by W E Johns
Now Ginger had Li Chi’s word for it that the natives on the island were friendly, and he did not forget this. Consequently he was more than a little puzzled by the occurrence, particularly as the expression on the face was positively malevolent. It was this expression that alarmed him, and at the same time fascinated him. It was horrible, hateful. Still it did not move, and that, perhaps, was the most trying part of all. Why should the man—if indeed it was a man—crouch there staring at him in such a way? To this question he could find no reasonable answer. Had the man attacked him it would have been altogether different. He would have drawn the automatic he carried and, if necessary, used it. But he hardly felt justified in shooting at a man for nothing more than staring at him, or possibly trying to scare him.
This state of affairs persisted for about three minutes, although to Ginger it seemed longer. But by the end of that time he had had enough of it, and determined to end the matter one way or the other. Quite slowly he drew his pistol, and taking aim at the face, said loudly, in English: “Come out of that.”
The result of this order exceeded anything he expected. The face disappeared. There was a crashing in the undergrowth. Running forward Ginger was just in time to see a dirty yellow sarong, caught in round the waist with a blue sash, disappearing into the bushes.
He did not follow. For some minutes he could hear the crashing, growing ever fainter, proceeding down the hill towards the sea which here and there could be discerned through gaps in the trees. Wondering at this strange adventure he abandoned his original idea of climbing to the top of the knoll : instead he returned to the lake, to find Biggles, Li Chi and Ayert, in conversation outside the sawmill.
Biggles glanced at him casually, but then looked quickly back at him again. “What have you been up to?” he asked, looking hard at Ginger’s face.
“I’ve been for a stroll,” replied Ginger.
“What happened, you look pale?”
“I had a funny adventure,” said Ginger, smiling sheepishly, for now he was back on safe ground the incident seemed trivial. “As I walked up the hill I saw a face staring at me from the bushes. The owner of it may have been friendly, but if looks could cut a throat, he would have cut mine.”
Li Chi spoke sharply. “Did you see this man?”
“Not exactly. All I can say is that his face seemed lighter in colour than most of those I’ve seen here. When I went towards him he bolted. He wore an old yellow sarong and blue sash.”
Li Chi looked at Ayert. Ayert looked at his master.
“You know this fellow I see?” murmured Biggles.
Li Chi drew a deep breath. “Yes, we know him. His name is Pamboo—at least, that’s what everyone calls him. Just what his nationality is I don’t know, but one of his parents must have been white. That does not matter, but he is a bad character—an incorrigible. He came to me first a long time ago, asking for work. He admitted that he had been in prison at Singapore, but I cared little about that. I took him on. Later, I learned that he was, as you say, a real bad hat, a thief and a murderer. Among other exploits, while working on a rubber plantation he had killed a white overseer. I began to think about this when things started to disappear. I set a trap, and we discovered that this rascal was the culprit. That was after we came here. After warning him several times, for none of my men are what you would call angels, I ordered him to be flogged—that is the way we deal with a thief in this part of the world. After the punishment was administered he feigned sickness, with the result that his guards relaxed their vigilance and he escaped into the jungle where, although a search has been made for him, he remains in hiding. If he could do us an injury he would seize the chance, although he has little hope of that here. Still, it would be a good thing if we could catch him.” Turning to Ginger Li Chi concluded: “Would you mind showing Ayert where you saw this rascal? He might be able to track him.”
Ginger having expressed willingness to do this they set off, leaving Biggles and Li Chi to proceed with their planning.
By the time Ginger and his companion had arrived at the spot where the incident had occurred the sun was low over the horizon, and the light was beginning to fade.
However, Ayert soon picked up the fugitive’s tracks, and with his drawn parang in his hand followed them down the hill until they were within sound of the murmur of the sea. And there, suddenly, Ayert stopped. He pointed out across the placid strait that separated the island from the mainland. “Look, tuan,” said he. “He escapes us.”
There was no need for Ginger to ask Ayert to explain.
Two miles away, a mere speck on the lonely sea, a canoe was being paddled swiftly towards the mainland.
“Can we get another boat and follow him?” queried Ginger.
Ayert held up five fingers. “Soon—five minute—dark. No moon. No catchee.”
“In that case we may as well go home,” replied Ginger, more disturbed in his mind than he cared to admit. Pamboo had seen white men on Elephant Island. No doubt he’d seen the aircraft. He had fled to the mainland, not only to escape, but perhaps to sell his information to the Japanese. It was not difficult to predict what the result would be.
Deep in thought Ginger followed his companion through the silent jungle back to the camp.
CHAPTER V
BIGGLES MAKES A RECONNAISSANCE
BIGGLES received Ginger’s news about the escape of Pamboo with concern; Li Chi with anger.
“I do not understand how he could have got a canoe,” said Li Chi.
Ayert gave it as his opinion that the man had already been to the mainland since his escape from Li Chi’s custody. He asserted that the craft in which Pamboo had fled was a prahu, not one of which was to be found on Elephant Island. “How did he get it?” went on Ayert, his one good eye glaring. “When he run away he sit along beach. Bimeby comes Salones with kabang. They not know he bad man. They think he Li Chi man. They sail him across strait to kampong. Pamboo go to Tamashoa. Tamashoa send him back in prahu to spy. He come. See white man. Go back now to Tamashoa.”
Li Chi explained to Biggles and Ginger that Salones were a tribe of inoffensive natives, sea gipsies who wandered from island to island in the boats in which they lived, called kabangs. The kampong to which Ayert had referred was the local name for a village. Thus, what Ayert had meant to convey was, that Pamboo, when he had escaped, had managed to get the sea gipsies to give him a lift to the mainland, where he had reported to the Japanese commander. Tamashoa had sent him back in a prahu, a native canoe, to watch Li Chi’s movements. “Pamboo, by the way, is Malayan for snake,” concluded Li Chi. “The fellow is well named.”
Biggles nodded. “If Ayert is right it boils down to this. Tamashoa knows you are here. Very soon he will know that a British aircraft has landed here, although he won’t know for what purpose.”
“I think so,” agreed Li Chi.
“Tamashoa will also have been told that the sawmill is working, cutting planks,” continued Biggles.
“True, but he will think the planks are for the purpose for which I originally intended them—to enable me to build a new junk.”
“Even so, he is not likely to let you get away with that,” averred Biggles.
Li Chi admitted that it was unlikely.
“You know the workings of the eastern mind better than we do,” alleged Biggles. “What do you think Tamashoa will do?”
Li Chi considered the question for a moment before he answered. “He will wait a little while to lull us into the belief that he knows nothing, hoping that our vigilance will relax. Then he will make a sudden attack, hoping to take us by surprise. He will burn the sawmill and the planks, and, if he can, take prisoners, who for his amusement he will torture to death. I fear our plan is likely to be put out of joint unless we can get the rubber away before he strikes—or, of course, unless we can think of some plan to outwit him.”
“It looks as though we shall have to do some serious thinking,” observed Biggles. “How about moving to another island?”
“To move the rubber and the rest of my property would require many boats which we do not possess; and even if we had them the boats would be seen by Japanese patrols.”
Biggles tapped a cigarette thoughtfully on the back of his hand. “It seems certain that we shall not be left here in peace for very long.”
“Of that we may be sure,” agreed Li Chi imperturbably.
“Then the thing is to get the rubber away before Tamashoa comes across.”
“That is all we can do.”
“What a hope we’ve got,” put in Ginger. “It will be a week before we start operating.”
“Unless...”
“Unless what?”
Biggles looked at Li Chi. “What about this Major Marling you were telling us about? You say he has rubber hidden on his plantation, which is buried away in the Burmese jungle. Instead of his rubber being brought here in small quantities wouldn’t it be better if we flew direct to his plantation and collected it—that is, if we could find some sort of landing ground?”
“No doubt it would be better—if there was a landing ground.”
“What sort of country is it? Is it flat... open?”
“There are flat places near the river—the paddy-fields, where rice is grown.”
“I feel inclined to go and have a look at this place and have a word with Major Marling,” said Biggles thoughtfully. “It would do no harm anyway.”
“You could not fly there for there is no landing ground,” Li Chi pointed out. “Even the river, the Pak Chan, at its headwaters, is choked with weeds, except for a narrow channel made by canoes. And the river winds very much.”
“Could we go by boat?”
“Yes. A kabang borrowed from the Salones could go up the river without attracting much attention or suspicion. Kabangs are always moving about.”
“How long would the trip take?”
“The distance from here is about sixty miles—fifty miles up the river. The outward journey, against the current, would take not less than fifteen or sixteen hours even with a fair wind to fill our sail across the strait. The return trip, travelling with the stream, could be done in less time. But I doubt if Major Marling would receive you. He is a strange man.”
“You could give me a letter of introduction.”
“It would be better if I went with you,” offered Li Chi. “Now that I have got the men started here the work could go on without me.”
“That’s fine,” declared Biggles. “But we can’t go until Algy comes back. That should be tomorrow. We must tell him what has happened, and what we propose doing about it.”
“Of course,” concurred Li Chi.
“Let’s think it over,” decided Biggles. “There’s nothing more we can do at present— except that you might see about getting hold of a kabang.”
This Li Chi promised to do, and since darkness had put an end to outdoor activities they walked back to the bungalow for the evening meal, after which the discussion was resumed until bedtime, without any change being made in the main plan.
Dawn the following day found work on the floating airfield in full swing, every available man lending a willing hand in the task of rolling the logs down to the water, where they were lashed together with rattans, a plentiful supply of which was available in the adjacent jungle. The logs, as they were placed in position, were covered with brushwood. Biggles and Ginger supervised the erection of a covered shelter over a tiny bay to house the Gosling when it returned, and to conceal it from enemy eyes. Ayert went off to find a party of sea gipsies and arrange for the hire of their kabang.
Work had not been long in progress when confirmation of their suspicions, that Pamboo had gone over to the Japanese, was provided by the arrival of an enemy aircraft—a Mitsubishi naval flying boat. The noise of the engine gave warning of its approach. The natives, having received instructions from Li Chi, dropped what they were doing and vanished into the convenient jungle. The engine in the sawmill was stopped, so that by the time the aircraft was overhead not a sign of life was to be seen. With a significance which Biggles did not fail to notice, the machine flew a straight course from the mainland to Elephant Island, and, moreover, flew direct to the lake. It then made six short flights from north to south, moving a mile or two westward each time, which told the watching airmen what the pilot was doing as if he himself had made the announcement for their benefit.
“Photographic reconnaissance,” murmured Biggles, as the plane made off eastward. “He exposed at least a dozen plates, covering the whole area. In a little while no doubt Tamashoa will be going over the pictures with a magnifying glass to ascertain if Pamboo has told the truth. I don’t think he’ll see very much, but this gives us fair warning to watch our step.”
As soon as the machine had disappeared from sight work was resumed, and continued without further interruption until lunch-time, when the drone of an aero engine, this time approaching from the west, caused a second stoppage. But it was brief, for looking out from cover Biggles and Ginger saw the Gosling skimming low towards the rendezvous.
In a few minutes it was on the lake, taxiing towards its newly erected hangar. As soon as it had been safely moored Algy and Bertie got out to report an uneventful trip. They had brought paint, brushes and nails, all that were immediately available. Further supplies were being collected, reported Algy, and could be fetched the following day. What they had brought would do to be going on with.
The work of unloading was put in hand.
Later, in the bungalow, Algy made a more detailed report. He had been in touch with Air Commodore Raymond through service radio, with the result that the remainder of the squadron would assemble with five Liberators and two Lightnings, at Madras, and there await orders to proceed to Elephant Island. In fact, Biggles’ instructions had been carried out to the letter. There had been no difficulty, no hitch.
“I told the boys that it was unlikely they would be wanted here inside a week,” stated Algy.
“I’m not so sure about that,” answered Biggles, and after relating what had happened during the Gosling’s absence, announced his intention of visiting Major Marling, taking Ginger and Li Chi with him. “You can either stay here with Bertie till we get back, or better still, make another trip across to Madras to fetch a load of stuff.”
Algy agreed.
Soon afterwards Ayert came in to say that he had found a kabang, owned by a family of Salones, of whom two men were willing to make the trip up the Pak Chan river. It would be better to wait for darkness though, before starting, in case the kabang was seen leaving the island by a Japanese patrol, which might result in the craft being intercepted and examined.
To this precaution Biggles readily agreed. It did not prevent them from making the necessary preparations.
These, which consisted chiefly of victualling the craft for the voyage, were soon made by the useful Ayert who, at Li Chi’s special request, was included in the party.
“As there will be plenty of room, and Ayert is an invaluable fellow to have on an adventure of this sort, I strongly advise that we take him,” said Li Chi. And so it was agreed.
“What about weapons?” asked Biggles. “I’ll take your advice on that, too.”
Li Chi reflected. “I always travel light. We have our pistols. To be on the safe side perhaps we ought to take rifles. They would occupy little room.”
After that there was nothing to do but wait for darkness. When the hour for departure came Ayert led the way through the forest to the seashore, where, in a little cove, the Salones were waiting. It was the first time Ginger had seen the boat they were to use, and the sight of it—and the smell of it—made him wonder if he would have not done better to offer his place to Algy or Bertie. The kabang was in charge of two men and a small boy. One—as it was presently revealed—navigated the boat, using a long oar to steer, while the other manipulated a makeshift sail. Having hauled it to the masthead he sat in the stern with the mainsheet wound round his big toe. The boy, it turned
out, was merely a human pump. His job was to bale out the water that trickled constantly through warped and rotten timbers. The Salones, Ayert had told Ginger, lived almost entirely on fish, their store of this commodity being kept in the bottom of the boat; and as fish in the tropics quickly becomes “ripe,” the smell of the bilge, when it was stirred up by the boy, nearly made Ginger sick. A roof of split bamboo and dilapidated canvas walls provided protection against the sun in day-time. Accommodation was simple. The passengers merely sat on a bamboo floor just far enough above the keel to keep them out of the slush. The kabang was, in fact, as Ginger now discovered, a houseboat, of design and manufacture as primitive as could be imagined. Considered as a conveyance it was at the opposite end of the scale from a modern flying boat. However, the passengers were in no case to be particular, so they took their places and waved good-bye to those ashore. At a word of command from Ayert one of the Salones pushed off with his oar, and the crazy craft crept out across the darkened strait.
CHAPTER VI
UP THE RIVER
DAWN found the kabang far up the Pak Chan river, the sullen waterway that forms the boundary between Lower Burma and Siam, although as both countries were occupied by the enemy there was nothing to choose between them ; both were hostile. Ginger, who had dozed, awoke to find that the boat was being poled by the two Salones through comparatively shallow water, near a bank fringed by tall reeds beyond which towered the sombre tropic forest. The boy was still baling with a movement that had become automatic. A thin mist coiling and curling like steam over the surface of the winding river did nothing to enliven a scene that at best could only be described as dismal. The humid air was redolent with strange smells; predominating was the reek of river mud and rotting vegetation. Outside the boat the only movement was a V-shaped ripple that moved swiftly across the water a short distance ahead.