The Wireless Officer Part 38

Peter too felt far from comfortable when the Arabs regained their feet.

There could not have been the slightest doubt that they had heard the mocking laugh, and had there been trouble the lascars would have held aloof, or even have sided with their co-religionists. But, grave and inscrutable, the crew of the dhow carried on as if the unseemly interruption was beneath their notice.

"I think I'll keep watch to-night after this," said Peter.

"P'raps 'twould be as well," agreed Preston. "That woman is a perfect curse--I'm not much use, but I'll take a trick. If there's any sign of mischief I can give you a shout. Got your automatic handy?"

"Rather."

"Pity you hadn't shown it, off-handed like," continued the Acting Chief. "A little moral persuasion of that description goes a long way with these gentry. I remember once getting into a jolly tight corner at Port Said. It was my own fault to a great extent, but I was only an irresponsible 'prentice in those days. I shifted a dozen low-down Arabs with the stem of a pipe. They thought it was a six-shooter.

It's as likely as not that our friend the skipper has spotted that bulge in your hip pocket."

"And taken it for a purse with a thousand rupees in it," added Peter.

"Yes, I think I'll have to keep my weather eye lifting."

Preston and the Wireless Officer had rigged up a canvas shelter amidships, spreading the covering ridge-wise on a gantline stretched between the mainmast and the for'ard end of the hatch. The hatch was a large one, measuring roughly thirty feet by ten, and was covered with canvas held down by bamboo battens. This, with the tent, took up the greater part of the deck s.p.a.ce amidships.

Farther aft, but on the centre line, a tent made from the boat's mizzen sail had been set up for Olive's use. Provided the weather remained fairly quiet it formed quite a sheltered and comfortable retreat.

The Arab captain had raised no objections to the execution of this plan, although it had been carried out without his sanction. Peter and Mahmed had set up the shelters without any hesitation. The former was, indeed, prepared to a.s.sert his right to do so in consideration of the fact that he had not pressed his claim for more accommodation under the p.o.o.p-deck.

It was late before Mostyn turned in. For quite an hour he had stood on deck with Olive, watching the moon sinking lower and lower in the heavens until it dipped beneath the horizon.

Peter gave no hint to the girl of his misgivings, nor did Olive refer to her reasons for refusing to share the cabin with Mrs. Shallop.

After all, knowing the lady, he was not surprised at the cultured girl's reluctance to be in her company more than was absolutely necessary.

At about ten o'clock Peter bade the girl good night. Creeping in under the flap of his shelter he found Preston fast asleep on one side of the deck-s.p.a.ce and Mahmed, equally somnolent, lying right across the entrance. He stirred as Peter made his way over him, but instantly fell asleep again.

"Fortunately I'm not sleepy," thought Mostyn, as he settled himself upon his share of the rough bedding, which consisted of oilskin coats and a rafia mat.

On deck all was quiet, save for the occasional creaking of the blocks and the ripple of water at the dhow's bows. With the exception of the helmsman the Arab crew had gone below before Peter had retired to his shelter-tent. The lascars had also retired to their a.s.signed quarters for'ard.

The night was calm and sultry. At twelve the solitary watch on deck was relieved; it apparently being the custom on board the dhow for the helmsmen to work three hour-tricks both by day and night.

Peter heard the two men talking for a few minutes in a low tone; then the Arab off duty went below, his slippers pattering softly on the deck.

Another hour pa.s.sed. Nothing of an unusual nature happened. Mostyn began to wonder whether his precautions had been in vain. He was feeling a bit sleepy by this time, but he had no desire to arouse his injured companion. He was content to take Preston's word for the deed, but if he were to keep awake he simply must have some fresh air.

With this purpose in view Peter crept cautiously across the sleeping Mahmed, drew aside the flap of the tent, and gained the open air. It was now a fairly bright starlit night. The cool breeze thrummed tunefully through the scanty rigging, gently filling the huge, triangular, lateen sails. The foot of the mainsail was cut so low that from where Mostyn stood, just abaft of the foremast, the shelving p.o.o.p was hidden from view.

Bareheaded and lightly-clad he grasped one of the weather-shrouds and drunk in great draughts of the ozone-laden air. He realized the relief of being no longer responsible for the safety of his charges, so far as seamanship and navigation were concerned. Day after day, night after night in an open boat had considerably dimmed his ardour for exercising command.

After a while he wanted a cigarette, but remembered that he had left his share in the breast-pocket of his drill tunic.

"Better be turning in again," he soliloquized, with visions of malaria in his mind. "It's rather a risky game hanging about here."

Even as he turned to regain the shelter a shriek rent the air. Less than ten feet from where he stood were a couple of Arabs kneeling beside the collapsed tent. One was holding the canvas down with hands and feet, while the other, knife in hand, was raining furious blows upon the defenceless and sleeping men pinned beneath.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

A Fight to a Finish

A mad fury seized upon the Wireless Officer. Without giving a thought to the automatic pistol in his hip-pocket he hurled himself upon the treacherous Arabs.

Strong, agile, and carrying weight, his sudden and unexpected onslaught took the pair as completely by surprise as their murderous attack had taken their victims.

With a crashing blow from his left Peter felled the fellow with the knife, stretching him insensible upon the deck and hurling the glittering steel into the lee scuppers.

So headlong had been Mostyn's rush that its impetus proved his undoing.

His foot caught in the folds of the canvas. He tripped across the limp and inert body of one of the occupants of the overturned tent, and with a dull thud he measured his length upon the deck.

He regained his feet quickly, but not before the second Arab had recovered from the shock of the unexpected diversion. The next moment Peter and the Arab were wrestling furiously.

With a mighty heave the Wireless Officer swung his lithe and muscular antagonist from the deck, but the Arab's fingers were gripping Peter's throat in a sinuous and tenacious hold. Swaying, turning in short circles, the two combatants struggled. It was a question of who should be able to hold out longest--the Englishman with his windpipe almost closed or the Arab with his ribs strained almost to bursting-point and his lungs as empty as a deflated tyre.

Once Peter swung the Arab round in the pious hope that he might crash his opponent's head against the mast, but the fellow, although on the point of suffocation, contrived to turn aside. Then with a sudden movement he released his grip on the Englishman's throat, transferring his attention to Mostyn's eyes.

Peter's fairly long hair afforded a secure hold for the Arab's fingers, while his thumb slithered down Mostyn's forehead preparatory to the typically Arab trick of gouging out his opponent's eyes.

"Would you?" spluttered Peter.

Releasing his hold of his foeman's body, he put a rallying effort into a terrific uppercut. The blow was well-timed. The Arab was simply lifted from the deck. His arms outstretched, his fingers still grasping a generous helping of Peter's hair, he described a perfect parabola, Arab Number Two thudded unconscious upon the deck by the side of his previously vanquished compatriot.

Dazed and breathless, Peter strove to recharge his lungs. He was barely conscious of the blood flowing from the raw patches whence his hair had been uprooted. It was his throat that pained terribly. He seemed still to feel the claw-like fingers pressing remorselessly into his windpipe. Every gasp of air rasped his lacerated tongue, which, in his imagination at least, had swollen until it threatened to complete the choking process that his opponent had failed to achieve.

The respite, agonizing though it was, was a short one. A warning cry--whence it came Peter knew not--put him on the alert.

Approaching with swift, cat-like movements were two more Arabs, one of whom was the captain of the dhow. The latter had a knife in his hand, its long blade shimmering in the starlight. The other fellow, although he wore a knife in his sash, relied upon an iron bar as a weapon of offence.

For the first time during the encounter Peter remembered his automatic.

The thought gave him confidence for the renewed struggle, but his fingers, trembling with the muscular reaction, fumbled as he drew the pistol from his pocket.

He was a fraction of a second too late. Before he had time to level the weapon the Arab with the bar dealt him a terrific, flail-like blow.

Stepping aside and stooping, Peter avoided the swing of the weapon by a hairbreadth, but the automatic was struck from his grasp and flew half a dozen yards along the deck.

The Arab, carried half-round by the impetus of the swing of the bar, finished up by dealing the captain a heavy blow upon the wrist that caused him to drop the knife.

Instantly Peter saw and seized his opportunity. Grasping the Arab sailor round the waist he advanced upon the captain, using the former as a shield and battering-ram.

Retrieving the knife with his left hand, the skipper of the dhow advanced cautiously, to be confronted at every approach by the struggling, helpless form of his compatriot.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TWO TO ONE]

It was a strenuous task for Mostyn. Already sorely tried by his previous and successful combat, he realized that the unequal struggle could not last much longer. The weighty and frantically kicking Arab was surely wearing out his last remaining strength, while the comparatively uninjured captain was awaiting his opportunity of rushing in and knifing the exhausted Englishman.

Peter had "seen red", now he was beginning to "see white", for a mist swam in front of his eyes. He felt his knees giving way under him. He was no longer able to hold his human buckler clear of the deck, and the Arab's bare heels were beating an erratic tattoo on the planks.