by Sapper
“By standing on tip-toe,” said his cousin.
“And then hopping four feet like a ballet dancer!” Jim laughed shortly. “No, my lad, you can take it from me that those marks were not made by him trying to imitate Pavlova. He was a short man, and look at the length of his stride. He was running for his life, pursued by the thing that made those other marks.”
“How do you know he was being pursued?”
“Because in two places the thing has obliterated his footprint. Therefore it was pursuing him. And it was not running: you can see the mark of its heel every time. Though in all conscience with a stride like that it would have no need to.”
“Good Lord! it’s a bit grim,” said Percy shakily. “What do you think happened, Jim?”
“My dear man, I know no more than you do. Perhaps the thing went on board, as Bill said, and forcibly seized Lopez. Perhaps Lopez swam ashore, and came walking down here. All that I can tell you for certain is what is written there in the soft ground. And that is that at this actual spot the Brazilian was fleeing for his life pursued by something, the like of which I have never come across before.”
“And which must certainly have caught him,” said his cousin.
“Unless a miracle occurred.”
“And then?”
Jim pointed to the bog.
“That would seem at any rate one solution,” he remarked quietly. “Though they may, of course, be keeping him as a prisoner. And now to get down to the present situation, young feller. You may remember I mentioned the possibility of these things being harmless. Well, you can wash that out.”
“Carry on,” said Percy.
“It’s up to you to decide. Do you want to go on, or do you want to go back? I tell you candidly that I think we may at any moment bump into a position of very grave danger”
“What are you going to do yourself?” demanded his cousin.
“In view of the fact that that poor devil may still be alive, I’m going on,” said Jim.
“Then I’m darned well coming too,” cried Percy. “In fact your question, my dear James, seems to be of the fatuous order that I have so often noted with pain over the rest of your conversation.”
“Stout fellow,” grinned Jim. “Let’s push.” They skirted round the sodden patch, and twenty yards beyond it came to what Jim had been searching for. Stretching into the forest till it disappeared in the gloom ran a path: they had found at any rate one of the tracks that might lead them to the solution of the mystery.
They stood for a time getting their eyes accustomed to the semi-darkness after the blinding sunshine: then Jim took his revolver from its holster.
“Take yours out too, Percy,” he said, “but for the love of Allah don’t point it anywhere near me. And keep your eyes skinned over the back of your shoulder. You don’t want to be surprised from behind.”
The going was good: evidently the path was one in frequent use. To start with it ran quite straight: then it began to twist and jink though the general direction remained the same. And after a while even the sound of the surf died away: the silence seemed to press on them like a blanket.
At length they reached a small clearing from which four other tracks led out like the spokes of a wheel, and Jim paused. None of them seemed to be a direct continuation of the one they had come along, and it was a toss-up which to take. The compass was well-nigh useless, as they had only the vaguest idea of their present position, but Jim finally selected one that ran a little south of west. Then having placed a conspicuous fern to mark the path they had come by they started along the new one.
The pace Jim set was as fast as he dared, consistent with safety. He had not exaggerated when he spoke of very grave danger, and he realised that it would be graver still if darkness overtook them while they were still in the forest. And so, whilst he scouted with the utmost caution whenever he came to a bend, he almost ran along the straight stretches. The reassuring thing was the continued silence, which seemed to indicate that the other occupants of the forest were asleep. And he was sufficiently confident of his powers of stalking to hope that, if that were so, he would be able, if they had the luck to find them, to get near enough to see what manner of thing it was they were up against, and then get away again in safety. There might even be a bare possibility of rescuing the Brazilian if he was still alive, but that could only be decided later.
Such was the general plan he decided on as they pressed forward, when there came a sudden startling interruption. From away to the left a ship’s siren blared three times. They halted abruptly, and Jim stared at his cousin.
“I wonder who that is,” he said thoughtfully. “Probably that ship we saw from the top of the hill,” answered Percy.
The siren wailed again, and Jim frowned.
“What are they making that infernal din for?” he cried. “Sounds to me as if they were signalling. Percy, I wonder if that is Miguel’s yacht come earlier than we expected. If so…”
He did not complete the sentence, for a further interruption occurred, this time much nearer at hand. The bell they had heard that morning began to toll, and with it the sleeping forest awakened to life. From all around them came the sounds of movement, and Jim seized his cousin by the arm.
“In here, for your life,” he muttered, forcing his way off the track into the undergrowth. “We’re right in the middle of them.”
The bell went on tolling, though its sound was almost drowned by the noises around them. And once or twice a hoarse bellow, that was half roar, half grunt, rang out.
They cowered down behind some giant ferns: some of the things were close to them. But so dense was the vegetation that they could see nothing. And after a while the sounds grew fainter and fainter until they died away in the distance. The bell ceased tolling: silence settled once again.
At length Jim straightened up and stepped out into the path.
“That was rather nearer than I liked,” he remarked. “It is a damned lucky thing for us, old lad, that they were asleep when we arrived.”
“What do you make of it, Jim?” said his cousin.
“The bell was obviously a warning signal,” he answered, “which was rung when the siren was heard. And now they have gone off to investigate.”
“But what are they?” cried Percy.
“You can take it from me,” said Jim gravely, “that whatever they are, it is a question of running no risks. But since we are here, and the owners of the place appear to have gone, we may as well explore a little further.”
They moved on cautiously: it was more than likely that all of them had not gone, and that a guard had been left. And then, quite unexpectedly the track opened out into a big clearing.
“Good God!” muttered Jim, “look at that.”
The space was some thirty yards square, with several openings similar to the one they stood in. Above them the trees met, seemingly a solid ceiling of scarlet, splashed here and there with the vivid blues and yellows of gaudily coloured parrots. Shafts of sunlight shone through, dappling the sides with every shade of green: it was a riot of colour that would have made an artist rave. But the two men who stood motionless at the entrance hardly noticed it: they had eyes only for what stood in the centre of the ground.
Hanging from a frame was a brass bell, which was still swinging gently though no sound came from it. And chased on the bell in black lettering they could read the words – SS Paquinetta. Underneath it, between the two uprights a man was sitting, a man who did not stir. His knees, lashed together with some fibrous stuff, were drawn up: his hands, were stretched out in front of him. His head lolled sideways: his face, so distorted with agony and terror, that the features were almost unrecognizable, stared at them. It was Lopez, the Brazilian, and he was dead.
“Poor devil,” muttered Percy shakily. “How did they do it?”
“Ask me another,” said Jim grimly, as he bent over the dead man. “They’ve murdered him somehow, and yet there’s not a sign of any violence nor a trace of any blood
.”
“Perhaps he died of fright.”
“Fright may send a man mad, but I’ve never yet heard of it killing anybody.”
He again bent over the Brazilian, and suddenly he gave an exclamation.
“Look at his right hand,” he said. “Do you see how terribly swollen it is? He’s been poisoned, Percy. That’s how they killed the poor blighter.”
He straightened up thoughtfully.
“And if they used poison,” he continued, “and lashed his legs, it proves they have a certain measure of human brain. No mere animal would do such a thing.”
He stared round doubtfully: what was the best thing to do? Never again would they have such an opportunity for exploration. A number of paths similar to the one they had come by led out of the clearing: it seemed too good a chance to miss. And selecting one at random he started along it.
It led to another clearing, and they had barely gone ten yards along it when he stopped short with a sudden gasp.
“Great Heavens!” he muttered. “It can’t be true.”
In the centre of the second space there stood a mysterious object. It was about four feet high and fashioned into the representation of a grotesque little man. The thing was a monstrosity with a huge paunch and tiny legs. In colour it was dull yellow, and in the centre of the forehead there glittered a blood-red pool of light. And after a while the usually imperturbable Jim began to shake with uncontrollable excitement: he had seen that dull yellow before in smaller images, and knew what it meant.
“Gold, Percy: gold or I’ll eat my hat,” he cried. “And if that’s a ruby in its forehead it is worth a king’s ransom.”
The thing stood on a little island with a circular strip of water some five feet wide all round it. Between its base and the water there was undergrowth also to a width of about five feet.
“It’s the temple of their image,” went on Jim. “Gosh! old lad, what about having a dart for that ruby. If it’s gold, as I’m sure it is, there will be no difficulty in working it loose.”
“I’m with you,” cried Percy, “but we’d better get a move on.”
They went towards it, and suddenly with a cry of warning Jim tried to spring back. For the ground in front seemed to rise towards them, and they felt themselves falling through space. So intent had they been on the idol that they had paid no attention to the path. And they had trodden on one end of some baulks of wood roughly joined together which pivoted seesaw fashion on a central hinge.
It was not a long fall, and they picked themselves up shaken but otherwise unhurt, as the thing creaked back into position again leaving them in darkness.
“One of the oldest native animal traps there is,” cried Jim bitterly. “My God! Percy, we’ve let ourselves in for it now. Thank heavens! there were no spikes at the bottom. What a foul stench,” he added.
And then he paused abruptly and gripped his cousin’s arm.
“There’s something here,” he muttered. “I can hear it moving.”
They crouched motionless staring into the darkness, and quite distinctly they could hear its heavy breathing. Then came a slow movement, as if some big body was gradually changing its position. The smell seemed to increase, and they waited tensely, conscious only of the loud beating of their own hearts.
Came a grunt and a shuffling noise: the thing was coming towards them. And suddenly they saw two gleaming eyes not a yard away. The thing was on them, and at that moment Jim’s revolver roared out, sounding deafening in the shut in space.
The eyes disappeared: he had fired straight between them. There was a thud which shook the ground, one or two convulsive movements, then silence. The thing was dead.
“That’s going to bring them about our heels,” muttered Jim, “if they’re anywhere in the neighbourhood.”
And then he gave a sudden exclamation.
“By Jove!” he cried, “I believe this is a passage, and not merely a trap. It’s lighter along there.”
“Are you going to have a look and see what you’ve killed?” said his cousin.
“I’m going to beat it while the going is good,” answered Jim grimly. “If we’re found here, my lad, we shan’t be needing our return tickets from Rio.”
He led the way, and his surmise was correct. They were in an underground tunnel, and on coming to the bend where it had seemed to Jim to be less dark they could see the entrance ahead of them. They raced towards it, up the rising ground; and found that it opened into a corner of the original clearing. And for a while they stood there listening. Had the sound of the shot brought the others back? But nothing stirred: save for the motionless figure of the dead Brazilian the place was deserted.
Suddenly Percy gripped his cousin’s arm again.
“Look down that track,” he muttered. “I saw something move. Something dark. It swung itself across. Man, it was the size of an elephant.”
“I don’t see anything,” said Jim. “Are you sure?”
“It was gone in a flash,” cried Percy. “But I know I saw it.”
“Then let’s go,” remarked the other. “Probably our hosts are returning. You lead the way this time.”
And with a final glance at the dead man, and the bell from the ill-fated Paquinetta he followed his cousin out of the clearing.
CHAPTER 10
“I say, Jim, oughtn’t we to have come to that junction of the paths by now?”
They had been walking rapidly for over a quarter of an hour, and so far there had been no sign of anything following them. Whatever it was that Percy had seen, apparently it had not seen them. And as the significance of the question sank into his mind Jim cursed himself for a fool. He had followed his cousin blindly out of the clearing, his mind preoccupied with other things, and he realised now that Percy had taken the wrong path. They should have reached the junction long since.
“You’re right, Percy,” he said. “We’re on a different track.”
“I’m damned sorry, old boy,” said his cousin apologetically. “I was so flustered by that thing I saw that I forgot what I was doing.”
“My fault as much as yours,” cried Jim. “However we can’t go back, so we must go on. It will probably lead us into the open somewhere. The devil of it is that we haven’t got much more daylight.”
They pushed on faster, and after a while Jim began to grow uneasy. For the track kept turning right handed, and the ground was becoming appreciably softer.
“We’re getting near the river, Percy,” he said. “And that’s about the last spot we want. Unless we find a path going away to the left we’re in the soup.”
Suddenly the track forked, and Percy paused.
“Which one, Jim?”
“Left, of course, but where on earth is this foul stench of musk coming from?”
They went on a few yards and soon discovered. The track had forked in order to pass on each side of a large, stagnant pool. Rotting vegetation hung in festoons round the banks, but by craning forward carefully they could see the water. And floating motionless in it, their evil-looking snouts just above the surface, were scores of crocodiles. Others were lying on the slimy ooze round the banks, and one huge one occupied the post of honour on a half-submerged tree trunk.
“Repulsive looking brutes,” said Jim. “We must be nearer the river than I thought.”
And a further few paces brought them to it. Their path turned abruptly left-handed following the bank, and they were just turning along it when from the distance there came a steady creaking noise and they paused listening.
“The rowlocks of a boat,” remarked Jim. “Now we may find out something.”
Only a thin screen of undergrowth separated them from the water, and with infinite caution they peered through. In front of them was the river; to their right the stinking crocodile pool. And by leaning forward a little they could see down stream for about fifty yards.
Suddenly a boat hove in sight, and in the stern sat Don Miguel. By his side was a bloated looking red-faced man who held the ti
ller ropes, and Jim put his lips to his cousin’s ear.
“Bully McIntyre,” he whispered. “So it was the yacht.”
He was evidently having some argument with Don Miguel and at length the latter shrugged his shoulders. The sailor gave an order, the men ceased rowing, and McIntyre ran the nose of the boat into the bank.
“Get ashore, Mr Murdoch,” he ordered, “and see what it’s like.”
An officer who had been sitting in the bows seized some overhanging branches and hoisted himself out. He was on the opposite side of the pool to Jim and Percy, but they could see the glint of his white ducks through the undergrowth.
“There’s a regular path here,” he sang out, “which seems to lead into the forest. Shall I go along and explore it a bit?”
“Yes – but don’t get lost.”
And even as McIntyre spoke a scream of fear rang out. They had a fleeting glimpse of a white-clad figure falling through the air, followed by a splash. And the motionless logs were motionless no longer. The water in the pool swirled angrily, and before their eyes the wretched man was torn to pieces.
“What’s the matter?” shouted McIntyre, as the boat moved away from the bank, and came upstream a few strokes till it was abreast of the pool.
“Good God!” he went on, “he fell in that damned pool and the crocs have got him. You filthy brutes,” he roared picking up a rifle and taking aim at the big one on the tree. He shot it through the eye, and with its tail lashing furiously the great reptile rolled over and sank in the water.
“I guess we’ll come back tomorrow morning,” said Don Miguel, “when we’ve got the day in front of us.” And the other nodded assent.
The boat went about, and after a while the noise of the oars died away in the distance.
“Why did that poor devil scream, Percy?” said Jim with a queer look in his eyes.
“Dash it all, old lad, most people would give tongue if they found themselves in a crocodile pool.”
“Yes – but not until they found themselves there. He yelled before he knew there were any crocodiles.”