53 Biggles Chinese Puzzle

by Captain W E Johns

  'Absolutely, old boy,' agreed Bertie. 'I'm with you, every time. I mean to say, we're not a bally bunch of navvies. Filthy business. The beastly place stinks.'

  'There's no hurry, anyway,' stated Biggles. 'We'll brew a dish of tea and nibble a biscuit while we wait.'

  'Wait! For what?' inquired Ginger.

  'There's just a chance that if the fellow we saw watching us goes back and spreads the news, the Village Constable might come along to see what we're doing. I gather from what Thompson said he speaks a little English, in which case we could ask a few questions.'

  Biggles' hope was more than fulfilled when, soon afterwards, not a native but a white man appeared on the beach. His style of dress revealed his calling and Biggles got up quickly.

  'This is better still,' he said briskly. 'It must be Father Antoinne.'

  Leaving Algy in charge of the aircraft the others made their way to where the priest, an incongruous figure against the savage background, stood watching. Gaunt and hollow-cheeked, his skin was that curious yellow-bronze tint that is the result of long years in malarial tropics, and Ginger looked at him with the respect to which such a man is entitled.

  'Father Antoinne ?' queried Biggles, as they drew near.

  Looking a little surprised that his name should be known to a stranger, the priest bowed acknowledgment.

  Biggles introduced himself and his companions.

  'One of my boys told me you were here so I walked down to see if I could be of any assistance,' explained Father Antoinne. 'Are you in trouble?'

  'No,' replied Biggles. 'We landed here deliberately. As a matter of fact we're interested in the wreck of this ship, having been sent out by the British Government to find it. Can you tell us anything about it?'

  'Unfortunately, yes,' answered the priest. 'I say unfortunately,' he went on, 'because certain members of the crew have been responsible for a great deal of trouble here. What their purpose was I don't know. They did not behave like ordinary shipwrecked sailors.

  As a result of their behaviour I suspect most of them have lost their lives.'

  'What happened?' prompted Biggles.

  'I'm not entirely clear about the beginning because when the ship went ashore I was away in one of the outlying villages of my district,'

  continued Father Antoinne. 'And, I am sorry to say, the accounts of the natives are not to be trusted. As I understand it the ship went ashore in a storm, and the crew, mostly coloured men, for reasons best known to themselves, decided to attempt the formidable task of trying to reach Port Moresby, on the other side of the island. They passed through Kobe country unmolested. Indeed, some were given food. What happened to them afterwards I don't know, but as, against advice, they went on in-to the territory of the Gilkiks, I imagine they did not get far. The Gilkiks are a bad tribe. I don't know a single man who has survived a passage through their country.'

  'What caused the trouble here?' questioned Biggles.

  'Two white men, the captain of the ship and another. They remained here, in the Kobe village, which is not far away. They seemed disinclined to leave. Why, I must again plead ignorance.'

  'You don't happen to know their names?'

  ‘I may know the name of one. But let me tell you. According to my boys —

  for, you must understand, I was not here — these two men spent most of their time drinking and arguing. Considering how they were situated such folly is hardly to be believed. One day an argument ended in a terrible fist fight. As the victor walked away, the other, lying on the ground, took out a pistol and shot him dead. Upon this, the natives who saw it, being both excited and frightened, tried to seize him, but after shooting some of them he fled, snatching up his rifle as he went. It was shortly after this that I returned.'

  'Why were the natives frightened?' inquired Biggles curiously.

  'Because a white man had been killed. That is a serious matter, and they were afraid they would be blamed for the murder, which in due course would reach the ears of the authorities. They left the body where it lay.

  It was still there when I came back. I made them bury it. But before that I went through the dead man's pockets and found letters addressed to Blake.'

  Àh!' breathed Biggles. 'So it was Blake. Thank you, Father; that was what I wanted to know. It confirms that this wreck is the one J was looking for. Now I will tell you something which will explain much. Blake, with an accomplice named Diaz - the man who murdered him, no doubt - stole this ship. There was gold on board. They buried it, and presumably it's still here. That, we may suppose, was what the arguments were about. It also explains their reluctance to leave the place.'

  'Gold,' said the priest softly, shaking his head. Might have guessed it; for where there is gold, too often there is trouble. This explains something else, for my tale is not yet finished. When the murderer of Blake fled he went into the Gilkik country, and, naturally, we supposed him to be dead. But it was not so. By what miracle he not only survived, but was able to enlist the aid of these incorrigible barbarians, is something beyond my understanding; but thus it was, for not long afterwards the Gilkiks attacked the Kobe village, and with them, shooting with his rifle, was this white villain.'

  'Diaz, trying to get to the gold,' conjectured Biggles.

  'I see now that could have been the reason, although there has never been any love between the two tribes,' said Father Antoinne.

  'What happened?'

  'The attack was beaten off, for the Kobes are stout fighters and were on their own ground. Other attacks followed, with the same result.'

  'And Diaz is still with the Gilkiks?'

  'As far as I know. Why does he stay with these dreadful people?'

  'I think the answer to that is pretty clear,' replied Biggles. 'He knows where the gold is hidden and he's determined to have it. He must have realized that by now the police are looking for him. With money he could hide, get to America, or keep on the run. Without money he would be helpless. Aside from which he would be loath to abandon so much wealth, knowing that if once he left New Guinea he would find it difficult to get back.'

  'Which means that we may expect more attacks,' rejoined the priest wearily. 'The Kobes seem to know that, for they are in their war-paint and the drums talk constantly. In that mood they are beyond my control.

  Indeed, they cannot control themselves. This renegade white man has undone the work of years.'

  Biggles took a cigarette from his case, lit it, and considered the matter.

  'What are you contemplating, my son?' asked the priest shrewdly, and with some anxiety.

  'I am a police officer,' stated Biggles. 'I was wondering how I could get my hands on this murderer who is giving you and your people so much trouble. It's time he was brought to book.'

  Father Antoinne looked doubtful. He did not reply. Biggles looked up as if he had reached a decision. 'How far away is the Kobe village, Father?'

  'About half a mile.'

  'There is, I imagine, a chief, a headman, of the tribe.' 'Of course.'

  'He won't resent my intrusion if I go to see him?' 'Not if you're with me.'

  Biggles turned to Ginger and Bertie. `Go to the aircraft. Tell Algy what's afoot. We're going to the village. Say he's to stand by with a gun trained on the beach ready for action.

  Bring back two automatic rifles, with ammunition, and the twelve-bore pump gun with buckshot cartridges.'

  As Ginger and Bertie went off Biggles turned to the priest with an apologetic smile. 'I'm sorry, Father, if these arrangements are opposed to your principles, but I have a job to do, and my preparations are dictated by the circumstances. These weapons will not of course be used except under pressure from a hostile force that threatens our lives.'

  'I understand,' said the priest. He was standing in a listening attitude.

  'What can you hear?' asked Biggles.

  'The drums are talking. Listen.'

  Biggles waited. Then he said: 'Do you know what they're saying?'

  'Yes. They s
ay white men have landed on the beach by the wreck.'

  'Is that message intended just for the Kobes?' Father Antoinne shrugged.

  'It would be understood by any native who hears it.'

  'The Gilkiks?'

  'Certainly.'

  Biggles looked alarmed. 'You realize what the effect of that will be?'

  'In what way?'

  'If Diaz is told he will guess what white men are doing here —'

  'And —?'

  'He'll make a last desperate attempt to get the only thing that matters to him — the gold.'

  The priest's eyes opened wide. didn't think of that.' he admitted.

  'Am I correct in supposing that the Gilkiks couldn't get to this beach without passing through Kobe country?'

  'Definitely. In this jungle even the natives can move only by following the tracks. The one that leads to this creek passes through the Kobe village. I see now that is why the village was attacked. This man Diaz was really trying to get here.'

  'That's how I understood it,' returned Biggles. He turned to where Ginger and Bertie were coming ashore with the weapons. 'Come on,' he said tersely. 'Things are likely to happen.

  We're going to the village and we've no time to lose. Lead the way, Father,' he concluded, taking the shot-gun from Ginger, loading it, and putting some loose cartridges in his pocket.

  The way lay through the mangroves, as they realized it must, for the beach on which they stood, on the land-ward side, was entirely hemmed in by the grotesque trees. They also knew what sort of ordeal lay before them, and here again their fears were justified, However, there was no alternative.

  For much of the way they struggled knee-deep through noisome mud, their weight causing foul-looking bubbles to rise and, bursting, release gases that stank abominably. And this was not the worst. Where broad pools of stagnant water occurred they had to proceed by stepping from one hooped root to another. These were damp and slippery. Sometimes one would break, dropping the traveller waist deep in slime. There is perhaps no form of pedestrian travel more strenuous or more revolting than through a mangrove swamp. The heat was suffocating.

  Fortunately these conditions prevailed only for about twenty minutes, when the party, streaked with mud and dripping with sweat, reached the rising ground where the swamp gave way to ordinary jungle. Forward ran a narrow track, dim under the interlacing branches of lush palms and forest trees.

  'Phew,' gasped Biggles, pausing to mop his streaming face. 'We're well out of that.'

  Wiping condensation from his eyeglass Bertie gave his opinion softly and without passion. 'You know, old boy,' said he, 'there are times when I think I must be off my chump; completely off my rocker. Why, I ask myself, do I submit my body to these ghastly tortures. Soldiers, having more sense, would have demanded a Bailey bridge.'

  'And a canteen on the far side,' put in Ginger, grinning through the grime on his face.

  'Quit trying to fool me,' bantered Biggles. 'You love the going when it's tough. Let's keep mobile.'

  Shouldering their weapons they went on, the priest leading.

  The drums could now be heard plainly, their volume deepening and their tempo rising.

  'In a minute there will be fighting.' Father Antoinne flung the words over his shoulder and set a faster pace.

  Ginger marvelled that a man of his age and impaired constitution could move at such a rate. It was as much as he could do to keep up.

  In spite of their efforts the assault on the village had been launched before they could reach it, an uproar of yells, howls and a noise like

  the barking of dogs announcing the onset. Through the din came the vicious twang of bowstrings and an occasional rifle shot.

  'Sounds as if Diaz is there,' said Biggles, and dashed forward to where a patch of sunlight showed the end of the track. He reached it, with the others close behind, just as a pack of shrieking savages came rushing towards the same spot from the opposite direction. It was a nasty moment, for whether the men were Kobes or Gilkiks, Biggles and his friends had of course no means of knowing. The blacks, seeing them, stopped dead, huddling, crouching, staring. Their great mops of hair, their faces and bodies daubed with white clay, their mouths stained scarlet with betel-nut, and with boars' tusks thrust through their nostrils, they presented a pieture of bestial savagery not easily forgotten. Some of the men carried spears, others heavy six-foot bows.

  Father Antoinne saved what might have been an ugly situation by running forward, hands raised, crying out something in what was presumably the native language.

  'Don't shoot, they're my people,' he told Biggles quickly.

  The warriors, recognizing him, again broke into a furious barking, and turning about, rushed back into the village from which a cloud of smoke was rising. The white men followed, and there on the open ground before them saw a battle raging.

  To Ginger, who took in the scene in one comprehensive stare, it was clear that the Kobes, recognizable by their white war-paint, were getting the worst of it. Several of their houses were on fire, and the warriors, in little groups, were fighting with their backs to the walls, or the flames, as the case might be. One reason for this, or so it seemed to Ginger, was the fact that they were out-numbered. He was in fact, shocked by the number of their enemies, easily distinguishable by having red-smeared bodies; and his first thought was that they themselves would be lucky to get out of the affair alive. He, at all events, had not expected anything on quite such a scale; and he suspected that Biggles must have thought on the same lines, or he would hardly have gone into the business without any sort of plan.

  However, spears and bows and arrows are one thing, and modem automatic weapons are another. 'Steady with those rifles,' shouted Biggles. 'If you must shoot, shoot low.' With that he raised his gun and opened fire.

  Now a rifle is a deadly weapon, but it can fire only a single bullet at a time, and at a single target. A twelve-bore shot gun, firing a small handful of pellets, at a range of sixty or seventy yards has a wide spread; and although the shots may not be lethal they can sting pretty hard. And this the Gilkiks soon discovered. Half a dozen shots were sufficient to alter the entire situation. The attackers leapt high into the air as the leaden hail smacked into their bare skins. Some fell. Some danced screaming, dropping their weapons as they clutched at the spots where they had been hit. They may have thought these trivial wounds were fatal. At any rate they were soon hopping and jumping back towards the forest from which they had emerged. Biggles gave them a few parting shots, the pellets rattling on the heavy-leafed foliage.

  At this juncture there was reason to suppose that the conflict was as good as over; but this was not so. The Kobes, who must have been astonished, and not a little gratified, by the turn of events, now took the initiative, and set about their retreating foes clearly determined to have their revenge. This put an end to any further shooting, for in the general mix-up it was impossible to pick a target.

  Ginger, who had been keeping an eye open for Diaz - for the crack of a rifle had indicated his presence - now saw him for the first time. With a number of Gilkiks he had apparently been operating among the houses.

  Seeing himself in danger of being abandoned he now appeared, running towards the forest, with some Kobes in pursuit. For a moment it looked as if he would succeed in reaching cover, for although Ginger let out a warning shout and half raised his rifle, he hesitated to shoot. As it happened there was no need. Diaz was within five yards of the trees when an arrow, fired by one of the pursuing Kobes, buried itself between his shoulders and brought him down with a crash.

  With a cry of horror Father Antoinne hurried towards him. The others followed slowly, alert for danger, for although by this time the village was practically deserted, a lot of yelling just inside the forest suggested that the Gilkiks might make a counter-attack.

  Moreover, stray arrows were still flying.

  'Watch how you go,' cautioned Biggles.

  With rifles at the ready they approached the spot wher
e Father Antoinne was on his knees beside the stricken pirate. Hearing them coming he half turned and made made a sign that could only mean one thing. Biggles stopped, and halted the others. 'There's nothing much you can do for a man with one of those ghastly double-barbed arrows in his vitals,' he said quietly. 'Whether you leave it in or try to get it out it comes to the same thing.'

  Silent and subdued they watched the priest administer the last rites, and presently cover the face of the man whose misdeeds had brought him only a miserable death.

  Father Antoinne joined them. 'It's all over,' said he, sombrely. 'Knowing he was dying the unhappy man confessed everything. The gold is still where it was buried. Standing alone at the end of the mangroves are three sago palms. You will find everything just under the ground at the foot of the largest.'

  'Thank you,' acknowledged Biggles. Tor the time being it can remain there. I'll return home and report the matter to the owners, who will no doubt send a vessel to fetch it. Is there anything we can do for you?'

  'There's nothing you can do here. In such cases as this I know from experience that it is better to leave the natives to settle their own affairs. For a time they will be even beyond my control.' The priest thought for a moment. 'If you have any foodstuffs, or medical stores that will not now be required, I would be glad to have them. I am always short of such things.'

  'We have quite a lot of stuff on board that we shan't need - thanks largely to you,' Biggles answered. 'We'll put it all on the beach, if you can send some of your boats to fetch it.'

  'Certainly, and thank you very much.'

  'Thank you, sir,' returned Biggles. 'And now, as you say there's nothing we can do here, if you'll excuse us we'll get back to the beach. My friend in the aircraft must have heard the shooting and will be in a state of anxiety.'

  'Naturally.'

  They shook hands, and leaving the priest, a lonely figure with one hand raised in a valedictory blessing, standing on the track, they turned their faces towards the sea.

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE LUMINOUS CLAY

  'BIGGLESWORTH, I want you to meet Sir James Randal and Professor Lovejoy,' said Air Commodore Raymond, as his chief operational pilot entered the Special Air Section Office at Scotland Yard.