by W E Johns
The Burman ignored the offer. He pointed to Chintoo, standing in the background. ‘What is that man doing here?’
‘I hired him as an interpreter should I find one necessary. I don’t speak Malay.’
‘Did you get permission for that, too?’
‘It was not necessary. You know that as well as I do.’
‘You cannot stay here,’ said the official, abruptly.
‘Who says so?’
‘I do.’
‘Aren’t you taking a lot on yourself?’
‘You will obey my orders.’
This was too much for Biggles. ‘Now you listen to me, my fine fellow,’ he said frostily. ‘You came here deliberately to make trouble. I’m a peaceable man, but there’s a limit to how much I’m prepared to take from you. I’ve been patient. I’m causing no inconvenience to you or anyone else. If you’ve any complaint you can make it to your head office. Now trot along before I get angry and kick your backside to teach you better manners.’
The official hesitated. ‘We might be able to settle this little matter amicably,’ he suggested, with a sly smile.
Biggles regarded him with cold disfavour. ‘I’ve realized that all along; but if you came here hoping to get some money out of me you came to the wrong man. I’ve met your sort before. Now take yourself off or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’
Captain Yomas glared. The glare became a scowl. ‘You will be sorry for this,’ he threatened.
‘Not so sorry as you will be if you’re not off this island in five minutes,’ promised Biggles grimly. He took a pace forward.
Yomas turned about, and followed by his man marched stiffly back to his boat.
‘Pity that had to happen,’ said Biggles quietly, as the launch moved off in the direction of the mainland. ‘One has to be prepared to take a certain amount of sauce from a certain type of official in the East, but that puffed-up little swipe made it so obvious what he was up to that I could stand no more of it.’
‘You really think he was after a bribe?’ queried Bertie.
‘What else? I know how the racket is played. For a couple of hundred Straits dollars he’d have been fawning on us.’
‘Do you think he’ll make trouble?’
‘He’ll try to, you can bet on that. The very way I deflated him in front of his man, causing him to lose face as they call it, will make him as venomous as a snake that’s had its tail twisted. I don’t like making enemies, but if there’s one thing I won’t stand for it’s being rooked by that sort of bumptious little upstart who’s got too big for his boots. It’s time he was cut down to his proper size.’
‘It might have been easier to give him some money,’ suggested Ginger.
‘Never do that. It gets you nowhere in the long run. Had I given that insolent little rascal what he came for, he’d soon have found an excuse to come back for more. Besides, we should have put ourselves in his hands.’
‘How so?’
‘Had we refused him anything afterwards he could have accused us of bribing an official, and we couldn’t have denied it.’ Biggles turned to Chintoo who was squatting on the sand. ‘Do you know that man?’
‘Yes, Tuan.’
‘Where does he come from?’
‘Mergui. He travels about.’
‘Looking for trouble, I imagine.’
‘Yes, Tuan. Skipper Mac has much trouble because he will not pay.’
‘Ha! That miserable little twister wouldn’t get much change out of him.’
‘I wonder how he knew we were here?’ put in Ginger.
‘Probably picked up the news at Victoria Point. We made no secret of where we were going. Chintoo would have to tell his wife.’
The Malay admitted this. He saw no reason why he shouldn’t tell her. Of course, he didn’t know the real object of the expedition.
Biggles agreed. ‘Let’s get on with packing up,’ he said crisply. ‘Now we have all the more reason to move. If Yomas comes back he’ll find we’ve gone, and it should take him a little while to find out where.’
The work of breaking camp began. It did not take very long. Everything was stowed away in the machine, including of course the tent, although not the bamboo posts and pegs, as it was expected there would be an ample supply of these at their next base. By the time everything was ready for departure the coast patrol boat was a speck on the horizon.
Biggles took the aircraft down to the water. ‘All aboard,’ he called.
Ginger, by invitation, on this occasion took his place next to Biggles in the cockpit. The wheels were raised, and the Gadfly, cutting a white line of foam across the face of the placid sea, rose into the air. Ginger watched Hog Island fall away astern without regret. It was an attractive place to look at, but not a very comfortable one on which to live.
The journey to their immediate objective, Chang Island, was no great distance. The chart had shown it to be about fifty miles, a matter of a mere twenty minutes flying time. The intervening region was dotted with small islands, some of which had been visited, and while these made a charming picture from the air, such scenes had become too commonplace for appreciation. The only vessels seen were the coastguard launch in the far distance and a lonely junk apparently becalmed.
Ginger called attention to it. ‘What do you suppose they’re doing?’
‘Pearling, probably.’
‘It beats me that anyone dare dive for pearls in water where there are so many sharks.’
‘If people didn’t dive in waters where there are sharks there wouldn’t be any pearls. It so happens that, generally speaking, pearl oysters are only found where the water is reasonably warm. The same with sharks of the dangerous sorts. The divers have to take risks, but like other people in dangerous trades they must think it worth while. No doubt they become accustomed to them. Chintoo told me these Chinese traders buy more pearls from the Salones than they get by their own efforts. It seems to be a bit of a racket, the shrewd Chinaman getting his pearls cheap because the Salones don’t know the real value of them. But that’s their affair. We should be seeing the Salones soon unless for some reason they’ve moved to the extreme north end of the Archipelago. I thought we might see the Alora, but it doesn’t appear to be about. That looks like Chang Island straight ahead. It should be. It’s a bit longer than Hog Island but not so hilly.’
Ginger consulted the chart on his knees. ‘That’s it.’
Biggles retarded the throttle a little and began a long glide towards the objective. ‘According to Mac there are three fair-sized beaches here and a few small ones,’ he remarked. ‘He said he’d make the dump on the largest. It’s on the eastern side. That must be the one we can see from here.’
Nothing more was said. The Gadfly glided in, touched down, and on its wheels ran a little way up the silvery sand. Biggles switched off, and then sat looking at the area of sand that had been left smooth by the last tide.
He looked for so long that Ginger said: ‘Anything wrong?’
‘I don’t know, but somebody has been here recently,’ answered Biggles. ‘Let’s have a look.’
Everyone got out. Biggles advanced to a trampled area of what were obviously human footprints.
‘Ah-ha!’ exclaimed Bertie. ‘Real Robinson Crusoe stuff— what. Where’s man Friday? He should be about somewhere.’
The remark could have meant nothing to Chintoo. He examined the footprints. ‘Chinese men come here,’ he announced.
‘You’re sure they weren’t Salones?’
‘No, Tuan. Salones not wear shoes.’
‘Well, I suppose the Chinese have as much right here as we have,’ said Biggles. They’re not here now. They may have been the crew of that junk we saw. I only hope they didn’t spot Mac’s cache and loot it. Let’s see if it’s here.’
They all walked on to the line of debris, seaweed, broken coral and driftwood, knowing the stores would not be buried below that mark.
The beach as a whole was in many respects like the one th
ey had left, except that it curved a little more and was protected at both ends by boulders and outcrops of rock that reached into the sea. There were some mangroves, but as they were beyond the rocks, there seemed less to fear from the crocodiles that used them as a nesting ground.
The search began. It lasted for some time, for it was necessary to cover the full length of the beach as far back as the jungle of bamboos, palms, tree-ferns and flowering shrubs, that crowded down until they were stopped by the sand. At one end of the beach, near the rocks, there was a little heap of crab and limpet shells. Behind it a semblance of a track meandered back into the rising ground.
‘Someone, or something, appears to have been here,’ observed Ginger.
‘Monkeys. Or it may have been the Chinese looking for fresh water,’ surmised Biggles. ‘The track could have been made by game, pig or buffalo, for instance, coming down to the beach as the only piece of open ground.’
The search yielded nothing to suggest that Captain Macdonald had fulfilled his promise. There were no marks of disturbed ground to indicate something had been buried.
‘The Alora can’t have reached here yet,’ decided Biggles at last. ‘All the same, we’d better have a look at the other beaches in case this isn’t the right one. It should be, but we can’t be absolutely certain. We shall have to look for fresh water, anyway, as there doesn’t seem to be any here. Let’s get on with it.’
CHAPTER 6
GINGER HAS A FRIGHT
It would have been an arduous task to walk completely round the coast even if this were possible, and as it was by no means sure, it was resolved to put the aircraft back on the water and taxi round.
The trip revealed two other beaches of fair size and several smaller ones, to small to be of any account. The large ones were explored without success, although on one an untidy mess showed that a party of Salones had been there, although not recently. A trickle of water running down from the higher ground may have been the reason.
The stench from a heap of rotting fish refuse was so awful that they did not linger, but made their way back to the first beach.
‘Mac should be along very soon,’ declared Biggles confidently. ‘He won’t let us down. We can manage for a few days, so we might as well make camp and wait for him. If we run short of food before he comes we can always slip across to the mainland and buy some, although I’d rather not do that if it can be avoided, because should we run into that officious little Customs man he’d do his best to make things difficult for us.’ Biggles lit a cigarette.
‘There’s one thing that puzzles me about this place,’ he went on. ‘Chintoo says some Chinese have been here and I take his word for it. He should know. Why did they land here? What were they after? If, as Chintoo tells us, they buy pearls from the Salones, why didn’t they go to the beach they used, particularly as there’s water there? But never mind about that now. Let’s get the tent up and have some lunch. Then, before we unload everything, we’d better have a look round to see if there’s fresh water handy. It’s the one thing we can’t do without, and we don’t want to have to keep going to that stinking beach the Salones used.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that—and other things,’ said Ginger, seriously.
‘Good. What other things?’
‘That heap of shells we saw higher up the beach. You said you thought they were the work of monkeys.’
‘Well?’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve seen plenty of places where monkeys have been feeding and always the shells were scattered all over the place. Those here were thrown in a heap, more or less. Doesn’t that suggest they were gathered off the rocks by a man, one man, who then sat down and ate them, rather than by a gang of monkeys?’
Biggles stroked his chin. ‘Yes. You could be right,’ he agreed. ‘That didn’t strike me. Does it matter?’
‘It might.’
‘Tell me how. What’s on your mind?’
‘Do you remember what Mac told us, or rather, what the Salones he spoke to told him? They had chucked out one of their old men because he had become so foul-tempered that he was a nuisance. This, it was supposed, was the dead man Mac found, the chap with the sovereigns round his neck. We saw on the next beach that the main party of Salones had been here.’
‘From the signs that was some time ago.’
‘No matter. What I’m getting at is, it’s reasonable to suppose the old outcast would hang about near the main party. When they were on the next beach he came here.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Biggles slowly.
‘He may have found the sovereigns—well, if not here, on another island not far away. At all events, it seems to me that we’re nearer the place where he found the sovereigns than we were on Hog Island.’
‘That was well thought out. We’ll keep it in mind.’
‘I haven’t finished yet. If I’m right in thinking the old man stayed here—or any man for that matter—it means there must be fresh water near at hand. The old man wouldn’t dare to go along to the next beach for fear of being kicked in the pants by his own people.’
‘True enough.’
‘If there’s water on the slope behind us, a spring, or a pool, it would account for the track we saw.’
Biggles smiled. ‘Quite right. You certainly have been keeping your brain running at full revs.’
‘I was going to suggest that while you’re fixing the tent, I might put my theory to the test. We need water.’
‘Fair enough,’ agreed Biggles. ‘But don’t go far. You might take the gun in case you meet a plandok or a pig. We could do with some fresh meat to save our canned stuff.’
‘Right. I’ll do that,’ said Ginger. He fetched the gun, put some cartridges in his pocket, and slinging two water-bottles over his shoulder walked off in the direction of the track.
Reaching the heap of shells that lay near the narrow opening into the jungle, he stopped to have a second look at them, more from curiosity than in any expectation of seeing anything of interest. Before moving on he stirred them with his foot. A small bright yellow object, half buried in sand, caught his eye. He stooped and picked it up. Holding it between a finger and thumb, he stared at it, fascinated. He dropped it into the palm of his hand and stared again. There could be no mistake. It was a golden sovereign. He looked at the date. 1938. His brain raced. So this was where the old man had sat and strung his sovereigns! He looked for more, but found none.
Naturally, his first impulse was to rush back to the others and show them his find, particularly as it bore out his theory beyond all possible doubt. On second thoughts, seeing they were busy with the tent, he put the coin in his pocket and went on. There was no hurry. It could wait. Meanwhile it would be pleasant to anticipate their expressions when he produced what could with justification be regarded as a clue of capital importance.
In the jungle the light was dim and the heat sultry. The path, such as it was, zigzagged up the hill; always narrow, it was sometimes necessary to push aside ingrowing palm fronds and the like. The ground underfoot was soft, often slush, which he took to be a sign of water not far above. There were marks, but a blanket of rotting leaves made it impossible to guess what had made them. They were all intermingled. So thick was the undergrowth that he could only see a little way on either side. It there were any birds he neither saw nor heard them. A clammy, uncanny silence reigned. The only living things seemed to be insects, and there were plenty of those, including some large, beautifully marked and coloured moths, which aroused his admiration.
He was not surprised when he came to a little pool fed by a trickle from the higher ground. It was a veritable miniature fairyland. The water was crystal clear, although there was not much of it, the whole thing being no larger than a moderate-sized bath. One side rose sheer for about a yard, a tiny cliff of emerald green moss from which sprang maidenhair and other delicate ferns. The side from which he approached was smooth mud, where the ground h
ad apparently been worn down by creatures coming to drink. What these creatures were he had no idea; as they could only be small, or so he supposed, he didn’t give the matter a moment’s thought.
He tasted the water, and finding it sweet had a good drink. He then filled the two water-bottles, lingered a minute or two admiring the spot, and then, well satisfied with the success of his errand, for the pool was within easy reach of the proposed camp, continued on along the track to ascertain how far it went or to what else it might lead.
He did not go far. The path became steeper, slippery, and much overgrown, so deciding the project was not worth pursuing, he gave it up and turned back.
He was passing the pool when he saw something that brought him to a halt. So unprepared was he, and such was the shock it gave him, that he faltered, unable to make up his mind whether to go forward or back. The little fairy dell had on the instant become something very different.
What his eyes remained fixed on was a huge paw mark in the mud; such a footprint as could only have been made by a great cat. He knew of only one which occurred in that part of the world. Tiger. The alarming part of the thing was it had only just been made; in fact, it could only have been made during the few minutes he had been away. The edges were still sharp, although as the water which had been squeezed out returned they were beginning to crumble.
He lowered the gun to a position more ready for use, even though, as he was well aware, it would not be much use against a tiger. He slipped off the safety catch and, without moving his feet, peered into the tangle of undergrowth that crowded around him almost to the lip of the pool. Had the tiger been stalking him or had it merely been along for a drink? He didn’t know. A guess either way could have been right.
He could see nothing. He listened. Not a sound. An uncomfortable feeling crept over him that he was being watched by unseen eyes. The hair on the nape of his neck began to tickle, his hands to tremble slightly and his heart to beat faster. Moistening his lips, which had gone dry, with nerves tense he began to walk slowly, very slowly, towards the beach. The temptation to run was hard to resist, but he realized the danger of giving way to panic.