`Where you go now, massa?' asked Dusky.
Ì'm going down to the valley to capture the king,' answered Biggles shortly.
`You what—?' Dusky faltered. He shook his head sorrowfully, but followed as obediently as a dog.
The stairway was, as far as could be ascertained, deserted, and Biggles hurried down, for time was an important factor.
Reaching the valley, he surveyed the scene. Everything was, as he hoped, quiet. The only sign of activity was a light that came from the palace. With his rifle over his arm, Biggles strode towards it, trusting that if he were seen his disguise would see him through.
As he drew nearer he observed that the light came from the French window which gave access to the room in which he and Ginger had been trapped by the Tiger's pet snake.
Suddenly a shadow moved across it, and he realised that a sentry was on duty. However, he went on into the garden and took cover behind a bush. It was now possible to see the sentry clearly. He carried a rifle at the slope.
Biggles leaned his Express against a bush and spoke quietly to Dusky. 'We've got to get that fellow out of the way,' he whispered. 'Can you think of any way of bringing him here?'
Dusky scratched his head. 'I dunno, massa, but I'll try.' He whistled softly.
The sentry, who was pacing up and down, stopped abruptly. `Who's there?' he called.
Biggles nudged Dusky, who whistled again.
The sentry, his curiosity aroused, began to walk slowly towards the spot. Dusky moved into the open where he could be seen. The sentry paused, then continued to move forward, his rifle at the ready.
`Who's that?' What you doing here?' he asked sharply. Ì got a message,' answered Dusky.
`Who for?'
Tor you.'
Upon this the sentry, seeing—as he thought—that he had only one man, a native, to deal with, proceeded with more confidence. He passed Biggles, and peered forward to see the face of the man in front of him. This was the moment for which Biggles had waited. The butt of his pistol came down on the sentry's head, and with a grunt the man collapsed at Dusky's feet. Biggles picked up the fallen rifle and thrust it into Dusky's hands.
`Stay here and watch him,' he ordered, and moving cautiously towards the building, saw what he had not previously noticed. The French window was open, probably on account of the heat.
Quietly, but without loss of time, taking his rifle with him, Biggles moved forward until he could see into the room. Two men were there, seated at a table with a bottle between them. One was Bogat and the other Chorro.
Biggles's first feeling was one of surprise; the second, disappointment; the third, mystification. Where was the Tiger? Bogat was still wearing his hat, as if he had only just arrived. Could Dusky have made a mistake?
While Biggles was still pondering the question Bogat spoke, and his first words explained the situation.
`No, the king is busy up top,' he said. 'When he heard that you'd arrived he sent me down instead to hear what you have to say. If you'd rather see him, or if it's something important, I'll take you up top.'
Biggles understood. In the darkness Dusky had been mistaken. The man he had seen come down the steps was not the Tiger, but Bogat. Chorro had arrived from the coast, and the Tiger had sent Bogat down to get in touch with him.
Biggles was annoyed, for had he known the truth he would not have come down; but now that he was here, with the two men practically at his mercy, he felt that it would be a pity not to take advantage of the situation. He could not very well blame Dusky for the mistake; the old man had acted for the best. Still, the new state of affairs called for an adjustment of plan.
Biggles withdrew a little into the darkness to think the matter over. It would, he thought, be an easy matter to capture the Tiger's two right-hand men, but what was he to do with them? It did not take him long to see that there was only one thing he could do with them, and that was take them to the coast. This would mean leaving the others for longer than he originally intended. Still, if he went back up the steps and rejoined them now it was not easy to see what he could do single-handed. On the other hand, if he went to the coast and explained matters to Carruthers, the acting-Governor might lend him some extra
men. He should be able to get back some time the next day. If Algy and the others remained where they were they should be safe.
So Biggles reasoned as he stood in the shadow of the palace, confronted, for the third time within a few hours, with a decision not easy to make. Successive unexpected events had made his original plan a thing of the past. However., he felt that by securing Bogat and Chorro and taking them to the coast he would have achieved the first step forward in his declared intention of breaking up the Tiger's gang.
With the rifle in the crook of his arm ready for instant use, Biggles strolled into the room.
`Good evening, gentlemen,' he said evenly. 'Keep quite still. It should hardly be necessary for me to warn you that ifeither of you make a sound I shall have to employ your own methods to discourage you. Keep your hands on the table.'
The two men stared. Neither moved. Neither spoke. In the first place, at least, their obedience was probably due to shock. While they were still staring Biggles walked behind each in turn and removed his weapons.
`Now,' he continued, 'we're going for a walk. On your feet. Keep going. I shall be close behind you.'
When they reached the spot where Dusky was waiting, Biggles gave him Bogat's rifle and ordered him to lead the way down to the forest, the first part of the journey to the Wanderer.
It was now bright moonlight, but so much had happened that Biggles had only a hazy idea of the time. He was anxious to reach the foot of the steps before dawn, because there was less chance of meeting anybody on the way.
As a matter of fact it was earlier than he thought, and he found it necessary to wait for some time at the bottom of the steps, for he dare not risk losing his two dangerous prisoners in the darkness of the forest, where, of course, the moonlight did not penetrate.
As soon as there was sufficient light to see he gave the order to continue the march, Dusky still leading the way and he himself bringing up the rear. So far the two prisoners had been passive, but Biggles felt certain that Bogat, at least, would make an attempt to escape. Once he got off the trail into the forest he would be safe from pursuit, and Biggles repeated his warning as to what would happen if either prisoner attempted it. They trudged on in silence. It was broad daylight by the time they reached the river.
Now all this time Biggles had the advantage of knowing where they were going, whereas the prisoners did not. They hoped, no doubt, that camp would presently be made, in which case an opportunity for making a dash into the jungle might present itself. But as soon as the aircraft came into view for in spite of Biggles's rough camouflage, it could be seen from a little distance—the manner of both prisoners changed. They must have realised that unless they did something quickly their minutes of opportunity were numbered. Once in the machine, and in the air, there could be no escape.
Not for an instant did Biggles relax his vigilance, for he knew that this was the crucial moment. He was in fact ready for almost anything; yet in spite of that he was not ready for what did happen.
When they were only a score of paces from the machine Dusky suddenly pulled up dead.
For a moment or two he stood rigid, leaning slightly forward, his big nostrils twitching like a dog that catches the scent of its quarry. Then he turned his head slowly and looked at Biggles. His eyes were round with fear.
Even when he moved his lips, and opened them to speak, Biggles still had no idea of what the old man was going to say; but he sensed danger, and his muscles tightened as instinctively he braced himself. And as they all stood there, motionless, like a screen picture suddenly arrested in motion, the silence was broken by a curious sound, a sort of sharp phut.
Bogat started convulsively. Very slowly, as if it dreaded what it might find, his hand crept up to a face that had turned ashen, to where a tiny dart
, not much larger than a darning needle, protruded. As his fingers touched it a wild scream burst from his lips, and he staggered back against a tree.
Chorro took one terrified look at him, and with the whimpering cry of a wounded dog, regardless of Biggles's order to stop,
rushed into the forest.
Biggles raised his rifle, but he did not shoot. There was no need. For hardly had Chorro left the trail when there was a fierce crashing in the undergrowth, a crashing above which rose shrieks of terror. They ended abruptly.
Now all this had happened in less time than it takes to tell. Biggles knew, without Dusky'
s hoarse advice, that they had been ambushed by Indians, probably the same tribe that Bogat had so mercilessly attacked. He could do nothing for his prisoners. Chorro had disappeared, and it was not hard to guess his fate. Bogat was now on the ground, writhing and twisting in convulsions as the venom on the dart took effect.
Dusky panicked--which was hardly surprising. He fled back along the trail. Biggles followed, now concerned only with escape. He wondered vaguely whether it would be better to go back to the steps, or to try to reach the aircraft, although how this was to be done was not apparent. As he ran, wild shouts behind sent the parrots squawking into the air.
Dusky turned away from the trail like a hunted rabbit. Biggles followed blindly, not so much because he had any faith in his leadership—at least, in the present circumstances—
as because he did not want to lose him. Presently he found himself splashing through mud, and saw the tall reeds that fringed the river just ahead. Dusky made for a tree on which the limbs grew low. Flinging aside his rifle, he went up it like a monkey. Biggles went after him, but kept his rifle, looping it over his shoulder by the sling to leave his hands free for climbing.
He thought Dusky would never stop going up, and for some absurd reason the memory of Jack and the Beanstalk flashed into his mind. The ground was about a hundred feet below when Dusky suddenly disappeared and Biggles, still following, found himself in a strange new world. They had arrived, so to speak, in a new jungle, a jungle with a fairly level floor from which sprang orchids and ferns, with great growths of moss and lichen.
Now Biggles had heard of these different 'layers' of forest, raised one above the other, but this was the first time he had ever seen one, and he looked about with interest. It was easy to see
how they were formed. Branches fell, but instead of falling to the ground, they were caught by the branches below them. Across these in turn fell other branches, twigs and leaves, to form eventually a substantial carpet. On this carpet seeds fell from the flowering tree-tops. Others were dropped by birds. These took root and flourished for a time; then, dying, the seedlings collapsed, to give extra thickness to the mat of rotting debris. Over a period of centuries this mat became as firm as the solid earth far beneath, and supported a flora and fauna of its own. Here among the green tree-tops dwelt birds, and rats, and other small creatures.
Biggles was recalled from his contemplation of this pleasant scene by Dusky, who whispered, 'We hide here.'
Biggles nodded. He was in no mood to argue. All the same, he began to regret that he had left the others. He wondered what they were doing. Could he have seen them he would have been a good deal more disturbed in his mind than he was.
DESPERATE DIVERSIONS
IF Biggles supposed that Algy, Ginger and Eddie were sitting quietly in the underground chamber waiting for him to come back—and there was no reason why he should think otherwise—he would have been wrong. Very wrong. Things had happened. Several things.
They began soon after Algy's discovery that, as a result of the explosion, the stone over the exit had jammed. At least, that is what they thought. As a matter of fact, a block of masonry had fallen on it. Masonry had fallen all over the place. Comparatively speaking, this particular piece was not heavy, but it was of sufficient weight to upset the finely adjusted mechanism of the pivot and so prevent the slab from being tilted open from the inside. Those below it did not know this. As Algy remarked, `The thing has stuck.' They were not at first unduly perturbed, for they assumed that Biggles would return and do something
about it. But when presently the sound of many footsteps could be heard overhead, Algy began to get worried. This was, of course, when the Tiger and his men gathered round the scene of the explosion.
Conversing in low tones, the comrades tried to visualise the scene outside, and as a result of their combined imaginations they arrived fairly near to the truth.
`They've either brought up a cannon and shelled the place, or else blown it up with a stick of dynamite,' declared Algy.
Ì only hope they didn't get Biggles at the same time,' muttered Ginger.
`He'd been gone a fair while,' Algy pointed out. 'He should have got clear.'
`We shall have to wait until he comes back.'
`We should have done that in any case,' reminded Algy. Time passed, a long time, and still Biggles did not return. There were no longer any sounds outside.
`Surely it's time he was back?' murmured Ginger. 'This is awful, sitting here doing nothing.'
Ì'm afraid you're right,' agreed Algy. Ìf everything had gone according to plan he should have been back by now. It begins to look as if something went wrong.'
`What can we do about it?'
`Nothing. At least, I can't think of anything. Have you any ideas, Eddie?'
Eddie answered that he had not. 'I must have been nuts to set out on this jaunt with a pair of cheap crooks,' he added disgustedly—which made it clear how he felt about the whole business.
`How about striking a match and having a look at the slab?' he suggested presently. '
Perhaps we shall be able to see what's happened.' They had of course been sitting in the dark.
`Yes, we might do that,' agreed Algy. 'But we shall have to go steady with the matches—
there aren't many left.'
`Why is it nobody seems to have any matches when they are really needed?' remarked Eddie bitterly.
Ì'll see it never happens to me again,' declared Ginger.
`Before I set out on another trip I'm going to have a special belt made, one to go under my shirt. It will have little pockets all round it. In them I shall carry everything I've always wanted when I haven't had them—a box of matches, and an electric torch, a penknife with all sorts of gadgets in it, chocolates, string À few bombs and a Tommy gun,' sneered Algy. 'Pity you didn't think of it earlier. Stop romancing. Let's get down to brass tacks. I'm going to strike a match, so get ready to have a look round.'
As he spoke he struck the match. It flared up, dazzling them. As their eyes grew accustomed to the light they examined the slab eagerly, but there was nothing to indicate the cause of the trouble. Just as the flame was expiring a wild yell from Eddie nearly made Ginger fall off the step. The match went out.
`What's wrong? What are you yelling about?' snapped Algy.
Ìt's gone!'
`Gone? Who's gone? I mean, what's gone?'
`The idol.'
`You're crazy! Where could it go?'
Ì tell you it's gone,' insisted Eddie. 'I happened to glance that way. It's no longer there.'
`Strike another match, Algy,' put in Ginger nervously. 'I don't like the idea of an image prowling about.'
In his haste Algy dropped all the matches, and several seconds passed—much to Ginger's irritation—before they could be collected.
Tor the love of Mike get a move on,' he growled.
Another match flared, and they all stared in the direction of the image. One glance was enough. Eddie was right. It was no longer there.
With one accord, prompted by mutual curiosity, they started walking towards the place where it had been, but before they were half-way the match went out. Still, they had seen enough to give them an idea of what had happened.
`Strike another match,' urged Ginger.
`We can't go on striking matches at this rate,' protested Algy.
`Wait a minute. I'll tear a strip off my shirt,' offered Ginger. There came a noise of tearing material. 'All right, go ahead,' he resumed. 'I hope the stuff will burn.'
Another match blazed, and Ginger lighted the piece of material that he now held in his hands. 'That's better,' he said, as it flared up.
It was now possible to see precisely what had happened. The explosion had evidently been more severe than they had supposed, for there were several cracks in the walls and ceiling. With these they were not concerned. Their attention was riveted on a more interesting development. At first they could not understand what had become of the idol, but as they drew near they saw that the shock of concussion had caused it to tilt forward, revealing a square aperture behind it, a hole into which the base of the idol had previously fitted.
In order to reach this opening Algy had to climb on the back of the idol, but as soon as he touched it it swung still lower in a manner that explained how it operated. The idol was, in fact, a door, hinged at the bottom by a balancing device similar to the one that worked the slab above. So perfectly poised was the idol that the slightest pressure was sufficient to move it, but what hidden spring actuated it could not be discovered. With such precision did the ponderous stone with the carved face fit into the recess behind it, that, had not the explosion exposed the secret, it would not have been suspected.
`This is getting interesting,' murmured Algy.
`You bet it is,' declared Ginger enthusiastically. 'Go ahead. Let's see what's inside.'
`You've got the light, go ahead yourself,' invited Algy.
`Say, why argue? Let's all go,' put in Eddie. And in a moment they were all standing in the dark doorway, Ginger holding up the piece of burning stuff in order to throw a light as far as possible.
As a means of illumination the strip of shirt left much to be desired, but in its smoky yellow glow they saw three broad steps that led down into another chamber, a long, low room with what appeared to be heaps of debris piled at intervals on the floor. There was only one piece of furniture—a curiously carved chair.
`There doesn't seem to be anything to get worked up about,' observed Ginger in a disappointed voice, as they advanced slowly down the steps.
25 Biggles In The Jungle Page 13