Island of Terror

by Sapper

  For a moment they stared at one another: then with an ugly laugh he turned away.

  “You wait, you English mees,” he remarked, “till Don Miguel come on board again. You have lovely time then.”

  “Get out,” cried Judy, and with another glance at the automatic, he went.

  After a time she relaxed, and going to one of the portholes looked out. The throb of the engine had already told her they were under way, and she saw they were going back to the south of the island. In the distance she could still see the motor-boat, with a squat figure of the dwarf on the deck: then the hill hid it from sight.

  No one else came to disturb her, and she remained at the porthole watching the island listlessly. Where were Jim and Percy? It was getting almost dark: even if they were in the open it would have been impossible to see them. And at last with a feeling of utter despair in her heart she sat down at the table in the centre of the saloon.

  After a while a steward came in and turned on the light, and at the same time the engine ceased. She rose and peered out again, as the rattle of the chain told her they had anchored, but it was too dark to see more than the bare outline of the land. They were lying close in, but beyond seeing that it was wooded she could make out nothing.

  The door opened, and she turned round. Two men were standing there: one she had never seen before, the other was Don Miguel.

  “Welcome, my dear young lady, to my yacht,” said the millionaire. “And allow me to introduce Captain McIntyre.”

  “How is Captain Blackett?” she cried.

  “As well as can be expected under the circumstances,” he remarked. “I can assure you his life is in no danger. Did he prove intractable or what?”

  “He was the victim of an unprovoked assault,” she said angrily.

  “Dear me!” he laughed. “It’s lucky for him that his head is hard. So I hear Mr Maitland is carrying out a little private exploration. I wonder if he was more fortunate than we were. We rowed all the way up the river, and all the way back again and found nothing at all, except a pool containing crocodiles.”

  He pressed the bell, and ordered a bottle of wine and some whisky.

  “Sit down, McIntyre,” he said, “and help yourself. You will join us, Miss Draycott?”

  “No, thank you,” she answered coldly.

  “A pity. This is an excellent vintage.”

  His eyes were fixed on her gloatingly, and involuntarily she shivered.

  “Not cold, I trust. Or perhaps a touch of fever. May I get you some quinine?”

  “How long are we to be kept prisoners?” she burst out.

  “What an ugly word,” said the Brazilian. “Let us put it that I hope you will enjoy my hospitality for a considerable period. Let us also hope that Mr Maitland does nothing foolish with the map. It will prolong matters if he should, and this island is not a spot that I would select as a health resort.”

  “It’s a stinking fever-soaked hole,” grunted McIntyre.

  “But doubtless our lady guest will enliven the tedium of it,” murmured the other.

  “Will you kindly show me where my cabin is?” she said icily, and Don Miguel again rang the bell.

  “Show Miss Draycott to her cabin,” he ordered as the steward entered. “The large one – next to mine.”

  The man grinned and led the way. And in the last glimpse she had of the two men, they were shaking with silent laughter.

  She bolted the door, and sat down on the bed to try and get things straight in her mind. She was afraid, desperately afraid. And the more she thought about it, the more hopeless did it seem. Even if Jim gave them the map, what guarantee was there that they would be allowed to go? And he and Percy could do nothing with the numbers they had against them. Anyway as a last resource she had her revolver, and even as she comforted herself with that reflection she remembered that she had left her bag with it inside in the saloon.

  She went back at once: the two men were sitting where she had left them. Her bag was still on the table, but the instant she picked it up she realised by the weight that the revolver was no longer inside. She looked at the Brazilian: he was balancing it in his hand.

  “Give my revolver back to me,” she cried furiously. “How dare you touch my bag.”

  “Just to see that no dangerous lethal weapons were being carried, my dear young lady,” he grinned. “You’ve no idea what a lot of damage one of these little toys can do. Captain McIntyre was terribly nervous when he saw it.”

  “Sure,” said the sailor with mock gravity. “I told the boss I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink if I knew anyone on board had a gun.”

  “You cowardly brutes.”

  She faced them defiantly, though in truth she felt very near tears.

  “You wouldn’t dare do a thing like that if Mr Maitland was here.”

  “But since he isn’t here the point does not arise, does it,” said Don Miguel softly. “And since it is more than doubtful if he ever will be here the point will never arise either.”

  “What do you mean?” She stared at him with dilated eyes.

  “I have my own methods of dealing with people who try to double cross me,” remarked the Brazilian. “I warned Mr Maitland in Rio, and he decided not to heed my warning. I fear he may regret it.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

  “Whereas you, my pretty one, will I trust have no cause to regret your visit to South America.”

  She fought down the sick fear that was gripping her.

  “If you do anything to Mr Maitland,” she said, “you won’t get the map.”

  “In which case our stay here is likely to be much more prolonged,” he remarked. “But with you on board to comfort me I shall view the prospect with equanimity.”

  He rose suddenly and came towards her, and she cowered back. There was something so utterly repulsive about this swarthy looking brute that she felt almost hypnotised with loathing. And the next moment he had caught her in his arms.

  “Jewels shall be yours, my pretty,” he whispered thickly, “and money. You shall have all your desires granted.”

  His face was coming closer to hers, until, making a desperate effort, she broke away from him and fled like a wild thing to her cabin. And not till the door was bolted once more did she feel safe.

  She sat down panting for breath. What was she going to do? It was only a temporary respite: sooner or later she would have to eat and drink. And that would mean meeting Miguel again. What, too, about Jim? They intended treachery: the Brazilian had admitted it himself. They would get the map by means of specious promises, and then knife him or something from behind.

  A knock came on the door, and the steward enquired what she would like for dinner.

  “Nothing,” she cried, “nothing at all,” and the man went away. Eating was a physical impossibility, but after a while she rose and gulped down some water from the carafe. It was luke warm but she felt better for it. And for a time she stood staring out of the porthole

  Nine o’clock: surely Jim should be there by now. But no sound broke the stillness of the night except a gramophone which was being played by some member of the crew. And as the hours went on her anxiety increased. Why didn’t he come? Had some accident happened to him on the island which had prevented him?

  The gramophone ceased: the yacht grew silent. Once her door handle was softly tried, and Don Miguel’s voice came from the other side. But she did not answer him, and after a while he went away and she heard the door of the next cabin shut. And at length, still sitting in the chair she fell into an uneasy doze.

  A sudden sound awakened her, and she sat up with a start. The moonlight was flooding her cabin, and for a moment or two she sat trembling in her chair. And then to her horror she saw a slowly widening crack in the partition wall of the cabin. A panel was sliding back, and it had been the click as it started that had aroused her.

  She watched it with dilated eyes: on the other side of it was Don Miguel’s cabin. And at length his head wa
s poked cautiously through. He looked round until he saw her, and for a while they stared at one another in silence. Then with a leer he pushed the panel right back, and stood in the opening.

  “Have you changed your mind, my pretty,” he whispered.

  “Get out, you unspeakable cur,” she said tensely.

  “But I’ve only just come,” he remarked. “Wasn’t it thoughtful of me to give you the cabin next mine? All specially prepared as you see. Now are we going to be wise, or are we going to give trouble?”

  The leer grew more pronounced, and he took a step forward. And at that moment she heard him give a strange gurgling noise: saw something brown round his throat, and watched him being dragged back through the opening. He disappeared, and with no thought in her mind save the incredible fact that he’d gone, she sprang to the sliding panel and slammed it to. And as she did so there came from the other side of the wall a blood-curdling scream, followed by a series of bumps as if a heavy sack was being thrown about.

  She cowered back terrified: the noise was like nothing she had ever heard. And even as she listened to it pandemonium broke loose in the ship. Shots, oaths, yells of terror came from every direction, and every now and then a loud splash indicated that somebody had fallen overboard. She forced herself to go to the porthole, but there was nothing to be seen though the din had now become indescribable. And mingled with it came a succession of strange snarling grunts.

  She crossed to the little window that opened into the corridor, and drew back the curtains. Pressed against the glass was a face, and as she stared at it every drop of blood seemed to freeze in her veins. It was human, and yet it was animal. Its teeth were bared like those of an angry dog: its flattened nostrils were distended. And in its eyes was a look of bestial savagery.

  Suddenly it put its hand straight through the glass, and tried to clutch her, but she fell back half fainting on the bed. For a while the great hairy arm continued groping: then it was withdrawn, and she could hear it snarling angrily, evidently furious at having cut itself. And then to her unspeakable horror the door handle rattled violently. The thing was trying to get in.

  The door creaked and groaned: she could see the panels bulging inwards. And in those few moments Judy experienced the supreme acme of human terror. For she knew the door handle would not hold. Already the wood was beginning to splinter, and in one last desperate throw for safety she tried to clamber through the porthole. But it was too small, and with a pitiful little moan she cowered back on the bed just as the door, with a final crash, was burst open, and the thing came in. And it was then that something snapped in her brain, and Judy fainted.

  When she opened her eyes again she found herself in darkness. She was lying on the ground, and for a while her mind refused to act. Then little by little it came back to her, and she bit her lip to prevent herself screaming. It wasn’t some hideous nightmare: it was the truth. Something had come into her cabin, something that she dimly remembered as being of vast size, and unspeakably horrible. And it must have carried her off the yacht.

  Where was she? She felt the ground with her hand and found it was hard earth. And suddenly the full horror of her position dawned on her: she was in the power of these awful creatures. From close beside her there came a movement, and involuntarily she gave a little cry. And then with a feeling of unutterable relief she heard a well-known voice.

  “How are you feeling, miss?”

  “Bill,” she cried, “where are we? What’s happened?”

  “The same as happened in the Paquinetta,” he answered grimly. “They’ve slaughtered or taken prisoner every soul in the yacht, and now we’re in their power.”

  Some voices started jabbering Brazilian near by, and she asked Bill who they were.

  “Some of the crew, miss. There are about ten of us altogether. The rest are dead.”

  “Thank God, they didn’t kill you, Bill.”

  “It was that crack on the head in the motorboat saved me, miss. I’d come to, and was lying dazed and sick in the bunk where they’d thrown me, when I heard the fight start. So I staggered up on deck unarmed as I was and ran right into two of them. It was so unexpected I didn’t show any fight, and they just carted me off.”

  She forced herself to ask the question, though she dreaded the answer.

  “Have they got Mr Maitland too?”

  “I haven’t seen him, miss, or his cousin either.”

  “He may be able to do something,” she said, hope springing up in her mind.

  The sailor said nothing. In the first place he doubted if Jim could ever find them, and if he did what could he possibly do? There were scores of these hideous monsters, and even if he succeeded in shooting a few of them, it would only make the others more savage.

  “By the way, miss,” he said at length, “have you got your revolver with you?”

  “I haven’t, Bill,” she answered. “That brute Don Miguel took it from me.”

  And the sailor almost groaned aloud. No good now alarming her more than she was already, by telling her to blow out her brains in certain eventualities: they could only wait in agonising suspense.

  “What will they do to us, Bill?” she asked tremulously.

  “God knows, miss,” he said gravely. “We’ve just got to keep our spirits up and hope for the best.”

  “But, Bill, are they human?”

  “Half man, half beast, miss. You remember I told you. They’ve got a sort of language for I heard them talking, but to look at they’re more like gorillas.”

  “I suppose,” she said quietly, “they’ll kill us.’

  And he dared make no reply. All that he could pray for was that they would kill her and that nothing worse should happen. He was unarmed himself: he was powerless to help her in any way. And the realisation of the girl’s peril made him well-nigh sick with fear. He had tried to take note of the direction in which he had been brought, but it had proved hopeless. It had seemed a veritable maze of paths, and since for long stretches of the journey the moonlight had not penetrated into the forest, most of it had been done in darkness. All that he knew was that they were in some form of underground cave.

  Two of the sailors near by were talking, and he understood sufficient Brazilian to get the gist of their remarks.

  “Do you hear what those blokes are saying, miss,” he said, when they had finished. “According to them some of the words these things use are a sort of Brazilian patois. And from what they heard the reason for the attack on the yacht was that their chief or king or something like that was killed this afternoon.”

  “Doesn’t seem to help us much, does it?” she said with a pitiful little laugh. “Bill, wouldn’t it be possible to escape? There must be a way out.”

  “First thing I thought of, miss. But the brutes have blocked the entrance of the tunnel we came in by.”

  “So that our only hope is Jim,” she whispered under her breath.

  They fell silent: and Judy’s thoughts went back to that night in Hampstead when she had first met Jim and asked his advice about the treasure. Who, by the wildest stretch of imagination could have dreamed that it would have ended as it had? It was all so inconceivable that even now she had a feeling that she would wake up soon and find it was some fantastic nightmare. And suddenly she cried out almost hysterically.

  “It can’t be true, Bill. It is just like Alice in Alice in Wonderland. We’ll find it’s all a dream and these things are just a pack of cards.”

  And the sailor who had come on deck just in time to see Bully McIntyre’s neck broken with a flick of the wrists could think of nothing to say. In fact he found himself praying that her reason might give: then at any rate she would be spared the mental horror that lay in front of her.

  For the twentieth time he asked himself what was going to happen. How long were they going to be kept in this underground hole, and what was their fate going to be when they were taken out? Presumably the brutes were asleep resting after the fight: in which case it might be many hours
before they knew.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by the most extraordinary uproar from above them. The bell began clanging furiously: a chorus of bellowing grunts that increased in intensity as more and more of the brutes joined in almost drowned it. The ground over their heads shook violently: they could hear the lumbering footsteps passing backwards and forwards.

  Gradually the clamour died away and the bell ceased, though a kind of deep chattering which still continued showed that their captors were very wide awake. It sounded as if something had excited them greatly, something which they were now discussing at length. And then clear above everything came an anguished cry.

  “Help! For God’s sake – help!”

  Bill Blackett sat up with a jerk.

  “That’s not Mr Maitland,” he said positively, “though I know the voice.”

  “It was the dwarf,” cried the girl. “I’d know his voice anywhere.”

  “The dwarf,” said the sailor slowly. “And he was blind. That means they’ve been on board our motor-boat.”

  “And it means,” said the girl excitedly, “that they haven’t got Jim or Percy. He was left there alone.”

  Bill Blackett said nothing. Did it mean that of necessity? Or did it mean that Jim and his cousin had put up a fight and been killed, and that the dwarf being helpless had merely been captured?

  The excitement above continued, though it was more controlled. One of the monsters seemed to be holding forth to the others, and when he’d finished his audience emitted a series of bellows that seemed to betoken approval. And almost immediately after there came, from the entrance to their prison, the sound of the barrier being removed, and the soft padding of bare feet on the ground. One of the brutes was with them.

  They could hear its heavy breathing as it stumbled about, and suddenly there came a yell from one of the sailors – an Englishman.

  “It’s got me,” he screamed. “Save me, boys.”

  His voice died away: the barrier crashed back, and Bill Blackett wiped the sweat from his forehead. One of them had been taken: whose turn was it going to be next? Impossible to help the poor devil: impossible to do anything except sit in the darkness and wait.