by W E Johns
'Amphibian,' said Biggles quickly.
'That's right,' said Dickpa. 'But perhaps I had better tell you that the actual treasure is on, or rather in, a hill. I'll tell you how I stumbled on it, then you'll get a better grasp of the whole thing.' Dickpa filled his pipe and settled a little deeper in his chair before he continued.
'I was exploring a tributary of the Madeira River, which in turn is a tributary of the Amazon, travelling, of course, by canoe. The difficulties of travelling overland are almost insurmountable. I had four porters with me, as I have told you, and a pretty lot of cutthroats they were. I had already overhead them discussing the possibility of murdering me and stealing my kit, and you can readily imagine that travelling in these circumstances becomes a bit of a strain. We were in an interesting stretch of country. If you look at the maps of the district—such as they are—you will see mountain ranges dotted about. They are usually shown in the maps many miles from where they really are; indeed, I came to the conclusion years ago that most of the physical features shown on the maps are just stuck in by the map-makers for decoration.
'I had wandered away along such a range of mountains and came to the side of a steep cliff, which rose perhaps a thousand feet or so above the small stream along which I was walking. As far as I know, no living people had ever been there before, the nearest being the Bororo Indians, who at that time had a settlement about a hundred miles to the north. These Indian tribes are nomadic; that is, they wander about the country choosing new sites for their camp from time to time. They burn the undergrowth, dig the earth, plant their mingao, or corn, and then, as the jungle closes in on it, which it soon does, they move along to a fresh place. The only clothes they wear are big macaw and parrot feathers stuck in their hair. They are an unwelcoming lot, and I was quite glad they were some way away and that I was in a district where, as far as I knew, they never came.
'I was just passing a big fissure, or crack in the rock, when my eye fell on something that pulled me up with a jerk. It was a rock carving, quite small and simple— the sort of device a schoolboy might make with a penknife while he was idly waiting for somebody. I took a closer look and nearly let out a yell, for the design, which represented the rising sun, was characteristically of Inca origin. It was definite proof of my theories, as it showed conclusively that an Inca army, or a soldier at least, had penetrated as far westward. I hunted around looking for more, but in vain, and then I thought that something might be found in the cleft itself, so in I went. The first thing I stumbled on was a piece of pottery, also unmistakably of Inca manufacture. Striking matches, I advanced, and soon picked up a copper spear. That settled it, for the Incas were the only people to discover the secret of tempering copper to steel-like hardness.
'As you can imagine, I began to see I was on the track of something. The cleft had by this time widened out into quite a cave, and I went on slowly. Then I saw a small oblong-shaped article lying at my feet. I picked it up, and when I felt its weight I didn't have to look to see what it was.' Dickpa leaned forward dramatically.
'Gold,' he whispered, 'a lump of solid gold. It was, in fact, the piece I have already shown you. Then I got a facer. The cave came to an abrupt end. From side to side and from floor to ceiling was a wall that had obviously been built by the hand of man. It was formed of great blocks of stone morticed together without mortar, and fitting so tightly that you couldn't get a knife-blade between them. Only one race in the world could do that. Incas! Bolivia and Peru abound in walls and buildings constructed in the same way.
'Well, there it was. What lay behind the wall? I didn't know, but I could guess. Obviously they hadn't built a wall like that just there for fun. No, it hid something the builders were anxious to hide, and the bar of gold I had found told its own story. They had left a guard at the entrance while they were working, and he, in a fit of absent-mindedness, had carelessly left a mark that betrayed the secret.
'Trembling with excitement, I hurried back to the entrance of the cave, and reached it just as my last match went out. I had been in there longer than I thought, and it was nearly dark outside. However, I reached camp and found things in a serious state; my men were having one of their regular mutinies, but one glance showed me it was worse than usual. Philippe came up to me with a nasty scowl on his face and told me he wouldn't go on any farther; the men wanted their pay and were going home. I gave them their money and told them they could get off as soon as they liked and I hoped they'd enjoy being killed by Indians. That was the usual way I met their demands, and from experience I knew perfectly well that when it came to the pinch they wouldn't go, because without me they knew they'd stand a jolly poor chance of getting through.
'Then a tragedy happened. I was taking off my coat, to wash, when the material, rotten with the damp heat, broke under the weight of the gold which was in the pocket and the lump of yellow metal fell to the ground. Philippe broke off in the middle of a sentence and stared at it, fascinated. Then he dragged his eyes away and looked at me. He knew what it was, for I saw a look of greed and hatred in his eyes. I picked it up carelessly, as if it was nothing important, but it didn't deceive him, and presently I saw him in earnest conversation with the others. I was in a pretty pickle, and I knew it. It was out of the question to think of breaking down the wall in the cave, for my men would never now let me out of their sight, and if once they saw what I suspected was behind that wall, my life wouldn't be worth a moment's purchase. Luckily they did not know where the place was. What to do I didn't know, but finally I slung my hammock as usual some distance from the men and went to bed to think it over.
'I slept with one eye open, as the saying goes—I had become pretty adept at it. I wasn't in the least surprised when, just after midnight, I saw a dark shadow crawling towards me in the moonlight. As it came nearer I saw it was Philippe, his face distorted horribly by a knife he held in his teeth. Pretending to be sound asleep, I felt quietly for my revolver and let him come on. I waited until he was about ten yards away, and then, with a shout, I sprang from the hammock. He jumped to his feet and would have bolted like the coward he was, but I was furious and fetched him an upper cut to the point of the jaw. He took a frightful purler, and the knife flew out of his mouth, but he picked himself up and ran off moaning. I let him go— what else could I do? I couldn't make a prisoner of him in such a place, and to shoot the man would have meant serious trouble with the Brazilian authorities.
'I heard a babble of voices as he reached the others and then the clicking of rifles being loaded—they had insisted upon being armed as a protection against the Indians. I called out to them that I would shoot the first man who showed himself before daylight, and, knowing I should be as good as my word, they drew off, muttering. As you can well imagine, I didn't have much sleep for the rest of the night, but towards morning I must have dozed off, for when next I opened my eyes it was just getting daylight. I thought everything sounded very quiet; there was none of the usual grumbling and cursing of the men loading the canoe. I was soon to discover the reason. They had gone. And that was not all. Gone, too, were all my stores, everything except the clothes I stood up in. I was alone in the forest, more than five hundred miles from the nearest point of civilization. I don't mind admitting I was pretty well stunned for a bit, as I had no delusions about what that meant. I thought I was a goner, and that's a fact. Death from starvation or in a dozen other ways stared me in the face. If you have ideas about reaching out and picking bananas or coconuts in Brazil, forget it. What few edible fruits and nuts there are exist only on the tops of the trees, where the birds and monkeys alone can reach them. Those that fall to the ground are immediately carried away piecemeal by the ants.
'By a marvellous bit of luck I had in my pocket a fishing-line and hook which I had taken with me the day before in case I saw fish in the stream. I cut a bamboo for a rod, and, using a small piece of biscuit— also fortunately left over from the day before—for bait, I soon had a ten-pounder of the sort locally known as a pintado o
n the bank.
'You'll believe me when I tell you that my adventures on the rest of that trip, which took nearly six months, would fill a book. What with fever and hunger—I often went days on end with nothing past my lips—I was not exactly a pretty specimen when I was discovered by a rubber collector and taken to his hut. As soon as I was able to get on my feet I made my way slowly down the river to Manaos. There, as I told you, I got another shock when I discovered my late carriers and two Americans, Blattner and a fellow named Steinburg, setting off to find the treasure. They failed, and the rest you know. The point is, what is the next move?' concluded Dickpa, leaning back and once more reaching for his tobacco-pouch.
Biggles pondered deeply for a few minutes. 'Frankly, I see no reason why this trip to the Mater Grasso—'
'Matto Grosso,' corrected Dickpa again.
'Sorry. Well, I don't see why it shouldn't be undertaken by aeroplane, but it will cost a lot of money.'
'It would cost that anyway,' declared Dickpa. 'On my last trip I spent thousands of pounds on equipment. Why, I had to pay my porters a pound* a day, and feed them, and food up there costs its weight in gold.'
* Worth perhaps seventy-five pounds today.
'All right, then,' said Biggles conclusively, 'If you're willing to foot the bill I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll get away from here after dark, leaving Algy to help you hold the fort, so to speak. You give me an open cheque on your bank and some money for expenses, and I'll buy a four-seater amphibian and the rest of the equipment we are likely to require. I'll look up Smyth—he was my mechanic in France—and get him to come with us. I don't think he'll need much persuading. I'll have the machine shipped to New York on a mail packet, and Smyth can go with it. Then I'll come back here in a hired machine, arriving about dawn, and pick you up in that long meadow at the end of the garden. I ought to be able to get back here in a week. We'll fix the date later.
'The night before I'm due to arrive, you and Algy pack up here, creep out under cover of darkness, and lie doggo on the edge of the field. As soon as my wheels touch, you break cover and sprint towards me. With any luck you ought to be aboard and away before Silas and his toughs spot the game. The big advantage of using an aeroplane for this is that they won't know which way we've gone. Once in the air we shall make straight for Liverpool, hand over the machine, and get aboard a boat bound for America. As soon as we get there we'll assemble the machine and push off down the east coast of South America on the way to Manaos. You, Dickpa, can cable your agent from Liverpool to lay in a stock of juice* and tinned grub. How's that?'
* Slang: petrol.
'Sounds good to me,' agreed Algy.
'Well, you boys know more about it than I do, and I am willing to place myself in your hands,' said Dickpa. 'There are certain formalities to be arranged; you can't just go crashing about in other people's countries without a permit.'
'We shall leave that to you,' said Biggles promptly. 'You know the ropes, and can handle that while we're fixing up about the machine.'
'Splendid,' agreed Dickpa, his eyes shining. 'It would give me the greatest pleasure to outwit these villains after all. When do you propose to start?'
'Tonight. We've decided to go on with this, so there is no point in wasting time. The sooner we get a move on the better; besides, you'll soon be running short of food, I expect.'
'That suits me,' agreed Algy. 'I can send a wire to my people from Liverpool telling them I have gone off on a holiday and they can expect me back when they see me.'
'That's about the wisest thing you could tell them,' said Dickpa grimly. 'I hope neither of you have the idea that this is going to be altogether a picnic. Knowing what I know about South America, I should say there are exciting times ahead.'
Even so, he little guessed just how exciting they were to be.
Chapter 3
Running The Gauntlet
The grandfather clock in the hall had just struck ten when Biggles pushed his chair back, rose to his feet, and buttoned up his coat. 'Well,' he said, 'I'll be off before the moon gets up; this is the darkest it will be tonight.'
Dickpa looked at him anxiously, half inclined to withdraw from the venture which would put his nephew's life in jeopardy at the very onset. 'For goodness' sakes be careful,' he cautioned him, 'and don't make the mistake of under-estimating these fellows outside. They're used to using their guns in their own country, and will stop at nothing to get what they want.'
Biggles frowned. 'If they try any rough stuff on me, they'll get as good as they give,' he said shortly. 'You'll probably have a tougher proposition to face here,' he added, putting on his hat and turning his coat over his white collar. 'Algy can augment your supplies by sneaking out at night and getting fruit and vegetables out of the garden.'
'Yes, we might do that,' admitted Dickpa. 'How are you thinking of getting out of the house?'
'Through the kitchen window,' replied Biggles. 'I've had a good look round, and that seems to me to be the best place. There is only one small section of the paddock that overlooks it, and it lets me straight out into a thick clump of lilac-bushes.'
'What about weapons?' asked Dickpa.
Biggles shook his head dubiously. 'Better without 'em—at least, without firearms,' he replied. 'What's the use? Even if there is a rough house, I can't very well use a gun; the police court proceedings would put the tin hat on the whole affair right away. If I happened to kill a Brazilian, it would hardly do to go to Brazil afterwards; I expect they'd make it pretty warm for me.'
'You're right there,' agreed Dickpa, 'and I think you're wise. Well, good-bye, old boy; take care of yourself. We shall be waiting for you today week at dawn, on the edge of the spinney by the long meadow.'
'That's it,' agreed Biggles, forcing the nailed-up kitchen window open as quietly as possible, using the tongs from the fireplace as a lever.
He peered long and steadily into the darkness. 'It seems quiet enough,' he whispered, throwing one leg over the window-sill. 'Cheerio, Dickpa. Cheerio, Algy,' he breathed, and a moment later he was swallowed up in the darkness of the night.
At the edge of the bushes he stood still and listened intently before crossing the exposed drive to the shrubbery beyond. He glanced upwards. A few stars were shining dimly, and, although the moon had not yet risen, there was just enough light to see without fear of colliding with obstacles. Slowly and with infinite care he parted the bushes and peered out. There was not a soul in sight; the only sound was the dismal hooting of an owl in the nearby spinney.
Swiftly but quietly he darted across the drive, freezing into immobility when he reached the deep gloom of the shrubbery on the other side. Was it or was it not? Had he seen a movement in the bushes a little lower down? He was not sure, for he knew only too well how easily one's imagination can play tricks at night when the nerves are stretched taut.
Suddenly, not far away, a twig cracked, and he knew he had not been mistaken. In spite of his coolness his heart beat a trifle faster and a curious gleam came into his eyes, the look they had worn when, not so long before, they had peered through the Alvis sight of the twin Vickers guns on the cowling of his Sopwith Camel.*
* A World War I single-seater biplane fighter armed with twin Vickers machine guns synchronized to fire through the propeller.
'It begins to look as if Dickpa's right,' he thought, for the enemy evidently kept good watch. With his left hand advanced to prevent collision with an unseen obstacle, he stealthily edged his way a few paces farther on. Another twig cracked, closer this time. Again Biggles stood stock still, eyes straining into the darkness, trying to make out the direction from which the sound had come. He thought it came from the right, but a moment later a bush rustled softly on his left and he caught his breath sharply. It began to look as if his exit had been seen after all and the enemy were closing in on him.
His lips set in the thin, straight line peculiar to him in moments of impending action. Intuition warned him that something was going to happen, and he was n
ot mistaken. The blinding beam of a flash-lamp stabbed the darkness, swept round swiftly in a short arc, and came to rest on him. Instantly he dropped to his knees. He was not a moment too soon. Something heavy whistled through the air over his head. He leapt sideways like a cat and collided head-on with a figure that loomed up before him. Acting with the speed of light, he brought his fist up with a vicious jab into the pit of the man's stomach. There was a choking grunt as the man collapsed, clutching feebly at Biggles's legs as he fell, but the pilot, thinking and acting simultaneously at the speed that air combat had taught him, was no longer there.
Casting all pretence at concealment to the winds, he darted away through the bushes, dodging and twisting like a snipe. He heard the heavy crash of a revolver; out of the corner of his eye he saw the blaze of the flash and heard the bullet rip through the branches just above his head. 'Like old times,' he found time to mutter to himself as he broke through the far side of the bushes and sprinted along the edge. For a few minutes he heard sounds of pursuit; shouts, curses, and the crash of bodies plunging through bushes. Again the revolver barked, and his lips parted in a smile as he heard an angry shout in answer, warning the gunman to be careful where he was shooting. 'Algy looks like having a warm time if he tries any raspberry picking,' he thought as, with his eyes fixed ahead, he ran on.
Presently the sounds of pursuit died down behind him and he slowed down to take his bearings. He decided that he must have broken through the cordon, and with great satisfaction headed towards the nearest village at a steady trot.
Meanwhile Dickpa and Algy had stood staring at the open window through which Biggles had disappeared, the former with obvious anxiety and the latter with supreme confidence born of long experience in far greater perils.
'I hope I have done the right thing,' breathed Dickpa. 'I should never forgive myself if, after all he has been through—'
'I shouldn't worry,' broke in Algy. 'Biggles can take care of himself, never fear.'
