Island of Terror

by Sapper

  “We went upstairs, and my heart began to thump. Mr Maitland – the house was empty. No sign of movement: no nurses: nothing at all that you always see in a nursing home. And he seemed to sense what I was feeling.

  “‘Very slack time just now,’ he remarked. ‘Which will enable me to give all the more care to your brother.’

  “He flung open a door: the room beyond it was pitch dark.

  “‘Ah! my dear fellow,’ he cried, ‘good news for you – joyous news. Your charming sister has arrived.’

  “I could see a man dimly in the darkness, whose face was covered with bandages.

  “‘Arthur, old boy,’ I cried, ‘what rotten luck.’

  “‘Hullo! Judy,’ he said querulously, ‘how are you? Have you got the letter? Have you brought it?’”

  The girl paused for a moment, and neither man spoke.

  “How I didn’t scream,” she went on, “I don’t know. I’d suspected a lot before, but never this. The man with the bandaged face wasn’t Arthur at all. It was just conceivable that the voice might have passed muster, but Arthur has never called me Judy.”

  “‘Humour him, please,’ whispered the doctor to me, and then turned to the man. ‘All right, my dear chap, your sister has got it. She’s just going to give it to you.’

  “‘The letter. I want the letter, Judy.’

  “My hands were trembling so much I could hardly open my bag. But one thing I realised – whatever happened I mustn’t let them suspect that I knew it wasn’t Arthur.

  “‘Here it is, old boy,’ I said, and then turned horror-struck to the doctor. ‘Good heavens! Doctor Phillips,’ I whispered. ‘I forgot to put it in.’

  “And just for a moment I thought he was going to murder me.

  “‘Forgot to put it in?’ he snarled, and I saw the woman nudge him in the ribs. He pulled himself together.

  “‘Forgive me, Miss Draycott,’ he said, ‘but a shock like that to my patient is very dangerous indeed.’

  “He turned back into the room.

  “‘Now, old fellow,’ he said, ‘your sister, naughty girl, was so overjoyed at the prospect of seeing you again that she forgot to bring the letter. Don’t let it worry you: don’t let it excite you: I know she will go back to London at once and get it. Won’t you, Miss Draycott?’

  “‘Of course I will, Arthur,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I was so stupid.’

  “‘Yes, get it, Judy, at once,’ he answered. ‘It’s important.’

  “And then the so-called doctor hustled me out of the room and down the stairs.

  “‘A most unfortunate mistake, Miss Draycott,’ he said gravely. ‘Had I suspected for a moment that you had not got the letter in your possession, nothing would have induced me to allow you to see your brother. We can only hope that the effect will not be serious. But I must beg of you to remedy it as quickly as possible. The car is there. Fly back to London in it, and return as soon as you can. As you see for yourself, he is in a most excitable condition, and he must not be worried in any way.’

  “So I started off alone in the car, and then came a real stroke of luck. The car broke down, and so I got rid of the chauffeur and came back by train. And now, Mr Maitland, what I want to know is why they are keeping a man who isn’t my brother in a nursing home that isn’t a nursing home? And where is Arthur? And what does it all mean?”

  For a moment or two Jim hesitated. He realised that the time had come when she would have to be told the truth about her brother, and he did not exactly relish the prospect.

  “It’s pretty clear, I’m afraid, Miss Draycott,” he said gravely. “You realise, don’t you, that your brother sent you half the map and kept the other half himself? He did it for safety, in case anything happened to him. And I’m very sorry to have to tell you that something has happened to him.”

  “You mean he’s hurt?” she whispered.

  “Worse than that, I fear. Miss Draycott, it’s going to be the devil of a shock; but your brother is dead.”

  She gave a little cry, and the two men rose and stood with their backs to her staring out of the window. And for a space there was silence in the room.

  “Do you mean he was killed?” she asked at length, and Jim nodded.

  “How do you know all this, Mr Maitland?” she continued steadily.

  Briefly he told her the whole story. And when he had finished her eyes were bright and defiant: of the tears he had expected there was no trace.

  “Just tell me what you want me to do,” she said, and Jim looked at her approvingly.

  “Great girl,” he cried. “I knew you’d feel that way. Now this is how the land lies. The gang we are up against have in their possession the half of the map that your brother carried. What they are trying to get is the half he sent to your bank, and which you sent on to me. Evidently he must have told them what he had done: hence this elaborate scheme of today. And I think you can be extremely thankful, Miss Draycott, that you kept your head when you realised the man with his face bandaged was an impostor. Our opponents are not people who stick at trifles. Had you given yourself away then, I am more than doubtful if you’d be here now. However, that is by the way. You bluffed it through magnificently, and I want you to carry on the good work.”

  “I’ll do anything you say,” she said, and once again he gave her a quick look of admiration.

  “You may remember I rather laughed at you when you first told me the hidden treasure story,” he went on. “I’m not laughing now at all: I honestly believe there may be something in it. And if that is so you see where we stand: we must get their half. That is where you come in – if you feel like it.”

  “Of course I feel like it!” she cried.

  “You know,” he said doubtfully, “I must make it clear that if you care to you can go to the police and tell them what has happened to you.”

  “What will occur if I do?”

  “I should think you would find that the birds have flown,” said Jim. “And in addition to that we shall have given ourselves away to the other side. It will be a case of stalemate: each side will have one half of the map. And I want…”

  He broke off and lit a cigarette.

  “So do I, Mr Maitland. Let’s wash out the police.”

  Jim grinned.

  “Good for you. We’ll wash out the police as you say. Now I don’t suppose for a moment we’ll be able to get their half, but with a little diplomacy we might get a good look at it. Perhaps even…”

  He paused, and a sudden gleam of ecstatic joy came into his eyes, a gleam that many men had seen to their cost.

  “However, that’s my palaver,” he continued. “Now I’m gambling on one fact. They expect you to go back there tonight – and you’re going. Percy is going to drive you down. And you will take with you – this.”

  He gave her the faked map, and she stared at it.

  “But this is different to what I sent you,” she said.

  “Very different,” he agreed. “I drew it myself. The genuine one is at my lawyers. But that one joins on to the other half. Which brings me up to the point I’m gambling on. They are not the sort of gentlemen who leave anything to chance, and I’m banking on them having their half there, to make sure on the spot, that you haven’t sold them a pup.”

  “So that I can get a look at it,” she cried. “I see: I’ll do it.”

  “Supposing it doesn’t come off we are no worse off than we were before. Leave them that: it’s useless to them. They’ve got an island inspired by my second pink gin. We shall just have to try something else.”

  “But where do you come in, old lad?” demanded Percy.

  “I don’t,” said Jim happily. “I shall remain outside the nursing home. Unless – I see an opportunity of entering with advantage. In which case I shall enter, and you, Miss Draycott, will exit. So should you hear two short blasts on Percy’s klaxon, hop it like blazes in the car and leave me to my own sweet devices.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “You’re a damned b
ungler, Waterlow. The girl isn’t an imbecile, and this place looks as much like a nursing home as it does like a night club.”

  A big man in a light overcoat was the speaker. His face was coarse and dissipated, and suddenly he pulled a flask from his pocket and took a deep drink. The only other occupant of the room shrugged his shoulders.

  “You were in such an infernal hurry,” he said, “that this was the best I could do in the time.”

  “But why were you such a fool as to let her go upstairs,” snarled the first speaker. “Her twin; and you imagine she won’t spot it.”

  “Dry up, Barnet,” answered the other angrily. “I’m getting fed to the back teeth with you. She said she’d got the thing on her, and I believed her. Even if I hadn’t, what do you suggest I should have done? Snatched her bag out of her hand to make sure. Of course she wouldn’t have suspected anything then, would she? Might have gone further and slogged her over the head with a poker: that’s what the doctor in charge of a home generally does to his female visitors.”

  Sir Montague Barnet took another drink.

  “All right: all right,” he grunted. “Don’t go off the deep end about it. I know you did all you could. That slab of misery who fetched her should have seen that she brought it.”

  He glanced at his watch.

  “She should be here by now if she’s coming,” he said uneasily. “It’s past nine.”

  “I’ll go and see that everything is ready,” remarked the other. “And don’t smoke that cigar, and have the smell all over the house.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” grunted Barnet, replacing it in his case. “Though once we’ve got it,” he continued with a leer, “she can suspect what she likes.”

  “Can she?” said the other significantly. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  He went out of the room, leaving the baronet cursing under his breath. And it was not until the flask had been requisitioned for the third time that he took from his pocket the counterpart of the map sent to Judy Draycott, and put it on the table in front of him.

  For the twentieth time he studied it only to give it up as a bad job. Where the deuce was A? Until they could get that point fixed it was useless. And he was just replacing it in his pocket when he swung round in his chair with a strangled cry. For the blind man had entered noiselessly and had touched him on the shoulder.

  “Good God! Emil, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he snarled. “I’d no idea you were here. My nerves are all to hell.”

  “Judging by the aroma,” sneered the dwarf, “you have been doing your best to raise them from the lower regions.”

  “It isn’t you who have had the strain,” cried Barnet angrily. “So less of your damned sarcasm, if you don’t mind.”

  Then he pulled himself together.

  “Look here, Emil,” he said, “there’s no good in our quarrelling. What are we going to do supposing this girl goes to the police? I don’t see how she can avoid finding out that it isn’t her brother.”

  “Provided she brings the paper – what matter? She has no idea her brother is dead, and even if the worst should happen here, all Waterlow has to do is to say that he made a mistake. It is not a criminal offence to think a man is a girl’s brother when he isn’t.”

  “No, but it might prove deuced awkward. Anyway, Emil, if anything should come out: if Maitland, for instance, should give trouble, you and I know it was Ernesto who did it.”

  An evil smile flickered over the blind man’s lips.

  “Do we?” he murmured. “My dear Monty, I heard a shot, and you tell me it was Ernesto who fired it. And with my sad affliction I have to take your word.”

  “You little devil,” said the other hoarsely, the veins standing out on his forehead. “You know as well as I do that it was the dago.”

  “As I say, I take your word for it, my dear fellow. In a court of law, however, I fear that that would not count for much. No, no, Monty – please remember that. You understand, of course, that I merely mention it to ensure you taking every precaution against being found out. Of course I am the one person who could not have done it, so it does not really matter to me. I am merely being altruistic.”

  For a moment it looked as if the baronet was going to strike him. His big hairy fist was raised above his head, and murder was in his eyes. Then with a great effort he pulled himself together, and his hand fell to his side.

  “You were present, anyway,” he said sullenly.

  “True. But a poor blind man is so helpless,” said the dwarf gently. “And he had to take precautions to safeguard himself in this harsh world. And that’s why I just mentioned it to you, Monty. You would hardly believe it, but there have been times in my life when scoundrels – men I have befriended, men I have been working with – have tried to double-cross me. So just remember won’t you? I have no idea who fired the shot, which might prove awkward for you.”

  For a moment or two the other stared at him, fascinated: then his teeth bared in an evil snarl. But his voice was normal when he answered.

  “I’ll remember,” he said.

  “Good! And now it might be well to see if our friend is compos mentis again. His snores were reverberating through the house a little while ago.”

  “I’ll go and get him,” said Barnet, and the dwarf was left alone. For a while he stood motionless: then feeling his way with an uncanny delicacy of touch he proceeded to explore his unfamiliar surroundings. At length he seemed satisfied, and drawing up a chair, he sat down as the door opened and Barnet came in with an odd-looking character behind him. He was a short, thick-set man dressed in a blue reefer suit, and as he stood there fingering his cap, and staring a little fearfully at the dwarf, it required no Sherlock Holmes to deduce his profession. He was a sailor, and quite clearly he had been celebrating his time ashore in a manner not unusual with his class. He rolled slightly as he took a few steps forward into the room, and as he came under the light a large jagged scar down one side of his face showed up vividly.

  “Good evening, Mr Robinson,” said the dwarf gently. “I trust you have recovered from your – er – jag.”

  “I’m all right, guv’nor, thank you,” said the man still twisting his cap nervously in his hand. “I understand as ’ow you wants to ask me summat.”

  “That is so,” agreed Dresler. “I was making some enquiries the other day for a seaman with an intimate knowledge of the east coast of South America, and your name was given to me.”

  “I reckons I knows every port from Georgetown to the Horn,” said the sailor.

  “Excellent. I understood that most of your time had been spent in the coasting trade. Now have you, in the course of your wanderings, ever struck a place called by the English, Lone Tree Island?”

  “Lone Tree Island! South of Santos. You bet your life I know it, guv’nor; know it well enough to give it a mighty wide berth.”

  “Most interesting. And may I ask why you would give it a wide berth?”

  “Because, guv’nor, the man who doesn’t don’t have no second chance. There be things on that island wot no man may see – and live. It be accursed.”

  “Really: really. You grow more and more interesting, Mr Robinson. And may I ask how you know this? Is it merely what you’ve heard from other people, or have you been there yourself to see?”

  “Both, guv’nor. I’ve been there myself: we lay up once for well-nigh a week to the south of the island with a damaged shaft. And I’ve ’eard from other men too: things wot they’ve seen. Gawd! I wouldn’t spend the night on that island not for a ’undred quid. Straight – I wouldn’t.”

  “What sort of things, Mr Robinson?”

  “Monstrous things, guv’nor: ’orrors. Things that was never made of ’uman parents. Aye! you may laugh, sir” – he turned to Barnet, who was smiling incredulously – “but wot I tells you is the truth. You ask any sailor who knows the coast and ’e’ll tell you the same as wot I do.”

  “I am quite sure that what Mr Robinson says is correct,” sai
d the dwarf. “And we’re both very much obliged to him for his information.”

  “No trouble, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “If you don’t mind waiting a little longer, Mr Robinson, I hope to be able to show you a map of it. And I should very much like your confirmation that it is the island we’ve been talking about. Monty, my dear fellow, our friend is probably a little thirsty after all his talking. I have no doubt there is some whisky in the kitchen.”

  “Well,” he continued, as the baronet returned a few moments later, “the matter becomes increasingly intriguing. ‘Things that were never made of ’uman parents: ’orrors.’”

  “Do you believe the man, Emil?”

  The dwarf shrugged his shoulders.

  “Those who go down to the sea in ships are proverbially spinners of tall yarns,” he said. “There may be some substratum of truth in it, which has been exaggerated into what we’ve just been told. And, anyway, I have yet to find the being, whether made by human parents or not, who is proof against a high-velocity rifle.”

  Sir Montague Barnet started to pace to and fro.

  “I wish we knew for certain if it was worth going on with it,” he said.

  The dwarf smiled contemptuously.

  “Life would be a pretty tedious affair,” he remarked, “if one always knew for certain. You know the enquiries we’ve made: you know our sources of information. And even if it should prove to be wrong – what is the cost? A few hundred pounds – a thousand at the most. Which sum, Monty, I am finding, do not forget.”

  The door was flung open and Waterlow put his head in.

  “Car coming up the drive,” he said. “Everything is ready.”

  “Listen, Waterlow,” said Dresler quietly. “If it is humanly possible, we do not want the girl to suspect anything. It will save us an infinity of trouble if she doesn’t. And so, as soon as she has handed it over, get it down to this room somehow. A minute will be enough for Monty to take a tracing. Then if she wants it – she can have it back.”

  “I get you,” answered the other going into the hall and closing the door.