Biggles on Mystery Island

by W E Johns

  Ronbach’s eyes narrowed. “What are you after— the dough?”

  “Are you talking about money?”

  “Sure.”

  “What money?”

  “Hara’s money.”

  “You mean the money he took from the people here?”

  “What else?”

  “Where does he keep it?”

  “In a box under his bed.” Ronbach’s face registered what may have been intended to be a smile, but it was more like a leer. “How about splitting it two ways, you and me, and pulling out of this dump together. Eh? What about it. I’ve had enough of it.”

  Biggles’ lips curled. “Even for a crook you’re a stinker,” he said icily. “Hara will be interested in your idea.”

  “You mean you’re gonna tell him?”

  “Probably. Don’t argue. Get moving.”

  “You dirty rat. I’d like to—”

  “I know what you’d like to do. Take me to Hara.”

  “Find him yourself.” Ronbach flopped back on the bed.

  “Is he as drunk as you are?”

  “Worse, I guess. He can’t carry his licker.”

  Biggles hesitated. This situation, finding both men the worse for drink, was something he had not expected. He glanced at the inside of the door. The key was in the lock. “You’d better stay here,” he told Ronbach. “Try to get out and you’ll get what’s about due to you. I’ve men outside.”

  Ronbach struck a listening attitude. “What’s that noise?”

  “Your miserable prisoners have been let out.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “Home. You stay where you are.”

  Biggles backed to the door, took the key from the lock, went out, closed the door behind him and locked it. He was not happy about leaving Ronbach, but in the circumstances, which were not those he had anticipated, he could think of no alternative. He went on to the next door. It opened easily to his touch. Hara was there, in bed, asleep.

  Biggles put the lamp on the table and looked round for a weapon, sure that Hara would not be without one. He couldn’t see one, but he knew it must be there, somewhere, probably within easy reach. His eyes went to the pillow under the man’s head. Cautiously inserting a hand under it he found what he sought. It was a heavy automatic pistol. He put it in his pocket.

  “Wake up, Hara, I want to talk to you,” he said, loudly.

  Hara awoke with a start, stared for a moment wild-eyed and then groped under his pillow.

  “It isn’t there,” Biggles informed him, evenly. “I’ve got it.”

  “How did you get out?” shouted Hara, furiously.

  “I have friends.”

  “I should have shot you.”

  “You’ve lost your chance.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A few words with you in the hope of making you see sense. I’m evacuating the camp, and—”

  “You what!” Hara fairly screamed the words.

  “You heard me. There’s no need to get excited about it. I’m taking everybody away and I’m giving you the opportunity of leaving at the same time. When we’ve gone you’ll have no means of getting away, in which case, should the island blow up, it’s going to be too bad for anyone left on it.”

  “Where’s Ronbach?”

  “In his room.”

  “What’s the fool doing?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s my guess he’s swilling more rum, trying to pull himself together. He’s drunk. He’s no friend of yours, anyway. Do you know what he had the brass face to suggest to me?”

  Hara looked interested. “What?”

  “His bright idea was that we took the money you keep under your bed, split it two ways and went home together.”

  Hara sprang up, mouthing. “That—that—” he choked.

  “Take it easy,” advised Biggles. “Storming won’t help you now. Your little kingdom is finished. All I want to know is, are you coming home with me?”

  “I’ll see you to the devil first.”

  Biggles shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, if that’s how you want it. Speaking of the devil, if I know anything you’re within two jumps of hell right now. That’s what this island will be when it blows up. For the last time, are you coming with me?”

  “No.”

  “That’s all I wanted to know.”

  “You can’t get down to the sea. My dogs will tear you to pieces.”

  “My last job, as I go, will be to wipe them out.”

  Hara’s face was a picture of exasperation and fury.

  “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance,” concluded Biggles, backing towards the door. “I’ll leave you and Ronbach to cut each other to ribbons.” With that he went out, locking the door behind him and leaving Hara shouting incoherently.

  Ronbach was hammering on his door. Biggles hammered back.

  “Who’s that?” shouted Ronbach.

  “It’s me,” answered Biggles. “I thought you’d better know I told Hara your scheme for splitting the money. He doesn’t seem too pleased about it.”

  “You—”

  Biggles walked on, smiling.

  Leaving the building he found Ginger waiting, in casual conversation with the negro, who seemed well content with the new state of affairs.

  “The boys in the barracks haven’t discovered yet that they’re locked in,” Ginger told Biggles, grinning.

  “That’s fine. They’ll find out soon enough. What about you, Sambo? Are you coming with us?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “Sensible man.”

  “What have you done with Hara and Ronbach?” Ginger wanted to know.

  “I’ve locked them in their rooms.”

  “They’ll get out.”

  “I hope they will. But I think they’ll stay put long enough for our purpose. I invited Hara to come with us, hoping of course that he’d do something about the dogs. But he wouldn’t have it.”

  “What about Ronbach?”

  “He suggested that he and I looted Hara’s money and divided it between us.”

  “What a skunk!”

  “That’s too good a word for him. I told Hara about it, so when they do get free they’re likely to be at each other’s throats.”

  “That’s about the best thing that could happen. Pity you couldn’t have got the box of money, all the same.”

  “I’d plenty to do without cluttering myself up with money or anything else. By the way, I’ve collected two more guns, a revolver and an automatic,” went on Biggles. “With what we have already we should be able to deal with the dogs. Let’s move on, to see how Marcel and Sven are faring.”

  The negro following, they started walking quickly up the hill to the rim of the crater, making for the place where a continuous murmur of conversation told them the prisoners had been assembled.

  Ginger stared when they came into sight of them, perceiving that it was one thing to talk of numbers but another matter altogether to see them in reality.

  “My gosh!” he exclaimed. “What a mob. We’ll never deal with them.”

  “We shall have to,” returned Biggles, lightly. “There can be no going back now.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  BACK TO THE SEA

  THE buzz of voices died away as Biggles strode up. It was evident that the people realized the leader of the affair had arrived. Marcel, Sven and Axel, who had been standing a little apart, watching and waiting, came forward to meet him.

  “Everything all right?” queried Biggles.

  “All according to plan,” answered Marcel.

  “Good. How many people are there altogether?”

  “Twenty-four, including Sven, Axel and myself. Six women and eighteen men. Five of the women and ten men are Europeans or Americans. You knew the party was a mixed lot.”

  “With the negro I have with me that makes a total of twenty-nine for embarkation. I take it everyone wants to go?”

  “They can’t get away fast enough. I had a job to hold some
of them back from going straight down to the sea.”

  “Call out the owners of the Dryad. I must speak to them.”

  The Dutch photographers came forward.”

  “You can see what I’m trying to do,” said Biggles. “I want to get everyone off the island as quickly as possible. I can take the ladies and perhaps some of the men in my flying-boat. The rest, if you have no objection, will have to squeeze themselves into your yacht.”

  The Dutchmen said they were only too willing, but one raised the question of food.

  “I can let you have what canned stuff I have in my machine, and with that, and what remains on board, you’ll have to manage,” replied Biggles. “You haven’t far to go. Make for Atuona, in the Marquesas. How long will it take you to get there?”

  “With fair weather we should do it in two days.”

  “You shouldn’t starve to death in that time even with nothing to eat. Given time you could put some plantains on board and perhaps catch some fish. I should do the trip in just over an hour. If I can find a trading vessel in the islands I could send him to meet you. Failing that I might pick up some stores and drop them to you.”

  That settled that. Biggles then said he would like to speak to everyone who understood English. Marcel and Sven could between them translate to those who did not.

  The word went round and they clustered about him.

  “Listen carefully, everybody,” he said. “You’re all anxious to get away from here. So am I. We have a problem to face, and that is how to get down to the sea together without injury to anyone or without anyone becoming lost on the way. We may have trouble with the dogs. You know all about them. The only way we shall succeed is by everyone doing exactly as he is told. The important thing is to keep close together. We shall travel as a column three abreast with the ladies in the middle. Two men armed with rifles will lead. Others, with small arms, will guard the flanks and the rear. Any dogs that attempt to attack us will have to be shot. That goes for the men who have charge of them, too, if they try to stop us. Whatever happens we shall press on. There can be no question of going back once we’ve started. If anyone would like to back out now’s the time. Is that clear?”

  No one moved.

  “Very well,” said Biggles. “We shall start as soon as it’s light enough to see what we’re doing. Until then you can relax.”

  He then chose the men who would carry firearms and allocated their positions. He told the married men to stay close to their wives for their protection. As many people as possible would arm themselves with sticks and stones as these became available. That was all. Most people sat down to wait for zero hour.

  “We’d better keep watch on the crater in case any of the gang break out and try following us,” Biggles said quietly to Ginger. “Let’s have a look.”

  Marcel went with them as they walked the short distance up the incline behind them to the nearest point that overlooked the central depression. By this time the moon was well down with the result that deep gloom was once more filling the crater. A certain amount of noise came from the settlement —banging and shouting. A single light glowed like a fallen star.

  “That must be in Hara’s bedroom. I left the lamp there,” observed Biggles.

  “They seem to be on the move,” remarked Ginger.

  “I didn’t imagine it would take them long to break out once they realized we had gone,” answered Biggles. “I told Hara we were going.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  “He’ll probably muster all hands and organize a pursuit—or try to.”

  “Why do you say try to?” asked Marcel.

  “Because I have a feeling that some of the riff-raff down there won’t be too keen on it. Some might even prefer to go home. Hara is a fanatic, but that doesn’t mean they’re all crazy. They should have the wit to realize that if they lose the Dryad they may be here for years, on a smouldering volcano.”

  “They’re having a spot of bother down there, anyhow,” said Ginger, as a gunshot rang out.

  “There will certainly be trouble between Hara and Ronbach when they meet,” asserted Biggles. “I played one against the other with that object. If they started fighting among themselves that would suit us fine.”

  “I can see someone coming,” said Ginger, peering into the gloom. “He’s running.”

  “There’s someone running after him, too,” observed Marcel.

  Another gunshot rang out and the leading figure fell.

  “That’s one of them out of it, anyway,” said Biggles, calmly.

  “It isn’t Hara; I can hear him shouting,” informed Ginger.

  “I fancy he has plenty to shout about,” returned Biggles. He looked at the sky, and the moon, already half out of sight as it dropped below the opposite rim. “We shouldn’t have much longer to wait,” he added, cheerfully. “Dawn must be well on the way.”

  Waiting is always tedious, and to Ginger the next hour seemed much longer. The moon buried itself in the sea, and the darkness that precedes the first pale flush of daybreak made it impossible to see anything beyond a few yards. The little crowd of refugees, huddled together, with an occasional whisper of conversation, created an atmosphere of unreality.

  But all things have an end, and at long last came the first sign of the daily miracle so impatiently awaited—a pale grey stain spreading upwards from the eternal ocean.

  “That’s it,” said Biggles. “We should be able to negotiate the open ground to the point where the track enters the jungle. By that time the sun should be up.”

  He walked back to the main party, and finding Axel asked him if he was sure he could find his way down the first part of the slope. Axel said he had been over the ground so often that he could do it with his eyes shut. It was getting lighter with every passing second, anyway.

  “Fair enough,” said Biggles. He turned to the waiting throng. “On your feet, everyone,” he ordered. “Form up in a column of threes.” He called the two Dutchmen to him and handed them the rifles. “You’ll go with Axel and guard the head of the column. Don’t set too fast a pace or we shall have people straggling. Don’t hesitate to shoot if you meet any sort of opposition.”

  The two men said they understood, and took up their positions.

  Giving Ronbach’s revolver and Hara’s automatic to the two Frenchmen he told them he relied on them to deal with any trouble from the rear and prevent anyone from straggling. He and Ginger would be on one flank, Marcel and Sven on the other, ready to go forward or back as circumstances might require. Spare men would arm themselves with any sort of weapon they could find. The women were told not to leave the middle of the column.

  As was to be expected it took some time to get the party into a good tight formation. “One last word,” he said, when this had been achieved. “If I give the order to shout, make as much noise as you can. That might help to scare the dogs should they come for us. All right. March!”

  Ginger had had some strange adventures, but none more odd than this, he thought, as he took up a position a little way behind Biggles. To get out of a scrape was nothing new, but to organize a mass evacuation was a new experience. He smiled as he wondered vaguely what Algy and Bertie would think when the crowd arrived on the beach.

  The passage of the bare slopes, which took about half an hour, was accomplished without incident. Good order was kept, although, to be sure, this offered no difficulty, for the sky was now ablaze with all the colours of a tropic sunrise, and Ginger could see, for the first time, the people who had looked for an island paradise but had found only a miserable existence under an eccentric dictator. They were a motley lot, black, white and every intermediate shade, the men mostly with beards, everyone in rags. The whites appeared to be in a worse state than the coloured people, although, considering what they had been through, this was hardly to be wondered at.

  Reaching the upper, rather sparse, fringe of the jungle belt, a brief halt was called while Axel pointed out the route to Biggles. Not that
there was much to see, for the track was hardly discernible, being for the most part trampled grass and weeds with occasional footmarks in the softer ground. However, Axel assured them it was enough. He was familiar with the path, at any rate as far as the point where he picked up his loads of plantains.

  Ginger took this opportunity of trying to see the inlet, and, more particularly, the aircraft; but they were too low down, and either rising ground or forest trees intervened.

  The passage through the jungle belt began, with the rank vegetation steadily increasing in density and strength of growth; but through it the path ran on, plainly to be seen. In fact, it would have been almost impossible to leave it. There were places where it became so narrow that the column of threes was squeezed to a double line. Afterwards, the head was halted to allow the others to catch up. Underfoot, the ground was becoming softer and more slippery, and falls were frequent. These were taken as a joke, for, no doubt at the prospect of an early release, everyone was in good humour. So far there had been no sight or sound of the dogs; nor had there been any sign of pursuit. This was encouraging, but Ginger had a suspicion that the worst was yet to come.

  That he was right in this respect was demonstrated as they entered the region of the forest proper. The light was dim, but against that the undergrowth was thin, as they had discovered on the way up, affording a limited view on either side.

  Somewhere, from not far away, came a shout. It was followed, within a matter of seconds, by the crash of a rifle at the head of the line. The column did not halt but everyone was now on the alert. There was no more talking, and anxious eyes were on the leafy aisles on either side.

  Ginger saw several dogs coming. They did not slink, but charged direct. Several shots were fired.

  “Shout!” yelled Biggles.

  Everyone obeyed, with a result that was startling, to say the least of it. Some of the dogs slid to their haunches, apparently not knowing what to make of the noise. That must have applied to their handlers, for Ginger saw a man appear, to stop and stare. He snapped a long shot at him and had the satisfaction of seeing him dive for cover behind a tree. Actually, Ginger was more afraid of the men than he was of the dogs, for he was sure they would carry firearms, if only for their own protection against their animals, should they turn on them. Should they shoot at the column they could hardly fail to hit someone.