Biggles and the Leopards of Zinn

by W E Johns

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I’ve already told you. We can think of only one reason. The leopard-men, or maybe lion-men, have stepped in.’

  ‘But why? What are they after in the Zinn territory?’

  ‘That’s what we’d like to know. There must be something there. The Zinns couldn’t raise half a crown between them. They have no use for money. But I repeat, unless a real man-eater has arrived on the scene there must be something worth having. If we knew what that was I wouldn’t be asking you to go to Africa.’

  Biggles tapped the ash off his cigarette with thoughtful deliberation. ‘So it all boils down to this. The Colonial Office suspects these killings are really murders with a practical purpose behind them, and they want to know what it is. Fair enough. But why choose me? Surely they’d do better to send an officer of their own service who knows the way of Africans, can speak their language, and would therefore be better equipped for such an investigation?’

  ‘One would think so, and I put forward the same argument. But it seems that these very qualifications would prove a handicap. Such a man would have to rely on native intelligence, which would apply to his own bearers as well as the Zinns; but if they were scared he’d get nothing out of them. What could he do single-handed? Then there’s the question of mobility. The actions of a badly frightened African, when fear is based on superstition, are unpredictable. He’s as helpless as a rabbit hypnotized by a stoat. You, with an aircraft and stores, would be able to keep the whole district under your eye.’

  Again Biggles nodded. ‘True enough.’

  ‘But I must make this clear,’ went on the Air Commodore. ‘Up to the present there isn’t a shred of evidence to show, much less prove, that these killings were not the work of a genuine leopard. It’s only the behaviour of the Zinns that suggests they were not. They wouldn’t be stricken dumb by the appearance of a common-or-garden leopard. If the killer was a leopard we’ve nothing to worry about. It could be hunted down and killed, and that would be that. But if someone from outside was infiltrating into the district, with Africa as it is, that could be a much more serious matter. We’ve never had any trouble in the Zinn country and we don’t want any. It would be a tragedy if they were frightened into turning against us, as has happened in other parts of the continent.’

  Biggles stubbed the end of his cigarette in the ash-tray. ‘All right, sir. You’ve explained the position clearly except in one respect.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If the killer turns out to be a real leopard what am I to do?’

  ‘Kill it if you can.’

  ‘And if it should so happen that the beast has only two legs instead of the usual four—what then?’

  The Air Commodore hesitated.

  ‘Come on, sir. It’s up to you to give the orders.’

  ‘Find out what the game is.’

  ‘And leave the killers there to carry on?’

  Again the Air Commodore hesitated. ‘I’d rather leave that to your own initiative.’

  Biggles smiled mirthlessly. ‘In other words I carry the can?’

  ‘You don’t expect me to order you to kill a native?’

  ‘Then what do I do with him—if he happens to have spots on and carries claws?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘Then let’s put it like this. I’m nothing for half measures, or lily-fingered tactics. If I take on this job, when I pack up I shall leave everything clean and tidy.’

  ‘Don’t be difficult, Bigglesworth,’ protested the Air Commodore. ‘You’re an old hand when it comes to tricky business. As far as I’m concerned you can do anything you think would be in the best interests of everyone concerned. Any action you take will have my full support. You can rely on that.’

  ‘Fair enough, sir,’ agreed Biggles cheerfully. ‘I’ll take my lads along and we’ll see what we can do. What about the Resident Magistrate at Nabula? Will you let him know I’m on my way out to Lake Jumu?’

  ‘I shall have to do that. He’s entitled to know.’

  ‘Then how about asking him to send me up a man who speaks the Zinn language to act as an interpreter? I could meet him at the rest-house on the shore of the lake.’

  ‘That sounds a sensible arrangement.’

  ‘Then let’s leave it like that.’ Biggles got up. ‘I’ll start getting organized right away. I’ll see you again before I go. Meanwhile, you might let me know if any further news comes in.’

  ‘I will.’

  Biggles went out.

  It will now be understood why he had flown to the seldom-visited Lake Jumu, what he hoped to achieve, and why he was taking precautions more elaborate than usual.

  CHAPTER 3

  UNWELCOME VISITORS

  After the shock of finding yet a third tragedy at the rest-house half an hour was sufficient time for the temporary base to be established. Actually there was little to do. The flies and mosquitoes having been exterminated, and some small lizards that had taken up residence removed, the stores and sundries were stowed away. The aeroplane was brought nearer to the verandah in a position from which it could not be approached by anyone without being observed. Biggles made a simple but practical filter, to remove solids from the water, by burning black some slices of bread. Through this all water for drinking would be passed before being boiled.

  ‘To drink that water as it is would be asking for dysentery,’ he remarked, looking suspiciously at the stagnant liquid. ‘A little trouble now may save bigger trouble later. I think that’s as much as we can do,’ he went on, gazing along the glassy surface of the lake to where the school of hippos lay like half-submerged logs. ‘It looks as if the Zinns intend to keep clear of us, in which case we shall have to look for them. They must have seen or heard the machine arrive, so had things been normal we would have had visitors by now. No matter. The local lads will have to show themselves sooner or later.’

  ‘Why so?’ asked Algy.

  ‘Well, if they live on fish they’ll have to see about catching some, and they can hardly do that without going into the water, in which case we’re bound to see them. Judging from that old dug-out on the beach they use canoes and we could hardly fail to notice a canoe on the water. Their village is on this side of the lake but it must be some way along. I imagine it’ll be a ramshackle affair, anyway.’

  ‘How about walking along?’ suggested Algy.

  ‘Not today. There isn’t time. We’re in no hurry. It might be better not to give them the idea we came here specially to see them.’

  ‘You seem to have ruled out the possibility that the Zinns themselves might have been responsible for the deaths here,’ said Ginger.

  Biggles shrugged. ‘I haven’t ruled out anything, for the simple reason all I know about these people is what I’ve been told. All the same, I’m bound to be guided by the people who do know them. They say that in the fifty years we’ve been taking care of this region there’s never been the slightest trouble until now. Far from taking anything from the Zinns we’ve given them plenty in the hope of raising their standard of living. We’ve also protected them from outside interference. Why should they suddenly change? According to my information they’re a simple people leading a communal life without even a chief. Their affairs are run by a few old men. Apparently all they do is eat, sleep and catch fish. Now it seems there’s a monkey in the woodpile and our job is to winkle it out.’ Biggles’ voice took on a harder note as he concluded. ‘And I shan’t be too particular about how I do it. I loathe these people, civilized or otherwise, who go about making trouble. They’re a curse on the face of the earth.’

  Bertie chipped in. ‘Oh, I say, look what’s arrived; coming up the slipway, too, to have a dekko at us. He might cause a spot of bother if you stepped on his tail fetching a can of water—if you see what I mean.’

  They all turned to follow the direction of his eyes and saw a crocodile coming out of the water. It was an enormous, repulsive-looking brute not less than fifteen feet long. Rising
on straightened legs, with its back arched, it looked like a prehistoric monster. Reaching dry ground it sank down flat on the sandy soil, its big mouth agape to show rows of discoloured teeth. It appeared to have no fear of the men standing not far away.

  ‘He’s got a nerve,’ growled Biggles. ‘I’d bet he’s a man-eater when he gets a chance or he wouldn’t be so cocksure of himself. It’d take more than a native spear to go through his hide and he knows it. But he’s made a mistake this time. We can do without him on our doorstep. Ginger, fetch me the Express and some bullets. We’ll discourage the ugly devil if nothing more.’

  ‘You’re going to shoot it?’

  ‘I’m going to try. I don’t like saying I hate anything; even less do I enjoy killing things; but let’s face it. Of all creatures on the face of the earth the one I must confess I hate is the crocodile. He’s an ugly, foul, loathsome brute that will kill anything, anywhere, man or beast, at any time; and the way they kill is as horrible as they are. The mere sight of them makes my flesh creep. I hate them, and I’m not alone in that. That monster is quite capable of coming ashore at night and dragging one of us out of bed. They’ve been known to do that. Every year hundreds of natives are killed by them. I wouldn’t sleep if I knew that old devil was around. No doubt there are others, but I’ll deal with this one right here and now. He’ll be one less, anyway.’

  ‘And to think I was just going to have a sponge down where that nasty piece of work came out,’ said Bertie, in a shocked voice, as Ginger went off.

  ‘I said we’d better look hard and think twice before we put our feet in that water,’ reminded Biggles. ‘These crocs have been unmolested for so long they think they can do as they like. We’ll soon alter that.’

  Ginger returned with the rifle. ‘It’s loaded,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to shoot, the report will tell everyone within miles that somebody is here.’

  ‘Anyone within miles must know that already,’ Biggles pointed out, as he brought the rifle to his shoulder.

  The weapon crashed. At the report, and the smack of the bullet, which could be heard distinctly, the great lizard sprang into the air, and then, snapping its terrible jaws, flung itself about in a frenzy hard to reconcile with a creature which normally appears sluggish in its movements. Clouds of birds rose into the air.

  Biggles ran forward, jerking another cartridge into the breech. At point-blank range he fired again, and that more or less finished the business. The creature’s convulsive struggles slowed down and stopped. It twitched once or twice, quivered and lay still.

  Biggles handed the rifle back to Ginger who, with the others, had followed him.

  ‘I’ll bet that old villain has chewed up a few piccaninnies in his time,’ remarked Bertie, regarding the monster through his eye-glass. He stepped closer.

  ‘Watch your step, Bertie, there may be a last kick left in him. If he fetches you a swipe with that tail of his he’ll cut the legs from under you.’

  Hardly had the words left Biggles’ mouth than Bertie had to jump sideways like a cat as the heavily armoured tail lashed out in a final nerve spasm, the tip almost touching the creature’s nose. His expression of alarm and indignation, and his remarks as he looked for his monocle, which had become detached from his face, raised a laugh.

  ‘Why didn’t you kill him while you were at it?’ he complained, lugubriously, as he picked up his glass and replaced it.

  ‘What are you going to do with the brute?’ asked Algy, practically. ‘You can’t leave it lying there. It’ll stink to high heaven.’

  Biggles grinned. ‘I haven’t thought of that. He can stay where he is for the moment. In the morning we’ll tow him out and sink him in deep water—unless you’re thinking of having him stuffed for a souvenir.’

  ‘Not me, laddie, no bally fear,’ denied Bertie, warmly.

  ‘Just a minute,’ put in Ginger sharply, on a serious note. ‘Don’t look now, but I think we have company.’ He was staring towards the lengthening shadows on the plain beyond the bungalow.

  ‘What can you see?’ asked Biggles, tersely, casually turning in that direction.

  ‘I saw something move in that clump of tamarisk near the leaning acacia with the flat top.’

  ‘What did it look like?’

  ‘It could have been an animal, or a man creeping on all fours. I only caught a glimpse of it as it slid into the bushes.’

  ‘What colour was it?’

  ‘It looked black against the sun.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a buck of some sort? I noticed some reed-buck farther along coming down to drink.’

  ‘It was too low on the ground for that. It looked more like a leopard in size and shape. It could have been a man crawling.’

  Biggles frowned. ‘I don’t like the idea of either a man or a leopard prowling about the place so near sundown.’

  Algy reached for the rifle Ginger was still carrying.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Biggles, shortly.

  ‘Have a shot at it.’

  ‘Leave it alone. We don’t want to start trouble by shooting a native; if it is a leopard, and you hit it without killing it, you might find yourself in trouble.’

  ‘Just as you like.’

  ‘Let’s keep an eye on the place without making it obvious what we’re doing. If it’s a native he’s up to no good or he wouldn’t go to so much trouble to hide himself.’

  Some minutes passed, with the light beginning quickly to fade. Then Ginger spoke. ‘I can see it. If it isn’t a leopard it could be a cheetah. It’s wearing spots, anyway.’

  ‘Where did you see it?’

  ‘At about a hundred yards, between that group of three tall ant-hills.’

  Algy spoke. ‘There are two of ‘em. I just saw something moving away, fast, beyond that patch of tamarisk.’

  ‘I think we’d better see what’s going on,’ decided Biggles. ‘If it’s only a leopard it doesn’t matter, but I don’t like the idea of someone watching us so near bedtime. We’ll soon settle it. Give me the rifle.’

  Algy handed him the weapon. He loaded it, and with it under his arm he strolled nonchalantly towards the bungalow until it came between him and the tamarisk. On reaching it he walked quickly to the end, and then, with the ant-hills in plain view, he strode briskly, without any attempt at concealment, towards them. Nothing happened. There was not a movement. At a distance of perhaps thirty yards from the objective, slightly in advance of the others, he stopped, eyes questing for the object that had aroused their curiosity. This matter of distance may appear to be a mere detail, but in view of what was soon to happen it was of vital importance. The hush that precedes nightfall had closed over the land. There was not a sound of any sort, so that when Biggles spoke his voice cut clear and sharp.

  ‘Hey, you feller there!’ he called.

  The response was immediate.

  What appeared to be a black ball detached itself from some scrub and came bowling towards him at extraordinary speed. It was this speed which rooted Ginger to the ground, spellbound; and the thing had covered half the distance towards them before he observed that it was in fact an animal. A second later he made it out to be a leopard. It is true he had never before seen a charging leopard, and if he had thought about it at all he would have imagined it advancing in giant leaps, not rolling over the ground like a ball.

  Biggles must have realized what it was at the same time, for he threw up the rifle and fired. To Ginger’s horror the shot missed. He saw a feather of earth spurt up a few inches to one side. Before Biggles could fire again the leopard was almost on him. It rose up on its hind legs and this brief pause may have saved his life. He fired straight into the beast from the hip. At such a range a miss was hardly possible. With a growling roar the animal fell, and struck the ground in a somersault. But that is not to say it was dead. Far from it. Growling horribly in its throat it regained its feet. Biggles jumped sideways, letting the rifle slide through his hands to use the butt. There was no time to re
load. By then Algy and Bertie were busy with their revolvers.

  A revolver is not the ideal weapon for killing dangerous game, but in this case it may have been the weight of lead that counted. Both guns blazed as fast as the triggers could be pulled. The shots coming from two directions seemed to confuse the beast, for in a fearful noise of snarling it whirled about, tearing up the earth, clawing and biting at the places where the bullets were striking it. These in the end had the desired effect and the animal fell, twitching convulsively. By this time Biggles had reloaded. Going in close he put a ball into the creature’s head and that finished it.

  It was some seconds before anyone spoke. Biggles, his face pale from shock, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

  Then Bertie, with a little high-pitched laugh which revealed his nervous tension, said: ‘I say, by jingo, that was kind of warmish, wasn’t it, what?’

  For a moment nobody answered. They all stood there, breathing heavily, staring down at the spotted cat.

  ‘Warm’s the word,’ panted Biggles. ‘It was the rate it came at us that I can’t get over. I wasn’t prepared for anything like that. It was not as though the beast had been wounded. That attack was entirely unprovoked.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Algy. He reached down, and seizing what appeared to be a piece of stick projecting from the animal’s side, pulled out the head of a narrow spear.

  ‘Ah! That explains it,’ said Biggles. ‘So it had been wounded. Well, there it is. We know now that there are leopards here. One wouldn’t be likely to be here alone. It’s almost certain to have a mate. You realize this puts a different complexion on the whole business here. Is this coincidence, I wonder? I mean, is this the animal that has been killing people here, or is it, as I say, coincidence? Of course, leopards are fairly common over most of Africa; but only a very small proportion of them are man-eaters.’