Biggles spoke inconsequentially, for as yet there had been no indication of the drama the day was to provide. He did not stop work except to glance up from time to time to see how much progress the dhow had made.
‘Collingwood didn’t go to see Ali,’ Algy said. ‘There’s Ali now, on the end of the reef, watching to see what his chums are going to do.’
Biggles paused to look. He then switched his gaze to the dhow, now close, with its single sail half furled. ‘The question is, what is the dhow going to do?’ he said with a worried frown.
‘It looks as if they’re lowering a boat,’ observed Algy, looking equally anxious.
‘I didn’t reckon on that,’ replied Biggles.
‘Surely they won’t try to put a small boat through the gap in the reef! The water’s running like a mill-race.’
‘If they are as good with boats as Collingwood seems to think, they might either try to pick up Ali or put a party ashore,’ returned Biggles.
They now stopped work to watch, for the outcome of the next few minutes was likely to have an important, if not vital, effect on what they were doing. The dhow, now not much more than a hundred yards from the reef and riding the swell, had in fact dropped a boat on the water. With five or six men in it, one standing in the stern with a long oar to act as a rudder, or to keep it steady, it was making its way to the reef. Ali was walking along the coral barrier towards the point where it seemed most likely to touch. That was the situation when horror struck. And it struck so swiftly that it was all over in a few minutes.
It began when an object like an enormous snake coiled up out of the water beside the boat. It whipped round the man standing in the stem and in a flash he had disappeared. That was only the beginning. The other men in the boat, apparently realizing exactly what had happened, began to row desperately away from the spot. For a moment or two it looked as if they might get clear. But no. Again the great tentacle — or it may have been another — coiled up to throw itself right across the boat. The men struck at it with their oars, but to no avail. The boat, half dragged under, overturned on top of them. It stood up on end in the water. For some seconds a small area of water was lashed into a sort of foaming whirlpool, half hidden from the spellbound watchers by a cloud of screaming gulls that had taken wing. The boat reappeared, floating upside down. Ali was running back to the mainland as fast as his legs would take him. Of all the crew of the boat one managed to get on the reef. He was lucky. He did not exactly get on it; he was thrown on it by a wave. Getting to his feet he raced, stumbling and swaying, towards the island. Ali, now on dry land, seeing him coming, stopped to wait for him.
As for the dhow, it did nothing in the way of rescue. There may have been nothing it could do. The crew remaining on board may have seen some danger to themselves. Be that as it may, the sail was run up and it stood away from the fearful spot.
Of the two horrified spectators on the beach, who had witnessed the calamity, speechless with the suddenness of it all, Biggles was the first to recover. He moistened his lips. White-faced he said to Algy, grimly: ‘So the devil I killed wasn’t alone. I remember reading somewhere that these giant squids live or travel in schools, like whales.’
Algy answered. ‘What a shocker. I shall have nightmares for as long as we stay on this foul place. The man who named it Bonney Island must have been a joker. There’s nothing bonny about it. I could find a better name than that.’
‘Maybe the brutes have only recently arrived here,’ surmised Biggles. ‘Where did Ali go?’
They looked, but could not see him. Nor the survivor who had got ashore and had apparently joined him.
‘Let’s get on with the job,’ Biggles said. ‘There’s nothing we can do about this nasty business. Like you, the sooner I’m off this perishing island the more comfortably I shall sleep o’ nights. What can have happened to Collingwood? He’d see the dhow coming in. He must have seen the whole thing. I would have thought such a spectacle would have brought him here in a hurry.’
They worked on for about another hour when Biggles announced his intention of knocking off for a meal. ‘I can’t imagine what Collingwood can be doing. It’s queer. Ali came here, so obviously he couldn’t have been with him.’
Algy answered with a question. ‘Did Ali know Collingwood was digging for opal?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Biggles looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, we know Ali is in a hashish gang. If he knew what Collingwood was doing, being a crook he might decide there was more money in opal than in hashish and try to grab the mine when he saw his friends at hand. He might have found something in the hole when he took cover in it from the storm. He may have picked up a piece of opal from the landslide, as you did. If so, it could have given him ideas.’
‘I take your point,’ answered Biggles, slowly. ‘I think it would be a good idea if, while I’m getting some grub ready, you went up to the hut to make sure Collingwood is all right. He may be sick, or had an accident, otherwise I can’t imagine why he hasn’t shown up. It shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes.’
‘Okay.’
Algy departed and Biggles went into the cabin to bring out some cans of food. He was opening one when he saw Algy coming back. At first he merely glanced up; then something about Algy’s expression made him stop what he was doing to look again.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, as Algy strode up.
‘Collingwood’s dead,’ announced Algy, curtly.
Biggles looked as if he did not understand. ‘Say that again,’ he requested.
‘Collingwood’s dead.’
‘Dead!’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Oh, have a heart, Biggles,’ protested Algy impatiently. ‘Would I joke about a thing like that?’
Incredulity raised Biggles’ voice. ‘But — but how could he be dead? He was as right as rain last night.’
‘Maybe so. But he’s dead now,’ stated Algy grimly.
‘Great grief! What happened? Did he have a stroke or something?’
‘What he had was a bash on the skull, then a dagger pushed into his heart.’
‘Are you telling me he was murdered?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to make you understand. You seem to be a bit slow on the uptake this morning.’
‘But I can’t believe it.’
‘Believe it or not, it’s true. If you’re shaken you can imagine how I felt when I went into the hut and found it looking like a slaughter-house.’
‘What have you done?’
‘Nothing. What could I do? I thought I’d better hurry back and let you know.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Biggles sat on the sand as if his legs would not support him. ‘This knocks me all of a heap. How could one have imagined such a thing — here, of all places. But there is this about it. There can be no mystery as to who did it. It must have been the Arab who came ashore from the dhow.’
Algy shook his head. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘How could I be wrong? It couldn’t have been Ali. We saw him on the reef.’
‘Where had he been before that?’
‘You think it was Ali? How do you work that out?’
‘Because Collingwood has been dead for hours. The blood is dry. I think it must have been done last night. So who else could it have been but Ali? Apart from ourselves there was nobody else on the island.’
‘The murdering swine,’ grated Biggles. ‘I still find it hard to believe. Why? Why did he do it? Why should he?’
‘Work that one out for yourself. It’s no use asking me. And tell me this. What are we going to do about it? If you are able to arrest Ali for murder, what are you going to do with him? Put him in the machine? Take him to India? Aden?’
‘Let me think,’ requested Biggles. ‘Help yourself to grub — if you can eat any. I can’t. My appetite’s gone. This has fairly knocked me flat... cut my legs from under me.
’
After a little while he went on. ‘Before we do anything else we shall have to do something about Collingwood. We can’t just leave him there lying on the floor, a prey for the flies.’
‘I put him on the bed. He was in his pyjamas. He must have gone to bed when he was attacked and killed.’
Biggles got up. ‘I’m going to the hut. You can stay here if you like.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Algy said. ‘I’ll eat something later, if I feel like food.’
On the way to the hut all Biggles said was: ‘I still can’t believe it.’ And he said that several times. Once he added: ‘I’m not saying I think Ali is incapable of murder. Being what he is, he probably is. But why? That’s what beats me. Why kill a man with whom he must have been on good terms for weeks, perhaps months? The only companion he had here. He must have had plenty of opportunities to kill him before this, if that was how he felt.’
‘I’d say it was something to do with the arrival of the dhow,’ offered Algy. ‘Perhaps that was what he had been waiting for.’
Biggles did not answer. They came to the hut. They went in. The man they had not known for very long, but had suddenly come to know well, lay on his bed, cold in death. Biggles looked at him. ‘I can’t pretend I had any great love for him, but I wouldn’t have wished him this,’ he said, sadly. ‘What rotten luck. Just as he had got what he had hoped for all his life. He’ll never know it, but he was shouting too soon about opal not being unlucky. This is the sort of luck it’s brought him. Not that I believe luck had anything to do with it. Well, Algy old lad, as they used to say in India when I was a boy, “his time had come”, and that’s all there is to it.’ He pointed to a small sharp tool that lay on Collingwood’s table with a little heap of scrapings. ‘He said he would polish that piece of opal I found. He may have been working on it when he was struck down. I don’t see it.’ He looked around. Then, suddenly, he looked at Algy with an expression that suggested a thought had just occurred to him. ‘I wonder...’ he said softly. ‘This morning you suggested that opal may have had something to do with what was going on. You may have been on the beam. Yes, I wonder. Let’s see.’ He went quickly to the place from which Collingwood had produced the box containing his collection of precious stones in order to display it to them. The box was not there. It had gone.
Again Biggles looked at Algy. ‘So that was it,’ he breathed. ‘Now we have the motive for the murder. Ali, the scoundrel, killed him for what he knew was here.’
Algy looked serious; and spoke seriously. ‘What are we going to do about this, Biggles?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I’d say let’s finish the machine and get home to make our report. Then somebody else, perhaps the Navy now there’s a gap in the reef, can come out and tidy up this nasty business.’
For a moment Biggles did not answer.
‘Well?’ queried Algy.
‘That, I must admit, would be the easiest way, provided we can get home, which is by no means certain. But I see objections. If we did as you suggest there would be talk, talk, and still more talk by the government departments concerned about who was to do what, and when. These things take time. When someone finally arrived here what would he find ? Nothing. Not a sausage. Ali would have got away with murder and the fruits of it. No, I’m not having that.’
‘What else can we do? We’ve no warrant to arrest Ali, and if we did, what could we do with him? I feel like shooting the black-hearted hound out of hand, but being what we are we can’t do that.’
‘I’m going to find him for a start,’ announced Biggles. ‘Whatever else may happen I’m not letting him get away with that opal. I don’t want the stuff myself. I don’t care if I never see it again. But I shall see that Ali doesn’t get it.’
‘Don’t forget he’s got a pal with him now, so there’ll be a pair of them to handle.’
‘I’m not forgetting anything,’ stated Biggles, grimly.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No. We can’t afford to leave the machine unguarded. You carry on with the work. I’ll join you later. Keep your eyes open and your pistol handy. If Ali tries anything and gives you an excuse to use it, so much the better. Let’s see what the dhow is doing.’
They went to the door and looked out to sea. The dhow was still there, sail half furled, about two miles off shore.
‘What are they waiting for?’ questioned Algy.
Biggles answered. ‘My guess is they’re waiting for the sea to go down sufficiently for them to make the passage into the lagoon. They’re not going to risk making another landing on the reef. Even if they have another small boat, which I doubt, there won’t be a rush of volunteers to man it. After what’s happened I can well understand that.’
They went back into the hut and wrapped the body of the unlucky Australian in his blanket. ‘We shall have to bury him here,’ Biggles said. ‘We can’t fly the body home in this heat even if we can get the machine airborne. It would lead to too many complications en route, anyway. We saw a spade in the next hut. But that will have to wait until tomorrow. We’ve more urgent things to do at the moment. You get down to the machine right away and carry on. I’m going to find that murdering Arab and have it out with him. I’ll see you later.’
So saying, Biggles strode off down the runway.
Algy, deep in thought, walked quickly to the beach where the Gadfly stood with her recently applied patches drying in the sun.
CHAPTER 14
DEATH STRIKES AGAIN
BIGGLES did not know where Ali had gone with the man who had got ashore from the dhow, but as he was not at the huts, he could only be at the far end of the island, either at the place where the hemp had been grown, in the hollow where the mine was situated, or the palm-frond shelter which Collingwood had said he had built for himself near the coconuts. In any case the size of the island set a small limit to the area to be searched and he had no doubt about finding the two Arabs eventually. He assumed they would remain together. That would be natural in the circumstances.
How Ali would react to his accusation of murder when he did find him was a matter for speculation. In his present mood Biggles didn’t care. Inwardly seething with anger at the treacherous nature of the killing, he was not prepared to tolerate any threat of violence from Ali, or, for that matter, from either of the two Arabs, who he imagined were still together now discussing the situation.
Indeed, he almost hoped Ali would make an attempt to kill him and so furnish him with the excuse of self-defence to shoot him out of hand. Cold-blooded murder he had always abhorred; but that a man should deprive another of his life, and in this case a man who had befriended him, for no other reason than to gain possession of his property, filled him with such loathing that he was almost prepared to take the law into his own hands.
What explanation Ali would give his new companion to account for the disappearance of the hemp was also a matter for surmise. No doubt he had an excuse ready. One that would clear him of any blame, of course. It was not unlikely that he would make that his reason for killing Collingwood. If the new arrival had been one of the original crew, as seemed probable, he would know about Collingwood being there, for the solitary white man had been a subject for discussion; so it would be natural for him to ask after him; to inquire, for instance, if he had kept his promise to ignore them.
Actually, Biggles didn’t care what lies Ali told. Striding on he took no pains to conceal his approach, even though Ali must know that by now the murder would have been discovered. No doubt, pondered Biggles, the murderer had hoped to be aboard the dhow by now; either that or he would be able to rely on the support of the entire crew when they came ashore; as would have been the case had not the sea monster intervened. Either way, Ali would have reckoned on being safe from retribution for the foul crime he had committed. He had waited for the dhow to arrive before doing the dastardly act which he hoped would make him rich for life. There was no other possible motive for the m
urder of an innocent man; innocent in that he had stuck to the letter of his agreement with the Arabs. Ali knew that.
So reasoned Biggles as he came to his first objective. All he knew for certain was that as things stood at present the situation was such that anything could happen, and whatever it turned out to be it could only be unpleasant.
Coming within sight of the end of the island, he steadied his pace to look around. He could not see the men for whom he was searching. He went on to the hollow. They were not there. He hailed, but there was no answer. He did not go down to the mine because after what had happened there he could not imagine Ali taking the risk of being buried a second time. He went on to the spot where the hemp had been grown. Again there was nobody there. This was as near the tip of the island as Biggles had ever been. Where was the hut which according to Collingwood Ali had built for himself? He had never seen it so could only conclude it was still farther on, under, or not far from, the coconuts. Hitherto he had kept clear of them for fear of a nut falling on his head. Sure that any that were ready to fall must have been brought down by the hurricane, he went on to investigate.
He had not far to go. Topping a sand dune he saw a beehive-shaped structure just beyond the palms, almost within reach of the spray that was being flung into the air by the breakers still thundering on the exposed beach. He approached the hut cautiously, although the noise of the waves would prevent any sound he made from being heard; but he wanted if possible to catch Ali unprepared.
He observed that the entrance to the primitive shelter faced towards him; but it was covered, or partly covered, by a flap of woven palm leaves which served as a door . He advanced to it a little on one side and stopped. With his automatic pistol in hand to be ready for anything that might happen, bearing in mind that he took it for granted the two Arabs would be together, he said loudly enough for anyone inside to hear: ‘Ali. Come out. I want to talk to you.’
Biggles and the Deep Blue Sea Page 11