by W E Johns
Algy had to make a quick decision about which course he should take. There was not much purpose in following Biggles, who would not need help if he could get to the machine before it came into collision with a reef, when it could hardly fail to do some damage. Noting the end of the reef for which Biggles was making, he dashed off towards the other end to catch the plane should a fresh slant of wind change its direction. This was the end on which the unpleasant night visitor had appeared; but he did not stop to think about that. The plane had to be saved at any risk. Nevertheless, when he reached the coral he cast an eye over the water on the deep side before starting along it.
It was rough, all shapes and as hard as iron, so now he had to be careful, for a fall could have serious consequences. It was no time for broken bones. Progress was complicated by trying to see how Biggles was faring and at the same time watch where he himself was putting his feet.
By this time Biggles was well along the reef, still running and obviously taking chances as he jumped from one shelf of coral to another. Two or three times it looked as if he would be able to intercept the plane before it brushed a wing against the coral, but always at the vital moment a slight change in the variable breeze caused it to veer off on a new course. Biggles, of course, had to move his position every time to keep level with it.
Algy hurried on at the best speed he could make, with the result that they were soon close together although on opposite sides of the opening into the open sea. Through this a falling tide was surging like a millrace, obviously dangerous, in that a swimmer would certainly be swept out to sea. At one time it looked as if the machine would be carried through it, as it would have been had it come within the influence of the backwash of water.
Fortunately this did not happen; nor did the necessity of trying to swim across the breach arise, for presently another slight gust of wind carried the aircraft over to Algy’s side. It floated to within twenty yards of him, and looked like coming nearer, but then, for no apparent reason, it began to move farther away. It seemed to Algy that this was a chance not to be lost. Just as he was, without even taking off his shoes, he dived into the lagoon and at his fastest stroke struck out for the runaway plane.
He caught it and, not without difficulty, managed to grab an elevator. On to this he dragged himself, and then on to the top of the fuselage. Sitting astride he worked his way along it to the cockpit. The rest was easy. The engines started at first try and the machine was under control. He took it close enough to the reef for Biggles to climb on board and then taxied to the original mooring.
‘Great work, old warrior,’ Biggles said, as he stepped ashore. ‘How this happened I can’t imagine. This is a new nylon rope. Brand-new for the trip. I put it on myself. It couldn’t have broken.’ He picked up the mooring rope and examined the end. The expression on the face he then turned to Algy was as black as a thundercloud. ‘So that’s it,’ he muttered. ‘It was cut. Look!’
Algy looked at the end Biggles was holding out for his inspection, then at the end he held in his hand, the end of the line that had been attached to the machine. There was no sign of fraying. The cut was clean, as sheer as if it had been sliced through with a razor.
‘There’s something wrong about this,’ Algy said, looking bewildered. ‘How could it have been cut?’
‘I don’t know how, but it was cut; there can be no argument about that,’ declared Biggles viciously.
‘Well, there’s one thing quite certain,’ stated Algy. ‘Collingwood couldn’t have done it. We’ve been with him from the time we left here. He couldn’t have got here without us seeing him.’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘You’re right. It couldn’t have been Collingwood.’
‘So what’s the answer?’
‘Obviously, if it wasn’t Collingwood it must have been someone else.’
‘There isn’t anyone else.’
‘There must be. It’s the only answer. How do we know there’s no one else here? We haven’t been over the island yet.’
‘A friend of Collingwood’s?’
‘I don’t know about a friend, but clearly it’s someone working with him. They’ve been together since we arrived. They fixed this. Either Collingwood told his partner to cut the rope or the other fellow, seeing us leave the plane unguarded, decided to do a bit of sabotaging on his own account.’
Algy’s forehead wrinkled in a puzzled frown. ‘But I still don’t get it. What was the idea of trying to wreck the machine? Collingwood said he doesn’t want us here, and from the way he’s behaved he doesn’t; yet by putting the machine out of action he’d make certain of keeping us here. It doesn’t make sense.’
Biggles considered the problem. ‘I can see only one explanation of that. Now he knows we suspect him of doing something improper, if not actually criminal, he doesn’t want us to get back to London. I may have made a mistake in telling him we were from Scotland Yard. He knew about the decapods. Why didn’t he warn us? He hoped one of them would do his dirty work for him. When he realized it had failed he lost no time in having another go.’
‘Even so he can’t suppose he can keep us here indefinitely.’
‘Without an aircraft we could be stuck here for some time; long enough, perhaps, to suit his purpose. For all we know he may not intend to stay here much longer himself. Then he might sail away leaving us here. Once clear he would take some finding.’
‘Did you say sail away?’
‘It seems likely that’s how he’ll go when he departs. That breach wasn’t made in the reef to improve the landscape. That must have been quite a big job. If Collingwood and his partner didn’t actually do it, they must know all about it. They may have been brought here in an aircraft, but I have a feeling that when they leave it’ll be in a ship.’
Algy nodded. ‘The plane isn’t here now, so if that’s the way they arrived it must have been flown away. That would make at least three people concerned with what’s going on here.’
‘It begins to look like that. But let’s come to the immediate position. We’re up against a snag I didn’t expect. We can’t leave the machine unguarded for fear of another attempt to wreck it. As that’s already been tried it’s reasonable to suppose they’ll have another go. If the machine went west with all our stores while we were absent, we’d find ourselves living on coconuts, or having to beg grub from Collingwood.’
‘I’d rather choke than ask him for anything.’
‘So would I. Well, there it is. One of us will always t have to be with the plane. It cramps our style for any exploring, but I can see no alternative. From now on we’d better carry pistols and one or two spare clips of cartridges. Then if they get really rough we’ll be ready.’
‘Don’t you think it’d be a good thing to go home, while we can, to report?’
‘Report what?’
‘What we’ve found going on here.’
‘But we don’t know what’s going on. That’s the trouble. What could we say? We found a man. The chief will say, “What’s he doing there?” We say we don’t know. The chief will say, “Why don’t you know? Go back and find out.” So we come back and start again where we left off, which is how we stand at this moment. Or perhaps not quite. What fools we should look if we came back to find the birds had flown. We came here to do a job, so let’s do it. I don’t know what these birds are doing, but before I set course for home I want to know what it is. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.’
‘Okay, old boy. What suits you suits me. What’s our next move? Run the machine up on the sand like you said?’
Biggles hesitated. ‘I don’t like that. I want to have a scout round. If I left you on the beach you’d be vulnerable to an attack. I think it would be better if, when I’ve gone, you took the machine well out into the lagoon and let her ride at anchor. Then no one could get near you without being seen. Moreover, if things got serious you could fly her off. You wait on the lagoon. When I come back I’ll give you a hail and you can bring her in to pick me up
.’
‘What if the weather changes?’
‘I’d see the change coming and come back to you at the double.’
‘Fair enough. Let’s do that,’ agreed Algy.
‘Before I move off we’d better have a bite to eat while things are quiet,’ Biggles said. ‘Then I’ll get on with it.’
‘There’s one thing about your scheme that doesn’t exactly send me wild with enthusiasm,’ Algy said. ‘You haven’t by any chance forgotten there’s a thing called a decapod in the offing? I’d rather be involved in an argument with Collingwood than find myself engaged in a wrestling match with a slimy horror with ten arms.’
‘I don’t think you need worry about that,’ returned Biggles confidently. ‘With three bullets in its midriff, if it isn’t dead it must be feeling a bit sick. It’ll stay in deep water. I can’t see it coming into the lagoon.’
‘If the entrance is wide enough for a ship, it must be wide enough for anything that lives in the sea,’ argued Algy.
‘The lagoon would be too shallow.’
‘I sincerely hope you’re right, brother,’ retorted Algy. ‘What about that swirl I saw? It must have been caused by something.’
Biggles grinned. ‘If you see its periscope pop up make for the shore,’ he suggested lightly.
‘It isn’t funny, so don’t expect me to split my sides laughing,’ protested Algy. ‘And you needn’t tell me what to do. Any sign of one leg, never mind ten, and I shall be up the beach so fast that a thing with twenty legs wouldn’t be able to keep up with me. If, as you say, one of these monsters has been known to pull down a boat load of natives, I’d hate to think what it could do to an aircraft. However, it’s your machine....’
Nothing more was said on the subject. After a quick snack Algy took the Gadfly out on to the tranquil water of the lagoon. Biggles watched until the anchor splashed overboard; then, with a parting wave he turned to his self-imposed task.
CHAPTER 6
MYSTERY AFTER MYSTERY
BIGGLES went first to the top of the rise and reconnoitred the landing strip in the direction of the Nissen huts. This was not because he was afraid of Collingwood or anything he might do; for when all was said and done it he had more right to be there than the man whom he now regarded with deep suspicion. It was simply that he preferred Collingwood not to know that he had gone off leaving Algy alone. When Algy had started the engines to move the aircraft to its new position on the lagoon, the noise would almost certainly bring Collingwood out to see what was happening. However, there was no sign of him, so after a glance at the still serene sky to make sure that no change in the weather was impending, he set off on his tour of inspection, following the shore and thus keeping below the rising ground where he might be seen.
To reach the far end of the island in the shortest time it would have been a lot easier to walk down the old runway, which was level and reasonably clear; but as this would put him in view of the huts, which he was anxious to avoid in case Collingwood came out, he took the more arduous route along the sea-shore. Where there was a beach this presented no difficulty, but more often than not the foreshore was rocky and piled with the debris of countless storms. Here it was necessary to pick his way. But he had this consolation. The maximum length of the little island set a limit to the distance he would have to walk to reach the extreme end. Even with rough going he reckoned this would not take more than an hour at most, so, all being well, he should be back with Algy long before it began to get dark. His plan was to go to the coconut grove, at the far end of the island, by the coast route, and then walk back up the middle; that is, up the landing strip; because then it wouldn’t matter if Collingwood did see him. It would be a different matter had he been seen going off, because in that case Collingwood would know Algy was alone, and try to take advantage of it. The cut rope was an indication of how far he was prepared to go in order to dispose of them.
Biggles, of course, had not the remotest idea of what he was looking for, or hoping to find; but he was sure there must be something; something Collingwood didn’t want him to see. He could not imagine what it could be; yet he could not believe that a man of Collingwood’s class and education would deliberately choose to isolate himself from the rest of the world for no reason whatsoever. And if his purpose there was honest, why had he been at such pains to let visitors know they were unwelcome?
At all events, Biggles thought this first reconnaissance, even though it was no more than a broad survey covering most of the island, might yield a clue as to what was going on. Once beyond the end of the old landing ground, and therefore out of sight of the huts, from time to time he climbed to a high point to study the ground thus brought into view.
In this way he nearly completed his outward journey without seeing anything to arouse his curiosity. Nothing worth a closer inspection. The coconut palms, which had all the time been a conspicuous landmark, were now not far ahead.. Presently he realized the probable reason why they were there. Hitherto most of the ground he had seen was rocky; either rock and sand; but now these conditions underfoot began to give way to drifts of what looked like reasonably fertile soil, perhaps dirt thrown up by storms of exceptional severity.
At one place he took a long look at a depression, almost a little valley, protected on both sides by sloping walls of sandy-looking rock. What attracted his attention was the vegetation that flourished at the bottom. One side was quite a jungle of shrubs, weeds and the like. This, he reasoned, was an obvious sign of fertility, but it offered no promise of a solution to the problem with which he was faced. There was nobody there, so he passed on.
So he came to the palms that he intended should be the end of his journey, for not far beyond them the surf of the open sea was beating on a stony beach. As he drew near his pace slowed in surprise at seeing signs of cultivation. There was no sign of anyone working, and there appeared to be only one crop, perhaps half an acre, or a little more, of what at first he took to be maize, not yet in cob. Having satisfied himself that there was nobody there, he walked nearer, deep in thought, and so came to the conclusion that there was no real cause for surprise at finding a patch of corn, although at first sight it had been startling. The ground, he observed, was good fertile soil, so this was the place Collingwood would naturally choose if he decided to raise his own cereals. There were not many places where this would be possible. Collingwood had certainly put in some work, he thought, observing the stumps of palms that had been felled to extend the area for cultivation. There were plenty of windblown nuts under the surviving trees, so apparently Collingwood didn’t trouble to collect them.
He walked right up to the crop. As he did so his expression began to change, first to astonishment then to understanding. ‘So that’s it,’ he muttered, his hand going to the pocket where he kept his gun and taking a swift look around in case he was being watched. But there was nobody there; not that there was any reason for anyone to be there, he thought. The crop would take care of itself until it was ready for harvesting.
He did not linger in the vicinity. There was no need. He had found the answer. He had seen — or thought he had seen — all that was necessary. All he had to do now was get back to the lagoon as quickly as possible by the shortest route. With eyes alert for danger, for he did not forget that Collingwood had a partner somewhere as was proved by the cut mooring rope, he set off, making straight for the nearest point of the runway. As for Collingwood, he no longer cared if he was seen by him. He now had a few things to say to him, when he was ready. But that could come later, when he had spoken to Algy and had told him what he had found.
He reached the end of the landing strip, but ducked back into cover when he saw Collingwood approaching in haste from the opposite direction. At first he thought he must have been seen, but there was something about Collingwood’s manner that caused him to change his mind. Why the hurry? What was he going to do? He was still wearing his dirt-streaked denims; but what at that moment struck Biggles as even more odd was the smal
l hand shovel he held in one hand and a light haversack, that appeared to be empty, slung from a shoulder. For what purpose were they intended? They were not the sort of things he would need to work on his crop. So reasoned Biggles.
Collingwood, who obviously had not seen him, was still striding along like a man who knew exactly where he was going and what he intended to do. Biggles, more than ever puzzled, crouched back into the cover of some bushes prepared to watch, hoping to satisfy his mounting curiosity. Collingwood went straight past him. He gave him a minute to get clear and then stood up to see where he had gone, although in his mind there was no doubt about his destination. Where else could he be going except to his crop?
He was not to be seen. Biggles found this hard to believe, but the fact remained, he couldn’t see him. Where could he have gone in such a short time? He moved to another position and again looked around. Still he could not see him. He walked back, slowly, a little way, eyes still searching, until he had a clear view of the crop under cultivation. He was not there. Biggles had been sure this was his destination. He could think of no other possibility. He stared. He listened. He was afraid to move far for fear of being seen, or of suddenly meeting Collingwood face to face. This, he thought, was extraordinary, and it is understandable that he was mystified.
Rather than stand in an exposed position in case Collingwood reappeared as quickly as he had disappeared, he sat down. He wanted to think. There had to be an explanation of this new mystery .What could the man be doing? How could he have vanished so completely and so quickly? Why had he come here at all if not to tend his crop? It was not easy to imagine he was merely out for a walk. His whole manner had been one of urgency. Biggles decided the only thing he could do was wait for him to show himself.
He crouched, waiting for this to happen, confident that Collingwood could not get back to the runway without being seen. The ground was mostly open, and, after all, he could not know he had been watched. So Biggles waited. Time passed. Half an hour; an hour, and still he squatted. He was now beginning to get worried. The sun was already low, and falling visibly, as it will — or appear to — in a clear sky in the tropics. Finally, at long last, with the shadows of the palms lengthening, he could only conclude that he had lost his man. Collingwood must by now be on his way back to the huts, if in fact he had not already reached his home. How this could have happened was not easy to understand; yet, what could he possibly be doing to occupy so much time? The only sound was the growling of the breakers on the exposed beach. That was incessant, and like any regular noise was hardly noticed.