Rick Brant 6 The Phantom Shark

by John Blaine

  “Railroad?”Rick looked his surprise.

  “Of a sort.It is not a good railroad. Mostly it is used to transport workmen to and from the mines. But cars go all the time, and if you are lucky, you may find one.”

  Rick thanked him, paid for the map, and tucked it into his pocket. He hadn’t suspected the presence of a railroad onNew Caledonia , but it was clearly marked on the map, and the terminal wasn’t far away.

  He hurried across town.

  Laguerre, from its location on the map, would be a good hide-out for the Phantom Shark. It was close toNoumea , but isolated. Furthermore, the Shark could have reached Anse Vata beach by water from Laguerre.

  The railroad station was not for commercial use, it seemed. At least he could find no one to sell him a ticket. He went to the rear of the station and found a group of men working on a tiny Diesel-operated locomotive. The tracks on which it sat seemed scarcely more than a yard wide. It was a railroad in miniature, with tiny freight cars, the only island railroad in the South Pacific.

  Rick walked over to a man who stood on the outskirts of the repair gang. “How can I find about getting a ride to Laguerre?” he asked.

  “Rein?”

  “Laguerre,” Rick said. Evidently the man didn’t understand English.

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  The man called to one of the group, and spoke rapidly in French. Another Frenchman walked toward Rick. “You go to Laguerre?”

  “Yes. Is there a train?”

  “We go ten minutes. You can come.”

  “How much will it be?”

  “Much? Oh, nozzing . Eesfor workmen. You just get on.”

  “Thanks very much,” Rick said, delighted with his luck.

  Chahda was getting anxious. Over fifteen minutes had passed since Van der Klaffens sped from sight in his car, and not another bit of transportation had passed. He walked to the police box by the side of the road and struck up a conversation with the Kanaka policeman.

  “Not many cars? When bus comes?”

  “Sometimes many cars, sometimes not.Bus comes twice day.In morning. Also comes night.”

  Then there was no hope of getting a bus. “Maybe car comes, you help me get ride? Most important I get ride.”

  The policeman shrugged. “Car comes, you get ride. I stop car and ask.”

  Chahda nodded his thanks. He had removed his necktie and put it in his pocket, and he had rumpled his hair in a good imitation of the local hair-do. He could easily pass for a light-colored native boy. Van der Klaffens hadn’t noticed him, even when he looked back once. But by getting a car, the Dutchman had effectively left him behind. Chahda had managed to reach the outskirts of town by jumping on the back of a passing truck. Then the truck had turned up a side street and he had been forced to jump off, in time to see the rear of the Dutchman’s car vanish down the road.

  “Car come,” the Kanaka policeman said. He stepped into the road and held up his hand.

  Chahda saw that it was a small car of French make. A Kanaka drove while a white man sat in back.

  In a moment everything was arranged. The man in the back seat looked disgruntled and impatient, but he raised no serious objection. Chahda thanked the officer and climbed into the front seat.

  “All right, Gelima,” the man in back said. “Get going.”

  He had a British or Australian accent. Chahda wondered. The man wore a seaman’s white cap, too, and even though he was sitting down it could be seen that he was taller than average.

  The Hindu boy swiveled around and faced the man.

  “Your pardon, monsieur.You need number one cabin boy?”

  “Cabin boy?For what?”

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  “For pretty big schooner with funny name.”The man smiled. “Kookaburra. That’s the name of an Australian bird. But I don’t need a cabin boy.” “Too bad,” Chahda said.“Maybe next time.” He turned and faced front again, his heart hammering. By the sheerest luck, he had gotten a lift from Kenwood, Van der Klaffens’s Australian friend!

  Barby was tired of waiting, and besides, the man who had let her go up into the steeple would be getting suspicious. She had seen nothing of Rick, Chahda, Van der Klaffens, or Kenwood. Of course one or all of them might have been in a car that had gone through the area, but she couldn’t be expected to see them through a steel top.

  She made her way down, thanked the caretaker, and went out into the street. A block away she found Scotty.

  “We can’t just wait around,” she said impatiently. “Think of something, Scotty.”

  “There’s only one thing we can do. Canvass the area and ask everyone we see. But that’s a big job.”

  “I don’t care,” Barby said firmly. “We have to find them. You take one side of the street and I’ll take the other.”

  “Let’s get started,” he agreed.

  They separated and began a slow canvass of the neighborhood. Every person who spoke anything resembling English was asked about an American boy who had passed a short while ago. All answers were negative. Then, as they moved to a busy business street, Barby found their first clue. A Kanaka peddler had seen what he believed was an American. At least he had been young, and he had walked very rapidly, which no New Caledonian in his right mind would do in the heat of the day. He had come by after a tall man who also walked rapidly. Then, some time later, the young man had come back again.

  Barby hurried to Scotty. “We’re on the right track! Rick came this way following Kenwood, then he came back down the street again.”

  “Good,” Scotty exclaimed. “Keep going.”

  They hadn’t asked about Chahda, realizing that he would not be noticed particularly in a city where brown skins predominated.

  Barby continued on her way, asking each store proprietor, each truck driver and each street vendor.

  Then, as they neared the place where the street joined a main thoroughfare, Scotty came out of a store and hailed her.

  “Come on,” he called. “I know where Back went!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

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  Nondo

  the flatcar swayed, groaned, and rattled at incredible speed over flat countryside while Rick tried to hold on with one hand and scan his map with the other. He had a clear picture now of the location of Laguerre in relation toNoumea . One large peninsula and two smaller ones separated Laguerre fromNoumeaBay .

  And, what was most interesting, the railroad went in as straight a line as possible across country while the road took a great curve away from the sea to a town called Dumbea . Then it ran toward the sea again until it reached the town of Paita , near which Jerrold had been captured by the Phantom Shark.

  The railroad was the shortest leg of a triangle, with the other legs formed by the curve in the road. At the speed they were making, and with the shorter distance to cover, Rick thought he might very likely reach Laguerre ahead of Kenwood. The Australian would have to proceed at a moderate speed because the road was not very good.

  The trainman came back, balancing himself like a sailor in heavy weather.“Laguerre two- t’reeminute.”

  Rick wondered if it would be wise to go right into town. “Can I get off this side of Laguerre?” he asked.

  “You want to get off, better go now.Laguerre soon.” The trainman turned and yelled something in French. The engineer stuck his head out of the cab and waved. The train slowed, swaying perilously.

  Rick folded the map and got to his feet, holding on to the brake wheel for support. Ahead, near the sea, he saw a group of huts, evidently made of grass. To his left the sea was cut off by heavy jungle. Between him and the jungle was a wide field of cogon grass.

  The train slowed, the rasp of steel brakes on steel wheels sending a quiver down Rick’s spine. Then the trainman gestured. It was time to jump. They evidently weren’t going to stop completely. Rick yelled his thanks, picked his spot, and jumped. He landed running, fighting to keep his balance. Then he slowed to a stop and waved as the train forged ahead.

  He
started through the field of cogon to the edge of the jungle, thinking that the woods would hide him.

  Then, halfway across the field, he came to a road. It wasn’t much of a road-two wheel tracks through the tall grass. He hesitated as he noticed a tiny patch of black against the yellow-green grass. He touched it and sniffed. Oil, and so fresh it hadn’t had time to absorb into the thirsty earth. A car had passed, very recently.

  That decided him. The road must branch off the one that led into town. He followed it and saw that it turned into the jungle.

  The woods were dense, overgrown with creepers. The road was little more than a trail, just wide enough for a car to pass-if the driver didn’t mind rubbing the sides against the foliage. He moved rapidly but with caution. He didn’t know when he might enter a clearing.

  A perfect hide-out for someone like the Phantom Shark, he thought. Close toNoumea , but well hidden, and handy to the sea. It was close to Paita , too, according to the map. His pulse began to pound. There was every possibility that Jerrold ... his thought broke off as he sensed a presence behind him. He whirled, but too late. Something thudded home behind his ear. The strength flowed out of his legs and sense fled from him.

  Just below Paita , the car in which Chahda rode slowed to a stop. The Hindu boy saw that a narrow dirt Page 87

  road led away from the macadam.

  “Far as we go,” Kenwood announced.“Out with you, mlad .”

  Chahda had no choice but to obey. “Thank you,” he said. “You see me again, maybe, when I come for job as cabin boy.”

  The Australian grinned. “I don’t figure on hiring any cabin boys. Go ahead, Gelima.”

  Chahda stood aside as the car swung into the narrow road. He waited until it was out of sight, then he followed at a dogtrot. The dirt road curved through brush-land that soon gave way to a rolling field of high grass.

  Far ahead, Chahda saw the roofs of a town. He counted eight houses, all with thatch roofs. But before he reached them, a few yards on the other side of an incredibly narrow railroad track, the road branched.

  A little-used road cut through the swale and across the grassy field. Chahda bent and studied the ground.

  There was only one set of fresh tire marks in the dust of the road surface, and they turned off on the new road. That satisfied him. He turned off, too, and continued at his best and most enduring pace, a fast walk that was not quite a run.

  Henri drove like a madman, but Scotty didn’t object. He was glad that he had insisted that Barby return to Le Bagnard . There was no telling what danger he might run into in Laguerre. Also, he felt that Dr.

  Warren should be informed of the recent developments.

  They sped past tiny villages of Kanaka folk, and the people stopped to gape at the speed of their passing. Chickens squawked their way to safety, and now and then a pig caused Henri to swerve. It was lovely country, dotted with banana plants, palms, and spreading mango trees, but they were going too fast to enjoy it.

  “ Paitacome!” Henri called back.

  They went through the village without slowing. An oxcart pulled to the side as Henri’s horn wailed, but so slowly they missed it only by the width of a coat of paint. A few minutes later they reached thevillageofLaguerre .

  “Stop,” Scotty ordered.

  There were less than a dozen huts, all made of the split bamboo material called suwali . All were occupied by Kanakas, big, friendly folk who clustered around the car.

  Scotty said, “Henri, ask if they’ve seen another car.”

  Henri spoke in the queer pidgin French of the island. The villagers shook their heads and answered volubly.

  “What did they say?” Scotty asked.

  “Say no car come two, free days.”

  “Ask if there are any other houses around,” Scotty said.

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  Henri put the question. It was answered with a great deal of pointing.

  “They say house there.” Henri gestured to the left.

  “In the jungle?”

  “They say yes.Road back small way. I find.”

  Scotty considered. If there were a house in the jungle that ran along the coast, it wouldn’t do to tip their hand by driving right up to it.

  “Henri, wait here in the village for me.”

  Henri nodded.

  Scotty got out and walked down the road until he came to a turnoff leading into the jungle. For perhaps twenty minutes he picked his way through the tangled growth, then he saw something that made him stop short.

  The jungle skirted the bay, stopping at the edge of a low bluff that dropped vertically to the beach.

  Scotty had followed the rim of the bluff because it was easier going. Now, a few yards ahead, he saw a flight of stairs leading down toward the water. He inched forward and saw that they led to what was evidently a boathouse, built out over the bay and concealed by two fingers of jungle scrub that thrust out on either side.

  A mouse with thorns on its feet was running around inside Rick’s skull, trying hard to get out. He wished it would succeed. He tried to sit up, but his head was too heavy. Then he realized someone was helping him. He sat up with a Herculean effort and looked dizzily into a familiar brown face.

  “Rick!You not dead?”

  “Not yet,” Rick said. He tried to lift a hand to rub his sore head but his hand wouldn’t move.

  “You tied,” Chahda explained.“Minute.” He knelt and fumbled at Rick’s wrists. In a moment he held up a belt.“With this.”

  Rick put one hand to his head and felt a lump behind his ear. He winced at the touch. “Someone really got me good, and I didn’t even see who it was.”

  “We find out now,” Chahda said. “Can you walk all right?”

  “I can walk,” Rick said, and proved it by standing up and taking a few hesitant steps. “I don’t know how well.”

  Chahda’sforehead creased. “Maybe better you stay here. I go see what is up.House close by, and two cars.Van der Klaffens and Kenwood here.”

  “I’m going with you,” Rick said. He wished the top of his head would blow off and be done with it.

  Chahda motioned for quiet and stepped out to the road. Rick followed, one hand nursing the lump behind his ear.

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  For perhaps two hundred feet they moved through jungle that would have been almost impassable except for the narrow road. Then, as the road curved around a giant banyan tree, they saw the house.

  It was of wooden construction with a painted tin roof. In a clearing between them and the house were two cars. One, Rick recognized as Kenwood’s. Where was Gelima, Kenwood’s driver? The boys faded into the woods and examined the place from a safer distance. Gelima wasn’t in sight, nor was anyone else.

  “Let’s try to get closer,” Rick said softly.

  They circled to the left, still keeping in the woods. There was no one to be seen, but a side door was open, and from within came the sound of angry voices.

  The boys looked at each other. They had to get in on this!

  “We can make it,” Rick said.“Looks like everyone is inside. It will be a cinch. Keep low, and keep the cars between us and the house, then go around the cars, keeping way down, and we’ll be under the window.”

  “Easy,” Chahda said.“You all right?”

  “Fine.Let’s get going.”

  Rick led the way. He moved until the cars were between him and the house, then crouched low and went fast, coming to a stop behind the French car. Chahda moved in and stopped next to him.

  “So far so good,” Rick muttered. He dropped to hands and knees, to be sure he was below the sight of anyone facing the window, then went scuttling across the open space, not stopping until he was against the wall of the house. Chahda was right beside him.

  Rick moved until he was directly under a window. There was no glass in any of the windows, and the sills were only a few feet above ground level. He raised himself up until he could hear the voices clearly.

  “I could cut you down and the
police would never hold me for it,” a voice grated. “Come on, now. One of you is the Phantom, and I want to know which one.”

  Rick froze. The voice was unmistakably American. It could only be Jerrold!

  This was a new turn. The American was threatening, therefore he was not a captive. What went on, anyway? If only they could get a look inside!

  Van der Klaffens’ voice answered, calm and patient. “I tell you that neither of us held you up. We can prove it. I was asleep in my hotel, as the houseboy can bear witness, and Kenwood wasn’t even inNoumea . If anyone held you up it was Nondo.”

  “They lie!” an unfamiliar voice said.

  Rick chafed with impatience. If only they could get a look inside! He crawled along the wall, hoping for a crack or something through which he might see. He rounded the corner and saw a door stoop with two stairs leading to the door. If only he dared look around the corner! He inched forward, and felt Chahda Page 90

  close behind him.

  From inside, Kenwood drawled, “Van’s right. What reason would we have for holding you up?”

  Jerrold laughed harshly. “Don’t you call ten thousand dollars reason enough?”

  The door was open. Rick put his hands on the stoop and lifted himself with infinite caution. He leaned forward, ready to draw back instantly, and peered through the open door.

  He looked right into Jerrold’s eyes!

  The big man had a gun in his hand. It steadied on Rick’s head. “Keep coming,” Jerrold said flatly. He moved with surprising speed for one so big.“Back against the wall, all of you. Brant, keep coming.”

  Rick had no choice.

  “You couldn’t have untied yourself,” Jerrold said. “Tell your pal to come in, too. I’ll shoot if you make me.”

  There was nothing else to do. Rick and Chahda rose and walked into the room.

  Lined up against the wall, hands high, were Van der Klaffens, Kenwood, and the half-caste clerk who had been at the pier, and with whom Rick had fought at Anse Vata . He was Nondo. He had to be. No one else was in the room.

  Jerrold’s face was covered witha thick stubble of beard, and his eyes were cold under swollen lids.