Biggles Hits The Trail

by W E Johns

  ‘No,’ he continued some minutes later, after they had made a complete survey of the vast apartment. ‘There’s no way out this side. It’s a dead end. Let’s go back; I don’t suppose we shall strike the passage we came up, but we might as well go somewhere.’

  Half an hour later, in a narrow corridor, he stopped again. ‘Got a cigarette on you?’ he asked. ‘Thanks. I’m afraid this looks like a bad business,’ he murmured.

  ‘It does.’

  ‘We don’t seem to be able to strike a path that goes straight uphill, although I think we’re higher than we were: the place is a regular honeycomb. If we can’t go up we shall have to go down; maybe we’ll find the power-station. I’d rather try to beat my way out through the Chungs than wander about in this catacomb much longer.’

  They set off again, no longer with any fixed purpose other than to find a way out of the mountain, anywhere. They had long ago abandoned the idea of striking the original path, or even of recognizing it if they did.

  Biggles, who was leading, suddenly threw himself backwards with a gasp. For a moment or two he was so shaken that he could hardly speak. ‘Look!’ he said in a low voice. ‘I forgot it was dark outside; I nearly stepped over.’

  Algy craned forward and peered over his shoulder. A great black wall confronted him; far above it a single star twinkled in the sky. ‘What is it?’ he asked in a hushed whisper.

  ‘The dam.’

  ‘Good heavens! So we’re below the lake.’

  ‘Yes – about forty feet by the look of it.’

  ‘We’re looking out over that gulch below it.’

  ‘Seems like it.’

  ‘Is there no way up or down?’

  ‘None. The path just ends in the face of the rock. If we were flies we could crawl up, but we’re not. If we had a four-hundred-foot rope we might get down – but I doubt it. We haven’t, so it’s no use talking about it. Still, it’s something to have seen the sky and to know it’s still there. Come on, let’s go back.’

  Returning, they found a narrow opening which seemed to lead upwards. They followed it for a few yards and then came to a blank end. Above them rose a chimney-like hole, like the shaft of a mine. At the top, a hundred feet above them, was a small circular patch of star-studded sky.

  Biggles laughed bitterly. ‘Tough luck again,’ he said. ‘We can’t get up there. Back we go.’

  Again they retraced their footsteps, and for a little while plodded on in silence. They found a path that led steeply upwards; it was little more than a crack in the rock, but they went up it with renewed hope. The walls began to glow with a weird phosphorescent light.

  ‘It looks to me as if we’re getting near the summit,’ remarked Biggles. ‘What queer stuff this is,’ he went on, pointing at a particularly bright patch on the wall. He raised the length of stalagmite he was still carrying, and struck it a sharp blow. There was a cloud of tiny blue sparks, and then he staggered back as the whole wall fell outwards and the cave was flooded with a dazzling blue radiance. The cave had become a narrow cornice on the side of the mountain. Neither spoke. Below them lay the lake, shining like a floodlit sea, while all around towered the mountains, reflecting the pale light of the one on which they stood.

  ‘There’s Dickpa and the others; I can see them still sitting by the hole,’ cried Algy.

  But Biggles was not listening. Instinctively his eyes had sought the place where the Explorer should have been moored. He clutched Algy’s arm. ‘It’s gone,’ he cried hoarsely.

  ‘Gone – what?’

  ‘The machine.’

  Algy stared, and swallowed something in his throat. ‘Yes,’ he echoed in a hollow voice. ‘It’s gone – no, there she is, over there.’ He raised his arm and pointed.

  Biggles, following the line, saw the amphibian floating far out on the broad bosom of the lake. ‘But what’s she doing there?’ he exclaimed foolishly.

  ‘How do I know?’

  Biggles shielded his eyes with his hands. ‘Is it my imagination, or is the right wing low?’ he said, in a tense voice. ‘If I didn’t know that such a thing was impossible, I should say she was sinking. Look how deep she is in the water. Why, the lower starboard wing is almost touching.’

  ‘Great heaven, I believe you’re right.’

  ‘Let’s go down.’

  ‘Can we get there?’

  ‘We’ve got to.’

  ‘Let’s hail the others; they’re not more than a quarter of a mile away.’

  ‘Better not; the Chungs may hear us. Steady how you go, and don’t trust the rock more than you must; it’s as rotten as tinder on the outside.’

  Half-way down the steep slope a large piece of rock broke away and crashed downwards, carrying a shower of smaller pieces with it. At the sound of the landslide, three figures, crouching near the edge of the hole, started up.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s us,’ called Biggles, seeing that they were uncertain how to act.

  Five minutes later they met, and Biggles cut short the Professor’s congratulations on his escape. ‘What’s happened to the machine?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘Happened to it? Nothing, as far as I know. We thought we’d better keep a guard on it, so Ginger went back about half an hour ago.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘We left the machine moored against the rock, just this side of the dam, where we disembarked.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t there now. It’s out on the lake, and I don’t like the look of it. The sooner we get along and see what’s wrong, the better.’

  Without another word they set off towards the lake.

  CHAPTER 13

  WHAT HAPPENED TO GINGER

  FOR some time the Explorer was hidden from sight owing to the saucer-like depression through which they were compelled to pass, but when they finally ran up on to the far lip, which was only a short distance from the edge of the lake, Biggles pulled up with a cry of consternation.

  The reason was instantly apparent to the others. There was no doubt about it: the Explorer was sinking. Her hull was low in the water, and her wing-floats were half submerged.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ cried Malty, in something like a panic.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Biggles. ‘Absolutely nothing. I doubt if there is a log of wood, much less a boat, within hundreds of miles of us, and to swim out to her is out of the question. That water is as cold as ice; I’ve tested it, so I know. A swimmer couldn’t live in it for a minute. If you have any doubt about it, just try.’

  ‘Are we going to stand here and watch her sink without making an effort to save her?’ cried the Professor.

  ‘Apparently,’ replied Biggles harshly. ‘We can’t work miracles. Where’s Ginger, though? That’s what I’m wondering.’

  ‘He must be on board,’ replied Algy. ‘How else could the machine have got there?’

  ‘She’s drifted. If the mooring rope was cut or untied, the breeze would carry her out.’

  They all sat down and for some time watched the Explorer sinking deeper into the water.

  Their hearts sank with her. Then Biggles got up and began pacing up and down. ‘How far is she from the far side, do you think, Algy?’ he said. ‘I mean, will she drift right across before she sinks, because if so, we might work our way round to her.’

  ‘I should say she is as far from the other side as she is from this,’ answered Algy moodily. ‘She’s just about in the middle.’

  ‘Then nothing can be done,’ declared Biggles. ‘If Ginger is aboard her, then he’s lost, but I don’t think he can be, or he’d shout or fire a signal, or do something. Why doesn’t he start the engines?’

  As if in answer, one of the Explorer’s engines came to life with a roar, and a moment later, after two misfires, the other followed.

  ‘Thank God,’ cried Biggles fervently. ‘The young blighter must have been asleep, and has just woken up. Still, that doesn’t explain why she’s so low in the water. Here he comes. I’ll give him something when he gets here for putt
ing us to all this suspense.’

  Standing in a line on the bank, they watched the amphibian plough its way slowly through the placid water towards them, and when the bow ground gently against the rock Biggles was wearing an expression that boded no good to the pilot. Before he could speak, however, the cockpit cover was thrown back; Ginger’s head appeared, and all thoughts of admonition were at once forgotten. His face was ghastly and smeared with blood.

  ‘Good heavens,’ gasped Biggles, horrified. ‘How —’

  But Ginger cut him short. ‘Quick,’ he croaked, ‘start bailing her out. She’s got a bad leak. I’ve stuffed the hole up as well as I can, but the water’s still coming in.’

  Biggles waited to hear no more. He sprang into the cockpit and dived through the low doorway that gave access to the cabin. The first thing he saw in the dim light was the naked body of a Chung, half submerged in the water with which the cabin was flooded.

  With scant ceremony he heaved it overboard, where it sank in the deep water. ‘Get buckets — cans — anything,’ he said tersely to Algy, who had followed him. ‘Here, hand this gun out to the others and tell them to keep sharp watch. Malty can attend to Ginger; the poor kid looks as if he needs attention.’

  They set to work feverishly to bail out the water, and presently were joined by Ginger, who, in spite of their protests, insisted that he was well enough to help.

  Biggles made no further demur, for the matter of emptying the boat was pressing, and when at last the leak came into view as the machine rose slowly in the water, he looked at it curiously. It was a perfectly round hole the size of a tea-cup, and had been hastily stuffed up with a wad of rag.

  ‘How did that happen?’ he said shortly, speaking for the first time since Ginger had joined them.

  ‘That Chung did it — or rather, the ray he brought with him,’ replied Ginger, without stopping work. ‘I caught him in the cabin and we had a rough house. I won, but I went down for the count at the end. The ray must have been working, because when I came round it was lying there, hissing like an acetylene blow-lamp, and had punched a hole clean through the hull. I stuffed it up, and seeing you all standing here, taxied back.’

  ‘You were just about in time, too,’ grunted Biggles, as he continued scooping out the ice-cold water with a canvas bucket. ‘Another five minutes, and you’d have sunk.’

  Ginger nodded, with an eye on the hole. ‘Lucky it wasn’t any lower,’ he observed. ‘I think we can patch that up all right.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll rivet a piece of metal over it; there’s some duralumin in the spare-part locker. You keep on bailing.’

  He succeeded in putting a fairly neat patch over the leak, which, when caulked round the outside, kept the water out, but it took a long time, and dawn was breaking when at last he picked up his tools with a satisfied exclamation.

  Tired, wet, cold, and hungry, they went ashore and stamped up and down to restore some life into their numbed limbs.

  ‘Get the stove going, and brew a gallon or two of hot coffee, Malty,’ ordered Biggles. ‘Mind it’s scalding hot. And fry some bacon. I’d hate to catch my death of cold.’

  Over a quickly prepared but satisfying meal Ginger told his story. He was still pale, and it was clear that he had been more shaken than he would have the others believe.

  ‘When I left you to come back to the machine,’ he began, looking at the Professor, ‘I had an uncomfortable feeling about leaving the pass unguarded, but I wasn’t really expecting trouble – not for a bit, anyway. As you know, it was dark except for the light of the mountain, but I could see the machine riding comfortably just as we had left her, so everything seemed to be all right in that direction. I went on board and started getting the Primus stove ready, with the object of knocking up a bit of supper against your return.

  ‘While I was in the cabin something happened that set me thinking. The machine had swung round a bit so that her wing was quite close to the bank, and I thought at first that she had bumped, for there was a sudden jerk that made her tilt over. I went to the porthole and looked out, but she was riding clear, which struck me as a bit odd, but I came to the conclusion that she had bumped herself away from the rock. I know now that it was a Chung getting on board by stepping on to the wing; it’s plain enough to see afterwards. But one is apt to overlook this invisible stunt, and when I looked out and saw nothing, I thought no more about it – which shows how careful we’ve got to be.

  ‘Actually there were two Chungs at least; there may have been more, but I only know of two. I was filling the kettle out of the water-bottle when the boat tilted again, so much so that I spilt some of the water. There seemed to be no reason for it, although it felt just as if somebody had jumped on board. I went to the window again and looked a bit more carefully, and noticed that the port wing was low, as if there was a weight on it. Then in a flash I guessed what was up, and I was right. If a Chung had come on board, I knew he must be still standing there on the wing, by the way it sagged. There seemed to be only one thing to do. I opened the porthole a little way, and still standing inside out of sight, I fired my revolver, aiming between the two outside inter-plane struts. The first time nothing happened, so I fired again, this time behind the rear strut. That got him. There was a terrific splash as if a sack of bricks had fallen into the water, and the wing jerked up to normal. I couldn’t see anything, remember. You may have heard the shots.’

  ‘I did hear something, now you mention it,’ declared Dickpa, ‘but the sound was muffled and sounded so far away that I didn’t attach much importance to it, worried sick as I was about Biggles.’

  ‘It was because I was inside the cabin that the shots were muffled,’ resumed Ginger. ‘Well, the fellow falling into the water put the wind up me properly, as if there was one there were likely to be more, and I’d no means of telling how many there were, so I went to dash out to yell for help. As I bolted through the hatch I barged into somebody coming in, a fellow who had evidently come aboard by the nose. That must have been the second bump I felt. I couldn’t see him, mind you; it’s a ghastly sensation, feeling somebody you can’t see.

  ‘Anyway, I fell backwards inside, and the other fellow fell in too, judging by the noise. I saw a black tube roll across the floor, and knowing what it was, and if the guy once got it going it was all up, I made a jump to get it first. I had dropped my gun when I fell, but I didn’t bother about that. My one idea was to heave the ray gadget overboard. As I ducked to get it, it sprang into the air, apparently of its own accord, and fetched me a bang over the head. Down I went, and by a bit of luck fell on the revolver. I could hardly see for blood, but I whipped it up and let drive. Something heavy came crashing down on top of me, and that’s all I knew about it.

  ‘When I came round I was lying in a fairly deep puddle of water, and for a bit I couldn’t make out what the dickens had happened. Was it cold? I should say it was. Maybe it was the cold that brought me round. The first thing I saw was the dead Chung lying beside me, and the next, the water pouring through the hole where the ray, which was still active, was playing on the side of the hull. I soon had it overboard and ran up on deck to shout for help. I nearly fainted again when I saw where I was. However, I ran back into the cabin and plugged the hole as well as I could. Then I started the engines and made for the shore. I saw you standing here, and when I saw Biggles was with you I didn’t care much what happened. And here I am: that’s all,’ concluded Ginger dispassionately.

  ‘And about enough, too,’ murmured the Professor.

  ‘And what’s the position now?’ asked Algy. ‘If we’re going to do anything, it’d better be soon,’ he added.

  Biggles nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said; ‘we can’t hang about here much longer.’

  ‘Did you get any radium?’ asked Malty, remembering the object of the assault on the mountain.

  Biggles handed him a long pale-grey piece of stalagmite that he had brought back. ‘Is that any use?’ he asked. ‘If so, I’v
e some more pieces in my pocket.’

  Malty looked at it dubiously.

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be an awful lot to come all this way for, does it?’ put in Ginger ruefully. ‘It looks like a fossilized walking-stick to me.’

  ‘It will have to be enough, I’m afraid,’ murmured Biggles.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ asked Malty.

  Biggles told him.

  ‘Well, we can only hope for the best,’ said Malty when he had finished. ‘I’ll put it aboard.’

  ‘And what now?’ asked Algy. ‘Is it worth while going back to the pass and trying to hold it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Biggles slowly. ‘For all we know, there may be Chungs up there already. Even now they may be setting up a ray battery somewhere close at hand. Personally, I’m in favour of leaving them to it.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Going home. What are we staying here for, anyway? We’ve got a little of what we came here for, haven’t we ? Is it enough to have made the trip worth while, Malty? If it isn’t, I’ll go back to the mountain for more, but delay is dangerous, and obviously I’d rather not. You put up the cash, so it’s up to you to decide.’

  ‘I agree with you,’ replied Malty, without hesitation. ‘There’s no sense in losing our lives trying to be greedy. Radium or no radium, I’m all for getting back. I’ve got a specimen of the stuff, and that suits me. There’s no doubt that we took on a bigger job than we bargained for when we came here. If we’d known before we came what we —’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ cut in Biggles, ‘but let’s stick to facts. It’s no use talking about what might have been – that won’t get us anywhere. The only thing that worries me is what Mac has told us. If what he says is true, then it’s up to us to try to put a spoke in the Chungs’ wheel before we go back and report the matter to the Government, or the League of Nations, or whoever will have to deal with it – not that they’ll be likely to believe us.’

  There was a chorus of approval.

  Biggles glanced at the sky, across which low, dark clouds were scurrying. ‘I don’t like the look of those,’ he said shortly. ‘There’s weather brewing, or I’m a Dutchman.’ He turned to McAllister. ‘Mac,’ he said earnestly, ‘I suppose there is absolutely no doubt whatever in your mind that these people really are a menace to civilization? You think there is a chance that they may accomplish what they are out to do?’