by W E Johns
‘Lovely,’ breathed Biggles. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘Give Mackay his share and keep the rest, of course.’ At that moment a gust of wind struck the hut with enough force to make it shake. An instant later came the rattle and crash of hailstones.
‘Here we go again,’ shouted Collingwood, closing his box of treasures. ‘Last lap.’
‘How long will it last?’ yelled Biggles.
‘A few hours; maybe two or three days,’ answered Collingwood.
CHAPTER 12
PLANS AND SPECULATION
AS it turned out, the storm, typhoon, tornado, cyclone, hurricane — called by any name it is much the same thing — lasted only a matter of a few hours; which was long enough for the three men in the hut. The hail ended like a tap turned off, although it continued to rain. But the wind abated slowly. For some time it continued to blow a full gale before beginning gradually to ease off. The tearing gusts became less frequent. Between them conversation again became possible. After a while Collingwood opened the door to inspect conditions outside. They all looked out. The sea was a terrifying spectacle. Mountains of waves, their crests lost in a world of flying spray as the wind tore at them. Waves were sweeping over the top of the reef and flooding into the lagoon, making it nearly as turbulent as the open sea. Had the Gadfly been on it, it could hardly have survived such a battering. Algy, looking aghast at the picture, could only imagine what the exposed side of the island was like. There was no sign of the dhow, but visibility was reduced by the rain.
‘What a sailor’s nightmare,’ observed Biggles, gazing at the scene. ‘There’s nothing much we can do until the rain lets up a bit, and we can get to the machine to see how much damage has been done; so we might as well decide what we’re going to do, and say, when the hashish pedlars arrive. Even if the dhow weathers the storm I can’t see it trying to get into the lagoon, or land anywhere else, till the sea goes down. Which reminds me. What about Ali? How has he fared in all this, I wonder? As soon as we can get out we’d better go along to find out. He may have an idea.’
‘What about?’ asked Collingwood.
‘The hemp. He knows I cut it. I told him.’
‘That’s a pity. We might have blamed the damage on the storm. Or we might tell him that you saw him pulling up the plants and thought you were helping him.’ Collingwood went on. ‘He’ll be all right. I imagine he would have gone into the hollow out of the wind, or even into the mine to dodge the hail.’
Biggles considered the sky. It was still dark, with low, racing clouds, but beginning to brighten. ‘I’m going down to have a look at the machine,’ he decided. ‘That’s the most important thing.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Collingwood said.
Disregarding the rain they made their way down to the little beach of coral sand where the Gadfly was straining at the pegs that secured her. They might have been just in time to save her from becoming a total wreck, for foam from the lagoon was washing over the pegs, loosening some of them and allowing her to tilt until one wing tip was nearly touching the sand. ‘We’d better put that right for a start,’ Biggles said. From the cabin he fetched the mallet carried for the purpose and drove the pegs home. ‘We can’t expect pegs to hold in wet sand; but the wind seems to be dropping, so they may last as long as they’re needed. The overall damage isn’t as bad as I expected,’ he concluded, standing back better to survey the mischief.
The hull was only scratched and dented, but with the plane surfaces, the wings and elevators, it was a different story. They looked as if they had been under fire from shrapnel, which in a way they had. There were many holes, large and small, in the fabric; and some nasty jagged tears. Hailstones meeting with no obstruction had apparently gone clean through the wings.
‘I wouldn’t care to fly her in that condition,’ Collingwood said. ‘Some of those holes are big enough to let the air in, in which case the wing might balloon and rip the whole covering to rags.’
Biggles agreed. ‘We’ve got materials for patching; we always carry some on trips of this nature; but it’ll take time to tidy up this mess. Anyhow, it would be no use trying to do it in this wind or while it’s raining. We should be able to fix her up, at least, well enough to get as far as India, where we could get the job done properly. We shall see. It’s no use starting on her in this weather . It looks as if everything will depend on how long that dhow will take to get back — if she’s coming. She may have to go to her home port for repairs after what she’s been through.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ returned Collingwood soberly. ‘You’d be surprised what these Arab deep-sea sailors can do.’
‘I don’t see anything of her.’ Biggles scanned the horizon.
‘No doubt she’d run a long way before the wind.’ Algy came in. He pointed. ‘What’s that thing over there?’ He was looking at a dark mass that had been cast ashore at the far end of the beach, where the reef connected with the island.
They walked on until they were close enough to see the answer. It was the remains of a giant squid. A great bloated body and a tangle of tentacles.
‘What a horror,’ muttered Algy.
‘If it isn’t your little friend the decapod,’ Biggles told Collingwood sarcastically. ‘It appears to be dead. It’s well out of the way. We’ve enough troubles without that. Either I killed it or made it too sick to stick in its hole, or wherever it lived, when the storm blew up.’
‘The gulls will soon finish what’s left of it,’ stated Collingwood. ‘I shan’t be sorry to see it go.’
‘You knew it was there,’ accused Biggles.
‘I saw it occasionally, crawling along the reef,’ admitted Collingwood. ‘I kept out of its way. It didn’t add to the attractions of the lagoon as a swimming bath.’
‘It wasn’t exactly friendly of you not to warn us,’ replied Biggles coldly.
‘Why should I bother? You were nothing to do with me. In fact, you looked like being a nuisance.’ Collingwood, with good reason, changed the subject. Looking at the sky he said: ‘The worst seems to be over. It’ll soon be getting dark, so I’ll walk along to see how Ali has managed during the storm. It’ll be interesting to have his reactions to your vandalism. He’ll be savage; we can be sure of that. It’ll put him on a spot, as well as us, for allowing it to happen. I’d have thought he’d be along here by now.’
‘If you don’t mind I’ll come with you,’ stated Biggles. ‘If there’s any unpleasant music to be faced I prefer to meet it and get it over with right away.’
They all went up to the landing strip as the easiest way of getting to the far end of the island. The cyclone had left its mark. The runway was littered with debris, torn palm fronds and the like.
‘Looks as if I shall have some tidying up to do before my relief plane can land,’ remarked Collingwood lugubriously.
‘We’ll give you a hand,’ offered Biggles. ‘We might need it as well as you.’
In due course they arrived at the hollow. They could not see Ali, but they could see, and hear, the tremendous waves breaking on the exposed tip of the island. Some of the coconut palms had gone, apparently brought down by the wind.
‘He may be shedding tears over his crop of hashish,’ Biggles said as they walked on to the piece of ground that had been cultivated. ‘The storm wouldn’t have done it any good, anyway. It would have been flattened, if not blown away.’
Ali was not there. Nor was there any hemp, cut or standing, the wind, presumably, having scattered it far and wide. A few ragged leaves had been caught in some shrubs.
‘He must have taken shelter in the mine,’ speculated Collingwood.
They retraced their steps and went down into the hollow. As Ali was not in sight Collingwood hailed; but there was no reply. He pushed his way through the scrub to the entrance of the excavation. A shout of alarm took Biggles and Algy to the spot. There was no need to ask what was wrong. There was no shaft. No hole. It was plain that the bank had become a landslid
e and covered it.
‘If he was inside when that happened, he’ll have had his chips, poor devil,’ Collingwood said.
‘Not necessarily,’ disputed Biggles. ‘There would be enough air in the shaft to keep him alive for some time, provided the whole thing hasn’t caved in and smothered him.’
‘It must have been the rain,’ surmised Collingwood. ‘When the soil got wet it must have slid down like a load of mud.’
‘Thank your lucky stars you weren’t inside,’ rejoined Biggles. ‘But instead of standing here nattering, let’s do something about it. We should be able to shift this muck provided there isn’t too much of it. Let’s pray the wretched fellow is alive. We shall need him.’
‘Why?’
‘If he’s the only one of the gang who can speak English, we shall want an interpreter to do the parleying when the dhow comes back.’
Stooping, he picked up the entrenching tool that had been left there. It was half buried, but luckily the end of the handle was left exposed. There was something else. Biggles picked it up at the same time and held it out in the palm of his hand. It was an oval-shaped piece of pale cream, almost white, substance, across which flowed, like liquid, waves of all the hues of the rainbow.
‘Opal,’ cried Collingwood. ‘You’re in luck. I was gouging too low. It must have come from a higher level. I’ll polish it for you.’
‘Why for me? It’s your mine. I’m not a claim jumper.’
‘You can keep it for a souvenir.’
‘Thanks; but so far I’ve seen nothing here I’m particularly anxious to remember. But this is no time to talk about souvenirs,’ went on Biggles tersely, tossing the opal to Collingwood. ‘There’s a man inside. Let’s get him out.’
They went to work, Biggles with the tool, the others using their hands to pull away the sandy rock and dirt as he loosened it. ‘That’s enough of that,’ Biggles told Collingwood, curtly, noticing he was allowing the debris to run through his fingers, apparently hoping to find more opal. ‘You’ll have time for that later.’
After ten minutes of feverish work another landslide exposed a small black hole the size of a rabbit burrow. Biggles enlarged it and putting his mouth close called ‘Ali! Are you in there?’
A shaky voice answered.
The rest was comparatively easy. The sides of the aperture were torn away to enlarge the hole. Ali put his hands through. They were seized and he was dragged out bodily.
‘Allah is merciful,’ he panted, picking himself up and brushing dirt from his gumbaz, although it was soaking wet and sticking to his body. ‘You came,’ he croaked. ‘It was the will of God.’
‘It was the will of God that you were buried,’ stated Collingwood, cynically. ‘We got you out.’
Ali glared. ‘God is the knower,’ he declared.
‘Let’s not argue about that,’ put in Biggles tersely. ‘What happened?’
‘When the ice falls it is much pain,’ said Ali. ‘I am in much grief. I come in the cave. The waves make the ground shake. Then the ground falls and I am inside.’ The look the Arab gave Biggles, as if he had suddenly remembered what he had done to the hemp, was anything but friendly. ‘My friends will kill you when they come,’ he concluded calmly.
‘They will probably kill you, too,’ announced Collingwood cheerfully. ‘We will talk about it. Are you coming with us to the huts?’
‘I stay here,’ decided Ali.
‘He’s got a palm leaf shelter somewhere,’ Collingwood told Biggles. ‘Let him please himself. I suppose he thinks that if his pals arrive and find him with us they might suppose he agreed to the destruction of the hemp. We can talk to him tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to press on home before it gets dark.’
‘If you have no objection we’ll come with you,’ Biggles said. ‘We have a few things to talk about and there’s no time today to start work on the machine.’
‘That’s all right with me.’
‘Good. I’ll call at the machine to collect something to eat. After all this sweat I need food and I don’t see why we should use yours.’
‘As you like,’ answered Collingwood. ‘Will you answer me a straight question?’
‘Try it.’
‘If by some lucky chance you get back to England, are you going to report what I’m doing here?’
‘I’m keeping an open mind about that,’ replied Biggles. ‘Strictly speaking, I should, but there are occasions when, having an educated conscience, I report only as much as I think is necessary. I should of course have to say I found a man living on the island, but I might feel under no compulsion to volunteer any information about what he was doing. And I can’t imagine anyone guessing that he was gouging for opal. But we can talk about this later.’
They had started walking, but a call from Ali took Collingwood back to him. He was away a few minutes, the others waiting. When he came back Biggles asked, casually: ‘What was all that about?’
‘Ali had a suggestion to make.’
‘Something interesting?’
‘You should find it so, definitely.’
‘What was the idea?’
‘Perfectly simple. He proposed that while you were asleep we should kill you both. That would save any argument when his friends come back.’
‘Charming,’ murmured Algy, with biting sarcasm.
‘What were your reactions to this delightful proposition?’ inquired Biggles, calmly.
‘I said I thought it was a good idea, but there were certain objections to it which I thought he should know,’ answered Collingwood, casually. ‘I promised to explain them tomorrow.’
‘You might explain them to me at the same time,’ requested Biggles. ‘When is your pal Mackay due to arrive?’
‘I can’t say exactly. We couldn’t fix a date because it could only be when he is on leave, or, as occasionally happens, when he isn’t on the duty roster for one of the regular services. It had more or less to be left open. He’ll come when he can. What about your relief plane?’
‘Our arrangement was it should come to look for us if we weren’t back in a week, or no message was received in that time. So far we’ve only been away, all told, five days, so the plane won’t even start for another two days. The earliest I could expect it would be five days from now.’
‘That might be too late.’
‘Perhaps. But there’s nothing I can do about it.’
They walked on with the weather slowly improving, although the sea was just as rough, and could be expected to remain so for a few days after the shaking up it had been through. Just before they reached the huts Collingwood called attention to a solitary spark of light that had appeared far out to sea.
‘That could be the dhow now, on its way back,’ he observed.
‘With the sea in the state it is, I can’t see it trying to put anyone ashore,’ Biggles said.
‘Then let’s hope, for your sake, that it stays rough,’ returned Collingwood, meaningly. ‘Are you going to sleep in my hut tonight?’
‘No thanks. I’d rather stay with my machine in case of accidents. We shall be reasonably comfortable in the cabin. I’ll slip down and collect one or two cans of food and join you later.’
He went off at a tangent.
CHAPTER 13
MURDER MOST FOUL
TAKING it on the whole, Biggles and Algy spent a quiet night in the cabin of the Gadfly, although their rest was broken by guard duty, which Biggles thought advisable.
There had been a lot of talk overnight in Collingwood’s hut, but no definite plan to deal with the situation had been evolved. It was hard to see how there could be one until Ali had declared what he intended to do when his associates in the drug business arrived. Biggles was surprised that the Arab had elected to stay at his own end of the island instead of coming with them to the huts and wondered if there was some sinister reason for it. However, as he remarked, the brain of an Arab worked in its own peculiar way and few Europeans have been able to see inside it. Colli
ngwood was of the opinion that he would join them in the morning when he had had time to think the situation over and note the position of the dhow. That was how matters had been left when Biggles and Algy had said good night to Collingwood and retired to the plane.
The morning came clear and fine with the sky its usual perfect blue; but the sea was still very rough. Even the lagoon was still agitated and could be expected to remain so for a time. There was one blot on an otherwise attractive picture. The dhow. It was far away, but its big three-cornered lateen sail was set and it was standing toward the island. How long it would take to reach it was a matter of surmise. Certainly some hours, Biggles thought.
The gulls had discovered the dead decapod and, as is the manner of sea birds, were making a lot of noise, fighting and squabbling, as they made a meal of it.
Biggles and Algy had a quick breakfast, for as Biggles observed, conditions were ideal for the work they had to do. The sun and the breeze would quickly dry the patches they would have to put on. Fabric, dope and scissors were produced, and they were soon at work, Algy cutting the material and Biggles putting it on where it was needed. Little time was wasted in unnecessary conversation. Both realized that while they could not hope to get the machine airworthy before the dhow arrived, they should be able to get somewhere near it. There was nothing else they could do.
Once Biggles said he thought it would still be some time before the dhow would attempt a landing with such a heavy sea running. It would hardly dare to risk the narrow passage into the lagoon, anyway, for waves were still pouring through it, causing a dangerous swell. Meanwhile, the ungainly-looking vessel drew steadily nearer.
‘They must be wondering what to make of us,’ Biggles said. ‘They must certainly be able to see us.’
On another occasion, as they worked on, Algy said: ‘I wonder what Collingwood is up to. I would have thought he’d have been along by now to see how we are doing. He must have seen the dhow coming.’