Island of Terror

by Sapper

  Percy stared at Jim.

  “You mean…”

  “I mean that he never fell in: he was thrown or pushed in. And it was what he saw in that fleeting second that terrified him, and nothing to do with the crocodiles. Didn’t you see the undergrowth moving on the other side of the river as something went through it, keeping pace with the boat? Well, there was something this side as well.”

  “Following Miguel’s party.”

  “Exactly. And for that reason, at any rate, we can be thankful the yacht has arrived earlier than we expected. It’s distracted the attention of these brutes away from us. Otherwise, I don’t mind telling you that I think our chances of getting through alive were pretty minute.”

  “I’d like to have seen that thing you shot.”

  “So would I. And in due course you shall – or one like it. But not this trip, Percy.”

  “You are coming back?”

  “Of course. Once Judy is safely on her way back to England I return here.”

  “And what about the other bunch?”

  “They haven’t got the map, and if we can get away tonight we’ve got ’em stung. Moreover, seeing that almost all the crew are dagos, one or two more regrettable incidents such as we’ve just witnessed are going to shake ’em badly. Let’s get a move on.”

  They turned along the track going up stream, and found that it soon left the bank and turned back into the forest. And now time was vital: at the most half an hour of daylight remained to them. The track jinked, then jinked again, and Jim gave a sigh of relief as he glanced at his compass: they were heading for the open. But there was still at least two miles to cover, and the going was getting worse. Evidently the track they were on was not much used: tendrils of vegetation met across the clearing through which they had to force their way. And dusk was beginning to fall when the first faint reek of the swamp came to their nostrils.

  At last they saw it in front of them, and Jim’s face was grave. A thin white vapour was already rising, and only too well did he realise the danger that that portended. In the walk that lay before them a single false step might mean death in the green bog, and to have mist as well as darkness to contend against would double their difficulty. And he was just debating in his mind whether it would not be better to spend the night where they were and wait for the dawn, when they saw stealing out from behind the hill that stood outlined against the darkening sky, the lights of a ship.

  “Don Miguel’s yacht,” he muttered. “What the deuce has she been doing there? I don’t like it, Percy. When we heard her siren she was away south of us. What has taken her round to the north of the island?”

  “Probably looking for us,” said his cousin.

  “Exactly,” remarked Jim. “And they couldn’t avoid finding us.”

  “I don’t see that they can do any harm,” said Percy. “They are probably peeved over the map, but as you’ve got that in your pocket it doesn’t matter much.”

  “Damn the map: they can have that for shaving paper. It’s Judy I’m thinking of.”

  “Surely they wouldn’t touch her.”

  “That swine of a dwarf would murder his mother for sixpence,” grunted Jim. “Still, Bill was there. Anyway, that settles it: we must push on. I suppose one party went away to explore the river, while Dresler went round in the yacht to find us. Hullo! what’s that?”

  Clear and distinct through the still air had come the sharp crack of a rifle. They paused instinctively, and the next moment even Jim felt the hair on his head begin to rise. Yell after yell of frenzied terror rang out: then sudden, abrupt silence.

  They peered ahead, but could see nothing in the fading light.

  “Heaven send it wasn’t Bill coming to find us,” cried Jim.

  “What was it, Jim?” muttered his cousin.

  “It was a man,” he answered grimly. “I wouldn’t like to say what it is now.”

  “Somebody fallen into the bog perhaps.”

  “Possibly. But you don’t let off your gun at a bog. And as I say, Heaven send it wasn’t Bill.”

  “He’d never have left Judy.”

  “I agree. But supposing Judy left him.”

  He pointed at the yacht which was now abreast of them.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, Percy.”

  “You mean they may have kidnapped her.”

  “Exactly. As a lever to make us give up the map. And then Bill came along to meet us.”

  “He’d never have let them take her.”

  “How could he prevent them? He would have shot anything he saw coming off from the shore, but he couldn’t shoot a boat-load of men coming from a yacht. Damn it! if it isn’t Bill who can it be?”

  “And you think one of the things got him?”

  “I do,” said Jim gravely. “The poor old lad fired and missed. And what we’ve got to watch out for is that we don’t do the same. It may have been a chance encounter, or they may post sentinels out at night.”

  They pressed on as fast as they dared. Luckily the mist was getting no denser, but the light had almost gone. And it was about five minutes after they had heard the shot that Jim rounded a projecting bush and stopped abruptly with his hand held up in warning to his cousin.

  “Look at that,” he muttered as Percy joined him. “It was here that it happened.”

  The undergrowth was trampled and beaten down, showing every sign of a desperate struggle. But of the combatants there was no trace. They listened intently: nothing stirred in the forest. And at length Jim crept cautiously forward.

  Suddenly his foot met something hard, and he stooped and picked it up. And the next moment he cursed savagely.

  “My gun, Percy,” he said. “The one I gave Bill.”

  A spasm of rage shook him.

  “By God!” he cried, “these things – whatever they are – will regret this. Once I’ve got Judy safely away, I’ll come back here with a proper expedition and exterminate the lot. What’s the matter?”

  His cousin had bent forward excitedly, and was staring at something on the ground.

  “It’s a hat, Jim,” he cried. “And it’s not Bill’s.”

  “What’s that? Let me see it.”

  He picked up the hat: it was wet and sticky. And glancing at his fingers he saw they were red. He looked inside the hat, and then with a feeling of uncontrollable repulsion he flung it far out into the swamp. For its late owner’s head had been literally battered to pieces.

  “Poor devil,” he muttered. “You’re sure it’s not Bill’s, Percy?”

  “Absolutely certain.”

  “Then how did my gun get here?”

  But his cousin did not answer: he was standing by a big tree that grew on one side of the beaten-down patch.

  “Jim,” he cried shakily, “this tree is all wet.”

  It was true, and for a moment Jim stared at it incredulously. At first he had assumed that the deed had been done with a club or even possibly the butt of the gun. But the blood on the tree told a different tale, and one that was well-nigh inconceivable. For it proved that the man had been killed by having his head bashed against the trunk, and the strength necessary to do such a thing was unbelievable. And in his imagination he visualised the scene. The shot, fired in a panic at the monstrous thing that had suddenly appeared out of the dusk: the brief hopeless struggle when the bullet missed, and then the ghastly ending with the lifeless body flung into the bog.

  But who was it? Surely Bill would not have handed over the only long range weapon they had with them to somebody else, unless he had been compelled to. At the best of times he was a very bad shot with a revolver, so it was hard to believe that he would have lent the rifle to anyone willingly. And if that was so what had happened on board the motor-boat?

  The forest was silent as they started off again. Twice during the next hour they heard from far off that strange grunting roar answered from three or four different places which showed that the denizens were on the prowl. But their luck held good: the track a
long the edge of the swamp was deserted. And at last they were clear of it, and able to increase their pace as they began to climb the hill.

  They reached the top: the lagoon below them was in darkness. No light came from the place where the boat had been anchored. And sick with anxiety they half ran, half slid down towards the beach. The dinghy was still where they had left her, and it was while they were getting her afloat that a large stone came bounding down the hill and crashed into the water a few yards away.

  For a moment Jim paused, staring up at the sky line behind them. Was it they who had loosened it as they came down, or had something else started it? But he could see nothing, and jumping into the dinghy they pulled feverishly for the boat.

  “Bill,” he shouted. “Ahoy! there, Bill.”

  There was no answer, and leaving Percy to make the dinghy fast, he scrambled on board.

  “Bill,” he cried again. “Judy. Where are you?”

  He dashed into the little saloon, and this time there was an answer.

  “Good evening, my dear Mr Maitland,” came a well-known voice. “You are, if I may say so, a little later than I expected.”

  He lit the lamp: seated at the table was the dwarf with a malignant smile on his lips.

  “You little devil,” roared Jim. “What have you done with Miss Draycott?”

  The blind man held up a deprecating hand.

  “Really, Mr Maitland,” he protested, “the space here is very confined. Would it be too much if I asked you to moderate your voice?”

  “Where is Miss Draycott, Dresler?” said Jim controlling himself with an immense effort. “Because I warn you quite quietly that I am not in a mood to be trifled with tonight, and if anything has happened to her I shall blow out your brains without the smallest compunction.”

  “It is extraordinary,” remarked the other, “with what unerring accuracy I have read your character. I actually said to Monty – you remember Sir Montague Barnet, of course – when he went ashore that I was sure you would say something bright and original like that.”

  Jim glanced at Percy who had come into the saloon.

  “So Barnet went ashore, did he? From here?”

  “Yes. I thought perhaps you might meet him, but in the darkness you must have missed one another. However he is sure to be back soon.”

  “May I ask if he was wearing a Homburg hat?”

  “My dear sir, you know my affliction. I’m afraid I didn’t ask him. But if you saw a man with a Homburg hat it must have been Monty.”

  “I didn’t,” said Jim tersely. “I only saw the hat.”

  “You speak in riddles,” murmured the dwarf.

  “You’ll get the solution soon,” remarked Jim. “To return to Miss Draycott. I assume she is on board the yacht.”

  “Correct. And with her is the admirable guardian you left whose name I fear I do not know. He was most abusive, and had to be hit over the head with a belaying-pin, but I don’t think his condition is dangerous.”

  “And your object in this abduction?”

  “My dear fellow, you pain me. You know as well as I do. Now where is the correct map?”

  “In my pocket,” said Jim.

  “Excellent. By the way I congratulate you on the idea, Mr Maitland. It appealed to me immensely when I gathered from Monty’s blasphemy what had happened.”

  “Cut it out,” remarked Jim curtly. “I assume that you want it.”

  “That is the notion. And fearing you might prove difficult about it, I took the precaution of removing the lady. She is quite safe at present, and her quarters are far more comfortable. But I do not need to remind you, do I, that my friend Don Miguel has a keen eye for a pretty girl, and that his reputation is not perhaps all that it should be. And so I earnestly advise you not to play any more tricks this time, either over the map, or with me. Because if you do I cannot guarantee Miss Draycott’s continued safety.”

  “And what is your proposal?” said Jim.

  “A simple one. As soon as Monty returns, you will start up the motor and take your boat round to the other side of the island where the yacht is now anchored. We will all go on board her, and then when you have satisfied us that the map is what we want – well, my dear Maitland, as far as I am concerned you can go to the devil.”

  “Very interesting,” said Jim with a laugh. “Extraordinary what bloomers you always seem to make in your schemes Dresler, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” remarked the blind man softly.

  “I mean that if we wait here till Barnet returns we shall wait a considerable time. It was very unwise of him to go ashore alone.”

  “Have you killed him?” said the dwarf even more softly.

  “No: but he’s dead. This island is a funny place, my friend, and if you take my advice you’ll do what I’m going to do – leave it.”

  “How did Barnet die?”

  “His brains were bashed out against a tree, if you want to know.”

  “Who by?”

  “I think what by would be a better way of putting it.”

  “I don’t believe you,” snarled the other. “You murdered him because he’d found the treasure. He told me he thought he might be able to.”

  “With the map he’d got?”

  “Yes. You may be clever, Mr Maitland, but other people aren’t fools. You’d altered the position of the hill and the tree, but the writing at the bottom remained.”

  “Except for the little bit that was missing in the left-hand corner,” said Jim.

  “That either had to be east or west,” sneered the dwarf.

  “It was west to he exact. I found it that night we had our little chat in your house at Hampstead. I fear Barnet may have thought it was east: that might account for us finding his hat where we did.”

  “His hat! Where was Barnet himself?”

  “His body had evidently been flung into the bog. There was no trace of it.”

  “A likely story, Mr Maitland. You tell me that a man of Barnet’s size and weight had his brains bashed out against a tree and expect me to believe it!”

  “It’s a matter of complete indifference to me whether you believe it or whether you don’t,” drawled Jim. “I’m sorry the poor devil met the end he did, but he wasn’t a gentleman whose habits I liked, and I’m not going into mourning for him.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that,” said the other thickly. “I would point out that there are some forty of us against you two. And justice can be summary.”

  “Do you suggest making Percy and me walk the plank,” laughed Jim. “Come, come, Dresler – I don’t think the old brain is working very well. Do you seriously imagine that I am going to barge straight into the lion’s den, and deliver myself bound hand and foot to a bunch of damned stiffs like you?”

  “And if you don’t what about Miss Draycott?”

  “Go a little further, my friend: what about you? You seem to forget that it is fifty-fifty. Until Miss Draycott and Bill Blackett are delivered over to me safe and sound; you stay on board here. You can’t catch me in a row boat, and if your pal Don Miguel tries any monkey tricks like ramming me with the yacht I’ll hang you over the side to act as a fender.”

  For a while the dwarf was silent: then he shrugged his shoulders.

  “There is no reason why we should lose our tempers, Mr Maitland, is there? I feel sure that matters can be settled amicably.”

  “Then go on feeling sure,” remarked Jim. “It may help. But all I’m sure about is that if a hair of Miss Draycott’s head has been injured you’ll pray for death before I’m through with you. And you’d better make them understand the fact on board the yacht, when we get there tomorrow morning.”

  “Why tomorrow morning? Why not tonight?”

  “Your second error, Dresler. The passage through the reef here is bad enough even when it’s light. To do it in the darkness would be literally impossible.”

  “You know best,” said the dwarf uneasily. “I would have preferred to reach the yacht t
onight.”

  Jim stared at him grimly.

  “You don’t suppose that I want to remain here, do you, you rotten little sweep? But when I say it is impossible, I mean it’s impossible. There would not be one chance in a thousand of our getting through without stoving in our bottom. And though I have not the slightest objection to your drowning, I have the very gravest to losing the boat and being compelled to leave Miss Draycott on board the yacht.”

  Once again the dwarf shrugged his shoulders. “Very good, Mr Maitland. As I said before, you know best. Might I ask what the time is now?”

  “Ten o’clock,” said Jim curtly. “Eight hours before we can start.”

  He began pacing up and down the tiny saloon, his mind on the rack with anxiety. The thought of Judy alone in the yacht, with Bill possibly still unconscious, drove him almost insane. But there was nothing to be done: to attempt to navigate the entrance would be the act of a madman. For a while he even thought of the possibility of trying to make his way on foot over the island, but even if he succeeded there would be no way of getting on board the yacht save by swimming. And the chances of a swimmer in those shark infested waters were negligible. As far as he himself was concerned he would have been prepared to risk it, but the vital consideration was Judy. And if anything happened to him what was going to become of her?

  “Well since there is all that time before us,” remarked the dwarf cutting into his thoughts, “it might be interesting to exchange views on the matter that has brought us both here. Have you had any luck in locating this hypothetical treasure, Mr Maitland?”

  “I have not,” said Jim tersely. “The only luck that my cousin and I have had today is getting off the island alive!”

  “Are you really serious?” said the other with an incredulous smile.

  “I have already told you what happened to Barnet,” answered Jim. “And as you yourself remarked he was a big heavy man.”

  The smile became more incredulous.

  “I quite appreciate, of course, your natural wish to keep the pitch for yourself,” said the dwarf gently. “But I fear you will have to get a rather better one than that, Mr Maitland.”

  “Look here, Dresler,” remarked Jim wearily, “I’m getting a little tired of you. What do you imagine can be my object in telling a lie over a thing that can easily be proved or disproved? Anyway you can now go along to Blackett’s cabin, and I’ll pull you out in the morning. I want a respite from your face. Show him the way, Percy.”