Biggles Flies Again Part 8

Biggles thrust the packet into his pocket and watched the retreating figure of the Chinaman in quiet amus.e.m.e.nt. "Queer cove," he observed. "Well," he went on with a change of tone, "let's get the machine up on the beach for the night; we'll push on to Rangoon tomorrow."

Just before dawn Bigglesworth was awakened by the distant rattle of musketry.

"What's all that din?" muttered Algy drowsily in the darkness.

"It sounds as if Li Chi's getting his beauty-sleep disturbed," said Biggles sleepily.

"Serves him right," grunted Algy philosophically, relapsing again into slumber.

Two days later Biggles sat on the palm-shaded verandah of the Hotel Mandalay in Rangoon, plotting the course of the next "leg" of their journey, which would take them to Calcutta. Beside him Algy was reclining comfortably in a long cane chair, reading a local newspaper he had picked up in the lounge. Biggles, happening to glance up, noticed that his face wore a curious expression and he instinctively leaned over to see what was intriguing him.

He stiffened in his chair as his eyes fell on a paragraph-heading in bold type on the front page. There were only two words-Li Chi-and he read on with interest.

"News of what must be one of the most astounding sea mysteries of recent years has been revealed by a wireless message just received from Singapore.

"As published in this journal a few days ago, the authorities were recently informed of the position of the notorious pirate Li Chi, who was known to be en route for India with a quant.i.ty of opium. This information was furnished by Captain Hoi Sing, whose junk, with its conspicuous yellow sail, is a frequent visitor to this port.

"It will be remembered that Captain Hoi Sing was once * an a.s.sociate of Li Chi, but left him on a difference of opinion and subsequently received an amnesty from the Government in return for certain services.

"As a result of the information, Captain Starkey, of the Government sloop Cormorant, was able to intercept Li Chi, and after a swift engagement succeeded in capturing the junk and its captain. Captain Starkey reported that a number of the crew had put off in a small boat at the last moment and succeeded in reaching an island, where, as they had taken refuge in the thick jungle, it was not thought worth while to pursue them. Captain Starkey confiscated the contraband and took the junk in tow, but it shortly afterwards sank in deep water from the damage it had received.

"That same night, while being escorted to Captain Starkey's cabin for interrogation, Li Chi sprang overboard, presumably preferring to die rather than suffer inevitable imprisonment. The sloop was at once stopped and a search made, but as the pirate could not be found it was thought that he had been drowned or become the prey of the sharks that, infest these waters.

"Yesterday, Captain Dupree, of the s.s. Pacific, put in at Raffa Island for fresh water. He reports by wireless to Singapore that Captain Hoi Sing and his entire crew have been murdered and lie dead on the beach. A later message states that the murdered Captain's junk, easily recognized by its yellow sail, has been seen sailing north-west before a fair wind, as if bound for an Indian port.

"It would seem that in some unaccountable manner Li Chi's crew succeeded in crossing from the island to which they escaped, to Raffa Island, a distance of about twenty-five miles, where they succeeded in overpowering Captain Hoi Sing and seizing his ship. The authorities are unwilling to accept this theory, pointing out that if it is correct the boats by which Li Chi's crew reached Raffa Island would still be there, whereas Captain Dupree states definitely that there is not a single boat on the island. Further, they are unable to reconcile the subsequent movements of the junk in proceeding towards India as if the pirates were still in possession of their illicit cargo, which, as previously stated, had been confiscated by Captain Starkey. It is, of course, impossible that a fresh supply of the forbidden opiate could have been obtained in the time at their disposal. We await subsequent developments with interest."

Biggles looked up and drew a deep breath, as his eyes met those of his partner. "That reminds me," he said in a strained voice, moistening his lips. He groped in his pocket and took out a tiny package sealed with wax. He tore it open impatiently. Two magnificent pink pearls rolled into the palm of his hand from a slip of paper. On the paper, in a small neat hand, was written : A small token of my eternal grat.i.tude, LI CHI.

"What do you think was in that chest we fetched from Penang?" asked Biggles, speaking with difficulty. "I'll give you two guesses," grinned Algy.

"I know the sooner we're out of this locality the happier I shall be," observed Biggles grimly.

CHAPTER 9.

DOWN IN THE FOREST.

BIGGLES glanced upwards approvingly at a sky of unbroken blue, as he taxied the "

Vandal" into position for a take-off outside Rangoon harbour for the next "hop" of the journey which would, he hoped, bring them to Calcutta, with Akyab as an intermediate emergency landing-ground.

"I think we may risk the short cut," he told Algy, confidently, referring to a previous discussion as to whether or not they should follow the coast-line or cut across that part of Burma where the wandering Irrawaddy at last breaks up into a hundred mouths and leech-infested swamps, and where at least one British long-distance airman has met his death-a grim fact they had not overlooked.

"We'll take a chance," replied Algy philosophically, "but I don't mind admitting I shan't be happy until we hit the, coast again; a forced landing in that country and we're sunk; that's where poor Hook ".

"All right-I know all about that," replied Biggles shortly. "If the weather was anything but perfect I wouldn't take the chance," he added, opening the throttle.

The rhythmic purr of the engine became a challenging roar and the machine sped across the sparkling blue waters of the Gulf of Martaban in a cloud of spray; then, as the pilot eased the control-column back, the churning wake fell away astern and the "Vandal"

soared gracefully into the tropic sky, swinging round under a touch of the rudder-bar until the compa.s.s needle pointed east-northeast.

Biggles studied the ground ahead, where a dozen meandering streams lay like a carelessly dropped skein of silver ribbons across the inevitable paddy-fields. But the cultivation soon gave way to wilder country, and presently the "Vandal" was winging its way over dark-green virgin jungle and wide areas of bamboo and mangrove swamp.

For some time neither of the men in the c.o.c.kpit spoke, but settled down to that curious condition which can only be described as semi-comatose-yet-wide-awake-the feeling of alert restfulness well known to all long-distance pilots.

Biggles, who had been staring thoughtfully ahead, suddenly fixed his gaze. A frown puckered his forehead. Algy, following his gaze, pulled the corners of his mouth down in an expression of annoyance.

The object of their attention would not have been immediately apparent to a pa.s.senger; indeed, n.o.body except perhaps a seaman or an airman would have noticed it. The peaks of the Arakan Yoma range that lay in their line of flight were now not quite so clear-cut as they had been a few moments before; that was all. Five minutes later, although they were appreciably nearer, the mountains had disappeared completely.

The pilot opened the throttle wide and began climbing for height in order to get above the mist into which they appeared to be heading, fervently hoping it would not develop into one of those opaque fogs which make flying in Farther India so treacherous. He looked back, but there was no escape that way; if anything, the conditions there were worse. He shrugged his shoulders resignedly as the landscape was slowly blotted out by billowing, clouds of vapour. He was not particularly worried, for they were at least halfway to the coast on the other side of the peninsula, where over the warm water of the Indian Ocean the fog would certainly terminate as abruptly as if it had been chopped off with a knife. They were well above the mist and experienced no difficulty in maintaining their original course, and except for the unlikely event of engine failure they had nothing to fear.

Five minutes later, without a single warning splutter, the engines cut out dead.

Not by the slightest movement did the pilot at the control-column indicate that the cessation of noise, in the present atmospheric conditions, was as likely to prove as fatal as a death-sentence. The nose of the machine dropped as he eased the column forward in a glide towards the invisible earth below. And then, as quickly as they had stopped, the engines sprang to life again.

Biggles looked at his partner and his lips formed the words: "Petrol outlet."

Algy nodded, knowing perfectly well that with a clogged petrol outlet from the tank their safe arrival was now in the, hands of the G.o.ds. It might last until they reached the coast or it might not; foreign matter around the petrol outlet pipe can play strange tricks. They were not left long in suspense. Twice the engines cut out and each time they picked up again. Another brief interval and they went for the third and last time; the propellers stopped turning. The pilot dived as steeply as he dared with the throttle levers still forward in a forlorn hope that they might pick up again, but in vain, and the next moment they were enveloped in the enshrouding mist.

Biggles drew the control-column back until they were gliding almost at stalling point, and with his eyes on the altimeter waited for the inevitable crash; 7,000-6,0004,000-2, 000-the needle crept back inexorably on the dial, and still the cold grey mist enveloped them. The silence was uncanny.

"Tell Smyth not to jump," said the pilot coolly, and Algy, with set face, turned his head and pa.s.sed back the instructions to their mechanic, who, with a wisdom born of experience, had already drawn his knees up to his chin and folded his arms over his face in antic.i.p.ation of the coming shock. At five hundred feet by the instrument a dark shadow loomed below through the mist; a second later it became possible to see the ground.

"Forest," said Biggles shortly.

"Yes. No-water !" cried Algy, half rising in his seat.

The pilot made a swift turn that nearly flung Algy overboard, determined at all costs not to lose sight of that narrow lake that meant salvation.

For the next few seconds he circled in a tight S turn, side-slipped gently, and then dropped quietly on the unruffled surface of a sheet of water, the machine finishing its run within ten yards of a dark belt of mangroves.

For a little while n.o.body spoke; then Biggles pa.s.sed his hand wearily over his face. "

Seems to be our lucky day," he observed quietly.

Algy nodded. "You're right," he admitted limply. "I don't want another fright like that for a bit. It would be interesting to know just where we are," he added as an afterthought.

"It would," replied Biggles, "but I fancy we are better off here than we were upstairs. We can at least sit still until the fog lifts; there is plenty of room to get off again when it does. Hullo! We're drifting. Try to catch hold of something to hang on to while I help Smyth clear the outlet pipe."

A few minutes later he paused in his work to look at the place into which they had drifted-a long dark backwater with mangroves and occasional patches of the water-loving mipas-palms on either side, nearly meeting overhead. There was no question of going ash.o.r.e even if they could have reached the bank, for the ground on each side was inundated as far as they could see and strewn with rotting skeletons of trees. Vivid-green moss clung to the roots and ma.s.ses of grey lichen hung from the branches.

"Don't fall in," he warned Algy, who was trying to reach an overhanging bough; "there are certain to be crocs about-and things like that," he added, pointing to a large water-snake that glided along the trunk of a half-submerged tree at their approach.

"We're still drifting," observed Algy.

'It doesn't matter if we art,' replied Biggles; "we shouldn't go far at this rate, anyway, and we can taxi back as soon as the pipe is cleared."

II.

It was late in the afternoon, however, before the outlet had been unclogged, and the engines were once more giving their full revolutions. The mist had rolled away as suddenly as it had appeared, and without the slightest anxiety they commenced to taxi back up the dim avenue down which they had been slowly drifting for several hours.

"Stop her!" It was Algy who spoke, standing up in his seat and looking at the bank with a curious expression on his face. "We're wrong," he went on in a puzzled tone of voice; "

we didn't come down here."

"Are you sure?" replied Biggles, with an uncomfortable twinge of alarm.

"Certain. We haven't pa.s.sed that dead tree before-that one with the orchid growing on it. We should have taken the narrow turning at that last fork. Let's go back."

The machine was turned and they taxied slowly back over their course. They reached the fork to which Algy had referred, but a few minutes later were confronted by a triple fork, and, to add to their confusion, there were several turnings or tributaries on each side.

"I don't like this," muttered Biggles uneasily; "we should have watched where we were going, but I think this is the one."

They set off up a new waterway, taxi-ing more quickly in their anxiety, but it narrowed until the wings of the machine were nearly touching the sombre trees on either side and they knew they were again mistaken. Without speaking, they turned the amphibian, not without difficulty, and were almost immediately confronted by a bewildering maze of forks and side-turnings. A fallen tree, half submerged, effectually barred any further progress in the path they had taken..

"We're lost," observed Biggles coolly, switching off the engine, "lost to the world. And we're hex e for the night, by the look of it," he added, nodding towards the sun, which, sinking in the west in a blaze of crimson glory, cast a ruddy glow over the black waters of the swamp.

"We had better see about making camp," suggested Algy, reaching out for an overhanging branch and pulling the machine towards the bank, which at this place seemed to offer a fairly secure foothold. "We may find the lagoon by cutting through here," he suggested.

"And lose our way back to the machine ! Not if I know it,' declared Biggles grimly "Let's get a fire going to keep off the mosquitoes; take a can of petrol ash.o.r.e and the suitcases to sit on."

III.

Darkness fell with tropical suddenness and found them squatting round a fire in a little open s.p.a.ce some fifteen or twenty yards from the amphibian. The ground was soft and quaked under their feet as they walked, but it was the best place they could find. It was devoid of any sort of gra.s.s or undergrowth, and the gnarled trunks of the encircling mangroves, distorted by the flickering firelight, a.s.sumed curious life-like forms and cast long serpentine shadows across the clearing.

Weird noises, in which the choking grunt of an alligator could alone be distinguished, came from the inky darkness outside the radius of firelight; something heavy was dragging itself through the ooze by the water's edge.

"This place gives me the creeps," muttered Algy in a low voice. "Let's get some more wood and build the fire up." He arose and reached up for a dead, overhanging bough. It broke off with a snap and shed an army of small living creatures over the ground around them, creatures that scuttled away with a faint rustling noise among the dead leaves.

Biggles and Smyth sprang to their feet.

"Look what you're doing, you fool," snapped Biggles in a tense voice, reaching out for the fallen limb to drag it to the fire; but he sprang aside with a shuddering "Ugh!" "Look at that thing!" he gasped, pointing to a bloated foot-long centipede that had disengaged itself from the bark and was slithering away with a loathsome concertina-like movement.

He laughed, a short uneasy laugh. "Let's take things quietly," he said, seating himself again by the fire.

They smoked for some time in silence. A great bat, silent as a shadow, wheeled once round the clearing and disappeared into the darkness whence it came.

"What's that?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Algy suddenly.

Biggles followed the outstretched finger to where two red orbs glowed dully just outside the circle of light. "Croc., I suppose," replied Biggles tersely.

Presently the eyes were joined by another pair, another, and yet another. Here and there smaller pairs of green lamps appeared, motionless, facing the fire. Before long they were in the centre of a circle of silent watchers.

Algy jumped to his feet, s.n.a.t.c.hed a smouldering brand from the fire and hurled it with a shrill yell at a segment of the circle. Every light, went out instantly as if they had been extinguished by a master-switch. Algy laughed, a high falsetto laugh. "Wretched things,"

he muttered as he sat down.

The lights switched on again at once: large eyes, small eyes, yellow, red, and green eyes, silent and unwinking.

Biggles rose abruptly. "I'm going to fetch the gun," he said shortly; "we'll see what a shot or two'll do."

"I'll come with you," said Algy quickly.

Smyth also rose to his feet, and without another word they followed the pilot to where the amphibian was moored. Something heavy slithered away in the darkness and an army of crabs on tall, stilt-like legs scuttled before them into the water as they reached the bank.

Biggles had raised his foot to step on board, but he flung himself backward with a sharp cry of alarm.

"What's that?" he muttered in a voice which he strove to keep steady.

Algy peered forward. Dimly in the gloom he could see a large black object piled up just behind the pilot's seat.

It was moving, very, very slowly, with a sinuous gliding movement.

Algy backed away quickly, clutching Biggles's arm. "Snake !" he said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "What a size!"

For a moment they stood, staring, hesitating. "Let's get back to the fire," snapped Biggles.

"The blessed thing will soon be out if we don't do something about it," observed Algy. "

Let's see if these leaves will burn-ah !" He nearly screamed as a great moth nearly struck him in the face as it whirled an erratic course across the clearing. "Curse this place !" he cried irritably, and began sc.r.a.ping a pile of fallen leaves together with his foot. He paused, bending low. "Biggles," he said in a strained voice, "what on earth are these things?"

The pilot struck a match and held it near the ground. "Leeches," he said thickly, "millions of 'em. Great Scott! We'll have to get out of here somehow."

"How-how?" cried Algy frantically.

"I don't know," admitted Biggles; "we must be hundreds of miles from the nearest-hark !"

The three airmen stood rigid, like figures carved in stone, frozen into att.i.tudes of tense expectancy. Biggles flung up his arm as if to ward off a blow. "I'm mad," he muttered under his breath, "mad !"

Clear-cut in the silence of the tropic night came the bell-like notes of a piano, the vibrating waves of sound rising and falling in the majestic cadence of Elgar's "Salut d'

Amour."

A long peal of hysterical laughter broke from Algy's lips.

The music stopped abruptly, in the middle of a bar.

"Stop that," snarled Biggles, swinging round at Smyth, who was muttering incoherently.

Stooping swiftly he flung open his suitcase and took out a shirt. He broke a stick from a tree, bound the shirt round one end of it and then saturated it with petrol from the tin they had brought ash.o.r.e. He thrust the improvised torch into the fire and then raised it like a blazing beacon high above his head. "Come on!" he cried, starting forward, and then stared unbelievingly at a man in immaculate evening dress who had stepped into the circle of light.

"What on earth are you fellows doing here?" asked a quiet, well-bred voice.