by Sapper
Above them the noise had again increased, and mingled with it came the shouts of the dwarf and the sailor. And then once again the bell began tolling, whilst the rest of the uproar ceased abruptly.
There was something almost solemn in the monotonous clanging: it sounded as if it might have been the accompaniment of some religious ceremony. It continued for about five minutes: then in the silence that followed one deep grunting voice could be heard. And suddenly one of the Brazilians near them cried out in horror and said something to one of his companions, something which once again Bill Blackett could understand roughly, and which caused him to stare into the darkness with haggard eyes. Sacrifice: human sacrifice to some god: that was what was going on above their heads.
“Help me, you little swine. Don’t sit there doing nothing.”
The voice of the sailor who had been taken came to them faintly, and Bill cursed under his breath. The poor devil was English anyhow, and it was intolerable to have to sit there helpless while he was being killed, perhaps tortured.
“Help me. For God’s sake, say something to these brutes.”
A frenzy of fear rang in the man’s voice: evidently the end, whatever it was, was drawing near. And then it came.
“One of them has got me. One of them has got me.”
The scream was almost inarticulate, and subsided into a meaningless babble of words which was drowned in the triumphant outburst of noise from the spectators. And after a while that too, subsided, and all was silent once more.
“What does it mean, Bill,” said Judy in a trembling voice.
“It means, miss, that now we’re one hand short,” he answered quietly.
“You mean he’s dead.”
“That’s it, miss, I’m afraid. They’ve killed him.”
“And that’s what is going to happen to us,” she went on steadily.
“It looks like it, miss,” he said.
“How do you think they did it?”
“I haven’t an idea,” he answered. “From what he called out he seemed to be appealing to that dwarf to help him.”
“He said, ‘One of them has got me.’ Oh! my God, Bill,” her voice rose to a scream, “can’t you strangle me now?”
“Steady on, miss,” said the sailor gently, though his heart was sick within him. “Don’t let’s give up hope yet. Maybe Mr Maitland will find some way of escape for us.”
But his voice lacked conviction and he knew it.
“Don’t try and deceive me, Bill.” With an effort she pulled herself together. “Things have gone too far for that. Do you think we’ve got a chance?”
“Yes,” he cried stoutly. ‘I do. Provided Mr Maitland is still free.”
“And if he isn’t?”
“Then our number is up, miss.”
There was no good beating about the bush, he reflected: the girl was thoroughbred and had better know the truth.
“That’s what I wanted to find out,” she said. “Now, Bill, we’ve neither of us got a revolver, so I want you to do something for me. These sailors have all got knives. Will you please borrow one?”
“I have a knife myself, miss,” he said quietly.
“Good. Then if the end comes, Bill: if we have to give up hope will you give me your solemn word of honour that you will kill me.”
The sailor swallowed hard for a few moments, and then he answered her in a husky voice.
“If there’s no hope left, miss, I give you my word of honour that I will kill you.”
And with a little sigh of relief Judy Draycott stretched out her hand to him in the darkness. She knew he would not fail her.
“Will it be long, Bill, do you think?”
“Heaven knows, miss,” he said, and even as he spoke there came the sound of the barrier being removed from the end of the tunnel, and a flickering light danced on the walls of their prison. One of the monsters carrying a torch which threw out great volumes of black smoke was coming towards them. Others were following, and the girl crept closer to him.
“Now, Bill – now. Quick – you promised.”
He drew his clasp knife, and opened the big blade. The sweat was pouring off his forehead: his hand was shaking like that of a man with the ague. And he was just nerving himself for the supreme effort, when suddenly, clear and distinct there came a sound that made him pause. It was faint but unmistakable: it was the siren of the yacht. And who could be blowing it?
The monsters paused: the prisoners dimly outlined in the smoky light sat up listening. Steadily it went on blaring: long, long, long: long, short, long. Over and over again, until the meaning dawned on Bill. The morse code: OK. Someone was sending those two letters into the night; who could it be but Jim Maitland? And with almost a sob of relief he replaced his knife in his pocket. In view of that message there was still hope.
CHAPTER 12
All around them the sailors were muttering excitedly. Even though they knew nothing of the existence of Jim Maitland, they realised that some human agency must be at work, and that therefore there was at any rate somebody who was not a prisoner.
And the monsters themselves seemed to realise it too. The one in front who appeared to be the leader was conferring with two others, stopping every now and then to listen to the siren which still went on monotonously, whilst the smoke from the torches made Judy’s eyes smart and caught her in the throat.
At last they came to a decision, and the leader gave a gruff roar which was evidently an order. It was answered from the other side of the smoke, and the prisoners heard the sounds of hurried movements which quickly died away in the distance.
“Some of the brutes have gone to investigate,” muttered Bill to the girl. “I wonder what is going to happen now?”
But what he wondered far more, though he did not say so, was how Jim, assuming it was him, was going to get from the yacht in time to be of any help. The sacrifice that had already taken place had not been a long affair.
“Bill, they’re coming nearer.”
The girl clutched his hand terrified, as the three torch bearers advanced into the centre of the circle of prisoners, their faces looking, if possible, more incredibly evil in the flickering yellow light. And then they knelt down in a row and remained motionless, their gleaming eyes fixed on the entrance of the tunnel. Something was coming along the passage towards them.
Fascinated in spite of their terror the captives stared into the darkness. What new horror was going to reveal itself? At last they saw it, dimly outlined in the smoke, moving slowly forward a step at a time. It was another of the monsters and it was carrying something in its arms. Foot by foot it advanced, and then bending forward it deposited its burden on the floor, so that the light of the torches shone on it clearly. And even Bill Blackett gasped in amazement: the burden was nothing less than the blind dwarf.
“Merciful Heavens! miss,” he whispered, “they’re worshipping him. They think he’s some sort of god.”
Over and over again the three torch bearers prostrated themselves so that their foreheads touched the ground, whilst from the darkness behind there commenced a deep chanting noise which grew in volume till they were almost deafened, Then, abruptly, it ceased: the three torch bearers straightened up: silence reigned. The only sign of movement came from the dwarf whose head was turning from side to side in a frenzy of fear.
Suddenly one of the monsters began what seemed to be an address. Sounds which were clearly meant to be words were strung together in sentences; and, whenever he paused, his companions, unseen in the smoke, answered with grunts of approval.
To Bill the whole thing was complete gibberish: he could make neither head nor tail of what the brute was saying. Once or twice he caught a word that seemed to have a Spanish ring about it, but except for that it was merely a jumble of meaningless sounds, which, coupled with the stifling fumes from the torches tended to make him half conscious. He still held Judy’s hand in his, and he knew by the pressure of her head on his shoulder and her heavy breathing that it was a
ffecting her in the same way. All the better, he reflected stupidly: pray heaven she remained in that condition till Jim Maitland came – if he ever did.
And then suddenly one of the sailors opposite burst into a wild torrent of Brazilian, to which Bill forced himself to listen. He only got the bare gist of it, but that was sufficient to make his mouth go dry, and tighten the grip of his arm round the girl’s waist. Sacrifice – he’d guessed that already, but he had hoped for time. Now from what this man was screaming out, it was to be at once, unless… He listened intently: then he too began to shout.
“Shut up, you lily-livered swine,” he roared furiously. “By God! if I could get at you I’d cut your throat.”
The monsters had ceased as if surprised at this unexpected interruption, and Bill scrambled to his feet.
“Hi! you blind man,” he cried, “I don’t know your name, but you listen to me.”
The dwarf turned his agonised face in Bill’s direction.
“These things that have got us think you’re a god. Do you get me? What you say goes. It’s up to you to decide what is going to happen. Now there’s a lady here – just a young slip of a girl. And somebody has got to be sacrificed to you. At once. Now we’ve got to gain time, do you see. There’s a chance of our being rescued. And according to that spawn of Satan opposite what these monsters have been saying is that it’s either got to be Miss Draycott or six of us. Now I’ll be one of the six, but as there’s a God above unless you say that you wish her spared, I’ll get at you and kill you.”
“How can I say anything,” quavered the dwarf, “I don’t know how to speak to them.”
“Leave it to me,” howled the Brazilian, sailor in broken English. “I tell all right. I make understand. Why six of us – for one girl – you damned Englishman.”
And then breaking into Brazilian, a torrent of words came pouring from his mouth to which Bill could only listen impotently. The three torch bearers had turned their heads and were looking at him: the one that had carried in the dwarf seemed to be listening also.
Suddenly Judy clutched Bill’s arm.
“Listen,” she whispered tensely. “Didn’t you hear something?”
“Nothing except that damned dago,” he answered. “What was it, miss?
“There: there: again.” She was shaking with excitement. “Bill: it was a voice: it was Jim’s voice.”
“Steady on, miss. Mr Maitland can’t have got here from the yacht yet.”
“I don’t care: it was his voice. Oh! Listen, Bill: listen.”
The sailor craned his ears, and at that moment there came a momentary pause from the sailor opposite. And in that pause, quite distinctly from somewhere above their heads, there came a low voice:
“Worship the dwarf.”
And the voice was the voice of Jim Maitland. Apparently the others had not heard it, and Bill turned to the girl, by this time as excited as she was.
“You’re right, miss,” he muttered. “It’s Mr Maitland. Come on: let’s do what he says.”
The Brazilian was off again, as Bill, taking Judy by the hand advanced into the circle of light. And then with the utmost solemnity they prostrated themselves on the ground in front of Dresler. The sailor, surprised by this new development ceased talking: the monsters watched in silence. And the dwarf, sensing that something strange was happening called out in a terrified voice.
“What is it!” he cried. “Tell me for God’s sake. I’m going mad.”
“Keep it going, miss,” muttered Bill. “It’s our only hope. Good Lord! what’s happening now.”
There had come a sudden stir amongst the ape-men, and out of the corner of his eye Bill saw that a beam of light was flickering round the walls. They jibbered and chattered to themselves as they watched it: then with one accord they threw themselves on their faces. It was a message from their god. At times it shone on the clouds of smoke: then finding an opening it would pierce through them and light up one of the beast faces. But always it moved on until at length it rested on the sailor who had begun speaking again. And there it remained motionless, till his voice died away and he stood there staring upwards stupidly.
There came a triumphant shout from one of the monsters, and the three torch bearers sprang on the Brazilian who screamed like a wounded hare. The one who had carried Dresler in seized the dwarf and pulled him up, and a few seconds later all the ape-men had gone. So had the Brazilian sailor. The prisoners were alone again in the darkness, with only the reeking fumes left by the torches to remind them of the incredible scene they had just witnessed.
But to Judy everything was different : Jim was there. How he had reached them: what he was going to do next: how he had done what he had done she did not stop to ask. The mere fact that he was on the spot was good enough for her: somehow or other he was going to save them. Suddenly she realised Bill was speaking.
“I can’t make it out, miss,” he was saying. “There must be a hole in the roof somewhere through which he shone an electric torch. And then he worked on the superstitions of these things. But how did he get here: how did he know where we were? And how is he going to escape them now?”
From above was coming a repetition of the sounds of the former sacrifice: the Brazilian sailor was following in the steps of the Englishman. And Judy covered her ears with her hands in her endeavour not to hear the poor wretch’s screams of terror. At last they ceased: the second victim had paid the penalty, and for a while there was silence.
She had kept casting feverish glances in the direction of the passage, hoping against hope that the flicker of Jim’s torch might suddenly appear, or that she might hear his voice close to her. But the darkness had remained unbroken, and the only voice she had heard had been that of the poor brute yelling above them.
And now as the silence continued she began to try and get some order into the chaos of her mind. Bill was right of course: for some reason or other these horrible creatures regarded the blind dwarf as a god. And in him it seemed to her lay their best chance of safety. The trouble was that, not unnaturally he was more terrified than any of them. They, at any rate, could see what they were up against: whereas to him the situation must appear doubly awful. To be utterly helpless in their hands: to be picked up and carried by them would be enough to send him off his head. And if that happened – what then? He would be useless as far as helping any of them to escape was concerned.
Time dragged on; still no sign of Jim. And after a while she began to lose heart. What could one man do, even a man like him, against a horde of these foul monsters. Strong though he was she realised that he would be like a child in the hands of one of them: what then could he hope to do against fifty? Had he just postponed the inevitable for a short time? Would it have been better if Bill had not shut up his knife?
And then another ghastly thought struck her: supposing they had already got him. And killed him. Some of those yells might have come from Jim. And if that was so she realised that she didn’t mind what happened to her.
At length nature asserted herself and she began to doze. Around her all the others were fast asleep, except Bill who forced himself to keep awake on the chance of getting another message from Jim. And it was his sudden grip on her arm that awoke her, as much as the noise of a dull boom accompanied by a distinct earth tremor.
“What is it, Bill?” she cried.
“Sounded to me like an explosion, miss,” he answered. “And it came from a long way off. Seems to have woken the brutes again, too.”
Above them they could hear the ape-men moving about and talking to one another excitedly. And then from a great distance there came faintly a roar. It was caught up and repeated from closer at hand: then again from quite near by. A signal of warning was being communicated through the forest, and the effect on the monsters above was instantaneous. Pandemonium broke loose: the ground over their heads shook so much that lumps of earth were dislodged and fell on them.
“Can’t have been a big gun,” said Bill thoughtfully. �
�There couldn’t be a warship here, and if there was she wouldn’t fire. Besides we’d have heard the shell burst.”
He struck a match and looked at his watch two hours now before daylight. And he was just blowing it out when his eyes fell on a twisted piece of paper lying at his feet. He snatched it up, and opened it out: it was a note from Jim.
“It’s from Mr Maitland, miss,” he cried excitedly. “He must have dropped it through when he spoke to us that time. You read it while I light some more matches.”
With their heads together they pored over it.
“Do not be alarmed whatever happens,” it ran. “Obey me implicitly, and we’ll do it yet. As a last resource I have a revolver. The crucial time will be after the explosion. Then keep your heads close together.”
“That’s now, miss,” muttered Bill. “And here come the brutes back again.”
The torch bearers were returning along the passage: the others came crowding behind them. And it was clear that they were in a furious passion. Angry, snarling grunts came from all sides and the prisoners cowered back against the walls. The dwarf instead of being placed reverently on the ground was thrown down with such force that he lay there half stunned: evidently his period of godhead was over. And the leader of the monsters, its face convulsed with bestial rage shambled round the circle peering at each victim in turn.
Suddenly it paused, and a hush fell on them. Once again that mysterious circle of light was playing round on their upturned faces, and Judy clutched Bill’s hand. Jim was there once more. The light danced here and there, until it finally centred on the dwarf where it remained steady. And with a bellow of rage one of the ape-men picked him up.
Instantly the light began to move again, and the great brutes paused. What further victim did their god desire save this false impostor? Round the waiting circle the beam moved, lighting up each face in turn and then on to the next. And suddenly Bill remembered the letter.
“Then keep your heads close together.”
He leaned over till his cheek touched Judy’s.