He assumed, not unnaturally, that he would only have to spend a minute or two in the water ; that would be long enough for him to get round the end of the hedge, which he knew was not more than ten or twelve feet thick. He was not to know that the hedge did not end at the water. It did not occur to him that it might turn and follow the river bank, which in fact it did. This he only ascertained after he had entered the water and was in a position to look along the bank. But having started he was reluctant to turn back.
The river at the point where he had entered it was not deep. It varied between a few inches and three feet. This permitted wading, which in any depth of water is necessarily slow, as he was soon to be reminded. He had to feel his way on account of the mud. At every step great bubbles of gas floated up to release such a stench that he was almost overcome. The mud he stirred up went ahead of him in the current, making it impossible to even guess the depth of the water. To help him he presently picked up a stranded length of stout bamboo ; with it he was able to feel his way and so eliminate the risk of stepping into a hole. The cacti, which often hung far over the river, while offering shelter from the sun, also provided homes for innumerable insects which descended on him in showers as if they had been waiting for just that moment to satisfy their voracious appetites. There was no way of dodging them, and striking at them only dislodged more, as he soon discovered.
Precisely what lay behind the hedge on his right he neither knew nor cared. His one concern was to get to the end of it, although this was not yet in sight. There was no question of leaving the water. The hedge effectually prevented that—which was, he realised, the purpose for which it had been planted. So, taking one thing with another, it was in no sweet temper that he floundered on in a welter of sweat, mud and slimy water.
He had by now estimated, judging from the hedge in front of the house, that he would have to suffer this for about two hundred yards ; and he had got about half way when he came to another obstacle, one which turned out more difficult to surmount than a first cursory examination of it suggested. Indeed, when he first came in sight of it he did not even regard it as an obstacle.
It consisted of a small tributary, a mere brook that ran at right angles across his path. It appeared from the dim recesses of the cactus hedge and entered the main stream in the manner of a drain. At least, it stank like one. Fortunately, as a result of previous false steps, he did not walk straight into it, as he might easily have done, assuming that its depth would be in proportion with its width. He tested it first by probing it with his bamboo. The water was not very deep, but the mud seemed to have no bottom to it.
He drew back and considered the obstacle more closely. It was evident that if he stepped into it he would go in over his head. With a clear run he could have jumped it, but the vegetation prevented even a short run. He noticed something else. The vegetation on both banks of this noisome rivulet was dead, as dead as if it had been struck by lightning, or a blight. The hideous cactus leaves were brown. He struck one with his cane and it snapped off. He struck the branch that carried it and it fell with a crash. Without giving the matter serious thought he was mildly surprised. There seemed to be no reason why the vegetation should behave as if it had been dowsed with weed killer. However, that was not his worry. All he wanted was to find a way over it.
Closer investigation revealed that the ditch narrowed a little higher up, where the cacti gave way to what he knew must be the Doctor's garden. In the ordinary way he would not have attempted to get through the spiny growth, but experiment soon revealed that by striking down the dead stuff with his cane he could make a gap.
He set to work without delay to force a passage to the spot where he thought he should be able to jump across. He struck again and again in a sort of fury, conscious that precious minutes were fleeting. Sweat poured down his face, and sometimes, when he had to desist in order to remove a thorn from his person, his language was not all that could have been desired.
It took him about ten minutes to reach his objective. After a short pause to mop his face with his handkerchief, he jumped, and breathed a sigh of satisfaction when he landed safely on the far side. He was, of course, now confronted by a repetition of the task he had just performed. In order to get back to the river he would have to bash a way down the bank opposite to the one he had just come up. He could more easily have gone on into the Doctor's garden, but that was no use, as the only way out—apart from the way he had entered—would be through the gate.
He had just raised his cane to strike the first blow of his return journey to the river when somebody near at hand spoke. He stiffened with shock, the cane poised in mid air, so unexpected was the sound. Lowering the cane slowly, he turned, and as he did so the voice spoke again. He recognised it at once. It was the Doctor's. He stared in the direction whence it came, but found his view blocked by a great clump of hibiscus shrubs, the dark shiny leaves of which formed an almost solid wall.
Now, at this stage of the proceedings Ginger was not in the least interested in what the Doctor might be doing there. He only wanted to avoid him and proceed on his journey.
But a fresh difficulty had arisen. If he could hear the Doctor, who presumably had just arrived, then it was quite certain that the Doctor would hear him if he resumed his attack on the dead cactus. And while he stood there wrestling with this new vexatious problem another voice spoke, one which, as far as he knew, he had never heard before.
The language used was German. For the first time he wondered seriously what was going on behind the hibiscus and who was there. And while he wondered it struck him that the conversation might concern him—perhaps hold a clue to the whereabouts of Angus.
Should that be so, then a short delay would be justified. Peering out, he saw that he was fairly close to the long low building in the Doctor's garden, the end of which was visible through a narrow gap between the hibiscus and some tall pampas grass.
Moving with extreme caution he drew nearer to the bushes, almost gasping with relief as he inhaled clean air. Reaching them he stopped to listen. More than that he was not prepared to risk. To walk to the end of the bushes in order to see round them was to take a chance of being seen himself. Even now his chief hope was that the speakers would depart, leaving him to get back to the river and on with his mission. Sounds indicated that there was no likelihood of this at the moment. Glasses chinked. A chair creaked as someone sat on it. Snatches of distant conversation suggested that still more people were approaching the spot. To these sounds he could only stand listening in a fever of impatience ; but the next words spoken dismissed from his mind all thoughts except what they implied.
Said the unknown voice, apparently in answer to a question that had just been asked : "
He says the treatment must be suspended. On no account must he be liquidated or allowed to die. He may be needed."
Ginger frowned, striving to work out a possible meaning for this sinister remark.
Subconsciously he became aware of a hum, as if someone had started a small dynamo somewhere. What was going on, he wondered. He was tempted to look, but the risk was too great. Then a continuance of the conversation kept him where he was, rigid with attention.
Said the Doctor : "The Oberhaupt understands the position I hope ? "
This use of the word Oberhaupt, coming from the Doctor, puzzled Ginger not a little. If it was to be taken in its literal sense, meaning chief, then it meant that the Doctor was not the head man of the concern. There was someone else, someone over him.
"He understands exactly," said a voice. "They must on no account be allowed to go.
Presently he will be able to speak to them himself. He thinks they may have outside contacts, and he must know for certain before anything is done. He will decide then.
There is no urgency."
The Doctor spoke again. "Then I am to continue as at present ? "
"Yes. It will only be for a day or two. Keep them quiet. Give them anything they want.
The Oberhaupt
will see them as soon as he is able to get up. Erich should be back tonight and he may have news."
"I suppose this was bound to happen sooner or later," put in a voice that had not previously spoken.
"Provision was made for it," said another voice curtly. "It is an unfortunate moment for an interruption." "There need be no interruption."
"Very well. That is all that need be said. We need waste no more time."
A glass chinked. Chairs squeaked.
Ginger listened to all this in amazement, not only on account of what the words implied, but because of the number of men involved. What he had overheard seemed to be in the nature of a conference in which at least four men had taken part. And there were at least two more who had not been present—the man referred to as Oberhaupt, and the one named Erich, who was due back that night. It began to look as if Biggles' assertion, that there was more going on here than met the eye, was true to an even greater extent than even he supposed. True, the conversation had been vague, but the broad meaning was unmistakable.
By this time noises beyond the bushes suggested that
the conference was breaking up. Was he, thought Ginger swiftly, justified in risking a peep ? It was dangerous, but one glimpse of these men might be invaluable. The success of the expedition perhaps, even their lives, might depend on what could be learned in the next two or three seconds. He decided to take a chance which might never be repeated.
Walking quickly but quietly along the back of the bushes in the direction of the low building, which he now saw was a bungalow of some size, he did not stop until the foliage thinned out sufficiently for him to part it with his hands to see what lay beyond.
What he saw was an open area of short grass bathed in sunshine. In the foreground stood a table, one of the light sort with cane legs commonly used in a garden. On it were glasses, a soda-water syphon, and a number of what looked like beer bottles. Around this central piece of furniture were roughly arranged five deck chairs. Some distance away four white men were retreating in different directions. One was Liebgarten. He was walking towards his house which could be seen through intervening trees. He swished his cane viciously as he walked as if dissatisfied with the recent conversation. Two men were walking together, in earnest conversation, towards the bungalow. They were clad in white overalls. One had an instrument of some sort hanging round his neck, but he was too far off for Ginger to make out what it was. The fourth man was walking towards some bushes. He, too, wore overalls, a jacket and trousers of pale blue material such as are worn by engine drivers.
Ginger stood still, brows drawn together by the effort of concentrated thought, until the men had disappeared from view. Then, remembering with a start what he was supposed to be doing, he looked at his watch. What it showed gave him another shock. He had tarried nearly half an hour.
Dashing back to the cactus hedge he lashed at the dead stuff in a sort of panic, and heedless of thorns and insects soon forced a passage to the river. In passing he noticed without any real interest that there was more water in the ditch than there had been at the time of his arrival. The water, moreover, was yellow. From it arose a thin miasma of smoke, or steam. He did not stop to determine which, but he thought he knew why the roots of the cactus, which had come in contact with the stuff, had died.
Turning downstream he plunged on, trying to make up for lost time, stirring up mud and making a considerable splash. He also stirred up something else, something which reminded him with a jolt of where he was an, he was doing. A crocodile slid down the bank in front of him and dived into the river. It was only a small one, perhaps six feet long, and it seemed to be as startled as the disturber of its peace ; but Ginger took heed of the warning. Perceiving that where there were small crocodiles there would also be big ones he kept a watchful eye on the water and on the bank.
A small wooden landing-stage, built a little way out over the river, presently made him pause. But there was no one there. There was not a boat, nor even a canoe, so he hastened past, making a mental note that this was probably the mooring for the Doctor's launch when it came up the river with stores and prospective farmers. By landing them in the garden two purposes would be served, thought Ginger. They would see the best part of the valley first, and they would not be able to gain entry to the public part of it without first passing through the Doctor's hands.
It was with no small relief that he reached the end of the cactus hedge and was able to take to dry land. Once ashore he set off at a trot, a gait which he maintained wherever it was possible until he came within sight of the rendezvous. He had long given up hope of reaching it by the time appointed for Algy to leave. In fact, he arrived twenty minutes late. All he could hope for was that Algy would not be in a hurry to go and allow a few minutes grace. Apparently he had done that. He must have waited for about twenty minutes, for when Ginger came in sight of the place he was just taking off. Ginger shouted,
knowing it would be futile. The engines drowned his voice as the roar of a lion would smother the squeak of a mouse. Sick with disappointment and vexation all he could do was sit down, wipe his sweating face, and watch the Navigator skim away over the treetops. The only consolation that he could find was, the machine was still all right.
Algy had not been molested.
Turning back over his tracks he started homewards, hot, tired, and wondering what Biggles would have to say about the failure of his mission. Whether the vague information he had gathered on the way was worth the delay that had cost him success he could not himself decide. The future might determine that, he thought, as he stopped to tidy himself up and clean the worst of the mud from his shoes. Then, remembering his botanical excuse for absence he started collecting flowers that were within easy reach.
He soon had enough for his purpose.
When he came in sight of the house he saw Biggles and the Doctor standing at the gate, evidently waiting for him. Making an effort to pull himself together he joined them in the manner already narrated, and was thus in time to hear the Doctor's tragic news about the finding of Angus' body.
Biggles took a cigarette from his case. "By the way, Doctor," he said, in a flat sort of voice that made Ginger glance at his face. "You won't mind if I see the body of my friend to pay my last respects ? "
The Doctor held out his hands in a gesture of profound regret. "Of course you would wish to do that, but I'm afraid it isn't possible."
Biggles looked at him sharply. "Not possible ? Why not ? "
"Because Mackail has already been buried."
"I see," returned Biggles slowly. "Why the hurry ? "
The Doctor looked pained. "My dear sir, you must be aware that in a climate such as this decomposition is rapid. Death and burial occur on the same day."
"In that case I will go to the grave," said Biggles evenly. "For what purpose ? "
"To put a wreath on it."
"I will have it sent."
"I'd rather put it on myself," said Biggles obstinately. The Doctor bowed. "As you wish."
"Where is he buried ? "
"Where the body was found I imagine," answered the Doctor. "I will make inquiries.
Perhaps my man will know." He turned to the steward who was still standing a little distance away, apparently waiting for orders.
Biggles took the opportunity to speak to Ginger. "Did you see Algy ? "he breathed.
Ginger shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I was just in time to see him take off."
" Pity."
"But I have news."
"Hold it till we're alone—he's coming back."
The Doctor rejoined them. "Yes, as I thought, the grave is on the edge of the forest," he said in a low voice. "It's too late to go there tonight, of course. It will be dark in a few minutes and the mosquitos are already active. Let us go in, or we may be the next to be buried." He went towards the house and the others followed.
Biggles glanced at the cactus hedge in passing. "Are you afraid of something getting in ?
" he inquired in a voice which told Ginger that he was in a dangerous mood.
The Doctor smiled. "Oh no," he answered smoothly. "I'm afraid of something getting out."
" Really ? " Biggles' eyebrows went up.
The Doctor pointed to the panther that lay like an evil shadow on the lawn. "I mean Elizabeth," he explained. "We let her run loose at night. She takes care of the vermin.
Heaven help the rat that comes within reach of her claws."
"An excellent idea," murmured Biggles.
The Doctor walked on.
DISTURBING DEVELOPMENTS
GINGER did not get a chance to speak to Biggles alone for some time—in fact, not until they went upstairs to bath ; there was always somebody in the room, the Doctor or one of his servants. By that time Biggles had accepted the Doctor's invitation to stay the night, for, indeed, there was nowhere else for them to go unless they sought refuge in one of the farm huts, a prospect that did not suit them any more, they supposed, than it would suit the Doctor.
In the meantime there had been some curious conversation in the lounge, where, on their re-entry into the house, tea had been served. At this period the topic had been, naturally, of Angus. The Doctor had commiserated with them, as he was bound to, and he did this with a sympathy which Ginger again found hard to believe was entirely false. That such a tragedy should occur at the very moment of their arrival made it all the more poignant, asserted the Doctor. The venomous pests were one of the drawbacks of the place, he admitted. Accidents were always happening, due to the carelessness of the victims themselves. They would not take precautions. He had implored them to use mosquito curtains to reduce the risk of fever, but it was no use. In the end, sighed the Doctor, most of them paid the penalty of such indiscretion.
To all this Ginger listened with an interest that was by no means feigned. It all sounded so real, so genuine. No wonder people were taken in by the Doctor's glib tongue, he thought. To hear him one would suppose that he was the man to be pitied, not his wretched dupes.
35 Biggles Takes A Holiday Page 8