might also have imagined that he had seen the gold. Ginger saw that argument was useless. He saw, too, that if the eye had vanished, or if it turned out to be an illusion created by a freak of the ice, he would look a fool, and it would take him a long time to live the business down. Secretly he hoped it would still be there; but even he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. The long-abandoned ship was an eerie place, and his nerves had been at full stretch, he reflected.
A steady tramp of just over an hour brought the party to within sight of the mass of ice which, Ginger claimed, held in its cold embrace the remains of the doomed vessel.
Biggles' scepticism as he stared at it increased rather than diminished. From a distance, at any rate, it required a big effort of the imagination to discern the shape of the ship in the formless pile of blue-and-white ice. Ginger admitted this. It was likely, he said, that he would have walked past the ice without another glance, had it not been for the cross.
But when the cross was reached, lying where it had fallen, and Ginger displayed triumphantly the name of the dead mariner on the cross-bar, Biggles' expression changed.
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He looked at it and then gazed long and steadily at the chaos of ice. "By thunder! I believe he's right," he acknowledged in a curious voice.
"Well, there it is. What are you going to do about it?" inquired Ginger, trying to speak calmly.
"For a start I'm going to winkle out this eye that seems to have put the fear of the devil into you," answered Biggles.
"Now, you listen to me," said Ginger, with unusual earnestness. "Be careful. There's somebody in that ship. I began to doubt it myself as we walked along, but now I'm back I'm sure of it. I can feel it in my bones."
"Don't talk nonsense," snapped Biggles. "If there's an eye there's a human being, and that'
s something I can't believe. It doesn't make sense. And, anyhow, even if by some incredible chance there was a man in the ship, why should he stand still and squint at you? Surely he would have shouted with joy at seeing a deliverer."
Ginger shrugged. "All right. Have it your own way. I can't explain the thing any more than you can. But let me ask you this: Have you ever before seen me in such a mortal funk?"
"No, I can't say I have."
"Then what caused it? It must have been something."
"Yes, I suppose it must," admitted Biggles. "But standing here won't solve the mystery.
We'll soon settle the matter."
"Okay. Go ahead—but watch your step," replied Ginger. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Biggles smiled. "I won't," he promised.
The party advanced, Biggles leading, Ginger bringing up the rear. He pointed out the ice steps by which he had reached the companion-way. Biggles did not answer, 68
but when they were all on the deck he turned. "Stand fast," he said, and then went on alone to the hole in the ice that gave access to the companion-steps and the lower deck.
He looked inside and let out a low whistle. "I must says it's all very pretty-p
retty," he told Ginger, in a glance over his shoulder. Turning again he shouted, "Hi! Anyone there?"
There was no answer, but a moment later a movement farther along the deck caught Ginger's eye. Turning quickly he was just in time to see a dark object, the size of a football, where a moment before he would have sworn there had been nothing. Staring, he made it out to be a head, human, yet scarcely human. All that could be seen clearly was the middle part of the face, for above and below was a matted crop' of reddish hair.
Then it was gone.
Had Ginger been able to move he knew he would have run for his life; but all he could do was let out a strangled shout.
Biggles, who was just entering the companion, looked back. "Now what is it?" he asked irritably.
Ginger gulped. "A head," he managed to get out. "A head, all hair and beard."
Biggles stared incredulously. "Where?"
Ginger pointed.
Biggles looked. "I can't see anything."
"It's gone."
Biggles looked again at Ginger. "So now the eye has found a face to live in," he scoffed.
"What's the matter with you? You don't usually behave like this."
"Things like this don't usually happen," answered Ginger weakly. "Come on. Let's get out of this."
"Oh, for the love of Mike pull yourself together," requested Biggles impatiently. As he finished speaking he
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turned back to the companion. "Anyone there?" he called loudly. But in spite of the question it was obvious from his manner that he did not expect an answer. Nor for the moment was there one. He took a step forward, then, suddenly, he flung himself aside with such speed that he slipped and fell. But any amusement this may have caused died at birth when the reason for the quick move revealed itself. Out through the opening flew an axe. It struck the frozen rigging with a crash and brought down a load of icicles.
By the time the noise of this had died away Biggles was on his feet, with such an expression on his face as Ginger had never before seen. No longer was he smiling.
"Now what about it?" cried Ginger, and it must be confessed that in his tone there was more than a suspicion of satisfaction at this dramatic confirmation of his allegations.
"All you could talk of was an eye," answered Biggles frostily. "You said nothing about axes flying about."
36 Biggles Breaks The Silence Page 6
