Chapter 8 – Dangerous Predicaments

Between his radio calls to Algy, Biggles had visited the little island, Patrick canoeing him over. He inspected the hut where Ginger had slept, his concern increasing when he found that some of his gear was still here, though not his gun or his torch. Clearly Ginger had gone to investigate something and not returned. When, what and why?

The answers came on the trip back. It was nearing the time he had arranged to make the second transmission and, as they approached the canoes, a young woman was about to paddle out. Patrick evidently had business to conduct on the island, for when she asked if Biggles wanted to be taken across, the Islander acquiesced immediately. Biggles stepped into the canoe and she paddled away.

Once out of earshot, she quickly explained what had happened.

'You feller go along friend belong you quick time,' she advised. 'Big trouble belong him. Gettum kill.'

Fortunately Biggles was aware that this meant Ginger was hurt in some way and not actually dead – 'die finish' would have been the term for that. He listened carefully to her description of the place and of the part of the road where she would join him, since it was not advisable that they should be seen together. She dropped him off and paddled down the coast. The rain had eased here but conditions were worse farther north, he gathered after his call to Algy.

He drove off along the green fringed road, watching his rear-view mirror carefully to check on whether he was being followed. Two trucks came the other way but paid him no attention other than ensuring they could squeeze past on the narrow track. He soon found the arranged spot, an abandoned shelter on one side of the road facing a slender path on the other. His conversation with Algy would have given her a start and he hoped she would be there soon.

In the event it was only a minute or two later when Anna arrived, slipping so slickly into the passenger seat that he was barely aware of her. Thankfully he drove off again.

She nestled behind him, hidden from the outside by the hood, which Biggles had drawn across during the rain. She could only be about twenty, he mused, commanding a high bride price, Patrick had joked when watching them set off, and yet this was one of the agents Raymond had spoken of. Worrals had been right when she claimed that men underestimate the capabilities of women – here was a case in point.

The foliage all looked the same to him but Anna's local eyes expertly guided him to the place to stop. There was no-one around and she was out of the Land Rover and on to the path before he had applied the hand brake. Jumping down, he strode round the vehicle to follow, only to see her coming back.

'Bad mens,' she hissed at him urgently. 'Two feller find friend belong you.'

She took him by the hand and led him carefully along the path, diverging from it by a small hut. Biggles drew his gun as they came to the pit and he saw the men call down and heard Ginger's voice from below. One of them was pointing Ginger's gun and there was nothing else Biggles could do but shoot. The man was knocked forward into the pit, the gun falling from his hand. Thunder sounded. Anna had vanished. The other man, snarling, leapt away into the trees.

Biggles hesitated. He could do little while the man was loose but he looked anxiously over the edge to check on Ginger, struggling into a sitting position, and on his assailant, prone and evidently unconscious. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder, Biggles thought, so he was probably still alive. A stone struck him on the ear and he turned quickly.

He had only been there for a second but the other man was almost on him, brandishing a bush knife. Biggles evaded the blow but as they grappled, his gun was knocked from his hand and, catching his foot, he went over. With a gleam of triumph his attacker raised the bush knife again but suddenly there was a flurry of movement behind him and, pitching forward, he would have landed on Biggles had Biggles not squirmed out of the way in time. Anna stood there, a rock in her hand.

Biggles retrieved his gun and looked warily at the body. He ought to be out cold after a blow such as that but he would have handcuffed the man had he not left these in the Land Rover. He had rope but he would need that to get down to Ginger.

Anna, in fact, wasting no time, was already fastening the rope around a tall palm tree and in seconds was in the pit beside Ginger, who had now regained his feet. Biggles tied another rope to the tree and let that down so Ginger could be given assistance in climbing. A third rope joined these and, with Biggles on one side and Anna the other, Ginger managed to clamber out, sprawling on the top as he did so. Anna, lithe as a gymnast, shinned down the rope again and returned with a fallen coconut, which she opened with the bush knife. Gratefully Ginger drank.

'That's better,' he said, looking up. 'You were only just in time.'

'So I saw. I was in the same fix till . . .'

Anna hushed him, obviously anxious that her presence should not be known and not convinced that both Islanders were completely unconscious.

'What do we do with these two beauties?' Ginger asked.

'Blessed if I know. Contact Auki I suppose. I'd ask the villagers to help but they might cut up nasty, thinking we'd injured two of their people. To begin with I don't like the idea of this character running around loose when he comes round, so I'll fetch the cuffs and secure him.

Once he had done this and Ginger was sitting in the Land Rover, Biggles radioed the police at Auki, stressing the need for an ambulance. Anna, anxious to return to her village quick time, slipped off into the trees.

'How are you feeling?' Biggles asked. 'You ought to be in hospital, really.'

'It was a heck of a blow,' admitted Ginger, 'but I think I'm recovering. Seeing you was the best tonic I could have. I'm still trying to work out who hit me, though.'

'Not who, what?' corrected Biggles. 'Anna told me on the way. You've just been drinking some of it.'

'I don't get it.'

'The coconut, falling off the tree – and by the size and weight of it, you're lucky to have got away as cheaply as you have. If it had hit you straight on, it could have killed you.'

Thunder sounded again and was accompanied by another deluge.

'Suffering catfish,' said Biggles, 'when it rains, it really means it, doesn't it?'

'It'll give Anna an excuse for being delayed.'

'Hope it doesn't hold up the speedboat they're sending from Auki,' said Biggles, gloomily. 'The sooner we're away from here, the better.'

Worrals, meantime, was overhearing some surprising information. According to Pereira her escape had occurred only one hour earlier and the gallant captain had been released by his men within twenty minutes of the ambush. Doubtless da Silva received this news with the scepticism it deserved, for his response smacked of cold rage.

'What did you learn from her before this – ambush?' he enquired icily. 'What accomplices have you tracked down?'

This would be especially interesting, Worrals considered, concentrating hard, but she was astounded to hear a farmer in Ribiera Grande, a shop-keeper in Furnas and an old man in a place she didn't catch as her likely sources. With some relief she realised that she knew none of these people and, indeed, she suspected Pereira of inventing them. Why?'

'You are rounding these spies up?' queried da Silva.

'It is in hand,' Pereira assured him, airily.

'And why did you delay in informing me of this? You were almost here before your men rang through.'

'We were confident of recapturing her,' Pereira explained, awkwardly, 'and didn't want to take up the time of a busy man unnecessarily.'

'And where do you suppose this elusive lady is now? One escapes to sea and your bungling pilot fails to catch her, the other slips clean from your grasp and could be anywhere. This room, even!'

The unconscious irony of this remark caused Worrals a moment's alarm. Would he put his thought into practice and instigate a search? But the comment was clearly not meant seriously, as his next words showed.

'She has probably fled the island by now. It is unlikely she would come near Setes Cidade if, thanks to your inefficiency, she is aware of me, but you had better watch the roads just in case. I have already told my people to investigate strangers. You were foolish enough to have your own files microfilmed, it seems; I do not want to be compromised in that way. Now you had better see about those patrols.'

Pereira left, somewhat sheepishly, Worrals thought. She knew now that the information she had was priceless and that what Frecks had taken to safety, successfully it seemed, was only half the picture. But how was she to get out of here?

Help now appeared from an unexpected source. There was a knock. Da Silva called out 'come in' and Josepha's face appeared round the door. Would it be appropriate to clean the master's room now? Assuming an affability he clearly did not feel, da Silva said it would, doubtless deciding that it would be injudicious to let the cleaning ladies know there was anything wrong for them to tittle-tattle about the village. Worrals fervently hoped she would not start by the bed and these hopes were fulfilled as Josepha plugged the machine in just inside the door and commenced operations on the study section. Da Silva did not move. He stayed at his desk and when Josepha came to work around it, he stood up, walked to the other side and leant on it, keeping his eyes unfalteringly upon her.

Worrals had taken advantage of the noise to restore the tiny camera to its hiding place. Now, with da Silva's attention riveted on the widow as she cleaned beneath the picture-cum-safe, her chance had come. She was wary of a mirror at the side but da Silva did not move. Once she had taken a few steps and was near the door she could claim she had come to check details with Josepha if she was discovered but no such contingency was required and she slipped from the room unseen. Picking up a duster Josepha had left, she began to dust the banisters on her descent. Pereira was ascending as she did so but she kept her eyes on her work and he did not give her a second glance. At the bottom she resumed her vacuum cleaning in one of the side rooms, hardly daring to believe she was getting away with this.

A tap on the shoulder made her jump but it was Josepha, telling her that their activities would have to be curtailed, since Mr da Silva would be in conference with some important associates soon and the house must be quiet for such a meeting. He had thanked her and paid her the usual amount for both of them.

'You will not be needed tomorrow,' the severe lady informed them as they left, 'but come on time the day after. You have been able to do only half the work being so late. You must work much harder, especially you, Maria. There were long periods when your vacuum cleaner was not in action.'

Worrals nodded, her head downcast. Still she was not challenged.

'Maria has a cold,' Josepha explained, nervously.

'Then it had better be cured and soon.'

They walked into a moonlit evening between carefully tended flowerbeds that had looked a picture in the afternoon. There was a brief delay at the gates, which was unnerving for Worrals, but they opened at last and the two women walked out.

She had done it. Perhaps she should pray more often! Effectively the presence of the two widow women had been ignored. Hoist by their own disdain, she thought, parodying Hamlet and then reflecting that that was a code name for one of their villains. She couldn't see it applying to da Silva.

She dropped off at Maria's with Josepha in case they were being watched and handed the sick woman her pay.

'Take it,' she urged. 'They thought I was you anyway, incredibly. Nobody really looked at me all evening.'

'They never do,' said Josepha, boiling the kettle on an old coal-range stove. 'Thank you. We're very grateful. Now, do you have somewhere to spend the night? You can always stay with one of us.'

'Thank you,' acknowledged Worrals, 'but my brother will be waiting for me.'

'Some coffee before you go?'

'Thank you.'

Worrals accepted the cup and remained a few minutes longer before taking her leave. Josepha decided she would stay overnight with her sister, which was even more to Worrals' advantage, since any watchers would see one widow leaving as per usual instead of an unprecedented two. She picked up her shopping bag from where she had left it inside the door and walked off into the empty streets, trying to remember the directions to the tunnel. The street lighting was patchy and she was able to melt into darkness, thankful for her black clothing, when a patrol car passed. All the same, blundering around in the dark was the last thing she wanted to do and it was a great relief when she stumbled against the notice announcing the tunnel's presence after only two or three false starts. Mindful of what she had overheard, she proceeded with caution and was rewarded when a renewed spell of moonlight outlined a shadow near the entrance.

Worrals ducked down and watched. It was a policeman all right but not an alert one or he must surely have seen her approach. All the same he had clearly heard something for he drew his gun and flattened himself against the wall beside the entrance. Someone was coming through from the other side and that, she realised, could only be Steeley, walking straight into a trap.

It was with some relief that Biggles found the little scene around the pit unchanged on his return. He had only been away a matter of minutes but he was aware that was time enough for a rescue to be organised if the friends of this murderous pair knew the situation. Now it was just a question of how long they would have to wait. The squall had passed again so Anna would be able to return to her village without causing undue attention. He was now fully briefed with what Ginger had overheard and anxious to convey this information to Raymond without delay.

Just before nightfall the speedboat arrived, making an awkward landfall with misleading ease. A doctor came ashore, a strong accent indicating his Scottish origins. With him were two Solomon Island policemen supervised by a white inspector, whom Biggles had last met in Honiara. Two more men with stretchers made up the complement.

'We know this fellow,' the inspector said as Crazy Jim was brought up. 'Caused a stack of trouble. You can add this to the charges when you get him back to Britain.'

The doctor, working by torchlight as the tropical night came swarming in, staunched the wound in the shoulder and decided that an arm had been broken.

'He'll survive, though,' he said. 'They're tough beggars, some of these Islanders.'

What happened next was unclear. The two policemen had been detailed to watch over Sam, who still lay face down on the ground, but attention was focused on the treatment of Crazy Jim. Biggles had sent Ginger back to rest in the Land Rover, a make-shift bandage round his head, intending that the doctor should take a look at him before the boat left. He was talking to the inspector when the two constables suddenly lurched forward and there was a flurry of feet. Biggles swung his torch to reveal several dark figures, among them Sam, disappearing into the night. He fired his gun into the air and raced after them, the constables in his train, but he stumbled heavily and the surer footed rescuers vanished from view. Sam had clearly been conscious for some time, for he seemed to have no trouble keeping up with them, despite still having his handcuffs. Anna's wariness had been well founded.

An engine started nearby and he arrived at the road in time to see the back end of a truck accelerating away from him. The Land Rover was about a hundred yards behind but moving towards them. Aware of the slim forces at his disposal, Biggles sent his police companions back to their inspector and, waving Ginger down, clambered aboard.

Taking the wheel, he explained what had happened.

'We're hopelessly outnumbered but at least we ought to make sure of Crazy Jim,' he said. 'That's why I ordered the others back.'

'I'm sorry I wasn't quicker off the mark,' Ginger apologised. 'I must have dozed off for a moment so I didn't see the truck arrive. When I heard it drive off and noticed your torches, I thought I ought to make a move.'

'No blame to you – you're bound to be woozy for a while. The question is what will Sidlington do now? Will he remain in the shadows, aloof and apparently unconnected with events or will he show his hand more clearly? The next few hours could be quite lively.'

The red lights ahead vanished as the truck turned a corner. Approaching the bend, Biggles slowed a fraction. As he swung round it, the headlights picked out a huge mass across the road. Already braking, they skidded to a halt, bumping abruptly against the obstruction, which gave Ginger's battered head a nasty bang against the windscreen and caused Biggles to lurch against the wheel. Dark shapes leapt out of the bush and, as Biggles hastily reversed, his headlights picked out brandished bush knives. A rock flew past his ear, bouncing off the steering wheel to land on the floor at his feet. Ginger, though still dazed, tried a warning shot with his automatic but the weapon refused to fire. Small wonder, he thought grimly, since it had lain in a puddle for most of the day.

Fortunately for a vital second or two, the attackers seemed to be getting in each others way and, although four of them were up with the car, trying to allay its progress and clamber aboard, Biggles completed the manoeuvre and sped away, shaking off in the process a glaring figure on the bonnet, who was hacking away at the roof.

'Are you all right?' asked Biggles as they drove off.

'Think so. Now there'll be a bump on my forehead as well. What made you slow down?'

'Remember our Berkshire experience? This mob seems to enjoy having unpleasant surprises for us around corners. The thought just struck me that there might be others in play and we could be driving into a trap.'

'Why not go off to Auki in the boat now?'

'I thought of that, but it doesn't send much of a message to all the decent folk we've seen over the past week or so. We'll leave in an orderly fashion if we can.'

The others were ready to go when they got back. Biggles reported very briefly on what had happened. The inspector frowned.

'I'll have a force sent out from Honiara right away,' he promised. 'If we're talking the kind of numbers you fear, we'll need some reinforcements. Strange, we don't often have this sort of trouble, though some villagers can turn nasty if you hurt one of their number, even by accident. You're sure you won't come with us.'

'Quite sure.'

'Well, I appreciate your reasons. Looks like we'd both better move before that mob gets here.'

'One thing – have you heard of an Englishman out here – name of Sidlington?'

'Yes – respectable enough, something of a recluse by all accounts. Interested in plants and marine life. Why? Do you think he might be in danger?'

'If I don't get through,' said Biggles seriously, 'I think it would be an idea to mention his name.'

'Right,' said the inspector in a curious tone. 'We'll be off, then. Make sure of one of the prisoners at any rate. Glad this rain has stopped.'

'We'll get back to the village – if that's safe.'

'Should be – different village, different people, even a different language at times. Tell them what happened and they'll probably mount a guard over you. I'll be seeing you. And good luck.'

The speedboat surged off into the night. Joining Ginger in the Land Rover and with a wary eye to his rear, Biggles drove back to the village. As they arrived he brushed his foot against the rock that had been thrown at them. To his astonishment it had split.

'What's this?' he murmured, bending down.

Inside the rock were two crumpled sheets of paper, filled with lists of names and locations. Biggles placed them carefully in his pocket and smiled grimly.

'Interesting method of making contact,' he remarked.

'Good job he was accurate,' said Ginger briefly.