Biggles acknowledged the introductions. Sir James was an austere, distinguished-looking man, but it was with difficulty that he restrained a smile when shaking hands with the Professor, whose untidy dress and horn-rimmed spectacles recalled inevitably the proverbial absent-minded professor of funny stories.
'As you are probably aware,' went on the Air Com-modore, 'Sir James is one of our leading atomic research specialists. He is now engaged in the adaptation of that power for commercial uses. Professor Lovejoy is, of course, the celebrated naturalist and explorer. They have come here, at the suggestion of another department, with a request for our co-operation in an enterprise that is unusual, to say the least of it. I will ask Sir James to tell you about it, after which you will please give us your views as to the practicability of the undertaking.'
Biggles turned to the scientist.
'We in this country are engaged in a race, a race to be first in world markets with a practical atomic power unit,' explained Sir James. 'You will appreciate that the country first in the field with such a device would at once be able to put itself in a happy position economically. Its export value could hardly be over-estimated.'
'I understand that, sir,' said Biggles, wondering — in view of previous experience — what secret had been stolen or mislaid.
'Very well,' resumed the scientist. 'I must now tell you that there is a certain highly complex substance vitally essential to the progress of our experiments. Let us call it Blue Clay. The manufacture of it, even a few grammes, is a long and costly process. It is, in fact, akin to radium. We are always being held up pending the delivery of fresh supplies.
I doubt if it ever occurred to anyone that the stuff might exist in a natural form, but thanks to Professor Lovejoy that surprising fact has now been established beyond any doubt. There is, he asserts, an almost unlimited quantity waiting to be collected. The importance of this discovery, which of course we have not made public, could not be exaggerated.'
'Where is this remarkable deposit?' queried Biggles, who by this time had a good idea of what was coming.
'Before I answer that question I really must disclaim all the credit for the discovery,'declared the Professor. 'The truth is, I didn't know what I had found, which is not to be wondered at considering the extraordinary circumstances in which the thing came about.
With a naturalist friend, who is in the happy position of being able to afford a deep sea yacht, I was cruising in the Pacific. Studying the eggs of some gulls that nested on an islet which happened to come under our observation, we made the startling discovery that they had the property of being luminous — or to be quite accurate, that the shells were luminous. On my return home I made a point of this in a paper I read to the Royal Society. Sir James was present. This resulted in some of my specimens being analyzed. This revealed that they contained a small amount of Blue Clay. Blue Clay itself is luminous. The eggs have a tinge of blue in them. I noticed some bluish-looking earth when I was on the islet, but as I was only there in daylight I did not perceive the luminosity. Putting two and two together, so to speak, we have come to this conclusion. The gulls that nest on this particular islet must swallow minute quantities of blue clay in the grit which they eat either for purposes of digestion or to form the shells of their eggs. As a result, these birds have the unique faculty of laying luminous eggs.
Isn't that an astonishing story?'
'It certainly is,' agreed Biggles.
Sir James stepped in. 'It seems absurd to go on wasting precious time and money manufacturing something which can be picked up on the ground in almost any quantity.
One container of Blue Clay would be sufficient to put us years ahead of any possible competitor.'
'I imagine this islet is in a remote spot,' said Biggles.
'It is in mid-Pacific. One of a small archipelago that lies some seven or eight hundred miles from the west coast of Central South America.
Geographically, it might be regarded as a distant offshoot of the Galapagos group.'
'Is the archipelago — the Blue Clay group — inhabited?'
'One island only. It is the main island, but even so it is small, and not very productive, for which reason, no doubt, no one has ever bothered about it. Consequently the natives, thought to be of Polynesian extraction, are backward — to put it nicely — and have a reputation for discouraging visitors. The Blue Earth islet, which I have named Gull Rock, is some miles away. It is a mere volcanic pimple, like a hollow tooth sticking up out of the sea. All the islands are volcanic, as indeed are the Galapagos, which within living memory have been subject to volcanic disturbances — earthquakes and eruptions. Gull Rock, by the way, is not shown on the chart, so it may well be of recent formation. It could even be one of these islands that come and go. There are several in the Pacific. A ship sights one, puts it on the chart, but when the next ship passes it isn't there. There is no proper anchorage at Gull Islet.
It rises sheer from deep water.'
'But it's possible to land on it without any great difficulty?'
'Providing there isn't a heavy sea running. In that case it would be dangerous, if not impossible. Frankly, I'm afraid it may disappear at any moment. Hence the urgency of another visit.'
'Assuming it's still there, all we have to do is land and collect a bucket of Blue Clay. Is that it?'
Scientist and explorer glanced at each other, then looked at the Air Commodore, who, turning to Biggles, remarked dryly. 'Well, it isn't quite as simple as that.'
'What's the snag?'
'The snag is the question of ownership. The group happens to be one of those to which, in these days of radio and aircraft refuelling stations, several countries now lay claim. If it were known that one of the islands had a particular value, and we had made a raid on it, there might be an international rumpus, and we don't want that.'
I would have said that the people who have most right to the islands are those who live there,' asserted Biggles.
'And many people would agree with you,' averred Sir James. 'But such claims are brushed aside when international politics are involved.'
The Air Commodore interposed. `The point is, we don't want to start anything. As far as the natives are concerned Gull Rock is just another dot in the ocean. They know nothing of the value of Blue Clay and wouldn't be able to handle it if they did. No doubt they'd be happy to sell the lot for a few fish-hooks. Wherefore, if we could collect some of the Clay without anybody knowing anything about it, there should be no heartburning. The thing is, and can remain, a top secret.'
'And the idea is for me to go out and do the collecting?'
'Yes. Providing the secret hasn't leaked out, and we have no reason to suppose that it has, there should be no great difficulty about it.'
Biggles nodded. 'The thing looks simple, but it's al-most uncanny the way simple things can produce un-foreseen difficulties. However, we'll deal with them should any arise.'
'I'll leave it to you to make your own arrangements. Be as quick as you can.'
'Do you mind if I come with you?' asked Professor Lovejoy.
Biggles hesitated.
I might be useful in several ways. I would recognize the Blue Clay for instance, and should we have occasion to land on the main island, having some knowledge of Polynesian, I could talk to the people. Without me you might have difficulties in finding the right islet.'
'All right, sir,' consented Biggles. 'You come at your own risk, of course.'
'That's understood.'
The arrangements for Operation Gull Rock presented no difficulty to Biggles and his pilots, to whom long-distance flights had, from experience, become a matter of routine.
Lists of everything likely to be needed were ready to hand. Everyone had his own particular job and did it, from the laying on of stores and spares to the investigation of probable weather conditions and the plotting of courses. Consequently, within a fortnight, the flying-boat selected for the assignment, the old Sunderland that had served them so well, was
within striking distance of its objective. The story given out at refuelling points was that the Sunderland was a survey ship, trying out new routes.
Ginger, sitting next to Biggles in the control cabin, staring at the pitiless distances ahead, gave a sigh of relief when the lonely group of islands came into view almost directly on their course, for long periods of over-water flying are apt to become monotonous and there is always a risk of missing a small mark in a great expanse of ocean.
Biggles flew on, surveying the several islets and islands as they crept up over the edge of the world. The Professor had provided him with a rough sketch of Gull Island, so he anticipated no difficulty in identifying it when it came into view. He failed to find it, although its relative position in the group had been plotted. At last losing some height, he said: 'There's something wrong here. Better ask the Professor to come forward and —'
At that moment Algy appeared. 'That's it, over there,' he said, pointing.
'But that isn't like the sketch he gave me,' protested Biggles.
'No. He says it's altered, but he's quite sure that's it.' 'Okay. We'll soon settle it.'
As Biggles began to glide down, Ginger, in a puzzled voice remarked:
'There's something going on down there. Look at the way the gulls are behaving. Well, blow me down! I can see people — natives; there are their canoes, lined up against the shelf. They must have come over from the main island.'
'Good thing we've got the Professor with us.' 'Are you going down?'
'Of course. The sea looks flat calm, that's one good thing. I thought we'd be lucky to get through without something unexpected turning up.
We'll lie off until we hear what the Professor thinks about it.'
Biggles brought the Sunderland round, and making a smooth landing about half a mile off shore, taxied on until he was only half the distance from the Rock with everything in plain view. There must have been five or six war canoes drawn up against the shelf of rock that was the most convenient landing place. Ashore, nearly a hundred natives were staring at the flying-boat. Disturbed gulls were wheeling round the rock with a clamour of protest.
By this time the Professor was talking to Biggles, a hint of apology in his voice. 'Please don't think I deliberately deceived you about the natives,' he said. 'I'm afraid we've arrived at an unfortunate moment. I can't think this is an ordinary native outing. It looks more as if some sort of ceremony was going on.'
'You're sure it's the right rock? It isn't much like the one you sketched for me.'
'It's the right one, but it has changed since I was last here,' declared the Professor. 'It was higher than this. Moreover, it appears to have split. There must have been a volcanic disturbance.'
'What's the best thing to do?'
'Will the aircraft ride comfortably where she is?'
'With conditions as they are, yes. But if a sea gets up, without any sort of anchorage we should have to get airborne.'
'Then I suggest we stay where we are for the time being, in the hope that the natives will return to their home island very soon. It would be dangerous to land.'
'What makes you think that?'
'If those people were in a friendly mood they would have paddled out to welcome us before this. The way they just stand and stare is always a bad sign.'
'All right,' assented Biggles. 'We'll post a guard, and take the opportunity to have something to eat.'
The day wore on without any change in the situation. The sea remained calm but the natives gave no sign of departure. The Professor, who had remarked on the absence of fish round the flying-boat, pointed to some dead ones floating by. There was also a quantity of grey scum. These, he said, were sure signs of a volcanic disturbance not far away. That, no doubt, was what caused the rock to sink.
'As long as it doesn't blow up -' began Ginger.
'I don't think there's much fear of that,' interposed the Professor.
'It's more likely that the rock will continue to sink quietly into the water.'
Towards evening a canoe, with a dozen men in it came paddling cautiously towards the aircraft. This suited Biggles, who was getting impatient and anxious to know how long the brown men intended to stay. But not being prepared to take chances of a surprise attack he started the engines, and leaving them ticking over, posted Bertie in the centre turret with a rifle. The Professor stood by in order to parley.
Apparently the natives were not taking any chances either, for as soon as they were within hailing distance they rested on their paddles. Their manner was neither friendly nor hostile. In this situation the Professor en-gaged them in what appeared to be a difficult con-versation, at the end of which the canoe was paddled back to the rock.
'What was that all about?' asked Biggles.
'They want us to go away. They say we've brought disaster on them by annoying their gods. The fire god has almost destroyed their island, so they've come here to placate him with sacrifices.'
'In other words there's been an eruption?
'That's about the English of it.'
'And we've got to fiddle about here until they decide to go.'
'I'm afraid so. It would be folly to attempt a landing.'
'Well, I suppose we shall just have to wait,' said Biggles in a resigned voice. don't mind admitting I'd rather be somewhere else. An undersea disturbance would mean a tidal wave, and that wouldn't be funny.'
When the sun sank into the sea and darkness settled swiftly over the strange scene, a possible reason for the natives' behaviour became manifest, particularly in view of the association of the fire god. On the rock appeared a startling phenomenon. Up and down the spire-like shape glowed a tongue of unearthly fire, like a vivid neon sign, to shed an uncanny light on the mirror of water below.
When the Professor exclaimed that it was the Blue Clay no one disputed it. It was hard to imagine what else it could be. 'What has happened is,'
he stated, 'the rock has been split by an internal convulsion exposing the inner core, which appears to be composed entirely of the Blue Clay.
What a truly amazing spectacle.'
'If it has split the whole thing may topple over,' said Algy.
'I think that's quite likely,' agreed the Professor. 'The natives must be crazy to stay where they are. They can't realize their danger.'
'They're probably scared out of their wits. I can only think that something awful must have happened on their own island or they'd go back to it.'
'Maybe they will, when they've finished their sacrificing,' suggested Bertie hopefully.
'That scum we saw floating was certainly lava thrown up by a volcano,'
said the Professor.
'If the position tomorrow remains unchanged we'll fly round and see if we can locate it,'
returned Biggles. 'Meanwhile, we might as well turn in and get some sleep.'
In the event, this suggestion was never followed up, for some time later, while they were still sitting in the cabin discussing the matter, they were startled by a long low rumble, like distant thunder. It was impossible to say from what direction it came, but from the fact that the aircraft rocked a little, it was thought to be nearer than it had sounded.
'I don't like this,' muttered Algy positively.
'Nobody likes it,' answered Biggles. 'But having come so far it goes against the grain to run away without even knowing what we're running from. The Rock is still there, anyhow. I'm going to take a canful of that clay when I go.'
Ginger could not recall a more uncomfortable night than the one that followed. Alarming might be a better word. The rumbles were repeated at intervals, and each time the aircraft moved uneasily. Once it seemed to shudder.
'I swear that was right underneath us,' asserted Bertie. 'I've heard people talk about sitting on a volcano. This must be it.' As if to confirm his words a clatter of falling rock took them all to a window.
But the Rock was still there, a wonderful but terrifying spectacle.
A smell of sulphur was noticeable.<
br />
'If those wretched natives are still there they must be scared stiff,'
opined Algy.
'So am I, old boy, if it comes to that,' responded Bertie warmly. 'They must be nuts to stay.'
'That goes for us, too,' put in Ginger. 'I can see no sign of the silly fellows,' murmured the Professor.
The first grey of dawn did nothing to allay their fears. More patches of thick grey scum appeared on the water, which here and there began to writhe in little whirlpools. The Rock was still there, but it was noticeably lower in the water. As the sky brightened it could be seen that the natives had gone.
'That's all we were waiting for,' said Biggles briskly. 'Let's get cracking, and move ourselves from the top of a kettle that sounds as if it's about to boil over. Launch the dinghy. Get the can, Ginger.'
The Professor let out a yell. 'It's going!'
They all spun round to see the Rock sinking slowly into the sea. Ripples rolled away from it.
'Beaten at the post, by Jove!' muttered Bertie. Biggles went through to the control cabin and started the engines.
'It's stopped,' shouted Algy.
'Then let us hope it'll stay put for just a few minutes longer,' said Biggles grimly, edging the machine nearer.
The atmosphere became tense, for it was obvious to everyone that nature was about to have another convulsion, and that it might happen at any moment. Biggles did not attempt to deceive them, or himself as was plain, from the expression on his face.
He took the Sunderland to within a hundred yards of the dying rock and then moved swiftly. He snatched up the metal container brought to hold the Blue Clay, got into the dinghy and pushed it clear. 'If she starts to boil over before I get back, get clear. Don't wait for me,' he ordered crisply.
'But —'
'Do as you're told.'
'Okay,' obeyed Ginger, who had started to get into the dinghy. He knew that Biggles in his present mood would brook no argument.
They all watched him paddle to the Rock. He seemed to be a long time getting there, and even longer time making a precarious landing on the now almost vertical face of rock.
53 Biggles Chinese Puzzle Page 8
