03 Underwater Adventure

by Willard Price

  Perhaps the intruder could be frightened away. Roger took off his weighted belt, and struck the lead discs, each weighing a pound, repeatedly against the mast. The dull thudding sound was carried down into the ship and echoed through the hollow spaces of the wreck. If anyone was down there he must be frightened by this booming sound that could not possibly come from any fish.

  But the light in the hold was not turned off and no one rose through the hatch. The fellow must be deaf! Well, perhaps a beam from Roger’s own torch would startle him.

  Roger shot a ray of light into the hold. He moved it here and there. He turned it on and off, on and off. It was a strong ray, strong enough to cut through the glow between decks. It had no effect.

  He noticed a peculiar thing about the light in the hold. It appeared to be constantly changing, throbbing, brightening, dimming, and brightening again. It was hard to imagine the light from a torch behaving in this manner.

  He flicked his fins upwards and sank close to the open hatch. After giving the octopuses time to scatter, he lowered himself to the deck, gripped the coaming of the hatch, and put his head in far enough so that he could see all of the interior of the hold.

  A terrifying sight met his eyes. Roger had never believed in sea serpents. Yet what could this be if not a sea serpent, this snake-like monster tearing about madly from one end of the hold to the other, thrashing the thousands of small fish and other organisms so that their light cells were agitated to their greatest activity? It was not round like a snake but flattened, almost like an immense ribbon, silvery-sided, with a small mouth and deep-set terrible eyes. But its most amazing feature was a flaming red mane like the mane of a horse that stood straight up from its head and neck. This waving, billowing mane did a sort of dance of fire in the unearthly glow cast upon it from all sides as the creature charged furiously back and forth. Two long spikes that looked as sharp as daggers projected from the back of the head.

  It must have come from great depths to spend the night in the upper waters as many deep-sea fish do. It had blundered into the hold and was now frantically seeking a way of escape.

  What a prize for a zoo! Roger had never seen anything like it in any aquarium. But how could he take it? Even if he had a rope, and he had not, he dared not venture into the hold. The creature’s mouth was small, but the teeth looked very efficient and the two daggers were not to be forgotten. A lash from that tail would knock a man senseless.

  He struggled with the ancient iron hatch cover. One edge of it was glued to the deck with barnacles. He systematically prised these loose with his knife. The hatch cover was very heavy, though only a fraction of what it would have weighed in the air. He finally inched it up over the hatch.

  Then he returned to the Lively Lady, shook Hal and Dr Blake out of their sleep and told them what he had found. Without waiting for them to accompany him, he seized a net and returned to the wreck.

  He dragged off the hatch cover and spread the net to cover the opening. He drew it down snugly over the edge of the coaming all around and tied it in place.

  Sooner or later the sea serpent, or whatever it was, would discover this exit and dash out, only to be caught in the net. But then what? All alone, he could never wangle it up to the ship. He wished those fellows would hurry.

  They came at last and Blake seemed to approve of Roger’s plans. He gazed with amazement at the raging, red-maned serpent shooting like a jagged bolt of lightning from end to end of the hold. Several times the red thunderbolt barely missed the net. Blake untied it so that it would come free when necessary and he with Hal and Roger held the edges.

  The serpent suddenly exploded through the hatch, lifting the net and the three men hanging on to it many feet above the deck. They hastily closed in and the raging monster was trapped.

  Still it squirmed, struck, flailed, bulging the net into all sorts of fantastic shapes. It plunged out at Roger and its sharp teeth grazed his arm. The flashing daggers and the whipping tail had to be watched with care.

  Reaching the side of the Lively Lady, Blake called to the captain to lower a line. The line was made fast to the net and the violent passenger was hoisted aboard and lowered into a tank. There it was released from the net and proceeded to turn the water into foam.

  ‘An oarfish!’ Blake cried. ‘Twenty feet long if it’s an inch! It’s a young one. If it lives, and that’s a question, it might grow to forty feet.’

  ‘It looks like a sea serpent,’ Roger said. To him the name oarfish seemed pretty dull.

  ‘It is a sea serpent. Or at least what is known among sailors as the sea serpent. It lives far down, but it sometimes comes to the surface, and who can blame anyone who sees that fiery head and twenty to forty feet of twisting body for calling it a sea serpent?’

  ‘So it’s really not a serpent?’ Roger mourned.

  ‘No, nor a snake or eel. It’s a fish - called oarfish because it is flat like an oar. But you don’t need to be disappointed. It’s a wonderful catch, the best we’ve made yet. And I think you deserve a special favour. No more watches for you tonight.’

  Roger did not refuse the favour. Gratefully he stripped off his diving gear, got into pyjamas, and slunk into his warm bunk.

  Chapter 12

  The man-eating clam

  Over a smooth sea sparkling under the low light of the early sun, the dinghy ploughed back towards the island. On board were Blake, Hal, Roger, and Skink.

  Blake had considered leaving Inkham on the ship, but had decided that it was just as well to bring him along so that he could be kept under constant observation. He suspected the fellow, even though there was actually more evidence against Hal than against Inkham.

  Perhaps neither one was guilty and it was all the work of some ‘invisible man’. It was very perplexing.

  Blake shut off the motor but did not run the boat up on to the beach. He stepped out into the shallows and said, ‘Inkham and I will do this side of the island; you two explore the other side. Take the boat. When we get done here we’ll walk across and join you. If you find the loot, whistle.’

  The plan did not suit Hal. He hated to leave Blake alone with his worst enemy. Skink’s threat that Blake would have a very bad accident, that he, Skink, would become boss of the expedition, and that if any treasure was found he would make it his own, stuck in Hal’s mind. Perhaps the fellow was just bluffing - but perhaps he wasn’t.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better for us to stick together?’ Hal suggested.

  Blake was already wading to the beach. He turned and asked, ‘Why?’

  Hal mumbled, ‘Just an idea.’ He could hardly say that he was afraid the director was incapable of taking care of himself.

  ‘We can do the job twice as fast if we split up,’ Blake said. ‘Come along, Inkham.’

  The boat chugged away, its noise making a dwindling path through the morning stillness while Blake and Skink walked along the beach close to the trees and watched for the mark of a keel, the print of a foot, the ashes of a fire, an empty food can, a path through the underbrush, or any other sign of a recent landing on the island.

  The palms and pandanus cast long-fingered shadows on the beach. Now and then a coconut fell with a thump. The trade wind was as refreshing as a cool drink and the sky was that deep solid blue found only in the South Seas and the desert. It was a glorious morning - the sort of morning when nothing unpleasant could possibly happen.

  But Skink was thinking unpleasant thoughts. Now was his chance. Half a million dollars were at stake. A fellow would do a lot for half a million dollars.

  But how would he go about it? It would be easy to slide up behind Blake and sink a knife between his shoulders. But that would only make new problems. If Blake disappeared, he, Skink, would be blamed. If the body were found, the knife wound would betray the killer.

  Perhaps he could make away with Hal and Roger as well, then they could tell no tales. But that was too big a job. He knew from experience that Hal was not an easy victim, and Roger was almost as str
ong.

  They came out on the shore of a small bay. At the back of the bay the land rose straight from the water in a sheer cliff several hundred feet high.

  ‘They certainly couldn’t have landed there,’ Blake said. ‘No use of climbing over that thing to get around the bay. Suppose we swim across.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Their singlets, dungarees and canvas sneakers would get wet, but would soon dry again.

  Blake walked to the edge of the water. ‘Turn of the tide,’ he said. ‘Running in fast. But it’s still low enough so that I believe we could almost walk across. Let’s go.’ They waded in, up to their waists, up to their chests. The bottom was smooth, hard sand. The incoming tide pressed against their bodies and they had to lean seaward to resist it.

  Skink collided with something big and solid. He thought it was a rock. Looking down, he saw that it was a giant clam. Its great shell had snapped shut, barely missing his fingers.

  He was about to announce his discovery, then thought it better to say nothing. A new hope began to glimmer in his mind. When the Lively Lady had first neared the island they had noticed that the shallows abounded in giant clams. These monster mussels measured six feet across and weighed up to eight hundred pounds. They lay anchored to the bottom with their great jaws open and closed them promptly upon anything that came between them. The creature had no preference for human flesh but, since so many bathers had been caught in that terrible trap, it well deserved to be called the man-eating clam.

  The water was getting a bit deeper now and it was necessary to swim, Skink pushed ahead of Blake and watched the bottom as he swam. He began to despair of seeing another man-eater. Then a huge one appeared directly ahead.

  Skink swam cautiously over it, then stopped, barring Blake’s path. ‘Just want to rest a minute,’ he remarked. Blake paused, allowing his feet to sink in search of the bottom.

  A contortion of pain came over his face and he cried, ‘A shark! It’s got my foot!’ He drew his knife and put his head under water. Immediately he broke surface again. ‘It’s not a shark. It’s one of those devilish clams.’

  He was chin deep in water. The tide was coming is. Within a few minutes, ten or fifteen at the most, mouth and nose would be submerged. In the meantime he was in great pain, but his voice was calm.

  ‘Now, Inkham, I’ll tell you just what to do. There’s no use trying to cut it loose from the bottom. It’s too heavy to lift. Your only chance is to get inside and cut the hinge.’

  ‘That’s a pretty large order, isn’t it?’

  There was something in Skink’s voice that Blake didn’t like. ‘Yes, I suppose so, but it’s the only way. Chip away the edge of the shell - make a hole big enough to get your hand in. Then reach all the way to the bottom and cut the adductor muscle.’

  Skink wondered. Would he let the fool know now that his number was up, or would he keep him guessing a while? He would keep him guessing. Revenge was sweet - he would enjoy it as long as possible.

  He drew his knife, dived, and pretended to chip at the edge of the shell. After nearly two minutes, he came up. He thought the water had risen a fraction of an inch higher on Blake’s chin.

  ‘Had to come up to breathe,’ he explained. . ‘Of course.’

  Blake waited patiently, his twisted face the only sign of his agony. Skink would have liked to hear him curse, rage, weep, go crazy with fear and pain. The scientist’s composure was disappointing.

  ‘Well,’ Blake said, ‘aren’t you ready to go down again?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Skink went down, tinkered for as long as he could hold his breath, a good three minutes, and reappeared.

  He breathed and blew for a few moments, then said, ‘Sorry, I can’t seem to make a dent in it.’

  Blake’s mouth was almost under water. ‘That’s all right,’ he managed to say. ‘You tried. There’s one other way. Hack off my foot.’

  Even the villainous Skink recoiled at this suggestion. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ he said, and he meant it. -

  Poor fellow, thought Blake, it’s not his fault if he’s a coward. Aloud he said, ‘Then I’ll do it myself.’ He drew his knife and submerged.

  Skink was seized with a violent fit of trembling. He thought he was going to have a cramp and drown along with his enemy. He swam ashore and stood shaking on the beach. He dared not look back.

  When he did, he saw nothing. He strained his eyes. For five minutes he looked, but still saw nothing. The tide was creeping over his feet.

  He turned and walked off in a daze down the beach, the way they had come.

  He had not meant to do that - or had he? Do what? After all, he had done nothing. If the fool had to blunder into an underwater bear trap, who was to blame but himself?

  And what a fool! Up to the very end he insisted upon believing that Skink would help him. He had too much faith in human nature, that Blake. Skink tried to laugh, but couldn’t. Somehow he felt awfully cheap, an odd sensation for him. He ought to feel on top of the world. His enemy was out of the way, and half a million dollars were as good as his. Why did his mouth feel dry and stale, as if he had smoked too many cigarettes?

  Skink circled the island until he came upon Hal and Roger. He dropped wearily to the ground. His head ached and his nerves were jumping like a school of minnows.

  ‘Where’s Blake?’ Hal asked.

  ‘He went around the other way. I thought he’d be here by this tune.’

  Hal studied him. ‘You look pretty well beat up. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. I just got a bit too much sun.’

  ‘Well, there’s some good shade under that breadfruit. We’ve done this side, but we thought we’d go in and take a look at the lagoon shore. If Blake comes, call.’

  Hal and Roger ploughed through underbrush, berry bushes, lantana, and a criss-cross of sago palms and pandanus towards the lagoon. They kept their eyes open, but it was not possible to see more than a few feet into the jungle on either side.

  ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ Hal said. ‘We don’t stand one chance in a million.’

  ‘What makes you think the stuff is here at all?’ Roger was getting a little fed up with fighting brambles and thorns and the spiked edges of palm leaf stems.

  ‘Just because I don’t see where else they could take it. If there had been any ship around here we would have seen it. But somehow, the smugglers must have been watching us. When we succeeded in locating the wreck, that made it easy for them. They set out to grab as much of the booty as possible, hide it on the island, and after we leave they’ll bring a ship to carry it away.’

  They came out on the lagoon. It was circled by a lovely sand beach, now almost covered by the rising tide. In many places there was not room to walk between the water and the tree roots, and wading through the shallows slowed them up.

  Thinking that perhaps Blake had passed this way, they looked for his trail on the submerged beach, but soon gave it up; the ripples of the rising tide would have wiped out all footprints, had there been any.

  It was a full hour before they completed the circuit of the lagoon, and another hour before they could rejoin Skink under the breadfruit tree.

  They were surprised not to find Dr Blake.

  ‘That’s strange,’ Hal worried. ‘He should have been here long ago. Something must have happened to him.’

  ‘Now what could happen to him?’ scoffed Skink.

  T don’t know. Perhaps a broken ankle.’

  No word could have made more of an impression upon Skink. The vivid picture of Blake’s ankle caught in the jaws of the giant clam, and of Blake’s vain efforts to cut himself loose, made him shiver.

  Hal eyed Skink closely. He noticed his trembling fingers, flushed cheeks, and feverish eyes. A walk in the sun could not do this. A horrible suspicion troubled him. He stooped suddenly and jerked Skink’s knife from its sheath.

  ‘What the devil are you doing?’ complained Skink.

  ‘I just want to
see this knife.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ said Skink indifferently. ‘But you could have asked for it, couldn’t you?’

  Hal studied the knife. Of course Skink would have cleaned it, but it was likely that some trace of blood would be left in the bevelling of the blade or in the grooved design of the handle. He searched carefully but could find nothing. He tossed the knife back to Skink.

  ‘If I find there’s been any crooked work,’ he began grimly… .

  ‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Hunt,’ Skink cut in and, rising, started towards the dinghy. ‘If you want to find Blake why don’t you get to it instead of standing there making a stupid fool of yourself?’

  The move took Hal by surprise. Skink had seemed reluctant to go in search of Blake, but now he was leading the way.

  As for Skink, it had just penetrated his crime-crazed brain that, instead of trying to conceal Blake’s fate, he must reveal it. If Blake’s body were not found they would believe that Skink had done away with him.

  Now a new terror possessed his mind. They must hurry, hurry. Suppose the giant clam relaxed its hold. Suppose the body was carried away by the tide. Then Skink would be out of luck for he would have no evidence that Blake had not died a death of violence at his hands.

  In the boat they rounded the island, closely hugging the shore. Now and then they shut off the motor and called. There was no answering call.

  When they reached the bay of the disaster, Skink’s mind was in confusion. How could he lead them to the spot without seeming to do so? It would be easy if he were at the tiller, but Hal was in the stern seat. Hal was still hugging the shore.

  ‘Use your head, Hunt,’ Skink said. ‘He wouldn’t climb that hill and down again. He’d swim across.’

  Hal stubbornly held his course. ‘There might have been a wide enough beach at the base of the cliff for him to walk around.’

  But when he came to the foot of the cliff he found the water so deep that even at low tide there could not have been any beach. Skink was right. Blake must have swum across. Perhaps he had drowned on the way, though why such a good swimmer as Blake should drown was a mystery, unless there had been foul play by Skink.