by W E Johns
There was no answer. No sound of movement.
‘Ali, come out,’ repeated Biggles. ‘You can hear me.’
Still no reply.
Walking forward, using his left hand, for the gun was in the other, he reached out and threw the flap wide open. At first he could see nothing clearly, for in comparison with the brilliant sunshine outside the interior of the hut was dark. Leaning forward, peering into the gloom, he could just make out something on the ground. It looked like a heap of rags, but it was roughly the shape of a human body. It did not move.
‘It’s no use, Ali,’ Biggles said sharply. ‘Get up. I can see you.’ He stood poised ready to jump clear should he be attacked.
The bundle did not move. No sound came. There was something unnatural about the quality of the silence.
Suspecting a trick, with a quick movement Biggles ripped the flap right off. Nothing happened. He pulled off a handful of fronds to let in more light. Now he could see more clearly he was able to make out Ali lying flat on the sandy floor. He was lying on his back with one leg drawn up. His eyes were open. Without blinking they stared up at the roof. Conscious of a sudden chill, with the pistol still at the ready, Biggles, very slowly, went in. He touched Ali with his foot. The Arab did not move. He stared down into his face, and as he did so he caught his breath in a swift gasp as he realized the truth. It was Ali. Dead. There was blood on his shirt-like robe. There was a pool of congealed blood on the sand.
With his brain reeling, Biggles backed into the open air, numb from shock; the second in a few hours. He found it hard to think; but this did not prevent him from looking around swiftly for the man who must have killed the one inside the hut. The second Arab. The one who had just come ashore. There was no possible room for doubt. No one else could have done it. No one. He could not see him.
Moistening his lips, which had suddenly dried, Biggles strove for composure. The shock of Collingwood’s death had shaken him severely, coming as it did so suddenly and unexpectedly. This, coming closely on top of it, before he had fully recovered, seemed for a few moments to have stunned his faculty for lucid thought. He tried to light a cigarette, and accustomed as he was to the sight of sudden death, he was annoyed to find his hands shaking. Such can be the effect of shock. What he had found was so utterly unexpected. When he had started to look for Ali he would have declared that nothing would surprise him. This did. It was the last, the very last thing he could have anticipated.
Recovering somewhat, he tried to get the situation in perspective. To reason it out. To solve a mystery which at first sight seemed inexplicable. Yet the facts were simple. Ali had been murdered. He had been killed by the Arab who had come ashore from the dhow, a man who almost certainly would know him; possibly a friend. Why? That was the unanswerable question. Why?
Had it been the other way about, Biggles thought, it would have been easier to understand. Ali might have killed the newcomer in self-defence if, on seeing what had happened to the crop, he had lost his temper and drawn a weapon. Biggles considered the same possibility in reverse. No, he decided, that wasn’t the answer. Had there been a fight over the loss of the hashish it would have happened there and then, on the spot, at the moment of discovery. That could not have happened because the two men must have gone on together to the hut. They would have had time to cool down. The hashish had nothing to do with it. It must have been something else. What else was there to fight about? He could think of only one possibility. It came as a glimmer of light in a fog. The opal. The wealth for which Ali had murdered Collingwood.
Biggles drew on his cigarette. There was nothing else. That had to be the answer. The Arab who had just come ashore was a crook. They were all crooks, otherwise they wouldn’t be engaged in a drug racket. Men in such a dangerous business, as Biggles knew, thought only of themselves. All were potential murderers should the necessity arise. Ali had killed Collingwood to get his collection of opal. There was no other motive, and the disappearance of it from Collingwood’s hut was proof. There was no one else on the island to take it.
Biggles lit another cigarette, still pondering. Could Ali, in a moment of delight, of vanity perhaps, have been so stupid as to show what he had stolen to a man who, in the course of his nefarious trade, would think little of murder? If so, retribution had followed with a vengeance. Where would Ali go with his loot? Surely to his hut. It should still be there.
Stifling his repugnance, still alert in case the murderer should be watching him, Biggles went back into the hut and made a thorough search for the box of precious stones, even going as far as to scrape up the sandy floor. It did not take long. There was no other place where it might be hidden. It was not there. Not even a loose opal. So that was it! Biggles drew a long breath. Now he was sure of it. He smiled grimly. The opals seemed to be living up to their evil reputation.
He was about to leave the hut when a thought struck him. He had seen natives hide articles in their thick uncut hair. It would be as well, while he was there, to make sure. First he took off Ali’s kafieh (headdress) and felt round it with his hands. They encountered something hard. He removed the object. It was a piece of opal that had not been with the rest in the box. It was in fact the piece of milk-white opal which he himself had found; the piece that Collingwood had said he would polish for him. One half had been polished. It flashed fire at him. Collingwood might have been working on it when Ali had walked in and struck him down. Ali, in his haste to get away, had stuck it in his kafieh.
In a curious fit of repulsion Biggles went out and flung the stone as far as he could into the foaming surf. This was not because he was superstitious. Such a thought was too ridiculous to be entertained. It was because he suddenly hated the stuff which, simply for its value, had just cost two men their lives. Its reputation for bad luck could have had nothing to do with it, but the fact remained that had it not been for the opal two men who were now dead would still be alive.
A giant comber crashed on the spot where the stone had fallen and it was lost to sight for ever.
Having solved the mystery, at any rate to his own satisfaction, Biggles now applied himself to the next probable step in the ladder of disaster. Where was the murderer? Where had he gone? What would he do? It seemed most likely that he would lose no time in getting off the island, away from the scene of his crime. The only way he could do that would be to get to the dhow. If he had gone by way of the coastline it would account for them not meeting, Biggles having taken the easy way to the far end of the island. What would the murderer do next, he wondered. Filled with a sudden sense of urgency, chiefly anxiety for Algy, he took the quickest way back to the lagoon to rejoin him.
His concern increased when he came to within sight of the sea on the sheltered side of the island. It had gone down considerably; faster than he had expected. Waves were no longer coming over the reef, but seas were still surging through the gap to disturb the water in the lagoon, so that it did not yet present its normal surface of unruffled calm. It was evident, however, that with the turn of the tide, now nearly at flood level, the picture would change. This would mean the Gadfly would, if the repair work was complete, be able to take off. On the other hand it also meant the dhow would soon be able to risk running through the gap to come to anchor in the lagoon. From there it would have no difficulty in putting a landing party ashore. This appeared to be the dhow’s intention, for it was standing in much closer than when Biggles had last seen it.
Pausing for a moment to survey the scene, he could see Algy still working on the aircraft, but of the Arab who had murdered Ali there was still no sign. That did not mean he was not on his way to rejoin his ship because there were places where sand dunes, running parallel with the coast, intervened to cut off the view of the actual shore. He thought it likely that the Arab was somewhere out of sight below him. However, he was relieved to see that Algy had come to no harm during his absence.
Afraid that if the Arab saw him alone he might try to do him, or the machine, a mischief, he
broke into a run, determined if possible to get there first. He still had some distance to go.
CHAPTER 15
AND AGAIN
IN his effort to reach Algy before the Arab could get near him, Biggles succeeded, but as a result of his exertions he arrived somewhat out of breath.
‘What’s the hurry?’ inquired Algy casually, continuing to apply varnish over a newly applied patch on the hull.
‘When you’ve heard the piece of news I have for you, you’ll know,’ panted Biggles. ‘This is soon likely to be a hot spot.’
‘I can see the dhow moving in as if it’s going to have another shot at landing, if that’s what you mean. Did you find Ali?’
‘I did.’
‘What had the murdering hound to say for himself?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So he wouldn’t talk?’
‘He couldn’t.’
Algy stopped work to look up. ‘Why not?’
‘He’s dead.’
Algy nearly dropped the brush. ‘Dead! Ah! I get it. He turned nasty and you had to shoot him.’
‘I didn’t have to do anything to him. He was dead when I found him. He was in his shelter. Someone had sliced him up with a knife. Fairly caught me on one foot, I can tell you. I didn’t have to strain anything to work out who’d killed him. There was only one other man on the island apart from ourselves. His new pal. The chap we saw get ashore.’
Algy looked astounded. ‘But this is fantastic. Why on earth should he—’
‘I can tell you the answer to that one, too,’ returned Biggles, grimly.
‘Because of what had happened to the hemp?’
‘I don’t think the hemp had anything to do with it.’
‘What, then?’
‘Collingwood’s collection of opals has disappeared. We know Ali took them. They are not in the wigwam place Ali built for himself. It follows that the new man now has them.’ Biggles went on to describe what he had found on arrival at Ali’s shelter, and what he had done. ‘Now you’ll see why I was in a hurry,’ he concluded. ‘Anything could happen now.’
‘Where’s the devil who knifed Ali?’
‘I wish I knew. I haven’t seen him. Have you seen anyone?’
‘Not a soul. He can’t have come this way.’
‘I reckoned he might, to be near the dhow if it comes in. I was also afraid he might have a crack at you if he saw you were alone. That was why I came back at the double.’
‘Phew! What a stinking place this is. What happens next?’
‘As I see it everything will depend on what this cutthroat Arab does when he joins his pals on the dhow, and what they do. That I imagine will depend on how much the villain tells them. He’s got the opal. Will he show it to the others or will he keep it up his shirt? If he says nothing about it they’ll probably come ashore to check up on their hemp. He may say we did away with it. If he shows the rest of the crew what he’s got, they’ll demand a share and perhaps come ashore looking for more opal. Not being fools, they’re bound to know the stuff is worth a lot of money. On the other hand, thinking they’ve made a rich haul, they may push off altogether.’
‘If they come ashore to look for more opal; they won’t want us to see what they’re doing,’ said Algy meaningly.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ rejoined Biggles. ‘It seems to me that our position depends on this confounded Arab now loose on the island. The snag is we don’t know how much Ali told him before he got a knife in his ribs. Unless the box of opal came to light by accident, he must have told him about it, or how would he know it existed? Did Ali say where it came from? Did he say that it was to get it that he had killed Collingwood? Did he say Collingwood had cut the hemp and that was why he had killed him? We don’t know. In fact, there’s too much we don’t know and guessing isn’t going to help us. Only the behaviour of the Arabs on the dhow may tell us how the land lies, and that may be too late to be any use to us for a guide. Which brings me to the vital question. How’s the machine?’
‘Not too bad. I’d fly it at a pinch; but it would be safer to give her another day for the patches to get thoroughly dry. Otherwise I’d say let’s push off right away and turn our tail to this beastly dump. There’s no longer any reason for us to stay here.’
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’
‘What have I forgotten?’
‘Collingwood. We can’t leave his body just lying there in the hut. I’m not going to do that. We shall have to bury him.’ Biggles smiled whimsically. ‘After all, he promised, with his usual sarcasm, to give us a Christian funeral if we came to grief here. The least we can do is give him one. There’s something with a twist of humour in that, when you come to think about it.’
‘Couldn’t we bury him now?’
‘There isn’t time before dark; moreover, as things stand at present I don’t feel like leaving the machine unattended. I’d rather not take off over the reef in the dark, anyway. I’d feel more comfortable if we made a test flight, to make sure she’s okay, before starting off on a thousand miles of open sea. What we can do is get these pegs out and make ready to move. I’ll look over her to make sure you haven’t missed anything. With all these patches she looks as if she’d flown through an antiaircraft barrage.’
Biggles was on the hull when Algy said: ‘What can have happened to the skunk who killed Ali? He must still be on the island somewhere. He couldn’t have got back to the dhow without me seeing him.’
‘He may be lying low until his ship comes close enough in for him to get aboard,’ Biggles answered. ‘Are we going to try to stop him getting back on board?’
‘I’d like to. Not that we could do anything with him if we caught him. I’m not thinking about him so much as Collingwood’s opal. What sticks in my gizzard is the thought of him getting away with it.’
‘Do you want it?’
‘Not me. But I don’t like the idea of anyone getting away with the fruits of murder. When I started back for you, I thought he might be following the coast, which would take longer than the way I came, along the runway. He might be doing that. I’d rather know where he was than have him slinking about, perhaps waiting for a chance to stick his dagger into us. By standing on the centre-section I should be able to get a view over the top of the reef and so along the shore. I’ll have a look. Pass me the binoculars.’
Algy fetched the glasses from the cabin and handed them to Biggles, still standing on the hull. While he was getting into position, and focusing, Biggles said: ‘It looks to me as if it may not be long before the dhow makes a run for the gap to get into the lagoon. It’s creeping closer all the time. I can see a man half-way up the mast, looking this way. I fancy he’s having a good look at us.’
‘I can see him,’ Algy said. ‘He seems to be making signals to somebody. Could it be the man who got ashore? They could hardly be meant for us.’
‘Well, the rogue doesn’t seem to be coming along the coast,’ replied Biggles, getting down off the machine.
‘No! Look! There he is!’ Algy pointed.
Biggles’ eyes followed the finger. The Arab had appeared over the ridge from the direction of the huts. Ignoring the aircraft, he was walking towards the far end of the reef; that is, to the point where it joined the island farthest from the spot where the giant squid incident had occurred.
‘He must have been to Collingwood’s hut,’ Biggles said tersely. ‘For what? More loot? To confirm that Collingwood was dead? How the devil did he get there without me seeing him? He’s taking the shortest way to the dhow when it comes in. He’d be able to jump aboard as it came through the gap. Or he may hope it will come to fetch him. That must have been what the signalling was about. What’s that he’s got under his arm?’ Biggles raised the binoculars. ‘By thunder! I might have guessed. It’s Collingwood’s box of opal. He’s not going to get away with that if I can prevent it.’
‘We can’t stop him.’
‘We can try. You run up the ridge. When you’re over th
e top out of sight dash along till you’re the other side of him; then run down and cut him off. If he tries to get back this way I’ll stop him. Get the box. Never mind the man. We don’t want him. Got your gun?’
‘In my pocket.’
‘You may need it. Get cracking. We’ll beat him yet.’ Algy ran up the sand dune, which actually formed the ridge, and disappeared over the top. Biggles waited, watching. The Arab must have been supremely confident, for not once did he look round. He walked on along the edge of the lagoon without any particular haste. Once he waved to the man on the mast and got an answering wave; which showed that he was being watched from the dhow. But when Algy suddenly ran down the ridge in front of him he seemed to be surprised. He stopped. Then, when Algy advanced with the obvious intention of intercepting him, he turned back, walking faster. Then, of course, he saw Biggles coming towards him. Again he stopped. When Biggles began to close on him from one direction, and Algy from the other, he must have realized he was trapped.
For a few seconds he hesitated; then he took the only course open to him, although this was one Biggles did not expect, which he might have done since it was fairly obvious. The Arab walked out into the water. Biggles dashed forward, shouting to him to stop. The Arab took no notice. He may not have heard; or not understood. At all events he continued to walk out into the lagoon. Biggles ran up. So did Algy. Then, to their chagrin, finding himself out of depth, the Arab began to swim quietly towards the reef. He used a back stroke, being hampered no doubt by the box he carried under his arm.
As Biggles and Algy came together Biggles said angrily: ‘Confound it. He’s foxed us.’ With that he started to walk out into the water apparently with the intention of pursuing the swimmer. But Algy grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back. ‘Are you crazy?’ he shouted. ‘Look!’
