by W E Johns
‘If the Intendente doesn’t want me for anything I’ll snatch an early lunch and come along. That’ll give you a chance to come back for something to eat.’
‘Fair enough.’ Bertie departed on his errand.
Biggles waited in the bar until the police officer reappeared. They had a drink together at the bar. Nothing was said about Dolores, the arrest of Maria, or the affair at the Casa Floresta, and after a little while the party broke up.
Biggles went out into the yard, and afterwards took a walk round the town hoping to catch sight of José. He saw no sign of him. Puzzled, for the negro’s pony was still there, he returned to the hotel, and after a wash went into the dining room for lunch.
CHAPTER 11
BERTIE MAKES A BLUNDER
BERTIE went with confidence about his task of watching for Neckel to make a move at the Casa Floresta, for with ample cover available it appeared to offer no difficulty, particularly as Neckel’s coloured bodyguard had been killed and there could hardly have been time to replace him. It was not until he was near the house, making a cautious approach, that he realized it might not be as easy as he had imagined. It was not that there was any shortage of cover. There was too much.
It would have been a simple matter to watch the track from somewhere near the fork; but while this was the way Neckel would probably take should he decide to vacate the house, there was no certainty of it. To make sure he did not slip away unobserved it would be necessary to watch both doors, and the river, in case Neckel had by some means been able to get another canoe. That was a possibility not to be ignored. He might have asked the Intendente, who knew he had lost his boat, to send another one down from the town by water. The question arose, therefore, which was the best position to keep such a watch that it would be impossible for Neckel to get away without being seen?
After a short reconnaissance he decided the ideal place would be from somewhere nearer the river, and he settled on a spot which, from where he stood, he thought commanded a view both of the water and the open front of the house. He would be able to see the front door clearly, and the path that led to the courtyard where he knew there was a second door. He had seen Neckel use it on the occasion of his previous visit, the night when Maria had burst in on Neckel and Dolores.
To reach the place he had in mind meant leaving the track, and it was only when he set out to get to it that he discovered the difficulties of trying to find a passage through virgin jungle. It was not merely a matter of picking a way. It was necessary to force a way, and in places cut a path through the lush tropical growth. However, he resolved to go on with it; but he was soon in difficulties. The giant trees seemed to reach to the sky. Everywhere lianas coiled in a fantastic tangle of loops as they climbed endlessly towards the sunlight, clutching at anything for support. Vines sprang from tree to tree in their desperate efforts to reach the same objective. They rose from the ground at all angles, in and out and over the roots of trees which, like the legs of monstrous beasts, spread everywhere. Some had air roots hanging from their branches, like long bunches of whip thongs. The ground was a swamp and he was often up to the knees in slush. The heat was suffocating. The stench of rotting vegetable matter nearly choked him, and all the time he was the centre of a cloud of voracious insects. Once, taking hold of a branch to steady himself, without noticing that it was perforated with small holes, he gasped when he discovered it was, or seemed to be, red hot. From every hole came pouring a stream of little red ants, biting or stinging unmercifully as they ran over his hand. It took him a minute or two to knock them off. Even then the burning of the stings remained.
Bertie realized he had made a mistake in leaving the track, but having come so far with so much trouble he resolved to go on. He didn’t like being beaten and he thought he hadn’t much farther to go. Peering ahead he could see the river, which suggested the forest became a little more open. He would at least have no trouble in finding his way back, for he had left a track that might have been made by an elephant. Pausing for breath he could understand why Don Pedro had given up orchid hunting personally. It was not surprising that wild orchids were expensive.
As he stood there he heard a noise of crashing undergrowth that made it clear he was not alone in the forest. Was it a man or an animal? Climbing on a root he was just in time to see the back of a negro, nearer the river, just disappearing behind a growth of tall ferns. Who or what the man was doing there he couldn’t imagine. Nor did he care. Such was his state of heat and exasperation that he thought no more about him; for now that he was near the place for which he had been making he saw that all his efforts had been in vain. All he could see was the roof of the house, for a belt of bamboo intervened. Angry with himself for his folly, which had resulted in so much labour and loss of time, he decided he would do better to go back to the track after all. From where he stood he could see practically nothing.
Turning to retrace his steps he became aware of a curious sound close at hand. Actually, he had heard it before, but then it had been farther away. He had taken it to be the hissing chatter of an angry monkey, of which there were plenty in the trees. Now he was not so sure. What was a monkey doing on the ground, anyway, and so close to him? Lowering his eyes to the direction from which the strange noise was approaching, more from curiosity than alarm, he tracked it down to some ferns, a few feet away.
What he saw froze him in his tracks, his nerves quivering from shock. A pair of eyes were fixed on his own in a glassy stare. Below them a slender tongue slithered in and out of a horrible mouth like a piece of automatic machinery. Under the head was a huge body, coil upon coil, of snake as thick as his thigh. He knew from its size that it could only be an anaconda.
It is claimed by some travellers that the anaconda, for all its huge dimensions, is not a dangerous reptile, saying that if disturbed it will usually try only to escape. Others hold a different view, notably natives who often come in contact with it. It certainly is not venomous. It kills by constriction and swallows its prey whole, as do other snakes, boa constrictors and pythons, of similar size. Bertie, who may have disturbed the creature, was now able to judge for himself.
He saw the snake’s head being drawn back. Very slowly. The top coil of its long body became shaped like a letter ‘S’. He had seen snakes before and he knew it was going to strike; yet before he could move, the head had shot forward, the body unwinding like a spring. He just had time to bend sideways, at the same time throwing up an arm to protect his face. This served its purpose, but the backward-sloping teeth became caught up in the loose sleeve of his shirt. Instinctively he gave his arm a vicious jerk to free it, and in this he succeeded at the cost of losing much of his shirt, which remained in the creature’s mouth, hanging from the teeth.
He would now have run, had this been possible. It was not. In fact, he could hardly move at all. One foot seemed anchored to the ground. Looking down he saw the reason. The snake had its tail coiled round his leg. On falling after its strike it had not turned, but with its enormous body extending to a fantastic length it began to move towards the river. In a moment he was being dragged along with it, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he was able to keep on his feet. Vines were pulled across his face.
It is in moments of extreme peril that the human brain is at its best. Bertie did not panic. He did not have to think. His head was perfectly clear. He could see everything distinctly, and realized the snake was trying to get him to the water. He reached for his machete and whipped it from its sheath. Swinging it, he brought the heavy blade down with all his strength across the tail within inches of his leg. The knife sliced through it. The snake’s body seemed to shiver. With the two severed ends oozing blood it let out a hiss like the safety valve of a locomotive. But it went on, leaving its tail, about a yard of it, squirming about in the trampled herbage.
Bertie did not stay to watch what became of the body. He was on his way out of the jungle regardless of obstacles which in ordinary circumstances would have stopp
ed him. It was during this rush to the track, as he realized presently, that he did himself more mischief than the snake had done, although his wounds were no more than bruises and scratches.
Reaching the track, after making sure there was no one in sight, he crossed over to the far side and sank wearily into a convenient growth of ferns. With hands still shaking from shock he mopped his face and neck with his handkerchief, for he was sweating, as the saying is, from every pore. This done he examined the worst of his scratches and his torn clothes. There was nothing he could do about the missing sleeve of his shirt, and was only thankful that the material had been flimsy enough to tear. After that he moved back a little way, to a place where he could not be seen from the track, and settled down with his chin in his hands to recover his composure.
For half an hour all remained quiet, by which time he was more or less back to normal. The sound of footsteps approaching from the direction of the town brought him to the alert, and risking a peep he saw to his great relief that it was Biggles. As Biggles drew level he showed himself.
Biggles stared at him. ‘What on earth have you been doing to yourself?’
Bertie smiled weakly. ‘Matter of fact, old boy, I’ve just had a bit of an argument with an anaconda.’
‘You seem to have got the worst of it.’
‘No fear. The brute’s gone home without his tail. You never saw such a monster in your life. He was as long as Regent Street.’
‘How long?’
‘Well, there must have been fifty feet of him.’
‘How big was he — really?’
‘I’ll swear he was over twenty feet.’1
‘That’s better. How did it happen?’
Bertie described his adventure in detail, first having explained his reason for going into the forest. ‘You can ask me to do anything you like,’ he concluded, ‘but I’m not doing any more jungling. If I hadn’t had a machete I should have been up the creek without a paddle.’
‘Have you seen anyone?’
‘Not a soul. No, that isn’t quite true,’ corrected Bertie, remembering the negro he had seen in the forest. ‘For a moment I did catch sight of a coloured type among the trees, but I’ve no idea who he was. I don’t think he saw me. Come to think of it, he may have been the bloke who flushed that beastly snake.’
‘You’re all right now?’
‘Right as rain.’
‘Fine. In that case I’ll take over while you go back to the pub for something to eat.’
‘Do you want me to come back here?’
‘You might as well, if you feel up to it. There’s nothing doing at the hotel. Together we might try getting a bit closer to the house. One can keep watch while the other explores.’
‘Good idea. Did you see anything of José?’
‘Not a sign. His pony is still in the stable, so you’ll probably find him in the bar when you get back. If he’s still drinking you might try to stop him. Threaten to tell Don Pedro if he doesn’t pack up.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘Just one last thing. I’m worried about Bogosoff. He’s got a gun, and he doesn’t clutter himself up with hardware for nothing. Notice the way he or his pal shot Neckel’s bodyguard out of hand. What I feel is this. If we get into an argument with him he’ll have the drop on us. I’d feel happier with a gun in my pocket. You’ll find my pocket automatic and a couple of clips of cartridges wrapped in a shirt at the bottom of my kitbag. Slip a clip in the pistol and put it in your pocket when you come back.’
‘Good enough. Believe you me, I wished I had a gun in my pocket when I saw that anaconda giving me a dirty look. This is no place for kid gloves.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. That’s all. Push along and get some grub.’
‘I’m ready for it. See you later.’ Bertie departed.
Seeing nothing of interest he did not stop until he reached the hotel, where he made straight for the bar. José was not there so he went out to the yard. Not seeing him there he spoke to the stable-boy, from whom, to his surprise, he learned that José, taking his pony, had returned to the Villa Vanda.
‘How long ago was this?’
‘About half an hour, señor.’
Greatly puzzled that the negro should go off without saying goodbye, and wondering where he could have spent the morning, Bertie went back into the hotel and had a long overdue meal.
* * *
1 The size an anaconda, which is a water snake, can reach, still provides a subject for argument. It is generally thought that thirty feet is about the outside limit, twenty feet being nearer normal. But there are travellers who claim to have seen specimens up to forty feet, while Indians claim they can grow larger than that. The anaconda rests in or near water, and will usually try to drag its prey into it.
CHAPTER 12
FRUSTRATED
IT was late afternoon, with the heat of the day past and the sun going down in a blaze of golden light, when Bertie rejoined Biggles on the track through the primeval forest. Like many roads, no doubt it had originally been a path made through the ages by generations of wild animals going down to the river to drink.
‘Anything doing?’ he asked.
‘Not a thing.’
‘You haven’t seen anyone?’
‘Not a soul. And there hasn’t been a sound from the house.’
‘Have you been any closer to it?’
‘Yes. I’ve twice been as near as I dare without a risk of being seen. The place might have been abandoned for any signs of life I’ve heard. I’m getting a bit worried about it. We’d feel silly if, after having spent so much time here, we learned that Neckel was already miles away. But short of going and knocking on the door it’s hard to see what we can do about it.’
‘How about having another look round?’
‘Now you’re here we might move a little nearer. If there’s anyone there, sooner or later we should see or hear him moving about. We shall know for certain if anyone is at home when it gets dark, which won’t be long. At least, I can’t imagine anyone sitting in the house without a light. Let’s go on. Keep your eyes skinned.’
‘You needn’t tell me to do that. After my affair with the anaconda I’m watching where I put my feet. These jungles aren’t what they’re cracked up to be. Fotherham can have all the orchids.’
Keeping a sharp look-out and listening after every few steps, they went on slowly until they were in a position to see the front door. It was shut. There was no one in sight. Moving on again Bertie led the way to the place from where he had watched the scene, in the little courtyard, between Neckel, Dolores and Maria. There was no one there, either. Nor was there a sound.
‘There must be somebody in the place,’ said Bertie. ‘That side door’s open.’
‘Then let’s watch for a bit. It doesn’t seem likely that Neckel would go out leaving his door open.’
They watched for perhaps half an hour. The sun set. Darkness closed in with tropical swiftness. Fireflies appeared. Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. The mosquitoes attacked in hordes. But no light appeared at any window of the silent house.
‘I don’t get it,’ muttered Biggles. ‘There’s something wrong here. It looks now as if Neckel must have pulled out.’
‘How about taking the bull by the horns?’
‘How?’
‘By going to the door and knocking.’
‘We’d better wait a bit longer before we go as far as that. It’s possible that Neckel has only gone out for some reason and may come back at any moment. I’d rather he didn’t find us in the house. He knows that Bogosoff is after those papers, but he has had no reason to suppose we’re here for the same purpose.’
More time passed. A full moon soared up over the river to splash the ripples with lines of quicksilver. It all looked very peaceful and beautiful. Only the house, with palm fronds throwing a weird pattern of black shadows on its white face, seemed to have surrounded itself in an atmosphere of mystery.
‘I’ve had enough of th
is,’ said Biggles at last. ‘We can’t stay here all night being torn to pieces by these infernal mosquitoes. I’m going over to that side door. If there’s anyone the other side of it he would have closed it by now instead of leaving it open for all the bugs under creation to wander in.’ As he finished speaking he strode purposefully to the door.
Reaching it he stopped. Inside all was in darkness. Not a sound.
‘Let’s go in,’ decided Biggles. ‘This may be our chance to look for the papers. We’ll try the sitting room first. If Neckel suddenly shows up it’ll be just too bad; but we’ll tackle that situation should it arise. What a fool I was not to bring a torch. Have you got any matches on you? I’ve only got my lighter.’
Bertie produced a box.
‘Good. We should be able to find a candle, a lamp, or something.’ Biggles struck a match. Its light revealed a short corridor with a door at the end. It stood ajar. There was no light inside the room except that provided by the moon, which showed as a pale strip the length of the door. ‘I fancy that’s the sitting room,’ he whispered, as the match burnt itself out.
He went on to the door and with the greatest possible caution pushed it open.
No more matches were necessary, for the room was flooded with blue moonlight pouring through the window. He took stock of it. He listened. ‘There can’t be anyone in the house,’ he asserted. ‘Let’s get busy and find those papers.’
‘If they’re still here.’
‘You’ve said something. If Neckel’s gone the chances are he’s taken them with him. I see a lamp on the table. We might as well light it to see better what we’re up to. I’ve no compunction about what we’re doing. Neckel’s a thief, anyway, so if he finds us here he’ll have nothing to shout about.’
Biggles advanced towards the lamp, but after taking two or three paces he stumbled over something on the floor. Looking down he caught his breath sharply.