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Title: The Island of Terror
Author: Sapper [McNeile, Herman Cyril] (1888-1937)
Date of first publication: 1931
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Toronto: Musson; Hodder and Stoughton, 1931 [copyright date]
Date first posted: 26 November 2012
Date last updated: 26 November 2012
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1015

This ebook was produced by:
David T. Jones, woodie4, Al Haines
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net






    BOOKS BY
    "SAPPER"


    _Temple Tower_
    _Bull-Dog Drummond_
    _The Black Gang_
    _The Third Round_
    _The Final Count_
    _The Female of the Species_
    _Tiny Carteret_
    _The Finger of Fate_
    _The Saving Clause_
    _John Walters_
    _Shorty Bill_
    _Word of Honour_
    _Jim Brent_
    _Out of the Blue_
    _Jim Maitland_
    _The Dinner Club_
    _The Man in Ratcatcher_



    HODDER AND
    STOUGHTON
    LTD., LONDON



    THE ISLAND OF
    TERROR

    BY
    "SAPPER"



    THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LTD.
    AND
    HODDER AND STOUGHTON, LIMITED
    PUBLISHERS - - TORONTO



    COPYRIGHT CANADA, 1931
    BY
    THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LTD.
    TORONTO



THE ISLAND OF TERROR




CHAP. I


Jim Maitland tilted his top-hat a little farther back on his head, and
lit a cigarette. In front of him twinkled the myriad lights of London;
behind the door he had just closed twinkled the few candles that had not
yet guttered out. The Bright Young Things liked candles stuck in empty
bottles as their illuminations.

The hour was two of a summer's morning; the scene--somewhere in
Hampstead. And as he walked down the steps into the drive he pondered
for the twentieth time on the asininity of man--himself in particular.
Why on earth had he ever allowed that superlative idiot Percy to drag
him to such a fool performance?

Percy was his cousin, a point he endeavoured unsuccessfully to forget.
In fact the only thing to be said in favour of Percy's continued
existence was that since he embodied in his person every known form of
fatuitousness, he might be regarded as doing duty for the rest of the
family.

He had seen Percy afar off in the club before dinner, and with a
strangled grunt of terror had fled into the cloak-room only to realise a
moment later that he had delivered himself bound hand and foot into the
enemy's hands. For the cloak-room was a cul-de-sac, and already a
strange bleating cry could be heard outside the entrance. Percy had
spotted him, and relinquishing the idea of burying himself in the dirty
towel basket he prepared to meet his fate.

"Jim, my dear old friend and relative, you are the very bird I want.
When did you return to the village?"

He gazed dispassionately at his cousin through his eyeglass, and a
slight shudder shook him.

"Hullo! Percy," he remarked. "I hoped you hadn't seen me. Are you still
as impossibly awful as you were when I last met you?"

"Worse, far worse, old lad. We dine together--what?"

Another shudder shook him; short of physical violence all hope was gone.
He was in the clutches of this throw back to the tail period.

"But for the fact that I adore your dear mother nothing would induce me
to dine anywhere near you," he answered. "As it is I happen to be free,
so I will."

"Splendid. And afterwards I shall take you to a gathering of the chaps."

"What chaps?"

"You'll love 'em, old fruit. We have one once a month. Starts about
midnight. Just a rag, don't you know. We're meeting this time in a
cellar up in Hampstead. Beer and bones. Or perhaps scrambled eggs. Or
even kippers. Except that kippers whiff a bit in a cellar, don't they?"

He suffered Percy to lead him to the dining-room, and as he looked
round the familiar room it seemed impossible that it was more than
five years since he had last been in it. A new face or two amongst the
waiters--though not amongst the senior ones, they were all there; a
few new faces, of course, amongst the members; otherwise it might have
been yesterday that he was dining there with Terence Ogilvy and Teddy
Burchaps preparatory to their departure for the interior of Brazil.
And of the three of them only he had returned....

"You're looking very fit, sir."

He glanced up to find the wine steward standing by the table.

"Thank you, Soames, I am. And you?"

"Much the same, sir. There is still some of the Lafite vintage wine
left."

Good old Soames! Remembering that after five years. And yet--why not?
That was life; to him a member's taste in wine was a thing of paramount
importance. Especially, though he did not add this mentally, when the
member was Jim Maitland.

That he was a sort of legendary hero in the club, was a fact of which
Jim was completely ignorant. And had anyone hinted at it he would
either have been annoyed or else roared with laughter. To him a journey
to the interior of Turkestan came as naturally as one to Brighton comes
to the ordinary man. He had been born with wanderlust in his bones; and
being sufficiently endowed with this world's goods to avoid the
necessity of working for a living, he had followed his bent ever since
he left Oxford.

And the result, had he known it, would have surprised him. For it was
not only in the club that a glamour lay round his name, but in a hundred
odd places fringing the seven seas. Anywhere, in fact, where the men who
do things are gathered together, you will sooner or later hear his name
mentioned. And if some of the stories grow in the telling it is hardly
to be wondered at, though in all conscience the originals are good
enough without any embroidery.

Talk to deep-sea sailors from Shanghai to Valparaiso; talk to cattlemen
on the _estancias_ of the Argentine and after a while, casually
introduce his name. Then you will know what I mean.

"Jim Maitland! The guy with a pane of glass in his eye. But if you take
my advice, stranger, you won't mention it to him. Sight! his sight is
better'n yourn or mine. I reckons he keeps that window there so that he
can just find trouble when he's bored. He's got a left like a steam
hammer, and he can shoot the pip out of the ace of diamonds at twenty
yards. A dangerous man, son, to run up against, but I'd sooner have him
on my side than any other three I've yet met."

Thus do they speak of him in the lands that lie off the beaten track,
the man with a taste for Chteau Lafite. And as he sat sipping his wine,
warmed to the exact temperature by the paragon Soames, there came the
glint of a smile into his eyes. Dimly he was aware that near at hand the
impossible Percy was drivelling on, but it seemed as far removed from
him as the buzzing of an insect outside a mosquito curtain. White tie,
white waistcoat, boiled shirt--and six weeks ago...London: the
solidity, the respectability of his club--and six weeks ago...

"Have you ever hit a man on the base of the skull with a full bottle of
French vermouth, Percy?" he said suddenly. "I suppose you haven't. You'd
wait for an introduction, wouldn't you, before taking such a liberty?"

"I don't believe you've heard a word I've said, Jim," answered his
cousin plaintively.

"I haven't, thank God! I heard a continuous droning noise somewhere: was
that you?"

"Are you coming to-night?"

"Coming where?"

"I knew you hadn't been listening. To this meeting of the chaps in
Hampstead."

"Nothing would induce me to. I don't want to see them, and they don't
want to see me."

"But they do, dear old lad. I've told 'em about you, and they're all
simply crazy to meet you."

"What have you told 'em about me?"

"All sorts of things. You see, I sort of swore I'd bring you along the
first possible chance I had, and what could be fairer than this?"

And in the end Jim Maitland had allowed himself to be persuaded. Though
he ragged him unmercifully for the good of his soul, he was really quite
fond of his cousin: moreover, he was possessed of a genuine curiosity to
gaze upon the post-war young in bulk. Since 1918 he had spent exactly
seven months in England, so that his knowledge of the genus was confined
to what he had read in books.

Presumably they were much the same as the young have ever been _au
fond_. Only conditions to-day afforded them so much more freedom.
Certainly the lad Percy could drive a motor-car all right, he reflected.
He had one of the big Bentleys. Providence in the shape of a defunct
aunt of doubtful sanity endowed him with more money than he knew what to
do with. But he drove it magnificently, and Jim Maitland was a man who
loathed inefficiency.

The traffic was thinning as they spun across Oxford Street, and Percy
who had been silent for nearly five minutes began to give tongue again.
He rattled off a string of names--the blokes, as he called them, who
would probably be there. And then he paused suddenly.

"By Jove! That reminds me. I wonder if she'll roll up. The last of these
shows I went to," he explained, "a girl beetled in who was a new one on
me. Came with Pamela Greystone and her bunch. And I happened to be
talking about you at the time. Well, as soon as this wench heard that
you knew something about South America she was all over it."

"I should think there must be quite a number of people who know
something about South America," said Jim, mildly sarcastic.

"Yes, but I was telling 'em, you see, that you knew all about the
interior."

"All about the interior!" Jim laughed. "My dear old Percy, draw it
mild."

"Anyway, she's damned keen to meet you. Got a brother out there or
something."

"As long as she doesn't feel certain that I must have met him as we were
both out there at the same time, I can bear it. What's her name, by the
way?"

"Haven't an earthly, old lad. As far as I remember, Pamela called her
Judy. But I'm not even certain about that. Here we are!"

They drew up in front of a largish house standing in its own grounds.
Half a dozen other cars were already there, and two more were in the
drive. A large notice board proclaimed that the place was for sale, and
Jim remarked on it to his cousin.

"Been for sale for months, old lad. Belongs to the father of one of our
push, and he lets us use it. Let's get in: there's most of 'em here
already."

He approached the front door and knocked twice, upon which the top of
the letter-box was lifted.

"Pink Gin with guest," said Percy.

"Pass Pink Gin and guest," answered a voice, and the door opened.

"To prevent gate crashing," explained Percy solemnly. "We have a
different pass-word each time, and it's always the name of some drink."

"I see," said Jim gravely. "A most necessary precaution. What do we do
now?"

"Go below to the cellar and drink beer."

"Excellent," remarked Jim. "But why the cellar?"

"My dear old lad, why not?"

With which unanswerable remark Percy led the way.

The cellar was a big room, and Jim looked round him curiously. Some
thirty people were there, and every one of them seemed to be talking at
the top of their voices. The air was blue with cigarette smoke, and a
strong aroma of kipper smote the nostrils.

"That's the filly I was telling you about, Jim," said Percy in his ear.
"The girl in grey over there in the corner."

She was talking to two men, one of whom was evidently a licensed
buffoon; and Jim glanced at her idly. Then once again his gaze travelled
round the room. It all seemed very harmless, and very uncomfortable, and
rather stupid. Why a large number of presumably wealthy young people
should elect to sit in a cellar in Hampstead and drink beer, when they
could have done so in comfort anywhere else they liked, defeated him.

He realised that Percy was introducing him to various girls, and he
grinned amiably. Now that he had come he had better make the best of it.
And then suddenly he found himself looking into a pair of level blue
eyes--eyes with a faintly mocking challenge in them. The buffoon had
drifted away: for the moment the girl in grey and he were alone.

"And what," she remarked, "brings the celebrated Jim Maitland into this
galaxy?"

"Curiosity," he answered simply. "But why, in Heaven's name,
celebrated?"

"Our little Percy has insisted so long and so often that you are, that
we've got to believe him in common politeness. Well--what do you think
of it?"

"Frankly, I think it's all rather childish," he said. "Does it really
amuse you?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"It's a change," she answered. "Let's go into that corner and sit down.
I want to talk to you. Rescue some cushions from somewhere."

He studied her thoughtfully as she sat down with legs tucked under her.
A slightly tip-tilted nose; a complexion, unaided as far as he could
see, that only the word Perfect could do justice to: a slim, delicious
figure. Her hands were capable but beautifully kept: her hair clung
tightly to a boyish head.

"Well," she said calmly, "do you approve?"

He smiled: said as she said it the remark rang natural.

"Entirely," he answered. "But before we go any further, has it occurred
to you that the egregious Percy has omitted the small formality of
telling me your name."

"Draycott. Judy Draycott."

She took a cigarette from her case, and Jim held a match for her.

"Tell me, Mr. Maitland, are we very different to the pre-war vintage?"

"That's rather a poser," he said, sitting down beside her. "You see,
I've been so little in England since the war that I'm not a very good
judge."

"But--this." She waved her hand at the room.

"Good Lord!" he laughed, "what has this got to do with it? This is
nothing: a tiny symptom in a tiny set."

"You know you are of what I always call the lost generation," she said.
"What Daddy would call the senior subaltern brand."

He stared at her in silence, a little nonplussed by her serious tone.

"You were our age just before the war," she went on, "and you're still
young enough to play. But there are so few of you left."

"True," he said gravely. "I suppose my contemporaries took it worst."

"There are the old people, and there are us. But the connecting link has
gone--you and yours."

"The lost generation," he repeated slowly. "A nice idea--that."

"And that's why I asked you what you thought of us," she said. "You are
one of the few who are qualified to judge."

He lit another cigarette before replying.

"Am I? I wonder. One can see changes--naturally, but who am I to say
whether they are for the better or for the worse. This show, for
instance. Frankly, I can't quite see this happening twenty years ago.
Nor did everyone call everyone else 'darling' on sight."

"Trifles," she said impatiently. "Just trifles. What about the big
things?"

"I should say," he answered without hesitation, "no change. Different
methods, perhaps: different ways of doing them--but, in the end, the
same."

"You don't think we're softer than you were?"

"I think this age is more comfort loving, undoubtedly, if that's what
you mean. But that, I suppose, is only natural in view of the advance of
science. Then one hacked to a meet--now one goes in a car."

"But are we as keen on adventure?"

Jim laughed.

"Adventure! Where is adventure to be found these days?"

"You ought to know," she said, "if half the stories I've heard about you
are true."

"I'm afraid I'm a hard-bitten case," he answered. "But I can assure you
that even I have noticed the difference in the last few years.
Everything is getting far too quiet."

"Even in South America?" she asked.

South America! Percy's remark came back to him, and he wondered what was
coming next. This, apparently, was what she had been leading up to.

"You can get a bit of fun out there at times," he said lightly. "But
then if one looked for it I dare say one could get it in London."

"What sort of people are they?"

He laughed again.

"My dear Miss Draycott," he said, "they vary as much as the inhabitants
of Europe. But by your question I assume you mean the brand that we
generally lump together as dagos. Well--just like every other breed, you
will find all sorts and conditions. I have excellent--very excellent
friends amongst them. But they are people who require careful handling.
For instance, there is one thing you must never do to a dago, unless you
know him extremely well. Never pull his leg. He doesn't understand it:
he takes it as an insult. There's another thing too. You stick a knife
into one--or shoot him up--and he'll understand it. You hit him with
your fist on the jaw and he'll never forgive you."

"Are they very quick with a knife?" she asked.

"Very--and with a gun. Moreover, they will shoot on the smallest
provocation. You'll understand, of course, that I'm not talking about
the vast majority of them, who are perfectly harmless people. But to
show you what I mean about the minority I'll tell you a thing I saw with
my own eyes. It was in Buenos Aires about seven years ago, and a _festa_
was in progress. Streets crammed with people and cars: the whole place
_en fte_. I was on the side walk, and a motor-car alongside me was
being held up by a man who was standing just in front of the mudguard.
So the driver sang out to him to move. He didn't, and after a while the
driver very slowly drove forward, and hit the man a glancing blow on the
leg. Now it was a blow that wouldn't have hurt a fly: it didn't even
make the man stumble. But what happened next? As the driver came abreast
of the man, he calmly stepped on to the running-board, drew his gun and
blew out the driver's brains. And this, mark you, with the wife in the
back of the car."

"But didn't they arrest the murderer?" cried the girl.

"Not a hope," said Jim. "He just vanished into the crowd. No--they want
watching, especially if they've got a drop too much liquor on board."

He pressed out his cigarette.

"Is it permitted to ask why you are so interested in South America?"

For a moment or two she hesitated, staring in front of her. Then she
turned to him.

"I am almost tempted to use that stereotyped beginning, Mr. Maitland,
and ask you not to laugh at me."

"Then I'll make the stereotyped reply and assure you that I shan't," he
said quietly.

"I've got a brother," she went on, "a twin brother. Arthur is his name.
And for the past two years he's been knocking about in South America.
Brazil, Uruguay, and the Argentine. Now I know that must seem very small
beer to you--I mean I don't think he's been much off the beaten track.
But at any rate he's been out there, cutting away from this."

"Has he been on a job?" asked Jim.

"He went out there to start with for a big oil firm. Quite a good
salary. And of course Daddy allows him something. But after two or three
months he found he couldn't stick it--his manager was a swine--so he
chucked it. Since then he's been drifting about."

"I see," said Jim quietly. Only too many youngsters had he met drifting
about on something allowed by Daddy, and the brand did not inspire him
with confidence. Then feeling that his remark had been a little too
curt, he added--"It's difficult to get jobs out there--jobs that are any
good, that is--unless a man is an expert. And it's a devilish expensive
place to drift in."

"I know it is," she answered. "Arthur often wrote me to say how
fearfully difficult he found it. At any rate he managed to carry on,
until he had the most amazing piece of luck about six months ago. And
now I'm coming to where I'm afraid you may laugh."

"Risk it," said Jim with a smile.

"If I'd known you were coming this evening I'd have brought his letter,
but I think I can remember all that matters. It seems that he did some
kindness to a broken-down sailor in Monte Video--an Englishman. And this
sailor on his deathbed told him some wonderful story of buried
treasure."

Jim's face remained expressionless, though this was worse than he had
expected.

"I hope he didn't part with any money for it," he said quietly.

"I thought you'd take it that way," she cried. "I did myself when I
first read it. But he didn't pay anything: the sailor gave him the whole
secret. And, anyway, he'd only got his allowance: he had no capital to
give away."

"What is the secret?" he enquired.

"That I don't know," she said. "He wrote something about a map, and
fitting out an expedition, and from that moment I never heard another
word till three weeks ago when I got a letter saying he was coming home
by the next boat. He also said that if anything should happen to him I
should find a letter addressed to me at my bank."

"If anything happened to him," repeated Jim thoughtfully. "Have you been
to the bank to enquire?"

"Yes. I was actually in there this morning, and there was nothing."

"Then everything seems plain sailing, Miss Draycott. Presumably nothing
has happened to him, and if you got his letter three weeks ago he ought
to be in England by now. And as soon as you see him you'll be able to
get the whole story."

"I know. But it is there that I wondered if you could help."

She looked at him appealingly.

"Me! I shall be delighted. But how?"

"By going into the whole thing with him, and telling him what you think.
You know so much more than he does, Mr. Maitland, and if there's
anything in it, it would be wonderful if we could have your advice."

For a while he hesitated: then he looked her straight in the face.

"I'm going to be perfectly frank, Miss Draycott," he said. "The story,
as you've told it to me, is, not to mince words, as old as the hills.
From time immemorial drunken seamen have babbled in their cups of
treasure trove--gold ingots, diamonds, and all the rest of the
paraphernalia. Generally, too, they have a roughly-scrawled map, with,
as often as not, a skull and cross bones in the corner to make it more
realistic. In fact the one point in which this story differs from the
others is that he did not apparently touch your brother for money. Had
he done that I should have advised you to dismiss the whole thing from
your mind at once."

"You don't think there is anything in it, then," she said despondently.

"I don't want to be brutal," he answered with a smile, "but I fear that
is my opinion. I'm not going to deny that there must be
treasure--probably priceless treasure--hidden away in odd parts of the
globe: relics of the old pirate days. I'm not going to deny that the
Spanish Main, and the coast of South America are very likely localities
for the hiding-places. But what I do feel doubtful about is the
likelihood of a down-and-out seaman in Monte Video knowing anything
about it, or getting the clue to its whereabouts."

"But as you said yourself he took no money," she persisted.

"I know that," he agreed. "And I think it is quite possible that the
sailor _genuinely_ believed what he was saying--they're the most
gullible brand of men on earth. I think it is more than likely that when
your brother befriended him he really intended to do him a good turn.
What I'm doubtful of is the value of the information. Certainly I would
say one thing. Unless your brother, when you see him, has something very
much more definite to go on than the ramblings of a seaman on his last
legs, and this map he was given it would be nothing short of madness to
sink any money in an attempt to discover it."

"I quite see your point," she said. "But would it be too much to ask you
to hear what he's got to say? And then give us your advice."

"Of course not," cried Jim. "I shall be only too delighted. The
Dorchester Club always finds me when I'm in London, and I shall be very
interested to hear what he has to tell us. I know that country better
than most men, and if I can be of any assistance--count me in. But for
Heaven's sake--don't build any false hopes on it."

A sudden surge of Bright Young Things bearing kippers and beer descended
on them, and carried her away, leaving Jim with an intense female who
shook him to the marrow on sight. He suffered her for five minutes, at
the end of which period, to his inexpressible relief, Percy bore down on
him.

"I never thought I should be glad to see you, Percy," he said, as the
female drifted away, "but that woman is a menace to society."

"She is pretty grim," agreed his cousin. "What price the other girl? I
saw you with your noses touching for about half an hour!"

"A nice little soul," said Jim. "Do you know anything about her?"

"Just been asking Pamela. Her father is a retired General: got a house
down in Sussex."

"Has he got any money?"

"Hullo! Hullo! Hullo!" Percy dug him in the ribs. "So that's how the
land lies, does it?"

"Don't be such a damned fool," said Jim curtly. "To say nothing of being
infernally offensive."

"Sorry, old man. I but spoke in jest. As a matter of fact, I think not.
In fact Pamela said he was darned hard up. There's a pretty useless
waster of a son, I gather. Out in South America somewhere."

Jim glanced at his watch: the time was two o'clock.

"Not going yet, old lad, are you?" cried Percy. "We're only just
beginning."

"You needn't come," said Jim. "I shall walk. This terrific excitement is
too much for me. Do I have to whisper some mystic countersign to get out
of the place?"

"No, just open the front door and beetle away. Sure you don't want me to
take you in the bus?"

"Quite," said Jim, and beetled.

Thus did we find him, top-hat tilted, pondering on things in general
with the lights of London in front of him. He strolled slowly along
drawing in great lungsful of fresh air. Lord! what an atmosphere there
had been in that cellar. And what a damned-fool performance. Yet, in a
way he was glad he had gone: the girl in grey was rather a dear. Stupid
of him not to have asked her address: probably get it when this young
brother of hers rolled up.

He grinned to himself: the hidden treasure yarn had whiskers on it even
when compared to the old Spanish prisoner chestnut. No less than four
times had it been put up to him--vouched for chapter and verse. Still he
was sorry for the girl, especially as there was not much money. Probably
been building on it a bit: only natural that she should. But the brother
must be a fool as well as a waster to be taken in by it.

A belated taxi homeward bound hailed him, but he shook his head. He was
not in the least sleepy, and the combined reek of smoke and kipper still
clung to him. Young asses! He tried to picture what any of them would do
in a really tight corner. That fellow who had been thumping the piano
for instance, and thumping it damned well, to do him justice. But
imagine him in a bar in Valparaiso, for instance, when a rough house
started.

He threw away his cigarette: was he being quite fair? After all, none of
them had had any experience of such a show. And maybe if they did do the
wrong thing it would be from lack of knowledge, not from lack of guts.
It wasn't given to many to have the opportunities he had had, even if
the desire to have them was there.

Men had often told him that he looked for trouble, but that was not
quite the case. There was no need for him to look: it came of its own
accord. True, he never went out of his way to avoid it: he would even
admit that he welcomed it with both hands. Something out of the
ordinary, off the beaten track: something with a spice of danger in
it--that was all he asked of life. And up-to-date life had given him
full measure, pressed down and running over.

He glanced up at the houses he was passing: solid lumps of
respectability, symbolic of everything that he was not. In them reposed
lawyers, stock-brokers, city magnates--men who formed the backbone of
the Medes and Persians. Not there was adventure in London to be found:
the mere thought of it was an outrage. In Dockland, perhaps, but that
was cheap: the glamour of Limehouse exists only in the imagination of
the novelist. No--though he had told the girl that it could be found he
was wrong: it could not be found anywhere these days....

And at that moment, clear and distinct in the still, night air, there
rang out the sharp crack of a revolver shot.




CHAP. II


Jim Maitland stopped dead in his tracks, and then with the instinct bred
of many years he sought the cover of a neighbouring tree. In the country
he had just come from he would not have given the matter a second
thought--gun work was part of the ordinary day's round. But in London,
especially in this part of London, it was a very different affair. The
sound had come from the house in front of him--a house very similar to
the one he had just left, save that it was not for sale. It was in
darkness, but some kind of subconscious instinct told him that there had
been a light in one of the upper windows a few seconds previously.

He glanced up and down the road: not a soul was in sight. He looked at
the two neighbouring houses: there was no sign of movement. And then, as
was his way, he summed up the situation. He was unarmed: whoever had
fired the shot obviously was not. Short of breaking in there was no way
in which he could get into the house. And finally it was no earthly
business of his. Wherefore, by three very good reasons to _nil_ he
should have continued his leisurely walk towards home. Which was quite
sufficient to decide him to do nothing of the sort. He would give it a
few minutes at any rate to see if anything further happened.

He turned the collar of his evening overcoat up so as to cover the white
patch of dress shirt. Then motionless as a statue he seemed to merge
himself into the trees in front of him. For a while nothing happened:
then from one of the windows there came a gleam of light. It was
extinguished almost at once, only to appear in the one just below it and
then go out again. Someone was coming down the stairs. It shone for a
second over the front door, and then the door itself opened, and two men
came out.

Jim realised they would have to pass within a few feet of him, and
pressed himself still closer against the trees. He could hear their
voices--one furiously angry, the other seemingly apologetic--though as
yet he could not make out their actual words. One was a big man, the
other a head shorter, and it was the big man who was in a rage.

"You damned, blithering fool, Ernesto."

The words suddenly rang out clearly as they approached the gate.

"You've wrecked the whole thing."

The latch clicked, and Jim waited for the smaller man's reply.

"He should not have struck me," he said. "I do not like to be struck."

The two men stood peering up and down the road.

"Not a cursed thing in sight," growled the big man. "However, perhaps it
is as well. No one heard. We'll walk. But we've got to get a move on."

They strode off, and Jim waited till their voices died away in the
distance. The big man was obviously English: the other from his accent
and name seemed Spanish. Or possibly South American. And it struck him
that it was a queer coincidence that he should have been mentioning that
characteristic of the dago to the girl only a little time
previously--their hatred of being hit.

He came out from behind the tree, and began to size things up. In the
house in front of him was a man who had been shot. He might be dead: he
might only be wounded. The great point was--was there anyone else
inside? If there were servants, some of them at any rate would have been
roused by the noise of the shot, and lights would have been turned on.
But the house was still in darkness. On balance therefore he decided
against servants.

What about the owner of the house? Was it the big man himself? That
seemed quite probable, and if so what was he going to do? To leave a
dead man, or even a seriously-wounded man lying about the place would
prove an awkward matter. He recalled his last words about getting a move
on. What had he meant? And putting himself in his place Jim decided that
the only possible course would be to take the body away and dump it
elsewhere. It would be unsafe even to leave it till the following night,
since any doctor would know that the man had been dead some time, and it
would be most improbable for a corpse to lie through the day in the open
undiscovered.... It would therefore give a strong pointer to the police
that the body had been moved _after_ death, whereas if it was done at
once they might be deceived. So it boiled down to the fact that if he
was going to do anything at all, it must be done at once. He crossed the
pavement rapidly, opened the gate and skirted up the short drive keeping
in the shadow of the bushes.

That he was proposing to break into somebody else's house disturbed him
not at all. His position, even if he was discovered, was a far stronger
one than the owners who would have to explain the presence of a dead or
wounded man on his premises. But he had no intention of being
discovered. Amongst other attributes possessed by Jim Maitland was an
almost catlike gift for silent moving at night, and he proposed to
utilise it to the full.

He glided up the steps like a dark shadow, only to find as he had
expected that the door was locked. Yale latch-key: no hope there. Then
keeping close to the walls he made a circuit of the house. There was a
basement and with any luck he hoped to find a window open, or at any
rate one he could force easily. There was just sufficient light for him
to see without having to strike matches, and suddenly he gave a little
exclamation. There, straight in front of him, was a broken pane of
glass. He reached down, unfastened the bolt, and a moment later he was
inside.

The darkness now was far more intense, and after taking two or three
cautious steps forward he struck a match. It was a risk, but the window
by which he had entered was at the back of the house, so the light could
not be seen from the road. He held it above his head, and as he peered
round a puzzled frown came over his face. The shortcomings of modern
servants he had been told about, but the filth of the room called for
some further explanation than that.

The dust was thick on the table and on the floor: clearly the place had
not been touched for months. And when he opened the door and continued
his exploration he found it was the same everywhere. Kitchen, scullery,
and larder were all in like condition: the basement evidently was not
used. Where, then, did they do the cooking?

A flight of stairs led to the next floor, and he went up them
noiselessly. Luckily the door at the top was not locked. He opened it,
and at once became aware of a strong odour of stale tobacco smoke.
Directly facing him a faint light filtered in through the fan-light over
the front door: he was in the hall.

He stood motionless, listening intently: the house was absolutely
silent.

The smokers, whoever they had been, were there no longer. Then, step by
step, he felt his way forward. And the first thing that struck him was
that the condition of the basement was certainly not duplicated on this
floor. His feet almost sank into the carpet, so rich was the pile, and a
match carefully screened by his hand showed him that the whole place was
furnished _de luxe_.

He found the staircase, and began to ascend on a carpet as thick as that
in the hall. The second storey was his goal, and if he realised that
every step he took now materially increased his danger his pulse beat no
quicker. Every third or fourth stair he paused and listened: still the
same deathly silence.

The smell of stale smoke seemed to be growing stronger the higher he
mounted, till it reached a maximum on the first landing. His eyes were
growing accustomed to it now, and in the very faint light that filtered
in from a window at the end of the passage, he saw an open door just
beside him. He stepped through it, and realised that he had found the
origin of the smell of smoke.

Here the darkness was absolute, and after a moment's hesitation he
struck another match. And by its feeble glimmer he solved one, at any
rate, of his problems. A single glance showed him what he had stumbled
into, and the mystery of the dirty basement was explained.

The place was a private gambling den, and as soon as he realised the
fact, he realised also that much of the need for caution was gone. The
house was empty: he would not be disturbed until the two men returned,
if they returned at all. He shut the door and switched on the light.

Heavy black curtains covered the windows, and the room which ran the
whole depth of the house was sumptuously furnished. At one end stood a
cold buffet, with the remains of many plates of sandwiches on the table.
Empty champagne bottles galore littered the floor behind it: the spread
was in keeping with the furniture. In the centre of the room was a
roulette board: on each side of it all the usual paraphernalia for
baccarat and _chemin de fer_ lay scattered on two tables.

No servants kept, he reflected: provisions ordered in from a caterer.
And in his satisfaction at having settled one point, for a while he
forgot that there was a second far more important one to be enquired
into. Moreover, that time was getting on.

He could move more freely now, and having switched off he went boldly up
to the next landing. If he had been right about the light in the window
just before the shot, the room would be one facing the road. That
narrowed the choice to two, and for a while he hesitated, wondering
which to try first. Both doors were shut: it was a toss up. Finally he
took a chance, and as luck would have it he was right.

A big roll-top desk stood in the centre of the room, which was furnished
like an office. Two or three leather chairs: a few books of reference in
which _Who's Who_ and _Burkes_ figured prominently: some sporting prints
on the walls, and a big safe in one corner comprised the rest of the
stuff. Except for a pair of legs that stuck out beyond the desk....

He had turned on the light as he entered, and before examining the body
he crossed to the window and drew the curtains closer together. Then he
returned to the desk and stared down at the man lying on the floor. His
face was in shadow but a glance was sufficient to show that he was dead.
He was in evening clothes, and in the centre of his white shirt was a
dark-red stain. One arm was thrown up as if to ward off the shot: the
other, with fist clenched, lay outstretched along the carpet. He had
been plugged through the heart.

There was no stain on the carpet, which proved that the bullet was still
inside him. And in that curiously-detached mood which is experienced by
some men when the circumstances are dangerous or unusual Jim found
himself commenting mentally on what a very fortunate fact it was for the
murderers, if they intended, as he assumed they did, to put the body
elsewhere. The bleeding had ceased, and even the most bovine policeman
would smell a rat if there was a wound in a dead man's back and no blood
on the ground underneath it.

He was far too accustomed to battle, murder, and sudden death to feel
particularly upset about the matter. What had happened seemed fairly
clear. There had been some row below, and the three of them had come up
to the office to settle it. The dead man had lost his temper, hit the
dago and the dago had shot him. So much seemed obvious. The point
was--what was his next move?

In certain countries the answer would have been one word--nothing. But
in England things were different. It was perfectly true that if he now
walked out of the house as he had walked in, no one would be any the
wiser. But he felt a strange disinclination to let the matter drop. A
telephone was on the desk, and for a while he stared at it. Should he
ring up the police? And then it struck him he didn't even know the name
of the house. It was absurd to state that he was in an unknown house
with a dead man on the floor beside him. Almost equally absurd to ask
the Exchange where he was. To find out he would have to go down and look
outside the gates. Even then it might only be a number, and as he was
also ignorant of the name of the road, he would be no better off.

At the same time it seemed equally fatuous to remain where he was. If
the two men returned he knew that one of them, at least, had a gun which
he did not scruple to use. And if there was one thing more than any
other that he disliked, it was a balance debit in the matter of
firearms. If they did not return it would be daylight in less than an
hour, and he might be seen leaving the house, which would prove awkward.

Suddenly it struck him that as yet he had not examined the dead man's
face. The eyes were wide open and staring: the teeth were set in a
snarl: the expression, in fact, was just what he would have expected in
a man killed instantaneously in the middle of a quarrel. And so it was
not that that caused him some few seconds later to rise to his feet
with a look of incredulous amazement on his face. The thing was
impossible; frankly impossible. And yet there was no mistaking the
likeness of the murdered man to the girl he had been talking to that
evening.

Jim Maitland had none of the popular disbelief in coincidence. He had
met so many amazing ones in his life that he took them as a matter of
course. So that it was not so much the strangeness of the affair that
worried him, but how this new development affected his course of action.
If this was Judy Draycott's brother--and in view of the likeness he felt
but little doubt on the fact--the whole thing became very much more
personal. He liked what little he had seen of her immensely, and here he
was confronted with the dead body of her twin brother, knowing full well
that the murderer was a dago whose Christian name was Ernesto.

His course of action was obvious. Ring up the Exchange: explain briefly
what had occurred, and ask them to tell the police to come round. With
the clues he could give them it should prove a very easy matter to lay
hands on the man who had done it. Moreover he realised that if he did
not take that course of action, and it should ever transpire that he had
been mixed up in it the girl would never forgive him. And yet he
hesitated. Twice did his hand go out to pick up the receiver: twice did
he refrain.

It was certainly not due to any desire to shield the murderer. Even if
the dead man had been a bit of a waster that was no excuse for a dago
plugging him. His hesitation came from a very different cause. The
instant the police came into the matter he automatically went out. And
he was not sure he wanted to go out. The coincidence of the thing, and
the strangeness of the whole episode had intrigued his curiosity.

When talking to the girl he had poured cold water on her tale about
buried treasure, but now he found himself wondering. Was it possible
that this was not a mere gambling quarrel, but something bigger? After
all, no one would come home after a long absence abroad and spend his
first night playing _chemin de fer_ without even letting his people know
he had returned. And clearly the girl had no idea that her brother was
back.

A liner had berthed that morning: the dead man then had been in London
well over twelve hours. Surely he would under normal circumstances have
got in touch with his relatives.

Jim realised that the reasoning was thin, but it afforded him just
sufficient excuse not to do his plain duty and use the telephone. Which
was negative, not positive: to decide what you are not going to do is
easier than deciding what you are.

If his supposition was right: if this youngster had been talking out of
his turn with regard to some genuine proposition in South America one
thing was vitally important. He must have a closer look at the two men
who had been responsible for the murder. The girl would be coming into
it, and he could help her far more by spotting the enemy unknown to them
than by handing one of them over to the police. And it was as he arrived
at this satisfactory, if somewhat unmoral, conclusion that he suddenly
straightened up with every nerve taut. From outside had come the
unmistakable sound of a door opening....

He looked into the passage, and realised he was a sitting target for a
man with a gun: the only hope was to tackle him as he came in. And in
one bound he was beside the door, pressed against the wall.

A board creaked close by, and Jim waited tensely. Then there stepped
into the room a strange figure. It was that of a small man hardly more
than five feet high, clad in a silk dressing-gown. His head, covered
with a skullcap, moved quickly from side to side like that of a bird:
his hands were stretched out gropingly in front of him. And suddenly Jim
understood: the man was blind.

"Monty: is that you?"

The voice was querulous, and high pitched--almost like a woman's, and a
feeling of repugnance almost akin to nausea gripped Jim Maitland. He
felt an overwhelming temptation to seize this little monstrosity by the
throat and throttle him, and in the days that were to come he often
recalled the fact. What a lot of trouble would have been saved if he had
yielded to the impulse.

"Monty: where are you?"

It was almost a hiss, and the blind man's head gradually moved slower
and slower until at length it became stationary with the sightless eyes
staring at Jim. With that strange sixth sense given to those who cannot
see he had located the stranger in the room. With a feeling of unreality
Jim stared at him: the whole thing seemed like a dream. There was
something so hideously abnormal about the little man apart altogether
from his blindness. The hands were huge but beautifully made: the
shoulders had that great depth and width which showed strength far above
the average. But the incongruous thing was the look of almost devilish
malignity on the face, instead of the gentle peacefulness generally seen
on the features of the blind.

Suddenly the man spoke again in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

Jim thought quickly. Should he say he was a policeman, and demand
details of the crime? If he did he would have to carry the bluff
through; an impossible thing if the others returned. And evidently the
blind man was expecting them back, or at any rate someone called Monty.
Better not: he would find out more if he kept silent. There would be no
difficulty in eluding this little devil if it became necessary, or,
should the worst come to the worst, in knocking him out. And then came
the thing he had not expected. There was a click, and the room was in
darkness.

For a moment he did not realise the significance of the move: then low
breathing close beside him put him wise. The absence of light made no
difference to his adversary, but it made all the difference to him. He
stepped quickly backwards, and the other man chuckled gently. A hand
touched his shirt front, and the chuckle was repeated.

"Evening clothes," came a whisper. "You foolish fellow."

Again Jim backed, but all the time he knew the other was following him.
And suddenly there came to him a feeling he had experienced so rarely in
his life that he refused to acknowledge it--fear. He had an almost
irresistible desire to blunder about wildly: to hit out with all his
force into the black, impenetrable wall around him. There was something
abnormal about this squat, misshapen form which he knew was close beside
him--invisible and yet so real.

He forced his nerves into control, and listened intently. Was that the
sound of breathing behind his left shoulder? He swung his fist round,
and cursed under his breath as he hit the wall. And once again came that
odious chuckle from somewhere in the centre of the room.

A new idea came to him which steadied his nerves at once. With the room
lit up he would have had the greatest compunction in hitting a blind
man: it would have offended his sense of fair play. But now in the
darkness things were different. The advantage was quite definitely on
the side of his adversary. Superior strength was a legitimate weapon to
use provided the other conditions were on an equality. He would lay the
little swine out, gather what further information he could, and then
clear out. And even as he arrived at this conclusion he heard the gentle
click of a drawer shutting: the blind man was by the desk.

He took a step forward, and promptly blundered into a chair. Where the
devil was he: he didn't remember any chair in that part of the room at
all. He had lost his bearings completely: he did not even know in which
direction the door lay. Or the switch. And with the thought of the
switch he gave a sudden, short laugh. Assuredly the flesh pots of London
had atrophied his brain. He had actually forgotten that in his pocket
was a box of perfectly good matches. He fumbled in his coat, and it was
then that, too late, he realised the folly of having laughed. It all
happened with incredible swiftness. He had hardly felt that hands were
touching him behind before they were on his shoulders. Then came a
heave, and the legs of the blind man were gripping him by the waist,
whilst two arms were flung round his neck. And in the pitch blackness
the fight began.

From the beginning it was a foregone conclusion, but the only feeling he
was conscious of was one of rage at having been such a fool. Immensely
powerful though he was, he knew at once that as far as strength in the
arms was concerned the blind man was his match. Moreover he was fighting
under the most disadvantageous conditions possible. To dislodge even a
comparative weakling from such a position is no easy matter: to get rid
of an abnormal monstrosity was an impossibility. And he knew it.

With every ounce of strength he possessed put forward he tried to
release the iron grip round his neck: then he went for the legs. And for
the third time the chuckle was repeated. He blundered round the room
till he bumped into a wall: then with his back towards it he crashed his
burden against it time after time. If only he could wind the little
brute there would still be a chance. But beyond a grunt of rage at each
bump it was useless: the grip merely tightened round his throat.

He was weakening, and the knowledge drove him wild. He began staggering
haphazard about the room, whilst the roaring in his ears increased. Once
he hit the desk and nearly fell, only recovering himself with a vast
effort. But it was his last kick: there was a limit to what even he
could stand. His lungs were bursting: the veins on his forehead were
standing out like whipcord. Hazily he realised that the room had
suddenly been flooded with light, and that two men were standing by the
door. Then with a crash he pitched forward on his face and knew no
more....

He awoke to find himself in a small, bare room. The walls were
whitewashed: the furniture non-existent save for the very hard apology
for a bed on which he was lying. The door had a singularly solid look:
the window was barred. And for a while he stared round trying to pull
himself together.

Gradually recollection returned. The blind dwarf: the dead man: the
gambling den. And now where the devil was he? He sat up: his shoes had
been removed. And into his still bemused brain came a sudden light. He
was in the cell of a police station.

In his mouth was a foul taste, the significance of which he realised
only too well. Once, in his extreme youth, he had been shanghaied out
east, and the after-taste of a drug can never be mistaken for anything
else. After he had been throttled into insensibility, dope of sorts had
been forced down his throat: so much was obvious.

He glanced at the window: the sun was streaming in. Then he looked for
his watch only to find it had been taken away.

"Awake, are you? What we might describe as some blind--what?"

The man's tone was good-humoured and Jim staggered to his feet.

"Then the description would be wrong, sergeant," he said shortly.
"Doped, my boy: drugged. At my age, too, by the Lord Harry! For the love
of Pete, give me some water. I've got a mouth like a volcano in
eruption."

The sergeant shouted an order, and then looked at Jim curiously.

"Drugged, were you? Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure."

He took a long gulp of water from the glass that a constable had
brought.

"If you'd got a head like hell with the lid off, and a mouth like a
refuse heap, you'd be sure."

"I'm not denying," said the sergeant, "that I had some suspicions of it
myself. At the same time nothing seemed to have been taken from you. We
have"--he consulted a piece of paper he took out of his pocket--"a gold
watch, a gold and platinum cigarette-case, and twenty-six pounds, five
shillings, and four pence in cash. Now, sir, you say you were drugged.
Who by, and where?"

"I can't tell you the name of the gentleman," said Jim grimly, "though I
propose to find it out at the earliest possible moment. Nor can I tell
you the exact locality. The nearest I can get to that is that it was
somewhere in Hampstead."

"Hampstead!" ejaculated the sergeant. "Hampstead!"

"Why not?" said Jim irritably.

"Well, you know where you are now, don't you?"

"Not an earthly. How the devil should I?"

"You are in Streatham, sir. You were found on Streatham Common by the
policeman on duty at seven o'clock this morning."

"What is the time now?" demanded Jim.

"Just after half-past three. You've been insensible for nearly eight
hours."

For a time Jim stared at the officer without replying. His brain was
beginning to work again normally and it was evident that he must do some
pretty quick thinking. What had happened was, up to a point, clear.
Having drugged him, they had put him in a car and dropped him as far as
possible from the house where the thing had taken place. The two men he
had seen just before he finally lost consciousness must have done it.
But the immediate point to be decided was the important one. Should he
tell the sergeant the whole story or should he not?

Reduced to the baldest terms the story sounded a bit thin. In a
house--name unknown, situated in a road--name also unknown, somewhere in
Hampstead he had found a dead man. He had then been attacked by a blind
dwarf and doped. If he told it and stuck to it the police would be
forced to investigate it which would mean publicity. And he did not want
publicity. He was very angry, and his definite intention was to deal
with the matter himself. At the same time he realised that he was now in
England, and that if he said nothing about the murder he was--if the
facts came out--bringing himself quite definitely within the scope of
the law as being an accessory to the crime. What, then, was to be done?
The sergeant was beginning to look suspicious at his silence, and
something had to be said. He decided to compromise.

"Do you people know of a private gambling den in Hampstead?" he asked.

"We certainly shouldn't know it here, sir, and I can't tell you what
information they have up there. Whereabouts in Hampstead?"

"I don't know," said Jim. "I could probably identify the road, but with
regard to the house I'm not so sure."

"Then it was the first time you'd been there?"

"It was."

"But if you don't know the house or the road how did you get in?"

"I was taken there by a man I met," said Jim. "He was a stranger to me,
but he seemed a decent sort of fellow."

"Surely you know his name, sir?"

"Sorry, sergeant: I'm afraid I don't. I like a gamble, and he assured me
this place was run on the straight. It wasn't: and that's all there is
to it. I started throwing my weight about, and got my liquor doped for
my pains."

"You'd know this man again if you saw him?"

"If I saw him--certainly," agreed Jim. "And you can take it from me I
propose to look for him."

The sergeant shook his head disapprovingly.

"Well, sir, all I can say is that it serves you right. A gentleman of
your age ought to know better than to run your head into a fool trap
like that."

"Exactly, sergeant," said Jim mildly.

"I'll get on the 'phone to Hampstead and find out if they know anything,
but unless you can be a bit more explicit it looks pretty hopeless."

"Would you at the same time, sergeant, get on to 3B Half Moon
Street--Grosvenor 3X21--and tell my man Brooke to bring my clothes here
at once. I don't want to drive through London in this rig. By the way,"
he added with a grin, "am I going to be charged with being drunk and
disorderly or anything?"

"We'll let you off this time," said the other. "But if you take my
advice you'll steer clear of that sort of thing in future."

The worthy officer departed closing the door, and Jim sat down on the
bed. Save for a stiff neck, and a splitting headache he felt none the
worse for the performance. At the small cost of appearing a fool in the
sergeant's eyes he had accounted for his condition, and now he was left
as a free agent to carry things on in his own way.

To say that he was angry would be to express it mildly. Jim Maitland was
furious. That he should have been outed in Hampstead of all places, got
the better of, fooled completely, made him wild. But since he never made
the mistake of belittling an adversary he admitted to himself that no
matter where it was, the blind man, given the tactical advantage he had
possessed last night, would always do him in. Therefore he must never be
allowed to obtain such a position again.

It was the question of the other two that worried him. It was possible
but not probable that he might recognise their voices if he heard them
again, but that was all. Outside it had been too dark to see their
faces: inside he had been too far gone to notice anything except that
two men were there. They might not even have been the same. But the
annoying fact remained that two of the opponents knew him by sight,
whereas he did not know them. Which started him at a grave disadvantage.

His property had been returned to him and he lit a cigarette. Percy
would be able to tell him the name of the road, and he felt fairly
confident that he could spot the house again. But even if he did, was it
going to do any good? Was there anything further to be found out there?
It would please him immensely to slog the blind man good and hearty, but
it would not advance things much if he did. That they had left the body
there was most improbable: if not, what had they done with it?

He opened the door, and hailed the sergeant.

"Got an evening paper there by any chance?" he cried.

An _Evening News_ was forthcoming, and he scanned the headlines. There
was no mention of the discovery of any dead body. To question the man
was obviously absurd, so he returned it with a word of thanks.

"Hampstead knows nothing about any gambling den, sir," remarked the
officer. "They'd be glad of any information you can give them. And your
man is coming along at once with your clothes."

Jim returned to his cell and lit another cigarette. A faint smile
flickered round his lips as he pictured Brooke's face on finding him in
his present position. Then he grew serious again: now that he had
definitely committed himself by his story to the sergeant he began to
doubt whether he had been wise. After all, the probability of there
being anything further in it than a mere gambling quarrel was small. And
if that was all, he had played straight into the murderer's hands. It
was impossible for him to alter his story now.

"Your clothes, sir."

He looked up: Brooke, a suitcase in his hand, was standing stiffly in
the doorway with an expression worthy of an early Christian martyr.

"And this note, sir, was left by hand this morning."

He took the letter and glanced at it: the writing was unfamiliar. Inside
was a half sheet of paper, on which some words were written in block
capitals.

     LAST NIGHT YOU DREAMED: TO-DAY YOU AWOKE. SHOULD YOU DREAM
     AGAIN YOU MAY NOT BE SO FORTUNATE.

"Who left this?" said Jim curtly.

"A messenger boy, sir. About ten o'clock this morning."

"Is there any letter in my evening coat, Brooke?"

"Only this, sir."

It was an invitation to a public dinner addressed to him at Half Moon
Street, which he had slipped into his pocket meaning to send a reply
from his club. So that was how they had traced him. Assuredly the dice
were loaded pretty heavily in their favour. They knew him by sight: they
knew his name: they knew his address. But his face was quite impassive
as he continued dressing. The bigger the odds, the better the sport.
Moreover, the other side had committed, had they but known it, the one
irreparable error. For a threat to Jim Maitland was even as a strawberry
ice is to a greedy child.




CHAP. III


After a further admonition from the sergeant to be careful of the
company he kept in future they parted on excellent terms. The necessity
for a long drink and a strong drink was urgent: unfortunately a
misguided legislation decreed that such a thing could not be at that
hour. So sending Brooke on in the taxi he went for the most important
thing--a shave.

The effects of the drug had very nearly worn off, and the need for
formulating some plan of campaign was evident. And the first thing to do
was to put himself in the enemy's position. Their assumption, it seemed
to him, would be that he would most certainly tell the police. It would
be the obvious thing that ninety-nine men out of a hundred would do in
similar circumstances. In fact he would have done it himself but for the
extraordinary coincidence of his previous conversation with the girl--a
conversation about which they could know nothing. Taking that as a
basis--what next? They would anticipate a visit of inspection from the
police very shortly after he recovered consciousness. They could not
know that he was blissfully ignorant even of the name of the road.

The strong probability therefore was that by now all traces of their
occupation of the house would have disappeared. They had no time to
lose: even the roulette and baccarat tables would involve them in
unpleasant notoriety if discovered by the authorities. The point would
have to be confirmed, of course, but it seemed to him that that was the
obvious starting-point from which to begin. And if so, the problem
became a simple one to propound, but a difficult one to solve. How was
he to get in touch with them again?

The crude and stupid threat had presumably been written on the
assumption that he would not receive it until after he had communicated
with the police, and led them, apparently, to a mare's nest. They hoped
that it would catch him in a mood of irritation and annoyance at having
not only been made a fool of himself, but also for having made a fool of
the police. And it was not hard to imagine what the police would have
said if he had taken them to an empty and harmless house, on the plea
that it was a gambling den where a man had been murdered. In fact with
some men the threat might have fulfilled its object, and made them drop
the whole thing. That he was not in that category was neither here nor
there. Was it a sound move to let them think that he was?

He told the barber to give him a couple of hot towels, and under their
soothing influence he followed up that line of thought. They would soon
find out that he had not told the police: what would they deduce from
that? Surely it would be confirmatory evidence that he was only too
anxious to let the matter drop altogether. They might think he was a
business man unwilling to be mixed up in any scandal. And the more he
sized up the situation, the better it seemed to him to give them that
impression.

The only point against it was that if he left them alone, they would
certainly do the same to him. The last thing they wanted was to be
interfered with. Between them they would have to account for a murder,
and even if they succeeded in bringing home the actual deed to the man
called Ernesto, they would all be guilty of complicity. So what chance
was there of getting any further with it, unless he carried the war into
the enemy's country?

A big point, certainly--almost a vital one. To let the matter really
drop was unthinkable, but what was he to do? At the moment he was at a
hopeless disadvantage. If only, while apparently letting things go by
the board, he could get hold of some pieces of evidence which would
give him a clue as to their whereabouts. If only, unknown to them, he
could start all square knowing them even as they knew him. He was under
no delusions: it would be sheer luck if he did it. But Jim Maitland was
a believer in luck, and it was a hopeful portent that as he entered his
club the clock showed half-past five. No longer did the law interfere
with the consumption of alcohol.

The first person he ran into was Percy, who looked at him in some
surprise.

"By Jove! dear old lad," he burbled, "you look a bit under the
weather--what! The right eye resembles a poached egg: the general
bearing hardly of that martial order which is the hall-mark of our
family."

"Dry up," said Jim. "It's the result of that devastating performance of
yours. Look here, young Percy, what is the name of the road in which
that house is? Where you drove me last night."

"Haven't an earthly, old fruit. I mean, who could be expected to know
the name of a road in Hampstead?"

"But you've often been there, you blithering ass."

"I absolutely agree, dear heart. Absolutely. Times and again, and then
some. I could find my way there in the dark with my eyes shut, but I
couldn't tell you the name of the bally road to save my life."

Jim regarded him dispassionately.

"Your claim to continual existence grows more microscopic daily," he
remarked at length. "However, it is you who will suffer. At eleven
o'clock to-night you will call for me here in your car. You will then
drive me to the scene of your ridiculous entertainment last night. After
that you can go and play by yourself."

"But, my dear man," spluttered Percy, "what the deuce do you want me to
do that for? None of the birds will be there this evening."

"A fact for which one can but give pious thanks to high heaven," said
Jim, lighting a cigarette.

"Then why do you want me to drive you there?" persisted his cousin.

"So that I may mark it in my mind as a spot to avoid in the future,"
said Jim.

"Cut it out, old lad," cried Percy. "Joking apart, what is the blinking
game?"

Jim Maitland stared at him thoughtfully. And after a while an idea,
engendered perhaps by his conversation with Judy Draycott, began to take
root in his mind. Here in the shape of his cousin was a test case. What
lay behind that vacuous exterior? Supposing things did begin to move,
how would Percy behave in a tight corner? And moved by a sudden impulse
he signed to him to come closer.

"I am about to order you a drink, young feller," he said, "and while you
put your nose in it I am going to tell you a little story. But before I
begin I want your word of honour that what I say to you goes no further
without my permission."

"You have it," said Percy quietly.

"After I left you last night, whilst strolling along to get the foul
smell of those kippers out of my nostrils, I heard a revolver shot. It
came from a house I was passing. Impelled by my usual curiosity I broke
into the house, which I found to be a gambling den. Amongst other odds
and ends I found a murdered man lying about: he'd been shot through the
heart. Shortly afterwards I was doped, and I've spent to-day in
Streatham police station."

"Go to blazes," laughed his cousin. "If that's your idea of a leg pull
it is pretty poor, laddie."

"It happens to be the truth, Percy," said Jim gravely. "Now listen to
me."

Without embroidery he told his cousin the whole story, omitting only one
point--his strong suspicion that the murdered man was Judy Draycott's
brother. That and all the implications that might follow with it, was
not at the moment a thing he wanted to pass on to anyone. And by the
time he had finished Percy's eyes were nearly goggling out of his head.

"But how perfectly priceless," he spluttered ecstatically. "Of course,
old lad, you can count me in. Your idea is to go and have another look
at the house to-night. Do a bit of amateur detective work. And, by Jove!
that reminds me. There is a gambling place up in those parts: I've heard
of it myself. Bloke in the club here told me about it--Teddy d'Acres."

He hailed a passing waiter.

"Is Lord d'Acres in the club?" he demanded.

"His lordship is playing cards, sir," said the man.

"I'll get hold of him, Jim," cried Percy, getting up.

"Not a word, don't forget," said the older man. "Just get the details of
the place: nothing more."

"You leave it to me, laddie."

He rushed off to return in a couple of minutes with the information that
Teddy was just finishing a rubber and would join them at once.

"Tell him," said Jim, "that I'm on the look out for a gamble, and want a
straight place."

"It's a pity," opined his lordship, a few moments later, "that I didn't
meet you last night. I was playing myself and I could have taken you
along. And to-night I'm afraid I'm booked up three deep."

"What's the name of the house?" demanded Percy.

"Damned if I know, old boy," said the other. "It's a number, I think.
But the road is Oakleigh Avenue."

"That's it," cried Percy, turning to Jim, "I remember now. That's where
we met last night."

"As a matter of fact," went on d'Acres, "it's perhaps as well you
weren't there. A poor evening. We generally carry on till three or four,
but this morning we broke up about one."

Jim looked at him thoughtfully.

"Any particular reason?" he asked.

"Bloke there half screwed, who was asking for trouble. Began swearing
he'd been cheated, which was all tripe. I've been to the damned place
for months, and it's run absolutely square. Then he swore he'd get the
police, which seemed to little Willie the moment to quit."

"Did he get the police?" asked Jim casually.

"Ask me another," said d'Acres. "I got to bed at a respectable hour for
once."

"I wonder if he was the fellow I met at dinner," continued Jim, catching
Percy's eye for a second. "Distinctly elevated even then, and asking
everyone if they could tell him where to get a game. Big fellow and fat,
with fair hair."

d'Acres shook his head.

"Not guilty. This was a slight, dark bird. Haven't an earthly what his
name was, but he'd just come from South America, where according to him
gambling was gambling, and not messing about with chicken food."

Not too good, reflected Jim. The evidence as far as it went at present
seemed to point to nothing bigger than an ordinary gambling row as the
cause of the shooting. And if so it would have been far better if he had
telephoned the police from the house, for all interest would have left
the situation as far as he was concerned.

"Who runs the place?" he asked.

"A syndicate, I believe. _Cagnotte_ of five per cent--drinks and
sandwiches chucked in."

He rose.

"Let me know any time you want to go," he remarked. "But give me a bit
of warning, because I'm pretty full up. And if I can't manage it--you
must be introduced the first time by someone who is known--I'll get old
Monty to take you. He's always there: believe he's one of the syndicate,
as a matter of fact. From all I hear, the old lad needs every penny of
boodle he can lay his hands on."

Not a muscle of Jim's face twitched: his expression was one of polite
interest.

"Monty," he murmured. "Monty who?"

"Monty Barnet," said the other. "Thought everyone knew old Monty.
Well--so long: you just let me know when you feel like a flutter."

He lounged away, and Jim turned to his cousin.

"Who the devil is Monty Barnet when he's at home?"

"Good Lord! man--it can't be him your blind friend meant. He's Sir
Montague Barnet, umpteenth Bart. Got a big place not far from
Crowborough."

"At the moment I don't give a hoot where his place is," remarked Jim.
"What sort of a man is he to look at?"

"Great big fellow with a small, dark moustache. Rather red in the face."

Jim Maitland lit a cigarette with some deliberation.

"If that is so, Percy," he said quietly, "the betting is just about five
to one on your umpteenth Bart being one of the birds I want. Your
description fits, and we have it from your pal d'Acres that he uses the
place considerably. It may, of course, be only a very strange
coincidence, but as a basis to work on I propose to start with the
assumption as correct."

"But what are you going to do?" demanded Percy. "You can't go and accuse
the bloke of murder."

"There are moments, little man," said Jim kindly, "when the thought that
the same blood runs in our veins drives me to thoughts of suicide. Run
away now, and play, and return at eleven o'clock in a dark suiting
bringing an electric torch in your pocket."

He glanced at his watch: it was just on six. With luck he would have
time to catch the man he wanted before he left his office. The firm of
Henley Bros.--fifty pounds to ten thousand advanced on note of hand
alone--kept late hours.

"And don't forget," he gave a final warning, "not a word to a soul, or
I'll break your darned neck."

He penetrated the holy of holies at Messrs. Henley Bros. without
difficulty. An oleaginous clerk outside informed him that such a thing
would be out of the question, but on being requested to guess again and
guess quickly he consented to take his name to Mr. Henley, with a result
that surprised him.

"My dear Misther Maitland, thith ith a pleasure indeed."

A small, obese Jew almost concealed behind a vast cigar rose at Jim's
entrance. He indicated a chair which his visitor took: he proffered an
equally vast cigar which his visitor refused. Then sitting back in his
chair he contemplated Jim with a watchful look.

"And what can I have the pleasure of doing for you, Misther Maitland?"

"I do not want a thousand pounds, Isaac," said Jim shortly. "Not being a
millionaire I couldn't repay you. What I do want is some information."

"What sort of information?"

"Information which even if you can't give me now, you can find out for
me. I don't like your trade, Isaac, as you know very well: but you may
remember that day in Marseilles when I saved your somewhat worthless
life."

Isaac Goldstein remembered it only too well, as the sickly pallor which
spread over his face at the mere recollection of the incident testified.
It was in the days before he had become Henley Bros., though his method
of earning his livelihood had been the same, if on a smaller scale. And
some of the inhabitants of Marseilles had suddenly decided that a
thousand per cent was too much of a good thing. They stand not on the
order of their going, do the people of that district: their habits are
crude and summary. In short, but for the timely intervention of Jim
Maitland who happened to be passing, Isaac Goldstein would not have been
sitting in his present position smoking his fat cigar. And being well
aware of the fact he had a feeling of gratitude towards this large
Englishman with an eyeglass. He would even have gone as far, he told
himself, as to reduce his terms for him--than which no more can be said.

"I remember it well, Misther Maitland," he said humbly. "Those sonths of
dogs."

"Cut it out, Isaac. You richly deserved all you got. However, you can
now do something to repay what I did. Don't turn pale: as I said before
it is information, not money, I want. Now in the first place--what do
you know of Sir Montague Barnet?"

The Jew stared at him shrewdly.

"I suppoth you don't mean whath written in _Whoth Who_?" he remarked.

"Correct," said Jim.

"Well, I don't know anything perthonally, but..."

He waved his hands deprecatingly.

"Precisely," cried Jim. "But. Get on with it, Isaac: I want my dinner.
No good pretending to me that you fellows are not all hand in glove with
one another."

"Well, in the course of bithineth we do hear things," admitted the
other. "And a friend of mine did tell me that he had accommodated Sir
Montague two or three timeth."

"As man to man, Isaac, is he in Queer Street?"

And for once the Jew did not beat about the bush.

"Yeth, Misther Maitland: he ith."

"So far, so good. What you've said merely confirms what I've already
heard. Now for the next item. Do you know anything about a private
gambling den in Oakleigh Avenue up in Hampstead?"

And for the fraction of a second there appeared in the moneylender's
eyes a look which Jim found difficult to interpret. Almost it seemed to
him there was fear in them: certainly surprise. It went as
instantaneously as it appeared, but it did not escape the notice of one
of the finest poker players in the world.

"Never heard of it, Misther Maitland," said the Jew.

"You're lying, Isaac," said Jim quietly. "I should have thought a man in
your profession would have more control over his face. Now I realise
there is no reason why you should answer me: at the same time I did you
a good turn once. So once again I ask you the question. What do you know
of that gambling den?"

"Why do you ask, Misther Maitland?" said the other at length.

"Why does one generally ask a question?" remarked Jim. "Because, Isaac,
I want to hear your answer."

And once again the other hesitated.

"Get on with it, man," said Jim impatiently. "You've admitted now that
you know about it: you can either tell me or not as you like. But I
don't want to sit here all night."

"There certainly ith a houth in Oakleigh Avenue where they play," said
the Jew suddenly. "But I've never been there mythelf."

"Is this man Barnet mixed up with it in any way?"

"He may be, Misther Maitland: he may be."

"And where does a blind dwarf come into the affair?"

The question shot out like a bullet from a gun, and the effect on the
moneylender was remarkable. He sat up as if he had been stung by a
hornet, and the hand holding his cigar trembled visibly.

"A blind dwarth, Misther Maitland," he muttered. "I don't know what you
are talking about."

"Assuredly," said Jim wearily, "you are the world's most indifferent
liar. If you don't know what I'm talking about, why did my question
bring on an attack of blind staggers? I'm interested in that man,
Isaac," he continued gently, "and I would greatly appreciate any
information you can give me about him. What, for instance, is his name?"

But the Jew shook his head.

"I know nothing about any blind dwarth, Misther Maitland," he said
doggedly. "As I told you I've never been to the houth, and if there ith
a blind man there I don't know who it ith. I'm thorry I can't help you."

"Won't, you mean--not can't," said Jim curtly.

He rose, and ignoring the other's proffered hand, went to the door.

"So long, Isaac. I'm not sure it wouldn't have been wiser to have let
you fend for yourself in Marseilles that time."

He strolled back to his club, turning the conversation over in his mind.
That Isaac Goldstein knew the blind man was obvious, and he regretted
now that he had ever been to see him. He had done no good by the
interview, and if, as seemed more than likely, the moneylender passed on
the fact that he had been to see him it would be definitely
disadvantageous. The others would know that he was not going to let the
matter drop.

Still the mischief could not be undone. On the spur of the moment he had
fired the question at the Jew, and he could only make the best of it.
One thing, however, was clear. Not only did the moneylender know the
dwarf, but he also stood in fear of him. Nothing else could account for
Goldstein's whole manner when speaking. And he found his curiosity with
regard to the blind man growing.

Common sense told him that the Isaac Goldsteins of this world are not
generally afraid of men of unimpeachable morals. And the point that
arose was what niche in the social scheme the dwarf adorned. Was he
merely the owner or part owner of a gambling house, or was he something
bigger? If the former there was no adequate reason for Goldstein's
nervousness: if the latter it seemed possible he was getting into
deeper waters than he had anticipated. In which case the sooner he got
further information the better. And as he turned in to his club it
suddenly struck him that there was another source of obtaining it
available. Clement Hargreaves dined there most evenings, and though he
was as secretive as an oyster it was possible he might be persuaded to
open his mouth. There were few people connected even remotely with the
underworld whom Clem did not know, and the dwarf would be an easily
recognisable figure.

He found him, as luck would have it, sipping a glass of sherry in the
smoking-room, and tackled him forthwith.

"Are you still in your hush-hush job, Clem?" he demanded.

"I still do my poor best to safeguard righteous citizens," answered the
other with a grin. "Have a drink, Jim: it's about five years since we
met."

"I want you to tell me something, old man, if you will."

"And if I can."

_"a va sans dire."_

He lit a cigarette: he had decided to adopt the same line as he had done
with the sergeant at Streatham.

"Last night I went to a house up Hampstead way for a bit of a gamble.
Organised place, you know."

"I don't," said the other. "They spring up like mushrooms, those spots.
Go on."

"And there I met a gentleman who interested me. He stood about five foot
high: he possessed the chest and shoulders of a giant: he was blind. Do
you know anything about him?"

Hargreaves finished his drink, and in his turn lit a cigarette.

"In what capacity did you meet him?" he enquired at length.

"I should imagine he had something to do with the place," said Jim.

"And is that the reason of your interest in him?"

"You cautious old devil," laughed Jim. "Are you asking for information,
or am I?"

But there was no answering smile on the other's face.

"I know your record better than most men, Jim," he said quietly. "And I
know there is no one of my acquaintance more capable of looking after
himself than you are. Nevertheless, if you and the man you've described
fell foul of one another last night in any way, I can only give you one
piece of advice. Do not go near that house again."

"We progress," said Jim. "It is clear that you know the bird. Why this
animosity against him?"

"There can't be two men answering to your description," continued
Hargreaves. "And I have no hesitation in saying that he is one of the
most dangerous swine out of prison at the moment. He passes under the
name of Emil Dresler, and he possesses an American passport. His
activities are many and varied. At one time he was mixed up in the white
slave traffic, but as far as we know he has given that up now. He's a
blackmailer, and a drug trafficker. He is a moneylender on a large
scale. We are also practically certain that he is responsible for at
least two murders."

"Splendid," said Jim mildly. "Would it be indiscreet to ask why this
charming individual is out of prison?"

"The reason is simple: we can't get any proof. He's a damned sight too
clever. He covers his tracks with such infernal skill that we can't
bring anything home to him. He is the brain, and he leaves other people
to do the job. And they in their turn pass it on to someone else, till
in the end it is impossible to trace his hand in it at all. It's the old
question--we know but we can't prove. If we had half a chance we'd
deport him like a shot, but so far he hasn't given it to us."

"He seems a cheery lad," laughed Jim. "So you think I'd better cut him
off my visiting-list?"

"I can't imagine how he ever got on it. He's a gentleman who keeps
himself very much in the background. And if he is running a gambling
den, you can bet your bottom dollar there's more behind it than what he
makes out of the _cagnotte_. Was the place on the square?"

"Quite, as far as I could see," answered Jim. "But in view of your
warning I shall not revisit it."

He turned the conversation: further questions with regard to the place
might prove difficult to answer. The last hour had provided him with
more information than he had dared hope for, and with a nod to
Hargreaves he sauntered off towards the dining-room. On the way he
picked up an evening paper. It was the latest edition, but even the Stop
Press news contained no mention of the finding of any dead body.

In itself the fact proved nothing. He was more than ever convinced after
Hargreaves's remarks that he would find the place closed down. The
bigger the man behind it the less would he be disposed to run any risk
of trouble with the police. And connection with a gambling den would be
quite enough to give the authorities the chance they needed to deport
Mr. Emil Dresler. So what really was the object in going there at all?

He pondered the point over the soup: he ruminated on it over the fish.
And by the time the Scotch woodcock arrived he had decided--to go.
Object or no object he knew that he would have no peace of mind until he
had made sure for himself that the body was not there still. What he
proposed to do about it he was not sure: sufficient unto the moment
would be the decision thereof.

The hall-porter beckoned to him as he left the dining-room: a letter had
just arrived for him. It was in a woman's handwriting--one that was
unknown to him, and having ordered a brandy with his coffee in the
smoking-room he opened it. And the first words that caught his eye were
the signature--Judy Draycott. He opened out the sheet and began to read.

     _"Wednesday afternoon. "37a, Langham Square.
                      "Telephone: Grosvenor A123.

     "Dear Mr. Maitland,

     "You may remember that we met last night--or was it this
     morning?--at the beer and bones party. And I then inflicted on
     you a long and I'm afraid boring story about my brother and
     hidden treasure in South America. Well, this morning a
     development has taken place. I told you, didn't I, that Arthur
     had written to me to say that if anything should happen to him
     I would find a letter addressed to me at my bank. And though I
     suppose you think I'm foolish I've been down every morning to
     see if there was anything. This morning there was. The envelope
     was a mere scrawl, though I recognised his writing at once: the
     post mark was London. And inside was a half sheet of paper with
     a drawing on it and some words. The drawing looks to me like a
     map--there's a north point marked on it: but the extraordinary
     thing is that it's not all there. It's sort of like half a map.
     Some of the words are cut in two, or if not, they don't make
     sense.

     "However, I could explain it so much more easily to you than
     write it. You see apart from whether it may mean anything or
     not I'm so terribly worried as to whether anything has happened
     to him. He must have been in London yesterday, so why hasn't he
     been to see me? Or rung up, or something? Do you think he has
     had an accident? I've rung up Scotland Yard, and looked in all
     the papers, but I can't find out anything.

     "I hate to bother you, but could you possibly come round and
     see me to-morrow morning some time? I'd suggest this evening,
     but you may not get this letter in time, and anyway we've got a
     ghastly dinner party on. I'll stay in until lunch in hopes of
     your being able to manage it.

     "I do hope you don't think I'm a terrible nuisance, but I
     really am most awfully worried.

                                          "Yours sincerely,
                                                   "Judy Draycott."_

With a faint smile Jim Maitland folded up the letter and put it in his
pocket. Then the smile faded, and he sat staring in front of him. This
was an unexpected development, and one that required thought. It
confirmed--if confirmation was necessary--that the dead man was her
brother, but it did not make things any easier with regard to telling
her. And yet what was he to say when she asked him--as she undoubtedly
would--if he thought any accident had happened? He must either tell her
the whole thing, or keep it entirely dark.

For the moment he dismissed that side of the problem, and concentrated
on the other. A kind of map. It was clear that there was something in
this yarn about the treasure, or at any rate that her brother had
_thought_ there was. Had the boy then had some premonition of danger
which had impelled him to send it to her bank? And why did she say like
half a map?

There came back to him suddenly the big man's words the night
before--"You damned fool--you've wrecked the whole thing." What whole
thing? It was a queer remark to make over the murder of a man after a
gambling quarrel. It might, of course, allude to the fact that it would
be necessary to shut down the house: on the other hand it might not. And
the more he thought of it, the more probably did it seem to him that
there was something bigger in the whole affair than met the eye at
first sight. Or, as he had qualified it before, that there was something
which certain people _thought_ was bigger. Which came to the same thing
at the present moment.

He pressed out his cigarette and rose: there was one thing he could do
at once which would not commit him to any particular course of action in
the future. He went to the telephone and rang up Grosvenor A123. A man's
voice answered and he asked to speak to Miss Draycott. She came almost
at once, and her first words were--"Is that you, Arthur?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss Draycott," he said gently. "It's Maitland
speaking."

He heard the little sigh of disappointment, and felt horribly guilty.
Poor girl! if she only knew the truth.

"I got your note," he went on, "and I'll come round to-morrow about
noon. And in the meantime I want you to be sure that that piece of paper
is not lost. Is there a safe in the house?"

"No: there isn't," came her voice. "Mr. Maitland, it's most
extraordinary that you should have rung up about that. Do you think it's
really valuable?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm certain that while we were at dinner to-night somebody
tried to burgle my room."

"Hold hard," said Jim. "Where are you speaking from? Where's the
telephone? Wait a minute--don't answer. Only say yes or no to my
questions. Is it in the hall?"

"Yes."

"Can you be overheard?"

"Yes."

"Then be careful. Now one more question--are you prepared to trust me
implicitly?"

Came a soft laugh. "What can I say but--yes?"

"You haven't known me very long, have you?" he answered. "And what I'm
going to ask you to do will entail a lot of faith in a comparative
stranger. Now is there a letter-box anywhere near your house? Just say
yes or no."

"Yes."

"Could you slip out and post a letter there now at once?"

"Yes: quite easily."

"Then would you put that paper in an envelope, address it to me here at
the club, and post it?"

"Well, if you think..."

There was the faintest perceptible pause and her voice sounded a little
doubtful.

"I do think," said Jim quietly. "His Majesty's post is the safest thing
in the world, Miss Draycott. But put it in the box yourself. I will
bring it round with me to-morrow, and we'll discuss the whole thing."

"All right," she said with sudden determination. "I'll do it now."

"Good!" he cried. "And one word more. Do not, if you'll take my advice,
talk about it to anyone."

"I see that you do think there is something in it." There was a note of
excitement in her voice.

"There may or may not be," he answered guardedly. "If there isn't it
doesn't matter: if there is that paper is safer in the post than in your
house. Good night, Miss Draycott: I'll be round about twelve to-morrow."

He rang off and left the box thoughtfully. So she seemed to think that
someone had tried to burgle her room. Was that _another_ coincidence?
Surely it could not be. And as Jim Maitland re-entered the smoking-room
he proposed a silent but hearty vote of thanks to his cousin for having
taken him to the Bright Young Thing's entertainment.




CHAP. IV


"Do you think we'll have any luck, Jim?"

"I haven't a notion, my dear fellow. I'll answer your question in half
an hour."

The two men had just turned into Oakleigh Avenue. The car had been left
in a garage in Hampstead, as Jim Maitland feared it might prove
conspicuous if left standing in the road. Moreover he had no idea how
long his visit would take. The road was as deserted as the previous
night: save for an occasional taxi homeward bound with a theatre party
they saw no one for the first quarter of a mile.

"I think I'll recognise the house," he said at length. "If not we'll go
to where you had your party and cast back. I'll get it then for a
certainty. Hullo! what's the excitement in front?"

He paused, pulling his cousin into the shadow. A car was drawn up about
a hundred yards ahead and some men were standing by it. An altercation
of sorts was in progress: their voices--though not the actual
words--could be clearly heard. And one, at any rate, seemed very angry.

"We'll saunter on slowly, Percy. For it seems to me they must be fairly
adjacent to the house we want."

"I tell you it's a damned scandal." Suddenly the sentence came
distinctly. "We'll break the blasted place open. It's a club, isn't it?
They've got no right to shut."

They were close now, and by the light of a street lamp, they could see
what was happening. There were four men in evening clothes, and three of
them were trying to pacify the fourth, and get him back into the car.

"Shut up, you fool," cried one of them, glancing over his shoulder. "The
place is closed." And then in a hoarse mutter as he saw Jim and his
cousin--"Police."

Still protesting angrily the fourth man allowed himself to be pushed
into the car, which drove rapidly away.

"Took us for plain-clothes men," said Jim with a laugh. "And that
answers one of our questions. Evidently no gambling to-night. And it
also marks down the house."

He inspected it carefully and after a while he nodded.

"Yes: this is the spot. There's the tree I stood behind last night. But
they're all so confoundedly alike, these houses up here. Now, Percy, my
boy, the fun begins--or let's hope so."

"I suppose you're right, laddie," said his cousin gloomily. "Personally
it's not my idea of laughter and games. The bally place gives me the
willies."

Jim laughed.

"Cheer up," he cried. "It's much livelier inside."

He took a swift glance up and down the road: then he opened the gate and
stepped into the drive. And then for a moment he paused with his eyes
fixed on a patch of ground on which the street lamp shone.

"See that," he said quietly. "That deepish track. There has been a heavy
vehicle in here to-day. Probably a pantechnicon. The birds have flown
all right, or I'm a Dutchman."

"You're quick, Jim," said his cousin. "I'd never have noticed that."

"Because your eyes aren't trained," answered the other. "You see, but
you don't observe. Come on--there's no good standing here. Though I'm
afraid we're going to have our trouble for nothing."

He led the way swiftly to the back of the house. The window was open,
just as he had left it, and without further ado he swung himself into
the room.

"Not a sound," he whispered, as his cousin joined him. "Keep your torch
handy."

Carefully screening his own from the window behind him, he switched it
on. And for the second time he stood very still with his eyes fixed on
the ground.

"Do you see that?" he breathed. "I wonder what it means. It's odd--very
odd."

The dust still lay thick on the floor, and as he turned his torch from
side to side his cousin began to grasp what he was driving at. Across
the centre of the room were the imprints of very visible footmarks which
went from the window towards the door. In one of them Jim Maitland
placed his foot: it fitted exactly. They were his tracks of the previous
night. But they were not the only ones. Sometimes crossing one another,
but for most of the way as clear and distinct as those made by Jim were
other footsteps. And it was at these that he was intently peering.

The foot was small--like a woman's, and the distance between each step
was short--so short, in fact, that the tracks might have been made by a
child. That they were all the work of one person was obvious, but beyond
that Percy's brain failed to advance. Some small girl presumably had
been running round the room, and he failed to see why the matter should
interest his cousin.

"What do you make of it, Percy?" came in a whisper from Jim.

"Looks as if a girls' school had been having a dancing lesson, old lad.
Let's push on: this room gives me the hump."

"You fat-headed blighter. Do you mean to say you can't read those marks?
Look at that set of tracks."

Jim focussed his torch on one of them.

"Which way was the person going who made those?"

"From the window to the door," answered his cousin.

"Good boy. And now those?"

"From the door to the window."

"Getting quite bright. Now take the last lot."

"They are from the window to the door."

"Right again. Now think it out. Two lines from the window to the door,
and only one from the door to the window. And all the same person."

Percy's brain wrestled with the problem manfully.

"Whoever did it must have been ga-ga," he said at length. "I mean, fancy
running about this place for fun."

"And how did the person run? Where did he start from--the door or the
window?"

Once again Percy's brain creaked.

"Window to door," he muttered. "Door to window: window to door."

"Not quite right, Percy--but near enough. So where is he now?"

And suddenly the full significance of it sank in.

"Good Lord!" he cried. "He must be in the house."

"Precisely," said Jim. "Therefore don't shout, and keep your wits about
you. For it was no small girl who made those tracks. Now--follow me."

They passed up the stairs into the hall. Percy close on his cousin's
heels. What had seemed perfectly priceless in the club was not turning
out quite such good value as he had expected. From outside came the
sound of a passing car: then the same deathly silence settled on the
house again.

"Jim," he whispered.

There was no answer, and putting out his hand he encountered air. His
cousin was not there.

"Jim." The whisper was louder, and the next instant a hand gripped his
arm, so unexpectedly that he almost cried out.

"Shut up, you young idiot. I thought you were behind me. I've been up to
the first landing."

"How jolly," remarked Percy. "Are you going up again?"

"To the second floor," whispered Jim. "Had a look at the roulette room:
everything dismantled, as I expected."

He was creeping up the stairs as he spoke, and at the top of the flight
he paused.

"Do you hear anything?" he breathed in the other's ear.

But Percy could hear nothing save the thumping of his own heart, and was
only conscious of a strong desire to flee. If this was the normal manner
of a burglar's life he proposed to stick to bigamy in the crime line.

"Perhaps I was mistaken," whispered Jim. "Come on."

They crept up the next flight, and again Jim stopped.

"I'm going to switch on my torch," he muttered. "If we're caught--we're
caught."

But the passage was empty, and he flung open the door of the room where
the body had been. Then like a flash he stepped back: opening doors can
be a dangerous occupation. But nothing happened, and after a while he
entered.

The room was as he had left it, save that there was no trace of the dead
man. None of the furniture had been moved: papers still littered the top
of the desk.

"Stay by the door, Percy," he said quietly. "No--not in the centre, old
lad: stand to one side. And keep your ears skinned for any sound."

He flashed his torch over the papers on the desk, but beyond a few bills
and receipts there was nothing of any interest. They were made out to
Mr. M. Johnson, which might have been genuine or might not: anyway,
they did not advance things.

He knelt down on the floor where the body had been, and after a while
his attention was attracted by a small piece of paper that was lying
just under the bottom of the desk. It was so placed that had he not been
on his hands and knees he would never have noticed it, the desk would
have hidden it. He picked it up and examined it: then he whistled softly
to himself.

It was clearly one corner of a larger piece of paper. It had been torn
off violently; the distortion of the paper was obvious. Moreover it was
discoloured as if it had been held tightly between a finger and thumb
which were warm. Was it possible, he reflected, that this scrap had been
in the dead man's hand, and had fallen under the desk when he himself
fell?

[Illustration]

He held it up to the light and studied it carefully. The two letters WE
had been written in indelible pencil, and were presumably part of a
longer word. But the main point of interest lay not so much in what it
might mean--with such a small clue that was bound to be a closed book to
them for the time--but in the fact of its presence at all. Because it
seemed to Jim that that scrap of paper justified his line of action.
There was something more to it than a mere gambling row, and it was
going to be his job to find out what. He put it carefully in his
pocket-book, and straightened up. And he was on the point of telling his
cousin that they would hook it when he heard the unmistakable sound of a
board creaking in the passage outside. He signalled to Percy to stand
still: then he waited motionless, his torch focussed on the floor. He
knew that in a moment or two he would see again that misshapen figure,
and in spite of the element of surprise being absent a queer little
thrill ran through him. There came another creak, and the dwarf was
standing in the room.

He saw Percy give an uncontrollable start: then for a while the three of
them stood without movement. Suddenly the blind man switched on the
light, walked to the desk and sat down. He picked up the telephone, and
Jim made a sign with his hand towards the door. If possible he wanted to
get away without being discovered, and as silently as a cat he crossed
the room.

"Is that Exchange? Mr. Johnson, of 95, Oakleigh Avenue, speaking. My
call is for rather an unusual purpose. Would you make quite sure you
have the name and address correct? Perhaps you would repeat it. Yes:
that's quite right. Well, would you make a special note in case a call
comes through for him, that a Mr. Jim Maitland is with me at the moment?
Yes: Jim Maitland. Thank you so much. I regret having to trouble you."

He put down the receiver and lay back in his chair with a smile, while
Jim Maitland stood in the centre of the room staring fascinated at him.
As far as he knew he had not made a sound, and yet the little devil had
spotted him.

"Good evening, Mr. Maitland." His voice was suave. "Won't you introduce
your friend? You can, of course, if you prefer it go away. At the same
time, having taken all the trouble you have, a little chat might clear
the air."

"How long have you known I was here?" asked Jim curiously.

"Ever since you arrived," replied the other. "You are the most silent
mover, Mr. Maitland, that I have ever met, and I congratulate you on it.
But I have certain advantages, as you know. I trust your little
experience last night has done you no harm."

Jim Maitland lit a cigarette, and pulling up a chair, sat down. The
situation was a novel one for him. Not for many years had he found
himself similarly placed. On several occasions he had been in tight
corners, where only quick shooting and his great strength had saved
him. But that had been physical: this was mental. And not since he could
remember, did he recall having been up against one man who so definitely
threatened him with an inferiority complex.

"Quite right," continued the blind man. "Make yourself comfortable. And
your friend too. By the way, you still have not introduced us."

"It would be a little awkward for you if he happened to be connected
with the police," remarked Jim.

"A little," agreed the other. "But I happen to know he is not. The
police do not as a general rule own Bentleys or belong to the Dorchester
club."

"True, Mr. Dresler--very true."

"Did that rat Goldstein tell you my name?" snapped the dwarf.

"Your information with regard to my movements seems fairly complete,"
remarked Jim. "It is refreshing to find something you don't know.
However, for your benefit it was not Goldstein. He disowned all
knowledge of you, though I fear he did not do it very well. No, Mr.
Dresler, it appears that you are quite a well-known character in the
criminal world."

"You flatter me," said the other. "At the same time your use of the word
criminal is hardly polite."

"And I was just wondering," continued Jim, "what would be the result if
I used your telephone, not for the exchange, but for the police
station."

The blind man waved a deprecating hand.

"I admit, Mr. Maitland, that such a course is possible. Though I should
hate to think that you would do anything so crude. What, incidentally,
would you tell them?"

"The truth," said Jim briefly. "As seen by me last night."

"As I said, such a course is possible," repeated the other.
"Nevertheless, there are one or two small points that strike me. In the
first place what are you both doing in this house, and how did you get
in?"

"You know quite well how I got in."

"My dear sir, of course. But the police would want to know. And to the
official eye it looks very like house-breaking. A serious offence, Mr.
Maitland. Then there is a further point. Why not tell the police at
Streatham this afternoon whatever story you are proposing to tell them
now?"

"Agreed," said Jim. "They would probably be very angry with me. But, Mr.
Dresler, they would, I think, be even more angry with you."

"I doubt it. After all, your conduct to the official eye has been most
reprehensible. You arrived here last night, having broken into the
house, in a condition of disgusting drunkenness. So violent did you
become that I was on the point of summoning assistance when mercifully
you fell asleep. And two friends of mine very kindly laid you out to
cool somewhere."

"Do you deny that a man was shot in this room last night?"

"My dear Mr. Maitland--what an absurd delusion. You must have been more
drunk even than I thought. It is perfectly true that a man was knocked
down. But--shot! Why, where is the body? What has become of it? And if
that is the accusation you have to bring--the gravest of all, murder--it
was doubly reprehensible of you not to tell the police at once."

In spite of himself Jim laughed.

"You damned little scoundrel," he said. "Where is this conversation
leading to?"

"That, my friend, remains to be seen," answered Dresler. "To be quite
truthful, Mr. Maitland, I had to assume that you would pass on your
strange delusion to the police as soon as you recovered. I therefore
made my plans accordingly. When, however, I found that you had said
nothing I revised my estimate of your character. I had you shadowed from
the time you left the police station, and it soon became clear that you
were going to play a lone hand. Your conversation with Goldstein
confirmed the fact."

"So he passed it on, did he?" said Jim.

"At once," replied the other. "Now I like people who play lone hands.
They belong by unquestioned right to the fellowship of one. Shall we
play on the same side, or not? Shall we join forces, or shall we fight?"

"The proposition requires thought," said Jim, with a warning glimpse at
his cousin who with his mouth open and his eyes almost falling out of
his head had been following the conversation in silence.

"What advantage is it to you," he continued, "if we amalgamate?"

"I will be candid," said the blind man. "From enquiries I have made
about you to-day I have learned several things. You are, I gather, one
of those men who like adventure for adventure's sake. You are further an
almost legendary figure as far as a scrap is concerned. Last night I
managed to control your drunken frenzy, but I am not under any delusions
that I should be able to do it a second time. And, while I think of it,
may I apologise for that absurd note you received. It was sent when I
had no idea as to the manner of man you were."

Jim laughed again.

"I accept your apology," he said gravely.

"Very well, then," continued the other. "It is clear to me that you and
I are going to see more of one another in the future. Your presence
to-night proves that you are of--shall we say--a curious disposition.
And, in brief, I would sooner have you on my side than against me. What
do you say?"

"Your side in what?" asked Jim mildly. "Forgive my denseness, but you
speak in riddles."

"Is that so, Mr. Maitland?" said the other leaning forward. "Just how
much do you know?"

"It would seem," remarked Jim, "that there are one or two things on
which you are not omniscient. However, I still await an answer to a very
simple question. Your side in what? Running a gambling den?"

The blind man sat silent, motionless: almost it seemed as if he was
trying by some form of telepathy to read the other's brain. And his
problem was as clear as if he had spoken aloud. Was it merely the sound
of the shot that had brought Jim Maitland in the night before? Was it
pure coincidence, or was there something more behind it? It was
impossible for the dwarf to know of his acquaintance with Judy Draycott:
at the same time men of Dresler's kidney are by nature ultra-cautious.
And knowing as he did that Jim had recently returned from South America,
the reason for his hesitation was obvious.

"No: not that, Mr. Maitland," he said at length. "In fact owing
entirely to you our little club below has ceased, as you doubtless
observed on your way up. But it is possible that in the near future we
might be of great assistance to one another."

"You flatter me," said Jim.

"My strong point, if I may say so, lies more in the planning of schemes,
and in their organisation, rather than in actually carrying them out. My
infirmity is a great handicap. And as I say, I have great hopes that
very shortly I shall be in a position to put a suggestion in front of
you which will appeal enormously to a man of your temperament."

"Why this altruism, Mr. Dresler?"

"For the reason I have already stated. I would sooner have you on my
side than against me. And from the estimate I have formed of your
character it will be impossible to do what I would most prefer--dismiss
you altogether."

"Very frank," laughed Jim. "And what is the nature of this suggestion?"

"Should you accept my proposal I will tell you in due course. I may say
that it is perfectly legal."

"That must be rather a novelty for you, Mr. Dresler," said Jim rising.
"Of course, you will quite understand that it is impossible for me to
commit myself in any way until you are more explicit. But at the same
time, should your scheme appeal to me, I shall be quite prepared to
consider it on its merits."

"Excellent," remarked the dwarf. "And in view of our very amicable chat
I can only regret that I took such an unnecessary precaution as to ring
up the exchange. I think we understand each other perfectly."

A faint smile crossed Jim's face, which would have caused the dwarf
considerable uneasiness had he been able to see it.

"Perfectly," he agreed. "I shall await your suggestion with interest."

"And in the meantime," said the other, "we may dismiss the question of
the police, I take it?"

"Assuredly," answered Jim. "A meddlesome body of men. Good night, Mr.
Dresler. I have greatly enjoyed our chat."

He signed to his cousin to follow him, and a few moments later they were
both in the drive.

"Don't speak," he said quietly. "I don't want to run the slightest risk
of him hearing your voice. You may come in very useful later, my lad."

They walked a hundred yards in silence, and then Percy exploded.

"Good Lord! man," he said, "you can't mean to join forces with that
little reptile?"

"Just as much," grinned Jim, "as he means to join forces with me. A
thoroughly dangerous man, Percy, but unless I'm much mistaken, we've
got five to four the better of him. In fact we've done a damned good
evening's work."

"He bluffed you good and hearty over the police," said the other.

"Did he? I wonder. A lot that he said was perfectly true. They'd have
asked me some very awkward questions."

"Yes, but dash it all, old boy, it's a bit tough on the wretched
blighter who was shot. I'd like to see somebody get it in the neck over
that."

"You can take it from me, Percy, that someone is going to get it in the
neck before I've done with them. There's a good deal I haven't told you
as yet: I wanted confirmation before I passed it on. To-night I've got
it."

"Confirmation of what?" demanded the other.

"The fact that there was more in the whole thing than met the eye."

"You mean that last night's shooting was not a mere gambling quarrel."

"Possibly. But a better way of putting it would be that the man who was
shot did not go there primarily to gamble. He went in connection with
the scheme our friend suggested I should come in on."

"I wonder who the poor devil was. A pity you don't know."

"I do," remarked Jim. "And that, my lad, is where we've got five to
four the better of him. He was Miss Draycott's brother."

"Rot," said the other incredulously, stopping dead in his tracks. "How
on earth do you know?"

"The likeness of two peas to one another could not be greater," said
Jim. "He only landed from South America yesterday--at least that is when
the mail boat berthed--and what his movements were after that until he
found himself in that gambling den I can't tell you. Who it was who
persuaded him to go there I don't know. It may have been the dago who
finally shot him: it may have been Barnet. The point is immaterial,
anyway. What is important is that he had in his possession information
which he believed to be of value. And what that little swine was trying
to puzzle out to-night was whether I knew that fact or not. So finally
he fenced. He alluded to a scheme, but said no word of what it was."

"Have you any idea?"

"I have a very shrewd idea. And I have a further shrewd idea, Percy,
that there's going to be a lot of fun in the near future for both of
us--that is, if you care to come in."

"You bet I will. I rather enjoy this sort of thing. But isn't it a bit
rough on the girl, old lad--little Judy."

"I know what you mean," said Jim. "But I acted with my eyes open.
Telling her won't bring him back to life, and would inevitably have
brought the police in. It might have resulted in the dago swinging, but
I doubt it. So in the fullness of time we will take the law into our own
hands and shoot him. But not yet."

"Easy over the bricks," cried his cousin. "In my case the condemned man
would not eat a hearty breakfast."

"We won't do it here, Percy. I think we shall be going to South America
shortly, and it is easy out there."

"South America! What the devil are we going there for?"

"Sea trip with a nice breath of ozone. And in the meantime just remember
two things. First we have not been to Hampstead to-night: second and by
far the more important, Miss Draycott and I have never met. A still
tongue, Percy, and a sharp eye, and you'll be quite a credit to the
family before I've done with you."

They drew up at the door of the Dorchester, and Jim got out.

"Night night, old lad. I'll put you wise to everything before long."




CHAP. V


It was with real curiosity he awaited the arrival of his letters the
next morning. What was this strange document the dead man had sent to
his sister? Was the whole thing a mare's nest, or could it be possible
that by some strange fluke he had stumbled on something genuine?

He recognised the writing at once, and sitting down in a deserted corner
of the smoking-room he opened the envelope. There was a short covering
note that he glanced at first.

     "_Dear Mr. Maitland_"--it ran:

     "_I enclose the map. Am expecting you about twelve.

                            "Yours sincerely,
                                     "Judy Draycott._"

Then he turned his attention to the enclosure. It was as she had said a
map, or rather half a map. Evidently the original had been cut in two,
and the murdered man's idea was obvious. He had kept one half himself:
the other he had sent to his sister.

The drawing was crude: the writing illiterate--just what might have
been expected from an uneducated sailor.

[Illustration]

It was clearly meant to represent part of an island: the word CLIFFS
proved that. HILL was clear, but what A was struck him as doubtful:
possibly a tree. CKS and OMP he gave up. The writing at the bottom was
no assistance either. Presumably the first word was FROM, in which case
the first line read--FROM THE HILL A LINE SOUTH.

He took out his pocket-book and studied the scrap of paper he had found
the night before. From its shape and the position of the letters, it
must be the bottom left-hand corner on the other half, and it seemed to
him that WE might be the first half of west, so that he got--FROM THE
HILL A LINE SOUTH WEST. RER LURKS AND TRESUR RICH was meaningless
without the context. In fact the whole thing was useless without the
other half. Whether it would prove of any value even with the other half
was neither here nor there: without putting the two together no one
could get any further.

He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette: the main points of the
situation were clear. Dresler and his friends had one half--save for the
torn-off scrap in the corner: he had the other. But while he knew they
had it, they were not in the same position over him. Which was where, as
he had said to his cousin, he was five to four the better of them.

That they had intended to kill young Draycott he did not believe for a
moment: if they wanted him out of the way it could be done more easily
and far more safely by methods other than shooting him in a house in
London. But it happened and they had had to make the best of it. They
had acted promptly and cleverly: but for the amazing freak of fate which
had caused him to meet Judy Draycott just before he heard the shot he
would actually have been in the position in which they thought he
was--an accidental passer-by who had heard a shot. And had it not been
for the fact that the Dago apparently knew his reputation, much of last
night's conversation would not have taken place. Dresler feared him
because his name was Jim Maitland, with a reputation for looking for
trouble, and not because he knew anything of this particular affair.

A new train of thought started. Did the other side know that half the
map had been sent to Judy Draycott? Her remark to him over the telephone
about her room having been tampered with while she was at dinner pointed
to the fact that they did. It also pointed to the fact that they did not
think the map was valueless. What proof they had, other than the dead
man's word, he had no means of telling, but men like Emil Dresler do not
embark on schemes unless they are sure of their facts. And if that was
so, the point that arose was how was he to see the half that was in his?
Or if possible to do more than see it, and actually get it? He would
have not the slightest compunction in stealing it from them if he
could--it was Judy Draycott's property, anyway: and then with the
complete map in front of him he could use his own judgment as to whether
the thing was worth while following up or not. But how to set about it
was the problem. That it was a case for guile and not force was obvious,
but beyond that main generalisation for the time being he could not get.
And it was not until he had sat there for more than an hour that the
glimmerings of a scheme began to dawn in his mind.

Once more he studied his half of the map intently, only it was not at
the drawing he was looking but at the paper. And the question he was
debating in his mind was whether it would be possible to obtain an
exactly similar quality and brand in London. It was cheap white paper,
with a faint watermark that looked like a crown in the corner, and it
had been made in all probability in South America. Could an exact
replica be found here? On that point depended the whole idea, which was
this.

He could keep the Eastern and Western boundaries of the island exactly
where they were: he would keep CKS and OMP in their proper positions; in
fact he would alter nothing along the line of the scissor cut. But after
that he would draw an entirely new map. The hill could be placed in a
totally different place: also the thing marked A. And the wording at the
bottom could be changed. As long as the two halves joined when put
together, no suspicions would be aroused, provided always the paper
matched exactly. And it thus might be possible to get a good look at the
genuine other half, whilst only showing a fake of the one he held in his
hand.

There were many details to fill in, but he felt instinctively he was
working on the right lines. And the first thing to do was to find out
about the paper. But before going out he decided to telephone Judy
Draycott.

In view of the attention paid him by Dresler the preceding day, he would
almost certainly be followed again. And at this stage of the proceedings
it was vital to keep the other side in ignorance of the fact that they
knew one another. It was too risky to go to her house: the point to be
decided was where to meet her.

"Hullo! Jim, how's life?"

Percy had just come in, and Jim drew him on one side.

"I've got a job of work for you, young feller," he said. "I was just
going to telephone, but you can take a message instead. It's safer. Go
and see Miss Draycott, and tell her that I do not propose to come to her
house this morning. Explain to her that for reasons which I'll give her
later it would be most unwise for anyone to know that she and I have
met, and that since I may be followed I don't want to go to Langham
Square. And then, Percy, you will bring her to the ladies' entrance of
the club here, and I will join you in due course."

"Right you are, old boy. Presumably no word about last night?"

"No word about anything--yet. And certainly no word about the brother,
for she will almost certainly talk to you about him."

He gave his cousin some ten minutes' start before following him into the
street. And then he seemed in no great hurry. He stood on the pavement,
his stick swinging loosely in his hand apparently enjoying the air. But
when Jim Maitland was apparently doing something the betting was largely
in favour of the fact that in reality he was doing something else. And
in the short space of time he remained there before hailing a taxi his
lynx eye had picked up two men whose appearance he mistrusted. They were
both loitering there a little too obviously.

He glanced backwards as the car turned into Pall Mall: they had got into
another one and were following. And it occurred to him that there might
be the possibility of a little fun. So leaning out of the window he told
his driver to go slowly round St. James's Square until he told him to
stop.

"Round and round," he remarked. "The air there is peculiarly
beneficial."

Now, as all the world knows, there are five roads that lead out of St.
James's Square, and it put the two gentlemen in a quandary. They dared
not stop for fear their quarry would slip them by one of the five: at
the same time when Jim had completed the circuit for the sixth time the
situation became strained. And it became even more so when he stopped
his machine and waved a genial hand at them.

"Good fun, isn't it?" he called out as their car went past him. "Are we
going to continue, or are we not?"

The car pulled up and one of the men got out.

"Were you speaking to us?" he demanded.

"No, no, laddie. To the sparrow twittering in yonder tree."

"Cut it out," snarled the other with a quick look round, "or you'll find
yourself with a thick ear, my boy."

Jim began to laugh silently.

"You rat-faced excrescence," he said pleasantly, "you couldn't give a
thick ear to a baby in arms. But I warn you quite seriously that if you
continue to follow me I'll give you in charge to the nearest policeman.
Your face and that of your friend are enough to turn the milk sour....
Ah! would you?"

It happened quickly. Enraged by Jim's remarks the other had aimed a
definite blow at his eyeglass. It failed to connect by at least a foot,
but it was enough for Jim. And a moment later the man was standing
helpless with his arm in a grip that felt like a steel vice.

"God! man," he muttered savagely, "you're breaking my elbow."

"No: merely bending it," Jim assured him. "And since you are in this
position, I think I will call that policeman who has just entered the
square.... Officer," he hailed.

But the other man was not waiting for any policeman. With a tremendous
effort he wriggled free, and ran back to his car which at once drove
rapidly away. And Jim was again laughing silently when the majesty of
the law approached.

"Did you call, sir?" he said.

"A mistake, officer," he remarked. "My friend who has just left me
wanted to know the way somewhere, but I think he's found it."

"Drove off pretty fast, sir."

"Yes," agreed Jim. "He did seem in a bit of a hurry, didn't he? Well,
good morning, officer. Sorry to have troubled you."

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver, as the policeman moved on.

"Go to Hyman's in Little Portland Street," he answered. "It's a big
paper shop."

"Ugly sort of customer that, sir," went on the driver with a grin.

"A damned fool," said Jim tersely. "I've seen some pretty inefficient
efforts at following in my life, but that took the cake. Keep your eyes
skinned in case we see them again, but I don't think we shall."

Which proved to be correct: there was no sign of the other car when he
paid off his own. Nevertheless he proposed to take no chances, and when
one of the assistants asked him what he required he insisted on going to
a remote corner of the shop.

"Sorry to appear mysterious," he said with a smile, "but there's a bit
of a jest on. And I don't want to be spotted."

He produced the map from his pocket-book.

"I want to know," he went on, "if you can match this paper exactly. Very
nearly is no good. The likeness must be so good that when the two halves
are side by side anyone looking at them would say they were originally
the same bit that had been cut in two."

The assistant took it in his hand and examined it minutely.

"There oughtn't to be much difficulty in that, sir," he pronounced at
length. "I'll get a book of samples."

They found what was wanted almost at once--a paper that was literally
identical with the original, and Jim ordered half a dozen pieces. Then
he started to stroll back towards his club. So far, so good:
unfortunately it was not very far. The main part of the problem had
still to be solved. To draw a faked substitute was now an easy matter,
but how was he going to utilise it to the best advantage when he had
done so?

If it could possibly be avoided he did not want the other side to find
out that he knew anything about the map. At the same time his whole
scheme depended on the fact that the other half of the map should be
seen. It was useless merely getting the fake to them by some method:
that would give only a negative result to each side. He turned it over
from every angle and at length the only possible way out occurred to
him. It might fail, but he would have to take the risk. Judy Draycott
was the person who must do it.

Whether Dresler and his bunch knew that half had been sent to her or not
didn't matter. It would arouse no suspicions in their minds when they
found she had it in her possession. And so, somehow or other, she would
have to contrive to see the other piece for long enough to memorise it
roughly. Presumably it would be as simple and crude as the half he had,
and given a minute or so to study it in, she should be able to reproduce
it sufficiently accurately for them to have something to go on.

One weak point lay in the fact that they might not let her see the other
part. Another was the difficulty of her approaching them, so to speak,
out of the blue. Why should she know anything about them at all? He did
not even know if she and Barnet were acquaintances. Still those were
minor difficulties: he was satisfied that the main idea was right. Judy
Draycott was the only person who could do it, without giving things
away. And if she did pull it off, and obtained a reasonable mental
picture of the other half they would be in the pleasant position of
having the truth, whilst the opponents possessed the map of an island, a
large portion of which was completely imaginary. At which point in his
reflections he turned into his club to find his cousin waiting for him
with a worried look on his face.

"She's gone, Jim," he said briefly.

"Come on into the smoking-room," remarked Jim. "Now, then," he
continued, after they had found two chairs, "what's this? You say she's
gone. Where to?"

"Can't tell you, old lad," answered the other. "The house belongs to an
ancient gorgon--Lady Somebody or other, with whom Judy is staying. Well,
I blew in and asked for the girl, but the butler pushed me into the
presence of the most devastating old ruin you've ever imagined. Shook me
badly, laddie, I don't mind admitting."

"'Are you Mr. Maitland?' she boomed.

"I admitted the soft impeachment, and she inspected me through
_lorgnettes_.

"'I confess I do not understand present-day mentality,' she went on,
'but Judy's brain must have left her temporarily. She said you were very
good-looking and had a magnificent figure.'

"Well, I thought she might have put it a little differently, but the
family spirit pulled me through.

"'That's where you scratch the wrong bite,' I said breezily. 'She
alluded to my cousin who, I have been told, does bear a slight
resemblance to me. He belongs to one of the cadet branches of our
family.'"

"You blithering idiot," Jim grinned. "Get on with it."

"Apparently I'd said the wrong thing," continued Percy. "She sat there
for quite a while with her mouth opening and shutting, and no noise
occurred. I thought she'd slipped her uppers and was wondering what the
devil to do if they zoomed into the hearth-rug, when she suddenly gave a
harsh, croaking sound which turned after a while into semi-articulate
speech.

"'Scratch! Wrong bite! You wretched young man--how dare you?'

"Well, I managed to pacify her: assured her it was a bit of modern
slang, and at length, thank God! her breathing became normal again, and
the deep magenta look left her face.

"'Now,' I said chattily, 'what about our little Judy? We both, I expect,
have to do this and that before worrying the mid-day bone.'

"And little by little I extracted the account of the morning's doings.
It appears Judy was giving the once over to the matutinal kipper by
herself in the dining-room, when a woman called to see her. She couldn't
tell me what sort of a woman as she herself does not shatter the
_morale_ of the house by appearing at breakfast. At any rate this woman
had brought Judy a message from her brother."

"What's that?" cried Jim sitting up. "Her brother?"

"Just how I felt, old lad, when she said it," remarked Percy.

"You didn't give anything away, did you?"

"My face remained completely sphinx-like," said his cousin. "To
continue. The result of the message was that Judy departed with this
female, leaving a message for you to the effect that your proposed party
at noon would have to be off."

"Did she say where she was going?" demanded Jim.

"Apparently not. At any rate not to the old trout. And I didn't quite
like to ask to see her maid."

"And she said nothing as to when she intended to return?"

"Not a word. So having bowed to the Presence I left the house."

He lit a cigarette, and gave an order to a passing waiter for the
necessary.

"So bringing the grey matter to work, Jim," he continued, "one thing
becomes obvious. Either you made a mistake, or it is a trap."

"Exactly," agreed his cousin. "And since I did not make a mistake..."

He left the sentence uncompleted: how would this development affect his
plan? That they contemplated doing any harm to the girl he dismissed
from his mind: no possible object could be served by hurting her. Their
object clearly was to get possession of her half of the map, and it
therefore proved that they knew she had it. It further proved that they
did _not_ know she had sent it to him. But how long would they remain in
ignorance of that fact? How long would it be before she told him?

He frowned thoughtfully: another point had struck him. What were they
going to do about the brother? The girl having been lured away by what
she took to be a message from him would naturally expect to see him.
Moreover, she would become very suspicious if she did not. And as they
could not show her his dead body with a bullet hole through the heart it
became a little difficult to see what they were going to do.

He crossed to one of the writing-tables: the sooner he prepared the
faked map the better. Things might eventuate at any moment, and he
wanted to be prepared. For a while he again studied the map carefully:
then he took one of the sheets of paper he had bought and picked up an
indelible pencil.

[Illustration]

"That ought to do the trick," he muttered to himself ten minutes later.
He put the genuine one in an envelope, and sent it with a covering
letter to his lawyer: the fake he put in his pocket-book. Then picking
up an illustrated paper he threw himself into an armchair. There was
nothing he could do but wait.

Just before lunch Percy returned from what he described as a cocktail
date with a hen, and demanded the latest bulletin.

"That's deuced bright of you, Jim," said his cousin admiringly when he
had explained his idea. "But now that Judy has actually gone to them
it's going to make things a bit harder."

"You're right," agreed Jim. "We can only wait and see what happens. And
since they haven't got what they wanted, something is bound to happen
soon. She may tell 'em she sent the map to me: she may not. And until we
know that, we're left guessing."

"They won't do her any harm, will they?"

"No," said Jim positively. "They'll guard her as the apple of their eye
until they get the map And before they do that we step into the
picture."

They lunched, and then began an interminable afternoon. Jim did not dare
to get out of reach of the telephone: Percy refused to run any risk of
missing the fun. And so, sternly dismissing from their minds the fact
that Patsy Hendren had been sixty not out at the luncheon interval, they
dozed.

The message came through just after five o'clock. A page roused them
from their slumbers: Mr. Maitland was wanted on the telephone.

"You go, Percy," said Jim. "If it is Miss Draycott find out where she is
speaking from. If it sounds at all risky do the silly-ass stunt. But if
she is in London get her round to the ladies' side here, the same as we
arranged for lunch."

"Right ho! laddie," cried the other. "You leave it to me."

He came back almost immediately.

"Speaking from Langham Square," he said. "She's coming at once. And,
Jim, unless I'm much mistaken, there have been doings. Her voice was
rather like that of an agitated hen."

"Good!" cried Jim. "The sooner we get to it the better."

"Do you want me to attend the pow-wow?" asked his cousin.

Jim nodded.

"But say nothing, at any rate at present, about her brother!"

Judy Draycott was as good as her word: she came at once. And it struck
Jim as he shook hands that she was even more attractive than he had
thought at first. But there was a look of tense anxiety about her that
brought him back to business at once.

"What is the trouble, Miss Draycott?" he said as they sat down.

"Mr. Maitland," she answered earnestly, "there's some devilry going on.
I'm just worried to death."

"I don't expect it's quite as bad as that," he said with a smile. "Young
Percy and I have been having a lot of fun over your affairs too."

"What do you mean?" she said in amazement.

"You shall hear in good time, Miss Draycott," he answered. "Let's get to
your doings first. All that we know is that a female of sorts called on
you at breakfast this morning, bringing a message from your brother, and
you went away with her."

"She had a car waiting outside," began the girl--"and I got in without
hesitation. All that she had said in the house was that Arthur wanted me
to come, and to bring with me the letter he had sent to my bank. That,
of course, I couldn't do without coming round and getting it from you."

"Which you'd have had considerable difficulty in doing," put in Jim
quietly. "Did you mention you'd sent it to me?"

"I did not. And really I can't think why I didn't--then. Because at the
time I had no suspicions. I did think it a little strange that Arthur
should have sent a woman as a messenger, but I was so keen to see him
that I didn't bother about it much. I just dashed upstairs, told my
aunt, and started off. It was a closed car, and a chauffeur in livery
was driving. And after a while it began to strike me that my companion
was very uncommunicative. Every question I put to her she answered in
monosyllables. So at last I tackled her point blank."

"'Is there anything the matter with my brother?'"

"She tried to evade it for a bit, but I insisted. And to my horror I
found he had been involved in a bad accident."

The eyes of the two men met, but the girl was too intent on her story to
notice.

"He was in a nursing home, and his eyes had been affected. It was a
motor accident, and his face had been badly cut about."

"'Who is looking after him?' I demanded."

"A Doctor Phillips, she told me, was in charge. I asked where the house
was. It was on the outskirts of Mayfield in Sussex."

"'But what on earth was he doing motoring down there,' I cried in
amazement, and she shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea why he had
been there: all she could tell me was that the crash had occurred about
half a mile from their lodge gates and some workmen had carried him in.

"We arrived at half-past eleven, and when I saw the house my heart sank.
It was the most gloomy, depressing spot: anything less suited for a
nursing home it would be impossible to imagine. And I think it was as we
drove up to the door that suspicion first started in my mind. I caught
the woman's eyes fixed on me, and though she immediately glanced away,
there had been a funny look in them. And it was then, as I say, that I
first began to wonder if all was well.

"The door was opened by a man-servant, and as I stepped into the hall
suspicion increased. The place was furnished after a fashion but there
was a sort of musty smell about everything that you only get in a house
that has been empty for some time. However, I said nothing, of course,
and a moment later a man came down the stairs.

"'This is Doctor Phillips,' said my companion.

"He shook hands, and led the way into one of the downstair rooms.

"'An unfortunate home-coming for your brother!' he said. 'Our matron has
told you, I suppose?'

"'She tells me that Arthur has been badly damaged in a motor accident,'
I answered. 'And I should like to see him at once, please.'

"He held up his hand.

"'One moment, my dear young lady,' he remarked--and if there's one thing
that drives me to drink it's being called that--'we must have a little
chat first. To begin with, your brother is in a very excitable condition
just at present--a condition which in view of the injuries to his face
and eyes...'

"'Eyes!' I cried.

"'Didn't the matron mention that? Yes: I am sorry to say his eyes are
involved. It is for that reason that we are keeping him in a dark room.
But do not alarm yourself. With care and good nursing I feel confident
he will retain his sight unimpaired, if--and this is very important,
if--we can keep him calm. Any mental excitement is the worst possible
thing for him. Now I naturally have no idea what he is talking about,
but the very first moment he began to speak coherently last night he
kept asking about some letter he had sent you. He must have it: he must
have it at once. In vain for me to point out to the dear fellow that he
couldn't read it: that it was safe with you until he had recovered. It
was no use. And so I entrusted the matron when she came to get you to be
sure and mention it, so that you could bring it. It will pacify him
enormously. You have it, of course?'

"And it was then, Mr. Maitland, I did some pretty rapid thinking. I was
as convinced as I could be that there was something wrong. I knew that
house was no nursing home, and I felt pretty well certain the man
talking to me was no doctor. He was too suave and oily. Besides, genuine
doctors don't allude to a complete stranger as a dear fellow. But what
was I to do? I hadn't got it, and what was going to be the result when I
told him so? I was convinced that it was the letter this man was after,
and if he found out it wasn't there, he would pull more of his medical
jargon out, tell me it would excite Arthur too much if I saw him without
the letter, and insist that I should go back to London and get it before
I could visit him. And I was determined that that should not happen. I
was determined that by hook or by crook I would talk to Arthur before I
left the house.

"It's taken a long time to describe what I felt: it actually took a
second to decide.

"'Naturally,' I said. 'I'll hand it to him myself.'"

"Well done," remarked Jim quietly. "How did he take that?"

"Not very enthusiastically," she answered, "which merely increased my
determination to see Arthur. But short of snatching my bag from me by
force he could do nothing, and at last with a very bad grace he rose and
left the room mumbling about seeing if Arthur was ready.

"The instant the door was shut I flew to it and listened: he and the
woman were having an argument in the hall outside. I couldn't hear what
they were saying, but it sounded distinctly acrimonious. And again my
suspicions increased: I _knew_ the show was crooked.

"The man came back in about five minutes, accompanied this time by the
woman. He seemed to have recovered himself, and his smile was more oily
than ever.

"'This way, my dear young lady,' he said. 'And you will remember, won't
you, that you may find your brother a little strange. The vocal
chords--everything has been affected.'

"We went upstairs, and my heart began to thump. Mr. Maitland--the house
was empty. No sign of movement: no nurses: nothing at all that you
always see in a nursing home. And he seemed to sense what I was feeling.

"'Very slack time just now,' he remarked. 'Which will enable me to give
all the more care to your brother.'

"He flung open a door: the room beyond it was pitch dark.

"'Ah! my dear fellow,' he cried, 'good news for you--joyous news. Your
charming sister has arrived.'

"I could see a man dimly in the darkness, whose face was covered with
bandages.

"'Arthur, old boy,' I cried, 'what rotten luck.'

"'Hullo! Judy,' he said querulously, 'how are you? Have you got the
letter? Have you brought it?'"

The girl paused for a moment, and neither man spoke.

"How I didn't scream," she went on, "I don't know. I'd suspected a lot
before, but never this. The man with the bandaged face wasn't Arthur at
all. It was just conceivable that the voice might have passed muster,
but Arthur has never called me Judy."

"'Humour him, please,' whispered the doctor to me, and then turned to
the man. 'All right, my dear chap, your sister has got it. She's just
going to give it to you.'

"'The letter. I want the letter, Judy.'

"My hands were trembling so much I could hardly open my bag. But one
thing I realised--whatever happened I mustn't let them suspect that I
knew it wasn't Arthur.

"'Here it is, old boy,' I said, and then turned horror-struck to the
doctor. 'Good heavens! Doctor Phillips,' I whispered. 'I forgot to put
it in.'

"And just for a moment I thought he was going to murder me.

"'Forgot to put it in?' he snarled, and I saw the woman nudge him in the
ribs. He pulled himself together.

"'Forgive me, Miss Draycott,' he said, 'but a shock like that to my
patient is very dangerous indeed.'

"He turned back into the room.

"'Now, old fellow,' he said, 'your sister, naughty girl, was so
overjoyed at the prospect of seeing you again that she forgot to bring
the letter. Don't let it worry you: don't let it excite you: I know she
will go back to London at once and get it. Won't you, Miss Draycott?'

"'Of course I will, Arthur,' I said. 'I'm sorry I was so stupid.'

"'Yes, get it, Judy, at once,' he answered. 'It's important.'

"And then the so-called doctor hustled me out of the room and down the
stairs.

"'A most unfortunate mistake, Miss Draycott,' he said gravely. 'Had I
suspected for a moment that you had not got the letter in your
possession, nothing would have induced me to allow you to see your
brother. We can only hope that the effect will not be serious. But I
must beg of you to remedy it as quickly as possible. The car is there.
Fly back to London in it, and return as soon as you can. As you see for
yourself, he is in a most excitable condition, and he must not be
worried in any way.'

"So I started off alone in the car, and then came a real stroke of luck.
The car broke down, and so I got rid of the chauffeur and came back by
train. And now, Mr. Maitland, what I want to know is why they are
keeping a man who isn't my brother in a nursing home that isn't a
nursing home? And where is Arthur? And what does it all mean?"

For a moment or two Jim hesitated. He realised that the time had come
when she would have to be told the truth about her brother, and he did
not exactly relish the prospect.

"It's pretty clear, I'm afraid, Miss Draycott," he said gravely. "You
realise, don't you, that your brother sent you half the map and kept the
other half himself? He did it for safety, in case anything happened to
him. And I'm very sorry to have to tell you that something has happened
to him."

"You mean he's hurt?" she whispered.

"Worse than that, I fear. Miss Draycott, it's going to be the devil of a
shock; but your brother is dead."

She gave a little cry, and the two men rose and stood with their backs
to her staring out of the window. And for a space there was silence in
the room.

"Do you mean he was killed?" she asked at length, and Jim nodded.

"How do you know all this, Mr. Maitland?" she continued steadily.

Briefly he told her the whole story. And when he had finished her eyes
were bright and defiant: of the tears he had expected there was no
trace.

"Just tell me what you want me to do," she said, and Jim looked at her
approvingly.

"Great girl," he cried. "I knew you'd feel that way. Now this is how the
land lies. The gang we are up against have in their possession the half
of the map that your brother carried. What they are trying to get is the
half he sent to your bank, and which you sent on to me. Evidently he
must have told them what he had done: hence this elaborate scheme of
to-day. And I think you can be extremely thankful, Miss Draycott, that
you kept your head when you realised the man with his face bandaged was
an impostor. Our opponents are not people who stick at trifles. Had you
given yourself away then, I am more than doubtful if you'd be here now.
However, that is by the way. You bluffed it through magnificently, and I
want you to carry on the good work."

"I'll do anything you say," she said, and once again he gave her a quick
look of admiration.

"You may remember I rather laughed at you when you first told me the
hidden treasure story," he went on. "I'm not laughing now at all: I
honestly believe there may be something in it. And if that is so you see
where we stand: we must get their half. That is where you come in--if
you feel like it."

"Of course I feel like it!" she cried.

"You know," he said doubtfully, "I must make it clear that if you care
to you can go to the police and tell them what has happened to you."

"What will occur if I do?"

"I should think you would find that the birds have flown," said Jim.
"And in addition to that we shall have given ourselves away to the other
side. It will be a case of stalemate: each side will have one half of
the map. And I want..."

He broke off and lit a cigarette.

"So do I, Mr. Maitland. Let's wash out the police."

Jim grinned.

"Good for you. We'll wash out the police as you say. Now I don't suppose
for a moment we'll be able to get their half, but with a little
diplomacy we might get a good look at it. Perhaps even..."

He paused, and a sudden gleam of ecstatic joy came into his eyes, a
gleam that many men had seen to their cost.

"However, that's my palaver," he continued. "Now I'm gambling on one
fact. They expect you to go back there to-night--and you're going. Percy
is going to drive you down. And you will take with you--this."

He gave her the faked map, and she stared at it.

"But this is different to what I sent you," she said.

"Very different," he agreed. "I drew it myself. The genuine one is at my
lawyers. But that one joins on to the other half. Which brings me up to
the point I'm gambling on. They are not the sort of gentlemen who leave
anything to chance, and I'm banking on them having their half there, to
make sure on the spot, that you haven't sold them a pup."

"So that I can get a look at it," she cried. "I see: I'll do it."

"Supposing it doesn't come off we are no worse off than we were before.
Leave them that: it's useless to them. They've got an island inspired by
my second pink gin. We shall just have to try something else."

"But where do you come in, old lad?" demanded Percy.

"I don't," said Jim happily. "I shall remain outside the nursing home.
Unless--I see an opportunity of entering with advantage. In which case I
shall enter, and you, Miss Draycott, will exit. So should you hear two
short blasts on Percy's klaxon, hop it like blazes in the car and leave
me to my own sweet devices."




CHAP. VI


"You're a damned bungler, Waterlow. The girl isn't an imbecile, and this
place looks as much like a nursing home as it does like a night club."

A big man in a light overcoat was the speaker. His face was coarse and
dissipated, and suddenly he pulled a flask from his pocket and took a
deep drink. The only other occupant of the room shrugged his shoulders.

"You were in such an infernal hurry," he said, "that this was the best I
could do in the time."

"But why were you such a fool as to let her go upstairs," snarled the
first speaker. "Her twin; and you imagine she won't spot it."

"Dry up, Barnet," answered the other angrily. "I'm getting fed to the
back teeth with you. She said she'd got the thing on her, and I believed
her. Even if I hadn't, what do you suggest I should have done? Snatched
her bag out of her hand to make sure. Of course she wouldn't have
suspected anything then, would she? Might have gone further and slogged
her over the head with a poker: that's what the doctor in charge of a
home generally does to his female visitors."

Sir Montague Barnet took another drink.

"All right: all right," he grunted. "Don't go off the deep end about it.
I know you did all you could. That slab of misery who fetched her should
have seen that she brought it."

He glanced at his watch.

"She should be here by now if she's coming," he said uneasily. "It's
past nine."

"I'll go and see that everything is ready," remarked the other. "And
don't smoke that cigar, and have the smell all over the house."

"Perhaps you're right," grunted Barnet, replacing it in his case.
"Though once we've got it," he continued with a leer, "she can suspect
what she likes."

"Can she?" said the other significantly. "I'm not so sure about that."

He went out of the room, leaving the baronet cursing under his breath.
And it was not until the flask had been requisitioned for the third time
that he took from his pocket the counterpart of the map sent to Judy
Draycott, and put it on the table in front of him.

For the twentieth time he studied it only to give it up as a bad job.
Where the deuce was A? Until they could get that point fixed it was
useless. And he was just replacing it in his pocket when he swung round
in his chair with a strangled cry. For the blind man had entered
noiselessly and had touched him on the shoulder.

[Illustration]

"Good God! Emil, I wish you wouldn't do that," he snarled. "I'd no idea
you were here. My nerves are all to hell."

"Judging by the aroma," sneered the dwarf, "you have been doing your
best to raise them from the lower regions."

"It isn't you who have had the strain," cried Barnet angrily. "So less
of your damned sarcasm, if you don't mind."

Then he pulled himself together.

"Look here, Emil," he said, "there's no good in our quarrelling. What
are we going to do supposing this girl goes to the police? I don't see
how she can avoid finding out that it isn't her brother."

"Provided she brings the paper--what matter? She has no idea her brother
is dead, and even if the worst should happen here, all Waterlow has to
do is to say that he made a mistake. It is not a criminal offence to
think a man is a girl's brother when he isn't."

"No, but it might prove deuced awkward. Anyway, Emil, if anything should
come out: if Maitland, for instance, should give trouble, you and I know
it was Ernesto who did it."

An evil smile flickered over the blind man's lips.

"Do we?" he murmured. "My dear Monty, I heard a shot, and you tell me it
was Ernesto who fired it. And with my sad affliction I have to take your
word."

"You little devil," said the other hoarsely, the veins standing out on
his forehead. "You know as well as I do that it was the dago."

"As I say, I take your word for it, my dear fellow. In a court of law,
however, I fear that that would not count for much. No, no,
Monty--please remember that. You understand, of course, that I merely
mention it to ensure you taking every precaution against being found
out. Of course I am the one person who could not have done it, so it
does not really matter to me. I am merely being altruistic."

For a moment it looked as if the baronet was going to strike him. His
big hairy fist was raised above his head, and murder was in his eyes.
Then with a great effort he pulled himself together, and his hand fell
to his side.

"You were present, anyway," he said sullenly.

"True. But a poor blind man is so helpless," said the dwarf gently. "And
he had to take precautions to safeguard himself in this harsh world. And
that's why I just mentioned it to you, Monty. You would hardly believe
it, but there have been times in my life when scoundrels--men I have
befriended, men I have been working with--have tried to double-cross me.
So just remember won't you? I have no idea who fired the shot, which
might prove awkward for you."

For a moment or two the other stared at him, fascinated: then his teeth
bared in an evil snarl. But his voice was normal when he answered.

"I'll remember," he said.

"Good! And now it might be well to see if our friend is _compos mentis_
again. His snores were reverberating through the house a little while
ago."

"I'll go and get him," said Barnet, and the dwarf was left alone. For a
while he stood motionless: then feeling his way with an uncanny delicacy
of touch he proceeded to explore his unfamiliar surroundings. At length
he seemed satisfied, and drawing up a chair, he sat down as the door
opened and Barnet came in with an odd-looking character behind him. He
was a short, thick-set man dressed in a blue reefer suit, and as he
stood there fingering his cap, and staring a little fearfully at the
dwarf, it required no Sherlock Holmes to deduce his profession. He was a
sailor, and quite clearly he had been celebrating his time ashore in a
manner not unusual with his class. He rolled slightly as he took a few
steps forward into the room, and as he came under the light a large
jagged scar down one side of his face showed up vividly.

"Good evening, Mr. Robinson," said the dwarf gently. "I trust you have
recovered from your--er--jag."

"I'm all right, guv'nor, thank you," said the man still twisting his
cap nervously in his hand. "I understand as 'ow you wants to ask me
summat."

"That is so," agreed Dresler. "I was making some enquiries the other day
for a seaman with an intimate knowledge of the east coast of South
America, and your name was given to me."

"I reckons I knows every port from Georgetown to the Horn," said the
sailor.

"Excellent. I understood that most of your time had been spent in the
coasting trade. Now have you, in the course of your wanderings, ever
struck a place called by the English, Lone Tree Island?"

"Lone Tree Island! South of Santos. You bet your life I know it,
guv'nor; know it well enough to give it a mighty wide berth."

"Most interesting. And may I ask why you would give it a wide berth?"

"Because, guv'nor, the man who doesn't don't have no second chance.
There be things on that island wot no man may see--and live. It be
accursed."

"Really: really. You grow more and more interesting, Mr. Robinson. And
may I ask how you know this? Is it merely what you've heard from other
people, or have you been there yourself to see?"

"Both, guv'nor. I've been there myself: we lay up once for well-nigh a
week to the south of the island with a damaged shaft. And I've 'eard
from other men too: things wot they've seen. Gawd! I wouldn't spend the
night on that island not for a 'undred quid. Straight--I wouldn't."

"What sort of things, Mr. Robinson?"

"Monstrous things, guv'nor: 'orrors. Things that was never made of 'uman
parents. Aye! you may laugh, sir"--he turned to Barnet, who was smiling
incredulously--"but wot I tells you is the truth. You ask any sailor who
knows the coast and 'e'll tell you the same as wot I do."

"I am quite sure that what Mr. Robinson says is correct," said the
dwarf. "And we're both very much obliged to him for his information."

"No trouble, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"If you don't mind waiting a little longer, Mr. Robinson, I hope to be
able to show you a map of it. And I should very much like your
confirmation that it is the island we've been talking about. Monty, my
dear fellow, our friend is probably a little thirsty after all his
talking. I have no doubt there is some whiskey in the kitchen."

"Well," he continued, as the baronet returned a few moments later, "the
matter becomes increasingly intriguing. 'Things that were never made of
'uman parents: 'orrors.'"

"Do you believe the man, Emil?"

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders.

"Those who go down to the sea in ships are proverbially spinners of tall
yarns," he said. "There may be some substratum of truth in it, which has
been exaggerated into what we've just been told. And, anyway, I have yet
to find the being, whether made by human parents or not, who is proof
against a high-velocity rifle."

Sir Montague Barnet started to pace to and fro.

"I wish we knew for certain if it was worth going on with it," he said.

The dwarf smiled contemptuously.

"Life would be a pretty tedious affair," he remarked, "if one always
knew for certain. You know the enquiries we've made: you know our
sources of information. And even if it should prove to be wrong--what is
the cost? A few hundred pounds--a thousand at the most. Which sum,
Monty, I am finding, do not forget."

The door was flung open and Waterlow put his head in.

"Car coming up the drive," he said. "Everything is ready."

"Listen, Waterlow," said Dresler quietly. "If it is humanly possible, we
do not want the girl to suspect anything. It will save us an infinity of
trouble if she doesn't. And so, as soon as she has handed it over, get
it down to this room somehow. A minute will be enough for Monty to take
a tracing. Then if she wants it--she can have it back."

"I get you," answered the other going into the hall and closing the
door.

The car had pulled up at the door, and contrary to the usual custom the
driver seemed to be trying to find out how much noise he could make with
his engine. He accelerated in bursts, until Barnet swore angrily under
his breath.

"He'll wake the whole damned neighbourhood--that fool of a chauffeur,"
he muttered.

But the chauffeur seemed quite oblivious of his unpopularity: at
intervals he raced his engine with an ear-splitting roar--so
ear-splitting in fact, that even the blind man's supersensitive hearing
was of no avail for any other sound, such as a man might make as he
cautiously opened the window a little more and a little more each time.
And with the final, full-throttled burst Jim Maitland, who had been
reconnoitring the house for the last twenty minutes, found himself with
only a blind barring his way to the room. Then silence fell, broken only
by Waterlow's voice.

"Really, Miss Draycott, your chauffeur might remember that this is a
nursing home."

"So sorry, Doctor Phillips," came her apologetic reply, "but the car is
not going very well. That's why I'm so late. How is Arthur?"

A look of relief spread over Barnet's face: evidently she suspected
nothing.

"Better now, Miss Draycott. He was very worried and upset this morning
after you left but I succeeded in pacifying him. I trust there is no
mistake this time, and that you have brought it with you."

"Of course, Doctor, and I shall never forgive myself for being so stupid
this morning."

Their voices died away as they mounted the stairs, and the dwarf smiled
easily.

"It marches well, Monty," he said. "She would appear to be eating out of
our hands. Now get that sailor in."

The blind stirred slightly as the door opened--a natural phenomenon in
the faint night breeze--and Jim Maitland's keen eye took in every detail
of the room. From above him came the sound of the girl's voice:
evidently the interview with the supposed brother had commenced.

He drew back a little as Barnet returned, accompanied by Robinson,
though he could still see the whole of the room.

"Now, Mr. Robinson," said the blind man, "we shan't detain you much
longer. May I take it that you would recognise a map of the island if
you saw one?"

"Well, I ain't much of a hand at maps, gentlemen, but I'll 'ave a shot
at it."

"No one can do more," said Dresler genially as the door opened and
Waterlow came in.

"Here it is," he said hurriedly. "And get a move on. She knows all about
everything, and wants to see the other half."

[Illustration]

"Does she suspect about her brother?" asked the dwarf.

"Doesn't seem to. She's chatting away quite cheerfully."

"Right. Go back. And the sooner you get her away the better. Now, Mr.
Robinson," he continued, as the door closed, "perhaps you would have a
look."

"We've got it, Emil," said Barnet triumphantly. "The two pieces fit
perfectly. Now is that the island?"

He laid them on the table, and the sailor bent over them.

"Aye," he said, "that looks like the place. Ancorage: that's right.
That's where we lay: south of the island. And all the eastern part is
swampy. Crocks--why, that river is full of them, and other things too."

"Good!" cried Barnet, rapidly adjusting a piece of tracing paper.
"Emil--we've got the map complete except for that torn-off bit in the
bottom left-hand corner."

"Does it give the location of what we want?" asked the dwarf.

"Yes," said the other laconically. "I'll work that out later."

For a moment Jim hesitated. To knock out Barnet and snatch the map would
be easy--a matter of seconds. But he would certainly be recognised,
and--what was even more important--Judy Draycott was not yet safely
away. He craned forward trying to see, but the baronet's back was
between him and the map. And he was on the point of chancing it when
once more Waterlow came in.

"She's getting suspicious," he said hurriedly. "Wants to see the other
bit. Is it safe?"

"Yes," answered the dwarf quietly. "It's the lesser of two evils. Well,
Mr. Robinson, I don't think we need detain you any more. Good night, and
I'm much obliged to you. Waterlow--show him out. Now, Monty," he went on
as the door closed, "have you got that tracing finished?"

"Just finished now," said the other.

"And you have a copy of our half? Good. Put the tracing in your pocket,
and we'll have the girl in. You're another doctor, don't forget. And
don't get near her: you reek of whiskey even at this range."

There was the sound of voices coming down the stairs, then Judy came in
followed by Waterlow.

"Here is Miss Draycott, Professor," he announced.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Draycott," said the dwarf
courteously. "May I introduce my other colleague, Doctor Arbuthnot."

Barnet bowed.

"Your brother is, I think, as well as can be expected under the
circumstances," went on Dresler. "It is indeed fortunate that the
accident should have taken place so close to my nursing home."

"Very fortunate indeed," said the girl, quietly. "And I am most
grateful to you for all your kindness."

"My dear young lady"--the dwarf lifted a deprecating hand--"that is what
we are here for. And now that you have brought him the other half of his
map, his mind will be at rest."

"Is that it on the table?" she asked innocently. "What is it all about?"

She crossed over and looked at it.

"It all seems nonsense to me."

"I fear you're quite right," said the dwarf. "It _is_ nonsense. But so
long as he is in his present state he must be humoured."

"He keeps on talking about hidden treasure," she went on. "Where is this
supposed to be?"

"I've got no idea," said the dwarf. "He tells me he got it from some
sailor in South America. And I fear if the truth be known that it is
like so many sailor's stories--complete imagination."

"You don't think this is a real island?" she asked.

"Frankly, Miss Draycott, I do not. And even if it is I'm afraid the
chances of there being any treasure on it are remote. Other people would
have heard of it long ago, and removed it."

"I suppose so," she said a little sadly. "And the poor boy does seem so
keen about it too. However, I have promised him to do all I can, so I
suppose I must. But it seems rather a waste of time."

"What are you doing, Miss Draycott?" cried Barnet, and Jim began to
shake with silent laughter. For the girl was calmly folding up both
parts of the map and putting them in her bag.

"He's just asked me to find out anything I could for him about it in
London," she explained, and Jim shook still more. "When you were out of
the room, Doctor Phillips. He seemed so keen that I don't like to
disappoint him. So I'll just pretend."

Barnet and Waterlow were staring at her in perplexity: their dilemma was
clear to the delighted witness outside the window. They both knew that
the girl was lying. But they couldn't say so, without giving themselves
away. And it was the dwarf who took charge of the situation.

"Quite right, Miss Draycott," he said calmly. "Do anything that will
keep his mind at rest. Humour him in every way. And when shall we be
seeing you again?"

"To-morrow, I think, or perhaps the next day," she answered, rising to
her feet. "Good night, Professor. Thank you again for all you've done
for Arthur."

"It is a pleasure, my dear young lady. Good night."

"Well, I'm damned," said Barnet, as the door closed. "Why did you let
her get away with it, Emil?"

"At times, my friend, I despair of your brain. What else was there to
do?"

"But don't you see," fumed the other, "that it is proof positive that
she suspects. Johnston never said that to her: she was lying."

From outside came the noise of a self-starter--a splutter, a roar--and
as the car swung down the drive Waterlow re-entered.

"The fact had not escaped me," said the dwarf languidly. "Though there
is a bare possibility that she herself suggested it to Johnston, and he
perforce had to agree."

"That is soon settled," cried Waterlow going into the hall.
"Johnston--come down here."

A man of about thirty entered mopping his face.

"Those cursed bandages are the limit on a hot night," he remarked.

"Did that girl make any remark to you about taking the map up to London
with her?" said the dwarf.

"Yes. Seemed dead set on it. I didn't know what to say so I left it
vague."

"Do you think she suspected you?"

"Didn't seem to. She called me Arthur and patted my hands."

"You see, Monty," said the dwarf quietly, "it was far better to let her
take them. What harm can she do? What is the good of that map to anyone
unless they know where the island is? And what chance has she got of
finding anyone who would be able to tell her? Unless..."

He broke off, and sat brooding.

"Unless what?"

"For the moment I thought of Maitland," remarked the dwarf.

"I wish we'd done the damned fellow in that night," said Barnet
savagely. "He knows every inch of South America."

"Hardly that, my dear Monty, though I admit I should feel happier if he
was out of the way. And you must remember two things. One--we don't know
that he knows the girl: and two--even if he does, it is very improbable
that he knows where the island is. Still, I admit Maitland is a distinct
problem, and one that we may have to solve. However, that can wait. The
immediate thing is to clear out of here at once. Order my car round,
Johnston, and shut this place up. I fear if the lady comes here again
she will have a slight shock."

Noiselessly Jim backed away from the window, and keeping on the grass he
went down the drive at a steady lope. There was nothing further to be
learned, and things had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations,
entirely owing to the girl. He had complete faith in his ability to
spot where the island was: there were many old pals of his down in
Dockland who knew the coast of South America as they did the palms of
their hands.

And then suddenly out of the darkness there loomed an immediate solution
to the problem--to wit, Mr. Robinson stumping along the road. He could
give him the information he needed, but speed was imperative since at
any moment the dwarf's car might be on them. Percy was waiting for him a
little way ahead, but he wanted no chance of being overtaken.

"Good evening, Mr. Robinson," he said as he came abreast.

"'Oo the 'ell are you?" was the uncompromising answer.

"Someone who is proposing to give you a fiver if you'll run," said Jim
with a laugh.

A stationary red light had just come in sight in front of them.

"Run as far as that light with me, Robinson, and I'll give you a lift to
London as well, in exchange for a little information," continued Jim.

"Gaw lumme! Fivers seem easy to-night."

He pounded along beside Jim, until they reached the car.

"My friend, Mr. Robinson," cried Jim, "who is coming back to Town with
us. Hop in in front, my lad, and Percy, tread on the juice."

He sank down beside the girl in the back seat, and as the car gathered
speed he could just see the exquisite profile so close to him.

"Well done," he said quietly. "Well done, indeed."

She made no reply; and merely stared in front of her.

"Miss Draycott! Judy! what's the matter?" he asked gently. "A penny."

She gave a little sigh that was half a sob.

"It's Arthur," she said. "I've had time to think; that's all."

And now the tears were coming unchecked.

"Killed by those brutes the very day he returned. It's wicked. I want
them to be punished; I want someone hanged."

A sudden feeling of guilt assailed him: he had actually forgotten all
about her brother.

"Listen, Judy," he said gravely, "while I say my little bit. I know
exactly how you're feeling: it's only natural. And perhaps I was wrong
in not calling in the police at once. But I happen to be one of those
blokes that don't instinctively go for the police if anything happens: I
suppose I've lived too much in places where there aren't any to go for.
And it was the extraordinary coincidence of the whole thing that struck
me, coming as it did just after I'd left you. The dago, your story about
the treasure, everything combined to make me hesitate. And then, as you
know, I was outed and it was too late. But what I'm getting at is that
now I am glad I acted as I did. Honestly I believe that there is
something in this yarn, and the best way of revenging your brother's
death is to do those swine down."

The girl did not answer, and gradually her tears ceased. And then
somehow it came about that her left hand fell off her lap and
encountered Jim's right. Which, of course, was purely accidental, and
may be treated as an irrelevant and extraneous detail. Almost as
irrelevant in fact as three remarks which were made five minutes later.

"Percy, you blighter, this isn't Brooklands. Ease up, confound you."

And the voice was male.

"Ever so much slower, Percy dear. I'm being blown to bits."

And the voice was female.

"Thank Gawd for that, guv'nor."

And the voice was that of a man in whom some faint hope of life had been
rekindled. Mr. Robinson's idea of speed did not coincide with Percy's.

It was past eleven when they drew up finally outside Jim's flat.

"But why the dickens did you want me to go slower, after telling me to
tread on the juice?" demanded Percy indignantly.

"One is so much more exposed to things in the back seat, Percy dear,"
said the girl. "But you drove very nicely."

"Why, we've taken as long to get up as we did going down counting in the
twenty minutes we waited while Jim went ahead. Rotten."

"Push inside, and don't talk so much," remarked Jim. "As an ornament to
the doorstep I'd prefer a gargoyle. I expect you could do with a drink,
Robinson."

"Well, sir, I don't mind if I do," agreed the sailor. "Them machines
seem to make one thirsty like."

Jim smiled, and led the way. And as a hardened bachelor he noted with a
certain misgiving that installing Judy in his best chair was a very
pleasant occupation. Not, of course, that there would ever be anything
in it: he had merely held her hand in a comforting, fraternal way.
Still--a very pretty girl: very pretty indeed.

"Now, Robinson," he said when they were all settled, "I'd be glad if
you'd tell me one or two things. First of all how did you get mixed up
in that bunch?"

"That's easy, sir. I was lodging down in Mother Shipwells--she takes in
us seafaring men chiefly--when a bloke shoves 'is 'ead round the door at
dinner-time to-day and sings out: ''Oo knows South America well?' I says
I do. 'E h'asks me a few questions, and then says: 'Would you like to
earn a fiver?' I says: 'Stop kidding.' 'E says: 'It's strite.' All I 'ad
to do was to go and see some guys in the country that wanted
h'information. That's how it 'appened, sir."

"Good," said Jim, "that's clear. Now, from what I heard this evening,
you were talking about some island."

"That's right, sir. The first thing that little terror of a dwarf asked
me was if I knew Lone Tree Island."

"That was before I got there," said Jim. "And you did know this island?"

"There h'ain't many men, sir, 'oove been in the coastal trade there 'oo
don't," answered the sailor. "I knows it all right, as I told them guys
down there. Knows it so well, as I says to 'em, that I wouldn't spend a
night on it for a 'undred quid."

"But why the deuce not?" cried Percy, staring at him. "I mean, I'd spend
a night in a temperance hotel for that."

"Look 'ere, sir," said the sailor to Jim. "A lot of you gentlemen--and
you too, Miss--seems h'interested in Lone Tree Island. Now I'm only an
h'uneducated man, and maybe you don't pay much count to what I says. But
there's a man just 'ome from the West H'Indies 'olding a master's ticket
'oo knows more'n I do about the place. 'E's lodging not far from Mother
Shipwells--Cap'n Blackett...."

"Wait a minute," cried Jim. "Big man with a hook nose, and blue eyes,
who used to have an old tramp called the _Indus_?"

"That's the man, sir. Do you know 'im?"

"Know Bill Blackett? I should think I do!"

"Well, sir, he'll tell you h'everything, better'n than I can."

Jim put his hand in his pocket.

"Here's some money, Robinson. Get in a taxi, and go and see Captain
Blackett. Tell him Jim Maitland wants him, and bring him back with you
to-night. And if his memory wants jogging, just say--'The Union Bar,
Pernambuco!'"

"Aye, aye, sir. If 'e's there, I'll bring 'im. Evening, mum: evening,
gentlemen."

They heard the front door slam, and Jim, his eyes gleaming with
excitement, began pacing up and down the room.

"Bill Blackett! A damned good man. We'll get the truth from him, my
children, if we can get it from anyone."

And suddenly Judy Draycott understood the reason of Percy's hero
worship. Just as a hunter quivers and fidgets at the sound of hounds, so
was this man at the thought of adventure. And a little ruefully she
realised that in all probability he had completely forgotten that he
held her hand in the car.

"A pity that I sent the other half to my lawyers," he went on. "Still,
it was safer, I suppose. And we can get to the maps later, after we've
heard what Bill has to say."

He came with Robinson an hour later.

"By Jove! Mr. Maitland," he said as he shook hands, "you are the only
man in London who could have got me out of bed at this hour."

"Good for you, Bill," cried Jim, and introduced him to the other two.
"Take that chair, and you'll find the necessary beside you. I want some
information out of you."

"So I gather from Robinson," said the other gravely. "I hear you've been
making enquiries about Lone Tree Island."

"That seems to be the name of the spot," agreed Jim.

"Have you got the map of it?"

"Only half: the other is at my lawyers. There it is."

Bill Blackett stared at it for some time.

"Yes--that looks to me like a rough sketch of the southern part of the
island. And if it is, Mr. Maitland, or if you--and I know what you
are--have any idea of paying it a visit, my advice to you is to tear
that up into tiny pieces and forget it."

"But why, Captain Blackett?" cried the girl breathlessly.

"Because, Miss, there are certain things in this world which it is best
to leave alone. Mr. Maitland is a match for anything on two legs, as I
very well know, but neither he nor any other man is a match for what
ever it is that lives on that island. It's accursed: the island is
accursed."

"Bill--you're pulling our legs," said Jim banteringly.

But there was no answering smile on the other's face.

"Was the case of the _Paquinetta_ before your time?" he enquired.

"I don't seem to recall it," said Jim.

"Then if it won't bore you, I'll tell you the story."

"Fire ahead, Bill," cried Jim. "The night is yet young."




CHAP. VII


"Lone Tree Island," began Blackett, "lies south of Santos. In size it is
about five miles north to south, and a little less from east to west.
The eastern side has a biggish area of swamp which is practically
impassable: the western side is mostly dense tropical forest. The
northern part--the map of which isn't here--has one conspicuous conical
hill, and west of that hill one even more conspicuous tree standing by
itself on high ground."

"That confirms the accuracy of the other part of the map," said Jim.

"The first time I heard of it," went on the other, "was in '06. I was
serving then as mate in a small line with its headquarters at Buenos.
One day we got sudden orders from the owners to go there, which struck
me as being pretty strange, seeing that there was no question of any
cargo, and tramps don't generally go on pleasure cruises. And what
struck me as even stranger was our old man's manner after we'd sailed.
He wasn't a chatty card at the best of times, but that trip I couldn't
get a word out of him. What was more, there was something wrong with
the men. So at last I took the bull by the horns one morning when he
came up on the bridge.

"'What's all the trouble, sir?' I said. 'The crew are as windy as if
they were a girls' school.'

"'How long have you been out here, Mr. Blackett?' he answered.

"'About a year,' I told him.

"'You may remember the _Paquinetta_ left Buenos six weeks ago sudden
like,' he said.

"The _Paquinetta_ was another of our line.

"'I do,' I answered. 'Rather mysterious about it too. Nobody knew where
she was bound for.'

"'Not only that,' he reminded me, 'but she sailed under a new captain
and a specially picked crew.'

"I stared at him hard. He was right--she had, but I'd forgotten it.

"'In your year out here, Mr. Blackett, have you never heard any stories
of Lone Tree Island,' he went on.

"Well, I hadn't--not at that time, and I told him so. I hadn't even
heard of the island before.

"'Not surprising,' he said, 'it lies well off the beaten track.'

"'What are we going to do there?' I asked him.

"'Find out what's happened to the _Paquinetta_,' he said gravely, and
went below.

"Well, Mr. Maitland, you know I'm not a nervy sort of cuss, but I give
you my word that that simple remark sent a shiver right down my spine.
Don't forget that in those days wireless wasn't fitted to most of the
smaller tramps, and the _Paquinetta_ had none. At the same time there
had been no dirty weather and she was a first-class sea boat. So I told
myself not to be a fool--what could have happened to her? But there was
the old man with a face a yard long: there was the crew, who somehow or
other had got hold of our destination, as nervous as a basketful of
monkeys, and there was this mystery about the _Paquinetta_.

"Well, we sighted the island about noon on the third day out. We were
steering north-east, and that high ground with the cairn of stones on
top, that you can see marked on the map, hid the anchorage until we were
close in shore. Then as we rounded the point we suddenly saw her right
in front of us, anchored not three cables' length away. So we went hard
astern and anchored ourselves."

He paused and took another drink.

"It was obvious," he continued, "at the first glance that something was
very wrong. There was no sign of smoke, no sign of life on board her,
and when we gave a blast on the siren there was no answer.

"'Lower away a boat,' ordered the skipper. 'I'm going on board.'

"'I'd like to come too, sir,' I said, and the old man looked relieved.

"'I reckon I'll be glad to have you,' he answered. 'There is some
devilry afoot.'

"So we rowed over. The companion was down though two of the guys had
come adrift, and it wobbled drunkenly as we climbed up. The deck was
deserted, and the heat beat up from it as we stood there looking round.
Not a sign of a soul: not a sound.

"'We'll go below, Mr. Mate,' said the old man and led the way.

"She was practically the twin of our own packet so we knew our way
about. We made for the saloon. It was empty, same as everything else,
and on the table were the remains of a meal. Half a cup of tea congealed
and rancid, and some meat that was crawling, it was so bad.

"'They've been gone some time, sir,' I said, pointing to it.

"'But what manner of man is it, Mr. Mate, who leaves his ship without a
soul on board. Tell me that.'

"And I couldn't. The old story of the _Marie Celeste_ came to my mind,
but she at any rate was found drifting at sea. This was different: the
whole lot of them must be ashore. But as the skipper said it pointed to
a strange man in their captain.

"'We'll try the chart-room,' said the old man, and even as he spoke
there came a sudden chuckle from outside the door. And you can take it
from me that we were round in a flash, each of us with a gun in our
hands. It was repeated, and there was something in the sound of it that
fairly froze my blood. We watched the door opening slowly, and then our
revolvers fell to our sides. One of the cook's mates was standing there
and it needed but one glance to see that the poor chap was as mad as a
hatter.

"He looked at us foolishly, and after a while he began to mumble
something.

"'Half men: half beasts. Half men: half beasts.'

"On and on he went saying it, again and again and pointing with a
shaking hand through the porthole. We couldn't get anything else out of
him, and at length he shambled away again.

"'What the devil does he mean, sir?' I cried. 'Half men: half beasts. Of
course, he's plumb crazy.'

"'And what made him crazy, Mr. Mate: what made him crazy?'

"The captain looked at me with sombre eyes.

"'Crazy men aren't signed on, are they, Mr. Mate? And sane men don't go
crazy for nothing.'

"He led the way on deck, and for a while he stood there shading his eyes
with his hand and staring at the undergrowth that came down almost to
the water's edge. Then he turned abruptly and went up on the bridge.

"'Get the log,' he said. 'It may tell us something.'

"So I went to the captain's cabin, and wished I hadn't. For the sight
inside was terrible to see. The bunk, the walls, the table, the chairs,
the floor--every part of that cabin had great patches of red spattered
over it, as if someone with a vast brush had daubed it indiscriminately
on anything he saw. And it was blood.

"I turned: the captain was standing beside me and his face was the
colour of chalk.

"'God in Heaven!' he muttered, 'there's been butcher's work in here.'

"I went over to the table, on which some papers were lying and picked
them up. They, too, were stained with blood, but the writing was still
legible. And at last we realised we had some sort of clue, though not
one that advanced us much. For the top was evidently part of a rough
form of diary kept by the skipper, and the captain pointed to the
date--April 26th.

"'18th May now, Blackett,' he said. 'Three weeks ago.'

"'Cannot understand silence of shore party,' ran the entry. 'Three days
overdue and no sig----'

"It broke off abruptly in the middle of a word. Signal, perhaps or
sign--it didn't matter. But the same thought was in both our minds: what
grim tragedy had occurred as he laid down his pencil three weeks before?
Whose was the blood that covered everything? The faint sickly reek of it
still hung about, and we stumbled back into the fresh air--two badly
shaken men.

"'What's it mean, sir?' I cried. 'You knew something before we got here:
the crew knew something. What is it?'

"'Rumours,' he said slowly. 'There have always been strange rumours
about this island, Mr. Mate. And, by heck! I'm beginning to believe that
they're true.'

"He gripped my arm suddenly, and with his other hand he pointed to the
shore.

"'Do you see anything moving?' he cried. 'By that tree with the purple
flowers, half-way up the hill.'

"I picked out the tree, and stared at it. And after a while it shook,
though everything around it was motionless in the stilling mid-day heat.
I went on staring: was it my imagination or was there something at the
foot of the tree that was moving? We had neither of us brought our
glasses, and in the shimmering haze it was difficult to be certain. So
at length we gave it up and continued our exploration though we knew
from the outset it was hopeless. The ship was empty save for us two and
a crazy cook. Where were the rest of the crew?"

He paused, and Jim refilled his glass. And in the silence of the room
you could have heard a pin drop.

"The first thing to fix was what to do with the madman, and the skipper
decided to leave him where he was for the time.

"'As I see things,' he said to me, 'he has been alone in this boat since
April 26th, and it's not going to hurt him to be alone two or three days
more. And we'll have trouble with our own men if we take him back with
us.'

"'What do you propose to do, sir?' I asked.

"'Explore that river, Mr. Blackett. We've got to try and solve this
mystery somehow.'

"So we pulled back to our own ship, and I gave the necessary orders. The
men were standing about in bunches talking in low voices, and it wasn't
until the old man got going that they bestirred themselves. Of course
they'd scented trouble--anyone with half an eye could have seen it after
one glance at the _Paquinetta_--but they were not given much time to
think about it. We hoisted in the small boat, lowered away the big one,
and a marline spike removed any reluctance to man it. The second mate
was left in charge, with strict orders to keep a sharp look out, and we
started off.

"It had been hot in the creek, but once round the bend of the river out
of sight of the open sea it became almost unbearable. Not a breath of
wind stirred, and the air seemed to press down on one like a wet
blanket. Dense tropical undergrowth hemmed us in on each side: the place
reeked of malaria and yellow jack. And crocodiles. I've never seen so
many in my life as there were in that river, and the grim thought came
to me that they might furnish a possible solution. There would be no
traces left of anyone who fell into that water. I said as much in a low
voice to the skipper, and he stared at me a moment or two before
replying.

"'It's a rum crocodile that can climb the bridge of a ship, Blackett,'
he said.

"We rowed on. He and I were sitting side by side in the stern each with
a revolver on our knees. Gradually the river narrowed till the blades of
the oars were almost touching the banks and the trees met overhead. It
was obvious we could not go further, so the skipper gave the order to
cease rowing.

"'No good trying to land here,' he remarked. 'We'll try a shout or two.
Now then, lads, all together with me.'

"We bellowed 'Ahoy' at the tops of our voices, and then listened. But
save for the startled whirr of birds as they rose from the tree near by
there was no result--just the same steamy silent heat. We tried again,
but it was useless and there was nothing for it but to return to the
ship. And it was on the way back that I became conscious of a very
peculiar sensation. I mentioned it to the captain afterwards, and found
that he had experienced it also, though I think the men were too busy
rowing to notice it. And the sensation was one of being watched.
Something was keeping pace with us on one bank, something that I never
saw, but yet was acutely aware of. It was not imagination, and the
skipper agreed with me.

"Well, that ended our first endeavour to solve the mystery, and the
point arose as to what to do next. So we held a council of war, and
finally arrived at the conclusion that the best thing would be to steam
slowly round the island hooting with the siren at frequent intervals,
and looking for a place where we could land a party with safety. For the
skipper flatly refused to let anyone go ashore in the wooded part, even
if we could have got the men to volunteer, which I doubt.

"So we made the circuit of the island with the siren going every
half-minute, and the result was _nil_. No trace of a man did we see, but
the time was not wasted since we got the geography of the place in our
heads. And it was clear that there was one obvious spot to land--a beach
on the north of the island almost at the foot of the conical hill. But
it was too late to do anything more that day, so we decided to anchor
again, and wait for the next morning.

"Now the _Paquinetta_ was lying inside us about two hundred yards from
the shore, and a quarter of a mile from us. The night was dead still,
and the moon was due to rise about three. And though I was tired when I
came off watch at midnight I found I couldn't sleep. I couldn't get this
amazing affair out of my head, so I lay down on my bunk and picked up a
book. Full sea going, watch was being kept, and I could hear the second
mate pacing up and down the bridge.

"Suddenly the footsteps ceased just above my porthole, and I heard him
give an exclamation. And the next moment he was in my cabin.

"'There's something going on in the _Paquinetta_, sir,' he cried.

"I was out like a flash, and up on the bridge. Sure enough a light was
moving across the deck, but it wasn't an ordinary ship's lantern. It
looked more like a smoky torch, such as boys carry on Guy Fawkes's day.
We watched it in silence, until it disappeared below.

"'It's that crazy fool of a cook,' I said. 'He'll probably set fire to
the ship.'

"And I was on the point of rousing the skipper, when there came across
the water a scream of terror so blood-curdling that I felt my hair
lifting from my scalp. It was not repeated, and before I had time to
decide anything, the captain joined us.

"'Did that scream come from the _Paquinetta_?' he asked.

"'Yes, sir,' I said. 'And there was a light moving on the deck... By
Jove! there it is again.'

"The three of us stood there staring at it. As before it moved across
the deck, but this time it disappeared over the side. And it seemed to
me that it was moving in a curiously jerky fashion.

"Now the gangway was on the far side of the _Paquinetta_ and the
explanation of the light's movements seemed obvious. Someone had boarded
her, gone below, and then left her. And while he was below something had
happened to cause that ghastly scream.

"The skipper didn't hesitate, though if it had been me I'm not ashamed
to confess that I think I'd have left it till dawn. He ordered a boat to
be lowered and called for a couple of volunteers to go aboard the
_Paquinetta_. We got 'em readily--a big Swede, and an Englishman. One
of them took a crowbar, and the other a pickaxe, whilst the skipper and
I carried our revolvers. Then with four lanterns we rowed across. Hit,
and hit to kill, were the orders if we met anything.

"We came alongside the gangway, and the first thing we saw by the light
of the lanterns was blood on the steps. There was a trail of it the
whole way up, a trail right across the deck, a trail of it leading down
below. And we followed the trail--the skipper leading and me bringing up
the rear. It led past the saloon, and finished in the cook's quarters.

"Ye Gods! the place was a shambles. Just as we had found the captain's
cabin, so was this, only now the blood was wet. And the skipper cursed
savagely. Somebody or something had battered that poor crazy loon to
death, but whatever it was it had disappeared. We searched the ship
thoroughly: she was empty. And at last we pulled back to our own.

"And that very nearly brings me to the end. The next day we landed a
party and climbed the hill. From it the whole of the island could be
seen stretched out like a map at our feet. But of life there was no
sign. Dense forest and swamp, and not a thing that moved, save that
occasionally a flock of birds would rise from some tree, and then settle
down again as if they had been disturbed by something passing below.

"I suggested to the captain that I should take a party of volunteers and
try some exploration in the forest, but he absolutely refused to allow
it.

"'We've only got three revolvers on board,' he pointed out, 'and very
little ammunition. If the crew of the _Paquinetta_ were anywhere down
there they'd have heard our siren yesterday. They're dead, Mr.
Mate--every man jack of them, and I'm not going to risk a similar fate
for my own. You'll take command of the _Paquinetta_ with an emergency
crew, and as soon as you've got steam up--we sail.'

"And that is the story of the _Paquinetta_, from which you can draw your
own conclusions. Every sort of theory was put forward at the time, and
the one that most people accepted was that a mutiny had taken place. The
landing-party which the captain had alluded to in his diary, had come on
board, and having killed the skipper and the rest of the crew had gone
ashore again leaving only the mad cook. Then when we arrived, fearful
that the madman might say something which would give them away, they
completed their work by butchering him. They dared not reply to our
siren knowing what they'd done, and finally yellow jack broke out and
that was the end. For the bald fact remains that from that day to this
no word has been heard of any member of that crew."

"And is that your theory, Bill?" asked Jim quietly.

"No, Mr. Maitland, it isn't. Call me a superstitious sailor-man if you
like but I believe the solution of the mystery is something far more
horrible. And I believe it is to be found in the words of that crazy
cook--'half men, half beasts.' I believe that lurking in that dense
forest are beings of a certain degree of intelligence--witness the
torch, which shows that they understand fire--of inner physical
strength--the captain of the _Paquinetta_ was a powerful man--and of
incredible ferocity. I believe that the landing-party was butchered to a
man, and that then, taking advantage of a dark night, these creatures
had either swum or rowed out to the ship, and murdered those who
remained on board. Why they left the mad cook I don't profess to say:
perhaps he managed to hide himself from them. In brief, I believe that
the legend of the Guardians of the Treasure is true."

"Now we're coming to it, Bill," said Jim. "Let's hear something about
this treasure."

"It was to find it, Mr. Maitland, that the _Paquinetta_ was fitted out.
The story is that in 1600 or thereabouts one Don Silva Rodriguez, having
on board his galleon a fabulous load of gold and precious stones which
he had obtained in Brazil, was driven ashore on Lone Tree Island and
completely wrecked. He waited and waited, spending each day on the top
of the hill scanning the horizon for a sail, but never seeing one. And
at length his rage and fury drove him mad. There was he with unlimited
riches in his pocket so to speak, condemned to spend the rest of his
life on an island where they were useless to him. And in his madness he
entered into league with the devil. If the devil would send a ship, he
would leave half his treasure hidden on the island where no one could
find it, for the exclusive use of the devil. And the devil agreed,
provided he could instal his own guardians. You smile, Mr. Maitland--and
told here in this room I admit the story sounds fantastic. Nevertheless,
even if the origin of the yarn is incredible, I still believe that there
lurks in that forest a breed of creatures that are neither man nor
beast."

"That's right, sir." Robinson, who had been almost forgotten in his
corner, suddenly spoke. "The Captain's right. 'Orrors: 'orrors that
ain't 'uman."

"So you've heard this story too, have you?" said Jim thoughtfully.

"May I ask what causes your interest in the place, Mr. Maitland?" said
Blackett.

"You certainly may, Bill. And I can tell you in a few words. We have in
our possession a map that purports to show the spot on the island where
the treasure is buried."

"How came you by it?"

"It was given to my brother, Captain Blackett, by a sailor he befriended
in Monte Video," said Judy Draycott. "And my brother has since been
murdered by a gang here in England who want to get it."

The sailor whistled in astonishment.

[Illustration]

"That's bad luck, Miss," he said awkwardly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Now, Bill, the position is this," remarked Jim. "By a subterfuge we
have obtained the genuine map as given by the sailor to Miss Draycott's
brother. We have also presented the gang with this."

He joined the faked half on to the genuine one and Blackett studied it.

"That, as you will see, Bill, is wrong. The southern half is correct:
the northern is not."

"Aye: that's so. The tree and the hill are reversed."

"Well, I'm jiggered," said Robinson. "To think I never spotted that."

"I'm very glad you didn't, Robinson," said Jim. "It would have upset my
plans very considerably if you had. To continue, Bill. The other party
have no idea that there is anything wrong with the map they've got. It
is possible, of course, they may show it to someone like yourself who
knows the place, in which case they will discover they've been tricked.
But if they don't do that, they won't find their error out till they
arrive there."

"Arrive there!" cried Blackett. "Lord save us, you don't mean to say
they're going to the island."

"You bet your life, Bill," said Jim. "And so am I."

"You are a fool, Mr. Maitland," said the sailor gravely.

"So are you, Bill," answered Jim, beginning to pace up and down the
room. "Because you're coming too. And little Percy."

He paused for a moment with his eyes on the girl.

"Pity--but I'm afraid it's not quite in your line, Miss Draycott. I
don't like the sound of that yellow jack."

"Don't you," said the girl, with a sweetness that would have augured
danger to him if he had not been so preoccupied.

"Foul thing--yellow jack. Still we're all pretty well pickled against
fever, and as far as Percy is concerned he can bite the microbe first.
Microbes flee from you, don't they, old lad? Suppose they must draw the
line somewhere."

"I had a sort of idea, Mr. Maitland," continued Judy even more sweetly,
"that the map of the island was mine."

Jim stared at her.

"By Jove! yes--so it is," he cried. "But it's understood, of course,
that when we discover the old tin can buried by Bill's Spanish pal, it's
absolutely yours. Bill--when can you start? Fares and all expenses, of
course, are mine."

"Are you really serious?" demanded the other.

"Serious as be damned, old lad. And the marvel to me is that I've never
heard this perfectly gorgeous yarn before."

And it was just as well for his peace of mind that he did not see the
look on the girl's face as she watched him.

"If you don't come," he went on, "I'll have to rope in someone else who
can do the sailoring part. But I'd dearly like to have you with me,
Bill."

And suddenly the sailor laughed.

"Right you are. I'm with you."

"Great," shouted Jim. "I'll fix details with you to-morrow, Bill, and
show you the complete map."

His eyes were gleaming with excitement.

"Speed: speed--that's the order of the day," he continued. "We've got to
get there first. And I see no reason why we shouldn't. They suspect
nothing, so as far as they are concerned there's no urgent need for
hurry."

"Well, we'll have a look at things to-morrow," said Blackett, getting
up. "I think you're a fool, Mr. Maitland, and I know I am, but anyway
I'm going to bed. Good night, Miss," he added with a grin. "Can't you
make him see reason?"

He stumped down the stairs followed by Robinson, and Jim grinned too.

"A priceless fellow," he remarked. "Worth two in a scrap."

"Do you think there's anything in his story about the things in the
forest?" said the girl.

"Frankly, I don't," answered Jim. "As he admitted himself sailors are a
superstitious bunch, and their stories rarely lose in the telling. But
it was a queer yarn, wasn't it, about the _Paquinetta_? I should say
myself that the generally accepted theory was correct--mutiny and yellow
jack. For all that you'll have to learn to pull a pretty useful trigger,
Percy."

But at the moment Percy slept quite shamelessly.

"How will you go?" demanded the girl.

"Either Purple Star or Union Mail as far as Rio. I'll have a look at the
list of sailings to-morrow. Then from Rio I'll charter something or
other to get to the island in."

"And where will you stay in Rio?" she asked.

"Probably the _Gloria_," said Jim. "Judy--I wish you could see Rio. It's
one of the most divinely beautiful places in the world."

"So I've always heard," she remarked. "You must bring me back some
picture postcards of the place."

Jim looked at her suspiciously.

"What are you driving at, Judy?" he said. "The tone of your last remark
was very peculiar."

"Sorry about that," she answered. "I was really thinking of something
else. What a wonderful judge of character Captain Blackett is."

"Bill! Judge of character! I don't know that I've ever noticed it
particularly."

"I mean when he called you a fool. Do give me a match, will you?"

"Not a match do you get until you tell me what you're driving at."

"Well--you must be one. Do you really imagine, Jim Maitland, that I'm
going to sit at home here while you and that snoring monstrosity go
gallivanting off on a perfectly priceless trip like this which you'd
never have heard about but for me. Not so, my lad: you guess again."

"But, Judy," he said feebly. "My dear--think of the fever. And the
discomfort. And there may be something in Blackett's story after all,"
he added as a brilliant afterthought.

"Cut it out," she said calmly. "Where Percy the poop can go--I can go.
It's my map, and as a great favour I'll allow you to come with me. Now
give me a match."

He still hesitated.

"Judy," he said seriously, "I know it is your map. I know you have every
right to take up the position you have. But--honestly, I don't think you
quite realise what you're letting yourself in for. The risk of fever is
not an imaginary one: that part of the world simply reeks of it. Further
there's going to be very real danger from the gentlemen we've been up
against to-night. I don't think you ought to come."

"I'm still waiting for that match," she reminded him. "Now, look here,
Jim," she went on when her cigarette was alight, "whatever you say, I'm
coming. You may remember that conversation we had the first time we met
concerning the youth of the present day. Well, now that they've killed
Arthur this is my show. And any risks that you run I'm going to run too.
Which ultimatum having been delivered the young maiden intimated her
intention of retiring. Percy--you horror--wake up."

"Did anybody speak to me?" grunted Percy sleepily.

"Wake up, you fat-headed ass. I want to go home."

"All right, my loved one. Have you kissed James good night?"

And then occurred an amazing phenomenon. For Judy Draycott, usually one
of the most self-possessed of girls, began to blush. Furious with
herself, she blushed still more. And Percy howled with joy.

"My invariable present is an order up to five bob on Woolworths," he
said dodging rapidly to the door. "Five minutes, my children--and don't
forget to turn off the light in the passage when you leave."

"You unspeakable ass--get out," roared Jim, trying not to laugh.

"I go, James. But that is not the way mother taught me to address a
chaperon."

"I really must apologise for him, Judy," said Jim, as Percy went down
the stairs. "He becomes more of a half-wit daily."

He was holding the door open for her as he spoke, and for a while she
looked at him in silence. Then she suddenly smiled.

"Are all your family half-wits?" she said softly, and a moment later he
was alone.




CHAP. VIII


Speed, as Jim Maitland had said, was the vital thing. He had not the
heart to try and dissuade Judy Draycott from coming: nor, as he frankly
admitted to himself, had he the ability to. But she was going to
complicate things. With her as a member of the party, it was essential
to avoid a scrap, if it was humanly possible. And as he saw the thing a
scrap would inevitably occur as soon as the other people landed on the
island, when they would immediately discover that their map was wrong.
Therefore it followed that if gun work was to be avoided they must be
away before Dresler and his gang got there.

To Bill Blackett's fanciful monsters he attached no importance whatever.
He knew sailors and their stories of old: moreover the _Paquinetta_
mystery had taken place twenty-four years ago. And in a quarter of a
century things grow in the imagination. What was worrying him, and what
continued to worry him all the way across to Rio was how long it was
going to take them to find the spot where, according to the map, the
stuff was buried. It was easy to mark the spot on the map itself--he
had already done so and marked it B. But the difficulty was going to be
to find that place on the ground. According to Bill Blackett it was
right in the middle of the forest, so how were they going to get their
compass bearings? Had the place been open country the thing would have
been easy. All that would have been necessary would have been to walk
along the line from A to C till a point was reached where the hill lay
north-east. But in dense forest the matter became much more difficult.
And his fear was that it might take a considerable time before they
marked it down, and even then they would have to allow for it being only
approximately accurate. He felt that a week at least would be necessary
to decide whether there was anything there or not. Could he rely on a
week?

So far as he knew they had slipped out of England unnoticed. But he was
far too old a campaigner to place any reliance on the fact. There had
been questions of visas, and visits to consuls for Percy and the girl,
and he was under no delusions as to the spying capabilities of the other
side. He could only hope for the best, but he took no account of it in
his plans. But of one thing he did feel tolerably certain; there was no
one actually on board he had to worry about. The boat carried nothing
but first-class passengers and was very empty. And with the help of the
doctor and the purser he soon had the two or three possibilities
satisfactorily accounted for.

His idea was simple, and had been arrived at after talking it over with
Bill Blackett. It appeared from what the sailor told him that an
eccentric Brazilian had had built to his own design a fifty-ton
motor-boat. Of amorous disposition he had used her in the past to
accommodate a series of lady friends on week-end trips in the vicinity
of Rio. Unfortunately, however, the husband of one of them, viewing this
innocent pastime with displeasure, had shot the proud owner dead as he
disembarked on the Monday morning. With the result that the boat was
sold by the executors to a firm of local shipbuilders, who were always
prepared to hire her out for any length of time. There was ample room on
board for their party, and she was quite big enough for the trip.

On one point, however, Blackett was very insistent.

"Not a word, Mr. Maitland, as to our destination. Apart altogether from
the fact that we don't want it talked about, you'll never get a man to
work her if it is known where we're bound for. We'll fuel her right
up--if necessary we can get some more at Santos--and merely say that
we're going a trip along the coast."

The first hitch occurred the day they arrived in Rio--the motor-boat
was in dry dock being repaired. And when Bill Blackett reported the fact
to Jim, for a time he thought of cancelling his plan, and trying to get
another craft. But after having inspected her, and realised how ideally
suitable she was for the purpose, he adopted the only possible method in
South America of getting things done quickly. They said it would take a
week, so he offered a thousand _milreis_ for every day less than seven
that the work was completed in. It cost him four thousand _milreis_ but
he felt it was money well spent.

And during the three days they stayed at the _Gloria_ they did the
well-known trips to pass the time. Corcavado, with the gigantic
half-completed Christ on the summit: Sugar Loaf Hill by the aerial
rope-way: Capacabana with its daily toll of drowned bathers due to the
terrific undertow. To Judy Draycott the time passed all too quickly, and
had it not been for his anxiety to lose not a second more than was
necessary Jim would have felt the same. For the girl, besides possessing
an intense love of beauty, had in her the genuine explorer's spirit. It
was always the case with her of wanting to know what was on the other
side of the mountain. The great blue and green butterflies drifting
lazily through the dappled sunshine of trees splashed with scarlet and
mauve flowers entranced her: what spoilt it was that just behind them
was a large motor-car on a first-class road.

"What a marvellous life you've led, Jim," she said. "Think of this--this
breathless beauty--away from towns, away from humans. Your own--not
shared by anybody: not spoilt by anybody. And then to go on and find it
again and again till you come to the end."

"The end!" He began to quote:--

    "'Have ever you stood where the silences brood,
        And vast the horizons begin,
      At the dawn of the day to behold far away
        The goal you would strive for and win?'"

And then, to his delight she took him up:--

    "'Yet, ah! in the night when you gain to the height,
        With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned,
      Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream
        Still mocks you a Land of Beyond.'"

"So you like him too, do you?" he said. "I'm glad. He writes the stuff
that rings true does Robert Service."

"If you would wish in time for lunch to be, sah, I would suggest
ascension of automobile."

The driver's voice, ingratiating, conciliatory, cut in on them, and Jim
laughed.

"Marching orders, Judy. His goal is a stomach filled with garlic."

But they were both strangely silent as they drove back.

It was during the afternoon of the last day that they discovered that
their hopes of a clear week on the island were not likely to be
realised. Bill Blackett, who had spent the morning urging on the work on
the boat, arrived when they were half-way through lunch.

"We'll get off to-morrow," he announced, "and its just as well we
should."

"Anything happened, Bill?" said the other.

"It may be nothing. Have you ever heard of Bully McIntyre?"

"Can't say I have," said Jim.

"Well, he's heard of you. And he knows you're here. Bully McIntyre has
been busy all his life on this coast, and his name is about right. He
holds a master's ticket, and there is no denying he's a good seaman. But
he's a swine. He doesn't know me, but I once had him pointed out to me,
and he's not a man you'll forget in a hurry. Anyway he was down there
near the docks this morning having a drink with a couple of dagos. And I
suddenly heard your name mentioned. So I shifted along a bit and
listened as well as I could. I couldn't hear much, but I distinctly
caught the word 'Delay.' It may mean nothing, but I thought I'd better
mention it."

"Quite right, Bill," said Jim thoughtfully. "When is the next boat in
from England?"

"Day after to-morrow," answered the other. "If they come by her, it only
gives us one day's start."

"Is this fellow McIntyre the sort of man they might get hold of to run
the show for them?"

"Just the sort," said the sailor. "He fears nothing on earth, and he
knows this coast backwards. I'll make a few enquiries this afternoon,
and find out if he's chartered anything."

"Do," said Jim. "And another thing, too. Put the men, who are working on
the boat, wise to the possibility that she may be tampered with, and let
them know that whatever the cause may be there's no money unless she's
fit to put to sea."

"What are you doing for the rest of the day?"

"I'm going to finish up the grub side. Ordering enough for a fortnight."

"Well, I needn't tell you to keep your eyes skinned," grunted the
sailor. "But I'll feel easier when we're away."

"But what could they do?" asked Judy Draycott.

"This ain't London, Miss," said Blackett. "A powerful lot of funny
things can happen in these parts. Well, I'll go and find out what I
can."

He stumped out of the dining-room, and Jim frowned thoughtfully.

"I always thought Dresler must have someone at this end," he said. "But
I wonder how they've got on to me. However there's nothing for it but to
keep one's eyes skinned, as Bill said. No trotting round by yourself,
young Percy. If they know me, they probably know you. So you stick close
to uncle this afternoon."

It was on the way back from the store where they had laid in provisions,
that the incident occurred which made Jim realise that there were brains
in the opposition. A crude attempt with a knife would not have surprised
him, and it was for something of that sort that he was prepared. But the
actual ruse when it came was so much more artistic that even he was very
nearly caught.

Percy was on the outside of the pavement, with Judy in the middle. And
they were just turning into the main boulevard when a girl brushed past
them. As she came abreast she seemed to lurch against Percy, and,
promptly, with a cry of pain, she collapsed into the gutter. He
instinctively turned to help her, and the next moment he found himself
almost flung into a passing taxi by Jim.

"Damn it all, old lad," he expostulated feebly as the car drove off,
"the wretched filly has hurt herself."

"Sorry, Judy," said Jim as she stared at him in amazement. "They very
nearly had me that time. Of course, the whole thing was done on purpose.
The girl wasn't hurt at all."

"Even so," remarked Percy, "I don't see why I shouldn't have helped the
little darling out of the gutter. She was rather a peach."

"Because then she would have pretended to be hurt. She would have sworn
you banged into her and knocked her down. Within two minutes in this
town an ambulance would have been on the spot. And if you'd been with
her then, you'd have been involved in all sorts of complications. Never
touch anybody who has had an accident here: leave them alone, and wait
for an ambulance."

"You think the whole thing was done on purpose?" cried Judy.

"I do," said Jim. "Just to cause delay. Percy might have found himself
tied up in formalities for days."

They found Blackett waiting for them at the hotel, with a serious look
on his face.

"I've found out a good deal," he said gravely. "And we've got to get a
move on. You remember that white yacht we noticed as we came in, lying
at anchor not far from the old cruiser? Well--that's what we're up
against. She belongs to a millionaire here called Miguel, and Bully is
getting her ready for sea by the day after to-morrow."

"That means they are coming by the next mail boat," remarked Jim. "A
pity: I'd hoped for a bit longer. How's our work going?"

"Practically finished. Get off early to-morrow if the food is all fixed
up."

"That's done. Who is this man Miguel, Bill?"

"He rolls in money, and nobody seems to know how he made it. Of course,
the whole thing may be a coincidence, but I don't think so."

"No more do I," said Jim grimly, staring at a card a page had just
handed him.

                 +----------------------+
                 |                      |
                 | DON SILVESTRE MIGUEL.|
                 |                      |
                 +----------------------+

"Here is the gentleman himself."

A swarthy-looking individual, who might have stepped straight off the
operatic stage had followed hard on the boy's heels. He bowed
magnificently to Judy: then, turning to Jim, he enquired: "Mr.
Maitland?"

"My name is Maitland," said Jim curtly.

"It is an honour, Mr. Maitland, to have you again in our country," he
declared. "May I be permitted to crave an introduction to your friends?"

Jim complied, even more curtly. Then----

"May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of this visit, Don Miguel?"

"A desire for a little private conversation with you, Mr. Maitland.
Could we, perhaps..."

He glanced at the others significantly, and Jim turned to the girl.

"I shan't be long, Judy. Do you mind waiting here with Percy? Don't
leave the hotel. Come this way, Don Miguel."

He led him to two chairs in the corner of the lounge.

"It would be waste of time, Mr. Maitland," began the Brazilian, "to
pretend that I do not know the object of your visit here. And it is on
that subject that I would like a few words with you."

"May I ask how you discovered the supposed object of my visit?"

"Certainly: I propose to put all my cards on the table. Some few months
ago it came to my knowledge from a source which I considered reliable,
that there was a more reasonable likelihood of the story of the buried
treasure in Lone Tree Island being correct. Since you, of course, must
know the story I need say no more. I was sufficiently interested to make
further enquiries, and what I learned confirmed my opinion. A map was in
existence, which was in the possession of a sailor who was rapidly
drinking himself to death, and I determined to obtain that map. Then an
unexpected thing happened, with the details of which I will not bore
you. But to cut a long story short the sailor disappeared. He was in
Bahia: then suddenly he vanished.

"I made enquiries, and after a great deal of trouble I traced him to
Buenos Aires. There again I lost the trail for a while, though the man
was an easy one to get information about. He was a gentleman, I may say,
who had come down in the world through drink, and therefore was rather a
marked figure in the company he frequented. At last I got on to him
again: he was in Monte Video. And he was dying. Moreover I discovered by
methods into which we--ah!--need not enter that he was speaking the
truth when he told me that he had given the map away, and did not know
the name of the man he had given it to."

Don Miguel drew an immense handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his
forehead.

"Annoying, Mr. Maitland, as you will agree. To have run the man at last
to earth and then find all one's trouble wasted was a bore. But I have
sources of information at my disposal, which caused me not to give up
hope, even though I left for Uruguay and returned here. And sure enough,
some weeks after the man's death I received word that a certain young
Englishman had been dining in the Jockey Club in Buenos Aires one
evening, and drunk a little freely. Also he had talked a little freely.
And again to cut a long story short it was obvious that this young
Englishman was the man to whom the sailor had given the map. I, at once,
left for the Argentine, only to find that I had again missed my man: he
had left a week previously for England. I trust I am not boring you: you
possibly know all this already."

"No: I don't," said Jim. "You are filling in one or two gaps very
nicely."

"As I said, I am putting all my cards on the table," said the Brazilian.
"To continue, I immediately got into communication with some friends of
mine in England, giving them the name of the young man, and the boat he
was travelling in."

"Thank you," said Jim shortly. "I know what happened then. They killed
him."

The Brazilian waved a deprecating hand.

"Deplorable, Mr. Maitland, deplorable. I received a cable in code
informing me of the fact. And--er--of other facts too."

"You interest me profoundly," murmured Jim. "What other facts do you
allude to?"

Don Miguel lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke before
replying.

"I do not wish to flatter you unduly, Mr. Maitland," he remarked, "but
your name is one that is fairly widely known. And when I heard from my
friends in London that you had come into the picture it caused me a
certain shock. True, they seemed to think that it was purely accidental,
and at that I had to leave it. But when I discovered you were actually
here, and in addition were with the sister of the young man who was so
unfortunately shot, I realised at once that it was not accidental."

"Your reasoning is most profound," Jim assured him.

"And so, Mr. Maitland, we come to the point. What are we going to do
about it?"

"Do about what?"

"I will be brief, as one busy man to another. Are we going into this
thing together, or against one another?"

Jim, in his turn, lit a cigarette.

"May I ask by what right you come into it at all?" he asked. "The map
belonged to young Draycott, and was stolen from him. In addition to that
he was killed."

"My dear Mr. Maitland," said the other contemptuously, "are we members
of some religious order that we talk about right? And if it comes to
that, it was originally stolen by the sailor."

"With that I am not concerned in the slightest," said Jim. "It was given
to Arthur Draycott, and further back than that I do not propose to go."

"Am I to take it then that you refuse my offer?"

"I wasn't aware you had made one."

"I suggest to you that you should cancel your proposed trip in the
motor-boat and come in with us. My friends arrive the day after
to-morrow: we leave in the evening. What do you say?"

"Why such altruism, Don Miguel?" asked Jim quietly.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

"If my information is correct there will be plenty for all of us," he
remarked. "And since I am quite prepared to admit that Miss Draycott has
a right to her share why should we not join forces?"

For a while Jim stared at him as if pondering whether to accept the
proposal. Not that he had the slightest intention of doing so--he
trusted Don Silvestre Miguel as far as the length of his foot--but he
had to decide what line to take with him. The man was wealthy and
unscrupulous, and the combination was a formidable one anywhere. In
South America, where money means everything, it was doubly so.

"Suppose I fall in with your suggestion," he remarked at length, "what
guarantee have I, Don Miguel, that your friends will be agreeable?"

The other leaned forward in his chair.

"I have been in wireless communication with them, Mr. Maitland," he
said. "And I may say that it is their idea as much as mine. Come, come:
we are men of the world. What is the use of your going in comparative
discomfort when I can offer you the luxury of my yacht? We are bound to
meet at the island in any case, so why not let us go there together?"

"The only objection to your idea," said Jim, "is the question of Miss
Draycott. She knows that your friends were responsible for her brother's
death, and somewhat naturally she would not relish being forced to meet
them daily."

"Then leave her here, Mr. Maitland. You can look after her interests."

"You don't know the young lady, I'm afraid." remarked Jim, with a smile.
"She has a very determined character. See here, Don Miguel,"--he seemed
to have arrived at a sudden decision--"I will talk to her about the
matter. I have, between ourselves, been trying to find an excuse to
prevent her going. From what I hear, the place is most unhealthy, and
not at all suitable for a woman. I can say that a hitch has occurred
over our own boat, and tell her your alternative."

The Brazilian looked at him searchingly, but Jim Maitland had not
played poker in most corners of the globe for nothing.

"Will you do so at once?" he demanded.

"My dear sir, how can I possibly get up straight from a conversation
with you, and tell her that our boat has failed?"

Jim gazed at him blandly, and the other nodded his head.

"True," he acknowledged, "true."

"It must be done this evening," continued Jim. "After dinner perhaps."

"And when shall I know your answer?"

"As soon as that incalculable time has elapsed in which it takes a woman
to make up her mind," answered Jim, and Don Miguel rose.

"Very good, Mr. Maitland: we will leave it at that."

He picked up the card which Jim had laid on the table and scribbled on
it.

"My telephone number," he remarked. "I shall hope to hear from you as
soon as possible."

Jim watched him cross the lounge, and leave the hotel, bowing
ceremoniously to Judy as he passed. Then he joined his cousin and the
girl.

"Where's Bill?" he asked.

"Gone down to the boat again," said Percy. "What did that bandit want?"

He told them briefly.

"But you aren't dreaming of doing it, are you, Jim?" cried the girl.

"I am not," said Jim. "But I had to fob him off with something. If I'd
given him a flat refusal we'd never have got off to-morrow. As it is
it's not going to be plain sailing, though I think I've fooled him all
right."

"Are you afraid he may tinker with the boat?" asked Percy.

"My dear lad, a man with his length of purse in this country can do
anything. I wish to heaven we could get away to-night. And here's Bill
returning with a face like a boot."

"They're getting at us, Mr. Maitland," cried the sailor as he sat down.
"That old rascal Antonio, who is one of the part owners of the boat has
just broken it to me. Somebody has spread it around that we're going to
Lone Tree Island, and not a man will sail with us. Say they'd rather be
sacked than go to such a place."

"Hell!" said Jim. "That just about puts the lid on, Bill. What the devil
are we going to do? Can't you find anybody who will volunteer?"

The sailor shrugged his shoulders.

"You know what these dagos are," he said. "I can offer double wages, but
I'm doubtful of it being much use."

"What do you want a man for?" demanded Percy.

"To run the motor, you ass," said Jim.

"Less of your natural history references, James," remarked his cousin.
"I was about to say that I, in consideration of receiving several
blood-red rubies as my share of the swag, will undertake that side of
the performance."

"But can you, Percy dear?" cried the girl.

"Can I run that darned motor?" snorted Percy. "Great heavens, woman,
what do you take me for? I could run it in my sleep."

"By Jove! old boy," said Jim quietly, "one up to you. I'd forgotten you
were a motor fan. That's settled that, Bill. Now they're still carrying
on with the work, aren't they?"

The sailor nodded.

"Yes. I told them to finish it."

"And now the point that arises is how to slip away. That blighter Miguel
is bound to be keeping the boat under observation."

"We've got to chance that," said Blackett. "And my suggestion is this.
Instead of waiting till dawn to-morrow, we'll get away as soon after
midnight as possible. There is a night watchman on the yard who's a pal
of mine, and there will be no trouble about getting in. I'll let Antonio
think that we're giving up the trip as we can't get a mechanic, and
we'll just have to trust to luck."

Jim shook his head.

"Not good enough, Bill. I agree over getting her away under cover of
darkness, but we've got to plant 'em on a false trail. Otherwise there's
going to be knife work. You and young Percy will have to get her ready,
while Miss Draycott and I draw them off. Let's all go down there now,
and we'll start the good work. You perceive, don't you, one of our
friends--that sallow-looking swab in the corner. He's been watching us
like a lynx."

He ordered the concierge in a loud tone to obtain a taxi, and with no
effort at concealment told the driver to go to the boat yard.

"That," he remarked as he got in, "will save our friend following too
close on our heels. Though I don't suppose he's the only one."

Having arrived he sent for Antonio and, in fluent Brazilian, he told him
exactly what he thought of his firm, himself, and his workmen. And
during the telling a couple of men drew closer and closer.

"However," he wound up, "since your hands are too cowardly to come with
us there is nothing more to be said. I shall not require your boat,
having found another method of getting to my destination--Don Miguel's
yacht. Bill," he ordered, "get on board. And you too, Percy. And stay
there," he added in an undertone.

"All the kit and stores," he relapsed into angry Brazilian, "have to be
packed up, just because there isn't a man with guts in the place."

"I shall chance it about eleven o'clock, Bill," he muttered. "Be ready
for us. You can leave the boat for a bit, if they seem to be getting
suspicious, but get everything fixed by then. I'm going back to the
hotel to continue the good work."

Still fuming he helped Judy into the taxi, and gave the address.

"Your rle, Judy," he said, as they drove off, "is a flat refusal to go
by the yacht. You're going to remain here in Rio until our return. Don't
forget your part for an instant: anyone may be a spy. But with a little
bit of luck we may bluff 'em."

"Do you think he really intended to take us in his yacht?" said the
girl.

"Not a hope," laughed Jim. "We should have been left high and dry here.
You can bet they haven't taken all this trouble in order to share
anything that may be there with a single unnecessary person."

"Won't it be marvellous if we do find something."

"Don't build on it, Judy," he warned. "Though I honestly am quite
hopeful. Neither Miguel nor Dresler strike me as gentlemen who waste
time or money. Here's the hotel: play up for all you're worth."

And play up she did to the vast edification of the sallow-faced
gentleman who reappeared mysteriously from nowhere. No power on earth
would induce her to go on Don Miguel's yacht, and if Jim was unable to
get anyone to man the boat she would remain in Rio. And finally with a
shrug of his shoulders he strolled away to the bar, calling high heaven
to witness on the unreasonableness of woman. Then he instructed the hall
porter to get Don Miguel on the telephone for him, and to him he spoke
at length. He wondered who could have given his destination away: so did
Don Miguel. Anyway it settled things, and he would accompany Don Miguel
in his yacht, at which the Brazilian professed himself overjoyed. And
finally he left the box with the comforting reflection that if the bluff
had failed it was not for want of lying.

They had dinner, after which there was nothing to do but sit and wait.
The sallow-faced man had gone, but there were several men in the lounge
any one of whom might have been his successor. They had decided on their
plan, and time seemed to drag interminably. At ten o'clock Judy rose
from her chair.

"Jim," she said irritably, "it's insufferably hot. Can't we take a car
and go somewhere before going to bed?"

He stifled a yawn.

"Bit late, Judy, isn't it?" he remarked doubtfully.

"I can't help it: I'll never sleep. Let's drive out to that place where
they bathe."

"Capacabana!" His expression was resigned. "All right."

He beckoned to a page.

"Tell the hall porter to get me a taxi. I want to go for a run to
Capacabana."

The boy gave the message, and returned shortly after to say the car was
waiting.

And it was not until they were half-way to their destination that Jim
turned to the girl.

"A little bit too clever, Judy," he said in a low voice, "or rather, not
quite clever enough. But it's going to complicate things. This driver is
one of them."

"How do you know?"

"At about a quarter to ten I had a look at the taxi rank opposite the
hotel. This car was in front. Two taxis were ordered between then and
ten o'clock when we got this one. Why did he let two other men take the
jobs?"

"What are you going to do?"

"You'll see in a moment," he said. "But it's a lucky thing all taxis
here are open cars."

He gave an order in Brazilian to the driver.

"I've told him to drive right out to the end beyond the hotel," he told
the girl. "And when we get there I will show you a little trick of my
own."

The lights grew fewer and farther between, and at length ceased
altogether. And suddenly Jim told the man to stop. In his hand he held a
short bar which he was balancing carefully. She watched him fascinated,
as, all in a single movement, he rose and hit the driver one blow on the
nape of the neck. And the driver collapsed like a log on the floor of
the car.

"Not everybody's weapon," said Jim calmly, as he rummaged under the seat
for some rope. "It's very easy to kill a man with it unless you're
careful. Now this sportsman will sleep peacefully for about four hours,
but in case he wakes sooner we may just as well truss him up."

He pulled out a length of cord evidently used for baggage, and tied the
unconscious driver up deftly. Then he placed him gently in the ditch,
and put a hundred _milreis_ note in his pocket. After which he jumped
into the driving-seat.

"It's neck or nothing, Judy," he said, as he turned the car round. "We'd
never have got away with that lad at the wheel. And now I think we may,
if luck is with us."

They swung back towards Rio, with Jim crouching over the wheel to
conceal his height. To reach the docks they had to go through the main
street, and it was there that the danger lay, for the police in the
Avenida Rio Branco are an extremely capable body of men. But fortune
was with them: nobody held up the car, and at a few minutes to eleven he
pulled up outside Antonio's boat yard.

The place looked dark and deserted, but not until he had taken a careful
look round did Jim allow the girl to get out of the car. Piles of wood
and barrels afforded admirable hiding-places for would-be watchers, and
he dared take no risks with Judy. At last he was satisfied, and taking
her by the arm he rushed her across to the entrance.

Bill Blackett had been as good as his word: it was open. And still
holding her arm he piloted her inside. The boat lay some twenty yards
ahead of them and he was making straight for it when his eye caught a
movement near a big coil of rope on his right. Instantly he thrust Judy
behind him, and, in a low voice called out something in Brazilian.

It was the only chance, and he took it. If the mover was Bill or Percy
it did not matter: if he was one of the opposition he might, in the
darkness, think Jim was one of his friends. And the ruse succeeded: a
figure rose and came towards him. He waited tensely: on the look-out at
any moment for a knife to be thrown.

He spoke again, and the man answered.

"Is that you, Pedro?"

And a fraction of a second too late he realised it was not. He opened
his mouth to shout, but no sound came. Jim's vice-like grip closed on
his throat, and he felt himself picked up like a child.

"Run, Judy, run for the boat," Jim muttered. "There are others about."

He dragged the man with him, and hauled him on board gurgling and
spluttering. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a light in an adjoining
shed, and heard the sound of voices: the rest of the bunch were playing
cards. And then from in front of him he heard the girl give a little
cry. She was in the saloon which was lit by a solitary candle. And
trussed up in two chairs like a pair of gagged mummies were Percy and
Bill Blackett.

"Not a sound," whispered Jim imperatively. "It's our only hope. Get a
knife out of the drawer and cut 'em loose. Bill first."

He dared not relax his grip for an instant on his own man for fear he
would shout, and in a fever of impatience he watched the girl slashing
at the rope until Bill Blackett was free.

"Cast her off, Bill," he ordered, "from the boat. It doesn't matter if
we lose the ropes. Then fend her off from the side."

"I get you," grunted the sailor, sprinting on deck.

"Percy--stand by the motor. But for the love of Allah don't start it
until I tell you."

His cousin nodded and he turned to the girl.

"Quick, Judy--I must go and help Bill. Take my handkerchief from my
pocket and cram it into this swab's mouth with the handle of the knife.
Mind your fingers, for he'll bite. Good. Now some of that rope. Can you
make a running noose? Splendid girl. Slip it round that elbow. That's
right: I can manage now."

He hauled the rope tight, lashing the man's arms behind his back: then
he attended to his knees. And finally he wound the table-cloth round his
head, and threw him into one of the off shore cabins.

"Stay here, Judy. On no account come on deck."

He vanished silently, almost colliding with Bill Blackett.

"She's cast off," said the sailor, "and if you can take one boat hook
aft I'll go forrard with the other."

"We want to get her out just far enough for them not to be able to jump,
Bill," he said, and the other nodded.

The card game was apparently still in progress, as they got on deck, and
an angry altercation was taking place, which was all to the good. But
the motor was bound to make too much noise for any quarrel to drown, and
Jim realised, only too clearly, that it was touch and go. At length they
got her out about six feet, so that she had a clear run for the open
water. It was then or never, and he beckoned to Bill.

"Tell Percy to start up," he ordered, "and slip her into half-speed at
once, without waiting for any signal. I'll steer."

He waited tensely at the wheel, and suddenly, with a snort, the motor
hummed into life. Came instant silence from the shed: then a rush of
cursing men to the side of the wharf. Ten yards: twenty, and a knife
quivered in the deck at his feet. Thirty: forty--they'd done it, and he
grinned happily.

"How did they get you, Bill?" he sung out to Blackett, who was fixing
the lights.

"About a dozen of 'em swarmed on board, and caught us napping," answered
the other.

And it was at that moment that Percy popped his head up.

"I say, dear old lad," he remarked, "everything is fearfully jolly and
all that, but I suppose you know it's my cabin you have bunged little
bright eyes into."

"Good Lord!" cried Jim, "I'd forgotten all about him. Unlash the
blighter, and send him up on deck."

"Now, you swab," he said, as the man appeared shaking with fright. "Can
you swim?"

Not a yard, he protested, with chattering teeth. Since childhood he had
had a horror of water.

"What the devil are we to do with him, Bill?" said Jim.

"Let him do the washing up," answered the sailor. "There's a cubby-hole
aft he can doss down in."

"Take him with us? Yes: I suppose we must. If the man can't swim, we can
hardly throw him overboard."

He turned to him and spoke in Brazilian.

"You're coming with us, do you understand. And you'll have to make
yourself generally useful. For if I have the smallest trouble with you
I'll trail you astern at the end of a rope as bait for sharks."




CHAP. IX


They sighted Lone Tree Island at dawn on the second day, and as they
drew nearer Blackett searched the shore anxiously with his glasses. It
was the northern end they were approaching, and his memory of the place
was a little rusty. The beach which lay at the foot of the hill was
guarded by a reef of rocks, and the line of surf looked unbroken. But
somewhere there was a gap, and it was for that he was making. They had
decided that it would be fatal to use the southern anchorage: they would
see quite enough of the opposition without lying alongside them. And
from what he remembered the gap was wide enough to let their boat
through but would prove impossible for the yacht.

At last they saw it, and Jim looked at him doubtfully. It was about ten
yards across, and at each edge the swell broke lazily on vicious black
rocks. Beyond it, some two hundred yards away, was the shore, and the
intervening water was as calm as a lake. An ideal harbour; anything but
an ideal entrance.

They nosed in closer going dead slow, and the nearer they got the
nastier it looked. Blackett was at the wheel: Jim was up in the bows
peering into the water ahead.

"If we bump, go all out, Percy," he said. "We'll have to beach her."

And to this day Bill Blackett swears the boat must have had an
indiarubber bottom.

"She bounced twice and then skidded," he affirms, "but she got through."

After which the crew had breakfast, and discussed the plan of campaign.

"We can presumably rely on having to-day undisturbed," said Jim. "And
there is a possibility of to-morrow also. They can't arrive until
to-night, and they won't know until it's light that they've got a
useless map. Then they've got to find us. So that if we're away from
here by dawn to-morrow we may get an extra twelve hours. But that is the
absolute maximum. Wherefore, chaps, we've got to get a move on."

And so, a quarter of an hour later they rowed ashore in the dinghy
leaving the Brazilian to amuse himself on board. Each of them carried a
revolver and a heavy stick, and Jim had a rucksack strapped on his
shoulders, in which was the food for lunch. And having beached the
dinghy they started the climb.

The northern side of the hill was practically bare of any vegetation.
For the first two or three hundred feet a few stunted shrubs grew
sparsely: above that a thin brown weed, which might by courtesy have
been called grass, stretched up to the summit. The slope was steep, but
easy, and since the sun as yet had but little heat they made the top
without difficulty.

"Seems rum to be back here after all these years," said the sailor. "If
anyone had offered me a hundred pounds to sixpence against it I wouldn't
have taken it."

Below them lay the swampy half of the island. A thick mist covered it
eddying sluggishly into the giant trees which came down to the edge of
the marsh land and there stopped abruptly. A faint southerly breeze was
blowing, and it carried to their nostrils that strange unmistakable
scent of rotting vegetation which sends the man who knows to his
medicine-chest for quinine twice daily. Fever--the place stank of it, as
Bill Blackett had said in London.

Surrounding the swamp on three sides was higher ground: on the fourth
lay the sea. Their own vantage point was the highest in the island,
rising from the low foothills that formed the northern end. And due
west, some two miles away there stood the Lone Tree. It seemed to have
escaped from the forest which comprised the western half, and to be
standing like a solitary sentinel in front of an army that had halted a
few hundred yards away. And Jim, as he looked at that dense jungle, felt
his heart sink. He alone of the party knew from past experience the
difficulties of cutting a path through undergrowth of that sort, and
keeping any sort of direction. However he said nothing and produced his
compass.

"We'll take a bearing due south-west from here," he explained, "and see
if it passes through any conspicuous spot which we can remember when we
get to the Lone Tree. Then when we get the line between C and A from
there, we may get an approximate position."

He let the compass settle, and then prolonged the line by laying his
stick on the ground.

"It's pointing straight at that huge mass of scarlet flowers," cried
Judy.

"Come on," he said abruptly. "Let's get to the Lone Tree."

The mist was slowly clearing from the swamp, showing glimpses of vivid
green interspersed with dull brown ground.

"Lord! what a death trap," he exclaimed involuntarily, and at that
moment Bill Blackett clutched his arm.

"Look," he muttered, "at that bit of green half-left of you."

He was staring through his glasses, and Jim focussed his own. The mist
was still swirling in thin wisps over the marsh, but it suddenly lifted
for a few seconds from the spot which the sailor had pointed to. And,
quite distinctly, he saw something heaving and struggling in the green
slime. Then all was still: whatever it was had gone under. But still he
kept his glasses fixed. What was that moving on the brown ground which
flanked the green? There were two, three, half a dozen.... And then the
mist came down again, blotting out everything.

"Is that what happened to the crew of the _Paquinetta_?" said Blackett
sombrely. "Anyway, what was it, Mr. Maitland?"

Jim glanced at him quickly: evidently he had not seen the others.

"Some animal caught in the bog," he said shortly. "It often happens,
even on Dartmoor, or in the New Forest. Let's get a move on."

But half-way to the Lone Tree he paused and adjusted his glasses once
again. The mist had completely gone: the swamp lay open below them. But
though he scanned it from end to end no living thing stirred. Only the
faint reek of it rose poisonous to heaven.

It was getting hot when they reached the Lone Tree, and a haze was
already shimmering over the forest. But it was not enough to prevent
them picking up the cairn of stones on the high ground at the south of
the island. And having done so for a moment or two they all stood silent
staring at one another. For the line to the cairn passed directly
through the centre of the great patch of scarlet flowers they had
picked up from the hill.

"Why we've only got to walk till we find it," cried Judy, "and we've got
the spot."

"Not quite so easy as it sounds, Judy," said Jim. "In the first place
we've got to keep our direction going through the undergrowth, when we
shan't be able to see the flowers; and in the second place the flowers
look very different when looked at from where we are now, to what they
will when we're standing underneath them. What's up, Bill?"

The sailor drew him on one side.

"For God's sake, Mr. Maitland," he said in a low voice, "chuck it. It's
not worth it. Those flowers never grew there naturally: why, there's not
another patch that you can see. They have been planted, I tell
you--planted as an ornament, as a decoration."

"Decoration! For what?"

"For what is underneath them. There, in the forest."

"You're talking rot, Bill," said Jim curtly, though the strangeness of
that one flaming splash of colour had not escaped him. And yet the thing
was absurd: the sailor was a superstitious ass. The flower looked like
the ordinary scarlet hibiscus, as common in the tropics as the daisy is
at home. It was just coincidence, and lucky coincidence that this great
square of them should mark the spot they wanted. So he argued to
himself, cursing Bill mentally for having made such an argument
necessary.

He took the compass bearing on the cairn of stones, and found it was
south-south-west: then he gave the order to march.

"I'll lead," he said. "Then Judy after me. Bill--you bring up the rear.
And watch for snakes every step you take."

He calculated that the distance was about three miles, and it soon
became obvious that they would never do it that day. The heat once they
left the open became well-nigh unbearable: the undergrowth in places
seemed like a solid wall. Huge lianas--the size of a ship's cable--hung
in great festoons from the trees; rank weeds and tropical ferns with
tendrils the size of a man's arm blocked the way, and had to be slashed
at with knives to afford a passage. In places they were almost in
darkness, so thick was the foliage above: then they would stumble into a
patch of sunlight where gorgeous humming birds flitted like exquisite
coloured jewels above their heads.

The sweat poured off them, and at the end of an hour Jim made out that
they had blazed a trail for about half a mile. But the exertion had been
terrific, and the girl, though she made no complaint, was obviously
exhausted. Moreover the going was becoming worse as they got deeper in,
and reluctantly he called a halt.

"We must take a breather," he said, "or we'll all be cooked. Anyway,
Bill," he added with a laugh, "your boy friends you told us about in
London haven't used this route."

But there was no answering smile on the sailor's face.

"Maybe not, Mr. Maitland, but that isn't to say they're not here."

"You're a darned old optimist, aren't you?" said Jim, lighting a
cigarette. "But if they are, I wish we could rope 'em in to do a job of
work."

For half an hour they sat there in the steamy heat. Save for the hum of
a myriad insects the silence was complete. Once in the distance they
heard the raucous screech of a parrot, but, save for that, everything
was still. And then quite suddenly there came a sound which brought them
all to their feet listening intently.

It seemed to come from a long way off, and yet, though faint, it was
quite distinct. Clang: clang: clang: it went on monotonously for more
than a minute. Then it ceased, and silence settled on them once again.

"It sounded like a bell," said Jim.

"Like a ship's bell," agreed Blackett gravely. "I forget if I told you
that the _Paquinetta's_ bell was missing."

"Look here, old sailor," put in Percy, "you're enough to give one the
woodle-ums, you know. This darned wood ain't my idea of fun and laughter
at the best of times, without having the ghost of a bell chucked in."

Jim was staring thoughtfully in front of him. There was no possibility
of a mistake: they had all heard it. Whether it was the _Paquinetta's_
bell or not was immaterial: the vital fact remained that some bell had
sounded. Who had rung it? It had pealed methodically, at fixed intervals
of time. What agency had been at work?

He began to pace up and down the little clearing. What were those things
he had seen in the swamp that morning? Could it be possible that there
was something in Blackett's fantastic theory? And if so--what about
Judy? He and the two men could take their chance, but the bare idea of
the girl falling into the hands of some primitive race of savages made
him shudder to contemplate.

There was another point too, which had to be taken into consideration.
In this dense forest they were at a terrible disadvantage. The value of
a revolver was reduced to nothing, if the target was invisible. At any
moment they might be surrounded by things that knew their way about the
undergrowth, and though they might account for a few of them the risk
was too great while Judy was with them. There was nothing else for it:
they must go back. And the fact that, in any event, at their present
rate of progress they could not hope to reach their objective that day,
afforded Jim an admirable excuse without mentioning his fears.

"We've got to think of some other way of doing this job," he remarked at
length. "This is impracticable, especially in this heat. Let's go back
to the boat and have a pow-wow."

"But what other way can there be, Jim?" cried the girl.

"That's what we've got to talk over," he said. "But this is no go, Judy.
About turn, Bill: you lead the way."

They halted for a time at the top of the hill to get the benefit of the
faint breeze that was blowing, and to search the island more thoroughly
with glasses. But nothing moved, save the shimmering heat haze which lay
like a blanket over the whole place. At last they descended to the beach
and pulled out in the dinghy to the boat.

"Think of an iced Pilsener," said Percy, "pouring gently down your
throat with two more on the table to follow."

"I hope that ass Lopez has remembered to keep the drinking water in the
sea," remarked Jim. "And where is the blighter, anyway."

They tied up the dinghy and climbed on board: the deck was deserted.

"Lopez!" he called: there was no answer.

"Probably asleep," said Percy. "Iced Pilsener," he repeated dreamily:
"in long, long glasses. Lovely light yellow beer. And instead of
that--tepid water in enamel mugs. Who would be an explorer? James, you
would appear to be perturbed. What ails your manly spirit?"

"Lopez is not in the boat," said Jim quietly.

"He's probably gone a little ta-ta ashore," said his cousin. "Got tired
of playing alone here, and thought he'd be an explorer too."

"How did he get ashore?" remarked Jim even more quietly.

"In the dinghy," said his cousin, and then paused abruptly. "By Jove!
old lad, your meaning penetrates the grey matter. We left the dinghy
ashore."

"Exactly," said Jim.

"Are you perfectly certain he's not on board?" cried the girl.

"Perfectly. Bill and I have looked everywhere."

"He must have swum," said Percy.

"He can't swim," answered Jim.

"He _said_ he couldn't, Mr. Maitland," said the sailor. "Maybe he lied.
Maybe he didn't relish the thought of meeting his pals at Rio just after
he'd let 'em down."

"That's true, Bill," said Jim thoughtfully. "But what about his
clothes?"

"In the absence of all our lady passengers he probably dispensed with
them," answered Percy.

"I can't say I saw many signs of a naked man rushing wildly about the
hillside," said Jim, "but perhaps you're right."

"Well, dash it all, old boy," remarked his cousin, "the blighter can't
have jumped two hundred yards, and since, so far as I know, he didn't
possess wings he bally well must have swum if he's not here. And
personally I'm going to get into my little paddling drawers and do the
same. Come on, Judy: let us brave the octopi together."

"You're worried, Jim," said the girl quietly.

"Not a bit, bless you," he cried. "Probably Percy is right. You go and
hit the water and I'll join you in a few minutes. Then we'll decide on a
plan of campaign."

He watched them go below: then he lit a cigarette thoughtfully. And he
had barely taken a puff when Bill Blackett who had gone aft called him.

"What is it, Bill?" he said, joining him.

In silence the sailor pointed to the little sink where the washing up
was done. In it lay the fragments of half a dozen broken plates which
had been dropped in a pile.

"Well!" said Jim. "What about it?"

"What made him drop them, Mr. Maitland?" remarked the sailor gravely.

"Ask me another, Bill," answered Jim. "Such things have been known to
happen before."

"Aye! that's true, and I'm not saying it may not have been an accident."
He was stuffing his pipe from a weather-beaten pouch, and Jim waited.
"Mr. Maitland," went on the sailor, "clothes or no clothes, the dago was
not on shore or we should have seen him from the top of the hill."

"He may have been in the forest, like us," said Jim.

"In the forest," snorted the other. "Not he! I can sling enough of his
lingo to have talked with him once or twice. And the Hounds of Hell
would not have even got him ashore here, much less into the forest. He
was scared stiff of the place."

"Then where the devil is he?" demanded Jim, and Blackett pointed
downwards with his thumb.

"Drowned," he said tersely. "That was no accident--the smashing of those
plates. He dropped them because he was frightened to death. Something
came round the corner of the cuddy, Mr. Maitland, that drove him mad
with terror--so mad that it didn't matter whether he could swim or
whether he couldn't. He sprang overboard sooner than face it."

Jim stared at the sailor thoughtfully: was it possible he had hit on the
right solution? He agreed with him--though he had appeared to
differ--that the Brazilian would not have gone ashore of his own free
will. And if he had remained in the boat something of the sort must have
happened. But what manner of thing could it have been that drove a
non-swimmer so crazy with fear that he jumped overboard to certain death
by drowning?

The dinghy had not been moved: they had found it in exactly the same
spot as they had left it. Therefore this thing must have swum to the
boat. And suddenly he noticed a damp patch on the deck just in front of
him, which might have been caused by wet feet. Outside the sun would
have removed all traces, but this was in the shade. And he pictured to
himself the wretched Lopez turning round as a shadow fell on him: the
plates falling from his nerveless hands, his scream of fear as he dashed
away from the thing that had entered. And then the splash as he hurled
himself overboard. Or maybe he had been thrown.

"Well, my dear Watson, I trust you have solved the trifling problem of
the Missing Brazilian," remarked Holmes, injecting cocaine into his left
ankle.

Percy had joined them in his bathing kit.

"He seems to have been a bit prodigal with the crockery," he went on as
he saw the broken plates.

"Look here, Percy," said Jim, "Bill has got a theory. And, 'pon my soul,
I'm not certain he isn't right."

"We are prepared to listen," remarked Holmes courteously, injecting
cocaine into the right ankle. "But I pray you--be brief. I would fain
bathe."

He seated himself on the table and lit a cigarette, while Jim told him
the sailor's idea.

"And as I said before," he concluded, "I'm not certain he isn't right."

"Well," said his cousin, who had become serious as he listened, "granted
for the moment that he is, what do we do next?"

"If you take my advice, gentlemen," remarked the sailor gravely, "you'll
up anchor and leave at once. You know the other name for the island,
don't you? I forget the native words, but translated it means the island
of no return."

"Seems a bit fatuous to come all this way, and then go all the way back
again just because a dago disappears," said Percy.

"It's not because he disappeared," said the sailor stubbornly, "it's
because of what made him disappear."

"Steady on, Bill," put in Jim. "We mustn't fall into the error of taking
your theory as a proven fact, you know. There are at least two others
which would account for things. He might have lied when he said he
couldn't swim, and in spite of our not seeing him, he may be on shore
now. Or he might suddenly have been taken ill, dropped the plates,
rushed to the side and fallen overboard."

"Come on, you lazy blighters: it's glorious in the water."

Judy's voice hailed them from outside.

"Avaunt, child," answered Percy. "A council of state is in session."

"Not a word to her, Percy," muttered Jim, "of this idea of Bill's," and
his cousin nodded.

"Naturally not," he said, as the girl poked her head round the corner.

"What are you sitting in this frowsty hole for?" she demanded.

"We'll be along in a minute," said Jim. "We're just having a bit of a
pow-wow. Now look here, you fellows," he continued as she disappeared,
"I figure it out this way. Let us assume for the moment that you're
correct, Bill. Let us assume that something made its way on board that
was so terrifying to Lopez that he shot overboard. Now he was unarmed:
moreover he was down here. So he was taken by surprise. But we know this
something that we are assuming came on board, must have swum. Even if it
had come in the dinghy it had to cover two hundred yards of open water.
What chance then would it have had if there had been a look-out on deck
with a rifle?"

"Not an earthly," agreed Percy, and Bill grunted assent.

"Now two facts stick out a yard," continued Jim. "The first is that
under no conceivable circumstances must we run the slightest risk of
Judy being put in the same position as Lopez."

He paused and a faint smile came to his lips.

"And the second?" demanded the sailor.

"The second, Bill, is that I am of an inordinately curious disposition.
I just wouldn't sleep o' nights for the rest of my life if I didn't find
out who rang that bell and why: what lies under the patch of scarlet
hibiscus: and a lot of other things."

"You're mad and foolhardy, Mr. Maitland," said the sailor. "How do you
propose to do it?"

"Go and have a look," answered Jim with a grin, "leaving you, Bill,
armed with the express rifle on guard over Miss Draycott here. Percy can
please himself. He can either stop here with you, or he can come with
me."

"It's madness," said the sailor once again. "Utter madness."

"Can't help it, old lad: I've always been mad. Well, Percy, what about
you? For the shore after lunch, or not?"

"You bet your life I'm for the shore," said his cousin. "But what
exactly are you intending to do? Carry on from where we left off this
morning?"

Jim shook his head.

"No," he answered. "We started off on a false trail there. I propose
that we wander along the edge of the swamp, and see if we can't find
some track that will lead us into the forest without the necessity of
hacking our way through the undergrowth. We may fail: if so we can only
return."

"And you'll be back before dark," said the sailor.

"That's the idea, Bill," agreed Jim.

"And supposing you're not," continued the other.

"Why then, Bill, we'll be back after dark," laughed Jim. "Cheer up, you
old croaker: Percy will be there to look after me."

The sailor shrugged his shoulders.

"All right, Mr. Maitland. You're the captain of this outfit, and what
you say goes. But I still think you're a damned fool who is asking for
trouble. And if you get it don't blame me."

With which Parthian shot he stumped off to his cabin.

"I say, Jim, do you _really_ think there is anything in his idea?" said
Percy.

"That, old lad, is what we propose to find out," answered his cousin.
"And in the meantime let's join Judy in the water."

Jim had chosen the edge of the swamp as the line of advance for two
reasons. Firstly, it struck him that by sticking to the brown tracks
which flanked the green patches they would get good going in the open:
and secondly he hoped that if there were any paths leading into the
forest they would find some of them there. He had not forgotten the
things he had seen through the mist that morning, and he argued that
they would probably have had some line of approach, since the only place
they could have disappeared into was the forest itself.

At the same time he fully realised that if there were tracks, and Percy
and he used them, their chances of an encounter would be much greater
than if they tried to again force a way through the undergrowth. And he
was under no delusions as to the possibility of danger. They would be
tackling them on their own ground, and under the most unfavourable
conditions, especially as Percy, though he had practised assiduously on
the way out was still a positive menace with a revolver.

What he wanted to do if it proved feasible was to see one of them
without being seen himself. Then they could arrive at a decision as to
whether they would carry on or not.

"You see, old lad," he remarked to Percy, as they beached the dinghy and
proceeded once more to climb the hill, "we know the forest is
inhabited, possibly by the most harmless creatures in the world,
possibly not. And in the latter event, treasure or no treasure, we hop
it. There aren't enough of us for Judy to be safe. But if they're
harmless it's a different matter altogether."

Away to the north a smudge of smoke lay low on the horizon, but the
island itself seemed lifeless in the intense heat. They scanned the open
ground, searching for Lopez: there was no sign of him. Nothing moved,
nothing stirred: the only sound was the lazy beat of the surf. And with
a final glance backwards at the motor-boat, and Bill sitting grimly in a
deck chair with his rifle across his knees they began the descent to the
swamp.

It was two o'clock which gave them a good four hours in which to explore
and be clear of the forest before it was dark. What Jim had surmised
proved correct: there was a fringe of firm soil skirting the edge of the
undergrowth which gave them easy walking. In places it was several yards
wide, in others only a few inches, and lapping it on the other side,
save where branches of it forked out and meandered across the marsh, lay
the deadly green slime.

They pushed on steadily but cautiously, and it soon became obvious to
Jim that the track was often used. There were places where the
vegetation had been deliberately forced back to give greater width. And
it was in one such place that they came on their first clue. Up till
then the ground had been as hard as a rock: here they suddenly came on a
stretch of some ten yards where a stream oozed sluggishly over the path.
It had practically dried up, leaving the soil soft and muddy, and for a
while Jim stared at it, with his face growing more and more grave.

"Look at the footprints, Percy," he said at length. "Poor devil."

His cousin looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean by 'poor devil'?" he asked.

But Jim did not reply: he was down on his knees studying the ground more
closely. The marks were perfectly clear cut, and had obviously been made
very recently. They were of two distinct sorts, and he examined them
both in turn.

The first were those of a naked human foot. The imprints of the five
toes were deep, and very wide apart: the mark of the heel was even
deeper showing the great weight of its owner. But it was the size and
the length of stride that staggered him. His own feet were not small,
but he could comfortably have got both of them inside one of these. And
the distance between them was over five feet.

The second were very different. They had been made by the toe of a
pointed shoe, and the distance between them was four feet.

"So Bill was on the right track after all," he said straightening up.
"Poor devil!"

"Look here," remarked Percy, "you might remember that I am not as well
versed in reading mud as you. I assume you are alluding to Lopez, but
you might explain your sympathy."

"You spot, don't you," said Jim, "that that is made by the toe of a
shoe." He pointed to a second trail. "You can see the alternate
feet--right and left. You remember also the very pointed shoes he used
to wear. So the betting is a hundred to one that that trail was made by
him. Now how did he make it? How would you make a mark like that with
your shoe?"

"By standing on tip-toe," said his cousin.

"And then hopping four feet like a ballet dancer!" Jim laughed shortly.
"No, my lad, you can take it from me that those marks were not made by
him trying to imitate Pavlova. He was a short man, and look at the
length of his stride. He was running for his life, pursued by the thing
that made those other marks."

"How do you know he was being pursued?"

"Because in two places the thing has obliterated his footprint.
Therefore it was pursuing him. And it was not running: you can see the
mark of its heel every time. Though in all conscience with a stride like
that it would have no need to."

"Good Lord! it's a bit grim," said Percy shakily. "What do you think
happened, Jim?"

"My dear man, I know no more than you do. Perhaps the thing went on
board, as Bill said, and forcibly seized Lopez. Perhaps Lopez swam
ashore, and came walking down here. All that I can tell you for certain
is what is written there in the soft ground. And that is that at this
actual spot the Brazilian was fleeing for his life pursued by something,
the like of which I have never come across before."

"And which must certainly have caught him," said his cousin.

"Unless a miracle occurred."

"And then?"

Jim pointed to the bog.

"That would seem at any rate one solution," he remarked quietly. "Though
they may, of course, be keeping him as a prisoner. And now to get down
to the present situation, young feller. You may remember I mentioned the
possibility of these things being harmless. Well, you can wash that
out."

"Carry on," said Percy.

"It's up to you to decide. Do you want to go on, or do you want to go
back? I tell you candidly that I think we may at any moment bump into a
position of very grave danger."

"What are you going to do yourself?" demanded his cousin.

"In view of the fact that that poor devil may still be alive, I'm going
on," said Jim.

"Then I'm darned well coming too," cried Percy. "In fact your question,
my dear James, seems to be of the fatuous order that I have so often
noted with pain over the rest of your conversation."

"Stout fellow," grinned Jim. "Let's push."

They skirted round the sodden patch, and twenty yards beyond it came to
what Jim had been searching for. Stretching into the forest till it
disappeared in the gloom ran a path: they had found at any rate one of
the tracks that might lead them to the solution of the mystery.

They stood for a time getting their eyes accustomed to the semi-darkness
after the blinding sunshine: then Jim took his revolver from its
holster.

"Take yours out too, Percy," he said, "but for the love of Allah don't
point it anywhere near me. And keep your eyes skinned over the back of
your shoulder. You don't want to be surprised from behind."

The going was good: evidently the path was one in frequent use. To start
with it ran quite straight: then it began to twist and jink though the
general direction remained the same. And after a while even the sound of
the surf died away: the silence seemed to press on them like a blanket.

At length they reached a small clearing from which four other tracks led
out like the spokes of a wheel, and Jim paused. None of them seemed to
be a direct continuation of the one they had come along, and it was a
toss-up which to take. The compass was well-nigh useless, as they had
only the vaguest idea of their present position, but Jim finally
selected one that ran a little south of west. Then having placed a
conspicuous fern to mark the path they had come by they started along
the new one.

The pace Jim set was as fast as he dared, consistent with safety. He had
not exaggerated when he spoke of very grave danger, and he realised that
it would be graver still if darkness overtook them while they were still
in the forest. And so, whilst he scouted with the utmost caution
whenever he came to a bend, he almost ran along the straight stretches.
The reassuring thing was the continued silence, which seemed to indicate
that the other occupants of the forest were asleep. And he was
sufficiently confident of his powers of stalking to hope that, if that
were so, he would be able, if they had the luck to find them, to get
near enough to see what manner of thing it was they were up against, and
then get away again in safety. There might even be a bare possibility of
rescuing the Brazilian if he was still alive, but that could only be
decided later.

Such was the general plan he decided on as they pressed forward, when
there came a sudden startling interruption. From away to the left a
ship's siren blared three times. They halted abruptly, and Jim stared at
his cousin.

"I wonder who that is," he said thoughtfully.

"Probably that ship we saw from the top of the hill," answered Percy.

The siren wailed again, and Jim frowned.

"What are they making that infernal din for?" he cried. "Sounds to me as
if they were signalling. Percy, I wonder if that is Miguel's yacht come
earlier than we expected. If so..."

He did not complete the sentence, for a further interruption occurred,
this time much nearer at hand. The bell they had heard that morning
began to toll, and with it the sleeping forest awakened to life. From
all around them came the sounds of movement, and Jim seized his cousin
by the arm.

"In here, for your life," he muttered, forcing his way off the track
into the undergrowth. "We're right in the middle of them."

The bell went on tolling, though its sound was almost drowned by the
noises around them. And once or twice a hoarse bellow, that was half
roar, half grunt, rang out.

They cowered down behind some giant ferns: some of the things were close
to them. But so dense was the vegetation that they could see nothing.
And after a while the sounds grew fainter and fainter until they died
away in the distance. The bell ceased tolling: silence settled once
again.

At length Jim straightened up and stepped out into the path.

"That was rather nearer than I liked," he remarked. "It is a damned
lucky thing for us, old lad, that they were asleep when we arrived."

"What do you make of it, Jim?" said his cousin.

"The bell was obviously a warning signal," he answered, "which was rung
when the siren was heard. And now they have gone off to investigate."

"But what are they?" cried Percy.

"You can take it from me," said Jim gravely, "that whatever they are, it
is a question of running no risks. But since we are here, and the owners
of the place appear to have gone, we may as well explore a little
further."

They moved on cautiously: it was more than likely that all of them had
not gone, and that a guard had been left. And then, quite unexpectedly
the track opened out into a big clearing.

"Good God!" muttered Jim, "look at that."

The space was some thirty yards square, with several openings similar to
the one they stood in. Above them the trees met, seemingly a solid
ceiling of scarlet, splashed here and there with the vivid blues and
yellows of gaudily coloured parrots. Shafts of sunlight shone through,
dappling the sides with every shade of green: it was a riot of colour
that would have made an artist rave. But the two men who stood
motionless at the entrance hardly noticed it: they had eyes only for
what stood in the centre of the ground.

Hanging from a frame was a brass bell, which was still swinging gently
though no sound came from it. And chased on the bell in black lettering
they could read the words--S.S. Paquinetta. Underneath it, between the
two uprights a man was sitting, a man who did not stir. His knees,
lashed together with some fibrous stuff, were drawn up: his hands were
stretched out in front of him. His head lolled sideways: his face, so
distorted with agony and terror, that the features were almost
unrecognizable, stared at them. It was Lopez, the Brazilian, and he was
dead.

"Poor devil," muttered Percy shakily. "How did they do it?"

"Ask me another," said Jim grimly, as he bent over the dead man.
"They've murdered him somehow, and yet there's not a sign of any
violence nor a trace of any blood."

"Perhaps he died of fright."

"Fright may send a man mad, but I've never yet heard of it killing
anybody."

He again bent over the Brazilian, and suddenly he gave an exclamation.

"Look at his right hand," he said. "Do you see how terribly swollen it
is? He's been poisoned, Percy. That's how they killed the poor
blighter."

He straightened up thoughtfully.

"And if they used poison," he continued, "and lashed his legs, it proves
they have a certain measure of human brain. No mere animal would do such
a thing."

He stared round doubtfully: what was the best thing to do? Never again
would they have such an opportunity for exploration. A number of paths
similar to the one they had come by led out of the clearing: it seemed
too good a chance to miss. And selecting one at random he started along
it.

It led to another clearing, and they had barely gone ten yards along it
when he stopped short with a sudden gasp.

"Great Heavens!" he muttered. "It can't be true."

In the centre of the second space there stood a mysterious object. It
was about four feet high and fashioned into the representation of a
grotesque little man. The thing was a monstrosity with a huge paunch and
tiny legs. In colour it was dull yellow, and in the centre of the
forehead there glittered a blood-red pool of light. And after a while
the usually imperturbable Jim began to shake with uncontrollable
excitement: he had seen that dull yellow before in smaller images, and
knew what it meant.

"Gold, Percy: gold or I'll eat my hat," he cried. "And if that's a ruby
in its forehead it is worth a king's ransom."

The thing stood on a little island with a circular strip of water some
five feet wide all round it. Between its base and the water there was
undergrowth also to a width of about five feet.

"It's the temple of their image," went on Jim. "Gosh! old lad, what
about having a dart for that ruby. If it's gold, as I'm sure it is,
there will be no difficulty in working it loose."

"I'm with you," cried Percy, "but we'd better get a move on."

They went towards it, and suddenly with a cry of warning Jim tried to
spring back. For the ground in front seemed to rise towards them, and
they felt themselves falling through space. So intent had they been on
the idol that they had paid no attention to the path. And they had
trodden on one end of some baulks of wood roughly joined together which
pivoted seesaw fashion on a central hinge.

It was not a long fall, and they picked themselves up shaken but
otherwise unhurt, as the thing creaked back into position again leaving
them in darkness.

"One of the oldest native animal traps there is," cried Jim bitterly.
"My God! Percy, we've let ourselves in for it now. Thank heavens! there
were no spikes at the bottom. What a foul stench," he added.

And then he paused abruptly and gripped his cousin's arm.

"There's something here," he muttered. "I can hear it moving."

They crouched motionless staring into the darkness, and quite distinctly
they could hear its heavy breathing. Then came a slow movement, as if
some big body was gradually changing its position. The smell seemed to
increase, and they waited tensely, conscious only of the loud beating of
their own hearts.

Came a grunt and a shuffling noise: the thing was coming towards them.
And suddenly they saw two gleaming eyes not a yard away. The thing was
on them, and at that moment Jim's revolver roared out, sounding
deafening in the shut in space.

The eyes disappeared: he had fired straight between them. There was a
thud which shook the ground, one or two convulsive movements, then
silence. The thing was dead.

"That's going to bring them about our heels," muttered Jim, "if they're
anywhere in the neighbourhood."

And then he gave a sudden exclamation.

"By Jove!" he cried, "I believe this is a passage, and not merely a
trap. It's lighter along there."

"Are you going to have a look and see what you've killed?" said his
cousin.

"I'm going to beat it while the going is good," answered Jim grimly. "If
we're found here, my lad, we shan't be needing our return tickets from
Rio."

He led the way, and his surmise was correct. They were in an underground
tunnel, and on coming to the bend where it had seemed to Jim to be less
dark they could see the entrance ahead of them. They raced towards it,
up the rising ground; and found that it opened into a corner of the
original clearing. And for a while they stood there listening. Had the
sound of the shot brought the others back? But nothing stirred: save for
the motionless figure of the dead Brazilian the place was deserted.

Suddenly Percy gripped his cousin's arm again.

"Look down that track," he muttered. "I saw something move. Something
dark. It swung itself across. Man, it was the size of an elephant."

"I don't see anything," said Jim. "Are you sure?"

"It was gone in a flash," cried Percy. "But I know I saw it."

"Then let's go," remarked the other. "Probably our hosts are returning.
You lead the way this time."

And with a final glance at the dead man, and the bell from the ill-fated
_Paquinetta_ he followed his cousin out of the clearing.




CHAP. X


"I say, Jim, oughtn't we to have come to that junction of the paths by
now?"

They had been walking rapidly for over a quarter of an hour, and so far
there had been no sign of anything following them. Whatever it was that
Percy had seen, apparently it had not seen them. And as the significance
of the question sank into his mind Jim cursed himself for a fool. He had
followed his cousin blindly out of the clearing, his mind preoccupied
with other things, and he realised now that Percy had taken the wrong
path. They should have reached the junction long since.

"You're right, Percy," he said. "We're on a different track."

"I'm damned sorry, old boy," said his cousin apologetically. "I was so
flustered by that thing I saw that I forgot what I was doing."

"My fault as much as yours," cried Jim. "However we can't go back, so we
must go on. It will probably lead us into the open somewhere. The devil
of it is that we haven't got much more daylight."

They pushed on faster, and after a while Jim began to grow uneasy. For
the track kept turning right handed, and the ground was becoming
appreciably softer.

"We're getting near the river, Percy," he said. "And that's about the
last spot we want. Unless we find a path going away to the left we're in
the soup."

Suddenly the track forked, and Percy paused.

"Which one, Jim?"

"Left, of course, but where on earth is this foul stench of musk coming
from?"

They went on a few yards and soon discovered. The track had forked in
order to pass on each side of a large, stagnant pool. Rotting vegetation
hung in festoons round the banks, but by craning forward carefully they
could see the water. And floating motionless in it, their evil-looking
snouts just above the surface, were scores of crocodiles. Others were
lying on the slimy ooze round the banks, and one huge one occupied the
post of honour on a half-submerged tree trunk.

"Repulsive looking brutes," said Jim. "We must be nearer the river than
I thought."

And a further few paces brought them to it. Their path turned abruptly
left-handed following the bank, and they were just turning along it when
from the distance there came a steady creaking noise and they paused
listening.

"The rowlocks of a boat," remarked Jim. "Now we may find out something."

Only a thin screen of undergrowth separated them from the water, and
with infinite caution they peered through. In front of them was the
river; to their right the stinking crocodile pool. And by leaning
forward a little they could see down stream for about fifty yards.

Suddenly a boat hove in sight, and in the stern sat Don Miguel. By his
side was a bloated looking red-faced man who held the tiller ropes, and
Jim put his lips to his cousin's ear.

"Bully McIntyre," he whispered. "So it was the yacht."

He was evidently having some argument with Don Miguel and at length the
latter shrugged his shoulders. The sailor gave an order, the men ceased
rowing, and McIntyre ran the nose of the boat into the bank.

"Get ashore, Mr. Murdoch," he ordered, "and see what it's like."

An officer who had been sitting in the bows seized some overhanging
branches and hoisted himself out. He was on the opposite side of the
pool to Jim and Percy, but they could see the glint of his white ducks
through the undergrowth.

"There's a regular path here," he sang out, "which seems to lead into
the forest. Shall I go along and explore it a bit?"

"Yes--but don't get lost."

And even as McIntyre spoke a scream of fear rang out. They had a
fleeting glimpse of a white-clad figure falling through the air,
followed by a splash. And the motionless logs were motionless no longer.
The water in the pool swirled angrily, and before their eyes the
wretched man was torn to pieces.

"What's the matter?" shouted McIntyre, as the boat moved away from the
bank, and came upstream a few strokes till it was abreast of the pool.

"Good God!" he went on, "he fell in that damned pool and the crocs have
got him. You filthy brutes," he roared picking up a rifle and taking aim
at the big one on the tree. He shot it through the eye, and with its
tail lashing furiously the great reptile rolled over and sank in the
water.

"I guess we'll come back to-morrow morning," said Don Miguel, "when
we've got the day in front of us." And the other nodded assent.

The boat went about, and after a while the noise of the oars died away
in the distance.

"Why did that poor devil scream, Percy?" said Jim with a queer look in
his eyes.

"Dash it all, old lad, most people would give tongue if they found
themselves in a crocodile pool."

"Yes--but not until they found themselves there. He yelled before he
knew there were any crocodiles."

Percy stared at Jim.

"You mean..."

"I mean that he never fell in: he was thrown or pushed in. And it was
what he saw in that fleeting second that terrified him, and nothing to
do with the crocodiles. Didn't you see the undergrowth moving on the
other side of the river as something went through it, keeping pace with
the boat? Well, there was something this side as well."

"Following Miguel's party."

"Exactly. And for that reason, at any rate, we can be thankful the yacht
has arrived earlier than we expected. It's distracted the attention of
these brutes away from us. Otherwise, I don't mind telling you that I
think our chances of getting through alive were pretty minute."

"I'd like to have seen that thing you shot."

"So would I. And in due course you shall--or one like it. But not this
trip, Percy."

"You are coming back?"

"Of course. Once Judy is safely on her way back to England I return
here."

"And what about the other bunch?"

"They haven't got the map, and if we can get away to-night we've got 'em
stung. Moreover, seeing that almost all the crew are dagos, one or two
more regrettable incidents such as we've just witnessed are going to
shake 'em badly. Let's get a move on."

They turned along the track going up stream, and found that it soon left
the bank and turned back into the forest. And now time was vital: at the
most half an hour of daylight remained to them. The track jinked, then
jinked again, and Jim gave a sigh of relief as he glanced at his
compass: they were heading for the open. But there was still at least
two miles to cover, and the going was getting worse. Evidently the track
they were on was not much used: tendrils of vegetation met across the
clearing through which they had to force their way. And dusk was
beginning to fall when the first faint reek of the swamp came to their
nostrils.

At last they saw it in front of them, and Jim's face was grave. A thin
white vapour was already rising, and only too well did he realise the
danger that that portended. In the walk that lay before them a single
false step might mean death in the green bog, and to have mist as well
as darkness to contend against would double their difficulty. And he was
just debating in his mind whether it would not be better to spend the
night where they were and wait for the dawn, when they saw stealing out
from behind the hill that stood outlined against the darkening sky, the
lights of a ship.

"Don Miguel's yacht," he muttered. "What the deuce has she been doing
there? I don't like it, Percy. When we heard her siren she was away
south of us. What has taken her round to the north of the island?"

"Probably looking for us," said his cousin.

"Exactly," remarked Jim. "And they couldn't avoid finding us."

"I don't see that they can do any harm," said Percy. "They are probably
peeved over the map, but as you've got that in your pocket it doesn't
matter much."

"Damn the map: they can have that for shaving paper. It's Judy I'm
thinking of."

"Surely they wouldn't touch her."

"That swine of a dwarf would murder his mother for sixpence," grunted
Jim. "Still, Bill was there. Anyway, that settles it: we must push on. I
suppose one party went away to explore the river, while Dresler went
round in the yacht to find us. Hullo! what's that?"

Clear and distinct through the still air had come the sharp crack of a
rifle. They paused instinctively, and the next moment even Jim felt the
hair on his head begin to rise. Yell after yell of frenzied terror rang
out: then sudden, abrupt silence.

They peered ahead, but could see nothing in the fading light.

"Heaven send it wasn't Bill coming to find us," cried Jim.

"What was it, Jim?" muttered his cousin.

"It _was_ a man," he answered grimly. "I wouldn't like to say what it is
now."

"Somebody fallen into the bog perhaps."

"Possibly. But you don't let off your gun at a bog. And as I say, Heaven
send it wasn't Bill."

"He'd never have left Judy."

"I agree. But supposing Judy left him."

He pointed at the yacht which was now abreast of them.

"That's what I'm afraid of, Percy."

"You mean they may have kidnapped her."

"Exactly. As a lever to make us give up the map. And then Bill came
along to meet us."

"He'd never have let them take her."

"How could he prevent them? He would have shot anything he saw coming
off from the shore, but he couldn't shoot a boat-load of men coming from
a yacht. Damn it! if it isn't Bill who can it be?"

"And you think one of the things got him?"

"I do," said Jim gravely. "The poor old lad fired and missed. And what
we've got to watch out for is that we don't do the same. It may have
been a chance encounter, or they may post sentinels out at night."

They pressed on as fast as they dared. Luckily the mist was getting no
denser, but the light had almost gone. And it was about five minutes
after they had heard the shot that Jim rounded a projecting bush and
stopped abruptly with his hand held up in warning to his cousin.

"Look at that," he muttered as Percy joined him. "It was here that it
happened."

The undergrowth was trampled and beaten down, showing every sign of a
desperate struggle. But of the combatants there was no trace. They
listened intently: nothing stirred in the forest. And at length Jim
crept cautiously forward.

Suddenly his foot met something hard, and he stooped and picked it up.
And the next moment he cursed savagely.

"My gun, Percy," he said. "The one I gave Bill."

A spasm of rage shook him.

"By God!" he cried, "these things--whatever they are--will regret this.
Once I've got Judy safely away, I'll come back here with a proper
expedition and exterminate the lot. What's the matter?"

His cousin had bent forward excitedly, and was staring at something on
the ground.

"It's a hat, Jim," he cried. "And it's not Bill's."

"What's that? Let me see it."

He picked up the hat: it was wet and sticky. And glancing at his fingers
he saw they were red. He looked inside the hat, and then with a feeling
of uncontrollable repulsion he flung it far out into the swamp. For its
late owner's head had been literally battered to pieces.

"Poor devil," he muttered. "You're sure it's not Bill's, Percy?"

"Absolutely certain."

"Then how did my gun get here?"

But his cousin did not answer: he was standing by a big tree that grew
on one side of the beaten-down patch.

"Jim," he cried shakily, "this tree is all wet."

It was true, and for a moment Jim stared at it incredulously. At first
he had assumed that the deed had been done with a club or even possibly
the butt of the gun. But the blood on the tree told a different tale,
and one that was well-nigh inconceivable. For it proved that the man had
been killed by having his head bashed against the trunk, and the
strength necessary to do such a thing was unbelievable. And in his
imagination he visualised the scene. The shot, fired in a panic at the
monstrous thing that had suddenly appeared out of the dusk: the brief
hopeless struggle when the bullet missed, and then the ghastly ending
with the lifeless body flung into the bog.

But who was it? Surely Bill would not have handed over the only long
range weapon they had with them to somebody else, unless he had been
compelled to. At the best of times he was a very bad shot with a
revolver, so it was hard to believe that he would have lent the rifle
to anyone willingly. And if that was so what had happened on board the
motor-boat?

The forest was silent as they started off again. Twice during the next
hour they heard from far off that strange grunting roar answered from
three or four different places which showed that the denizens were on
the prowl. But their luck held good: the track along the edge of the
swamp was deserted. And at last they were clear of it, and able to
increase their pace as they began to climb the hill.

They reached the top: the lagoon below them was in darkness. No light
came from the place where the boat had been anchored. And sick with
anxiety they half ran, half slid down towards the beach. The dinghy was
still where they had left her, and it was while they were getting her
afloat that a large stone came bounding down the hill and crashed into
the water a few yards away.

For a moment Jim paused, staring up at the sky line behind them. Was it
they who had loosened it as they came down, or had something else
started it? But he could see nothing, and jumping into the dinghy they
pulled feverishly for the boat.

"Bill," he shouted. "Ahoy! there, Bill."

There was no answer, and leaving Percy to make the dinghy fast, he
scrambled on board.

"Bill," he cried again. "Judy. Where are you?"

He dashed into the little saloon, and this time there was an answer.

"Good evening, my dear Mr. Maitland," came a well-known voice. "You are,
if I may say so, a little later than I expected."

He lit the lamp: seated at the table was the dwarf with a malignant
smile on his lips.

"You little devil," roared Jim. "What have you done with Miss Draycott?"

The blind man held up a deprecating hand.

"Really, Mr. Maitland," he protested, "the space here is very confined.
Would it be too much if I asked you to moderate your voice?"

"Where is Miss Draycott, Dresler?" said Jim controlling himself with an
immense effort. "Because I warn you quite quietly that I am not in a
mood to be trifled with to-night, and if anything has happened to her I
shall blow out your brains without the smallest compunction."

"It is extraordinary," remarked the other, "with what unerring accuracy
I have read your character. I actually said to Monty--you remember Sir
Montague Barnet, of course--when he went ashore that I was sure you
would say something bright and original like that."

Jim glanced at Percy who had come into the saloon.

"So Barnet went ashore, did he? From here?"

"Yes. I thought perhaps you might meet him, but in the darkness you must
have missed one another. However he is sure to be back soon."

"May I ask if he was wearing a Homburg hat?"

"My dear sir, you know my affliction. I'm afraid I didn't ask him. But
if you saw a man with a Homburg hat it must have been Monty."

"I didn't," said Jim tersely. "I only saw the hat."

"You speak in riddles," murmured the dwarf.

"You'll get the solution soon," remarked Jim. "To return to Miss
Draycott. I assume she is on board the yacht."

"Correct. And with her is the admirable guardian you left whose name I
fear I do not know. He was most abusive, and had to be hit over the head
with a belaying-pin, but I don't think his condition is dangerous."

"And your object in this abduction?"

"My dear fellow, you pain me. You know as well as I do. Now where is the
correct map?"

"In my pocket," said Jim.

"Excellent. By the way I congratulate you on the idea, Mr. Maitland. It
appealed to me immensely when I gathered from Monty's blasphemy what had
happened."

"Cut it out," remarked Jim curtly. "I assume that you want it."

"That is the notion. And fearing you might prove difficult about it, I
took the precaution of removing the lady. She is quite safe at present,
and her quarters are far more comfortable. But I do not need to remind
you, do I, that my friend Don Miguel has a keen eye for a pretty girl,
and that his reputation is not perhaps all that it should be. And so I
earnestly advise you not to play any more tricks this time, either over
the map, or with me. Because if you do I cannot guarantee Miss
Draycott's continued safety."

"And what is your proposal?" said Jim.

"A simple one. As soon as Monty returns, you will start up the motor and
take your boat round to the other side of the island where the yacht is
now anchored. We will all go on board her, and then when you have
satisfied us that the map is what we want--well, my dear Maitland, as
far as I am concerned you can go to the devil."

"Very interesting," said Jim with a laugh. "Extraordinary what bloomers
you always seem to make in your schemes Dresler, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" remarked the blind man softly.

"I mean that if we wait here till Barnet returns we shall wait a
considerable time. It was very unwise of him to go ashore alone."

"Have you killed him?" said the dwarf even more softly.

"No: but he's dead. This island is a funny place, my friend, and if you
take my advice you'll do what I'm going to do--leave it."

"How did Barnet die?"

"His brains were bashed out against a tree, if you want to know."

"Who by?"

"I think _what_ by would be a better way of putting it."

"I don't believe you," snarled the other. "You murdered him because he'd
found the treasure. He told me he thought he might be able to."

"With the map he'd got?"

"Yes. You may be clever, Mr. Maitland, but other people aren't fools.
You'd altered the position of the hill and the tree, but the writing at
the bottom remained."

"Except for the little bit that was missing in the left-hand corner,"
said Jim.

"That either had to be east or west," sneered the dwarf.

"It was west to be exact. I found it that night we had our little chat
in your house at Hampstead. I fear Barnet may have thought it was east:
that might account for us finding his hat where we did."

"His hat! Where was Barnet himself?"

"His body had evidently been flung into the bog. There was no trace of
it."

"A likely story, Mr. Maitland. You tell me that a man of Barnet's size
and weight had his brains bashed out against a tree and expect me to
believe it!"

"It's a matter of complete indifference to me whether you believe it or
whether you don't," drawled Jim. "I'm sorry the poor devil met the end
he did, but he wasn't a gentleman whose habits I liked, and I'm not
going into mourning for him."

"Don't be too sure about that," said the other thickly. "I would point
out that there are some forty of us against you two. And justice can be
summary."

"Do you suggest making Percy and me walk the plank," laughed Jim. "Come,
come, Dresler--I don't think the old brain is working very well. Do you
seriously imagine that I am going to barge straight into the lion's den,
and deliver myself bound hand and foot to a bunch of damned stiffs like
you?"

"And if you don't what about Miss Draycott?"

"Go a little further, my friend: what about you? You seem to forget that
it is fifty-fifty. Until Miss Draycott and Bill Blackett are delivered
over to me safe and sound, you stay on board here. You can't catch me in
a row boat, and if your pal Don Miguel tries any monkey tricks like
ramming me with the yacht I'll hang you over the side to act as a
fender."

For a while the dwarf was silent: then he shrugged his shoulders.

"There is no reason why we should lose our tempers, Mr. Maitland, is
there? I feel sure that matters can be settled amicably."

"Then go on feeling sure," remarked Jim. "It may help. But all I'm sure
about is that if a hair of Miss Draycott's head has been injured you'll
pray for death before I'm through with you. And you'd better make them
understand the fact on board the yacht, when we get there to-morrow
morning."

"Why to-morrow morning? Why not to-night?"

"Your second error, Dresler. The passage through the reef here is bad
enough even when it's light. To do it in the darkness would be literally
impossible."

"You know best," said the dwarf uneasily. "I would have preferred to
reach the yacht to-night."

Jim stared at him grimly.

"You don't suppose that I want to remain here, do you, you rotten little
sweep? But when I say it is impossible, I mean it's impossible. There
would not be one chance in a thousand of our getting through without
stoving in our bottom. And though I have not the slightest objection to
your drowning, I have the very gravest to losing the boat and being
compelled to leave Miss Draycott on board the yacht."

Once again the dwarf shrugged his shoulders.

"Very good, Mr. Maitland. As I said before, you know best. Might I ask
what the time is now?"

"Ten o'clock," said Jim curtly. "Eight hours before we can start."

He began pacing up and down the tiny saloon, his mind on the rack with
anxiety. The thought of Judy alone in the yacht, with Bill possibly
still unconscious, drove him almost insane. But there was nothing to be
done: to attempt to navigate the entrance would be the act of a madman.
For a while he even thought of the possibility of trying to make his way
on foot over the island, but even if he succeeded there would be no way
of getting on board the yacht save by swimming. And the chances of a
swimmer in those shark infested waters were negligible. As far as he
himself was concerned he would have been prepared to risk it, but the
vital consideration was Judy. And if anything happened to him what was
going to become of her?

"Well since there is all that time before us," remarked the dwarf
cutting into his thoughts, "it might be interesting to exchange views on
the matter that has brought us both here. Have you had any luck in
locating this hypothetical treasure, Mr. Maitland?"

"I have not," said Jim tersely. "The only luck that my cousin and I have
had to-day is getting off the island alive!"

"Are you really serious?" said the other with an incredulous smile.

"I have already told you what happened to Barnet," answered Jim. "And as
you yourself remarked he was a big heavy man."

The smile became more incredulous.

"I quite appreciate, of course, your natural wish to keep the pitch for
yourself," said the dwarf gently. "But I fear you will have to get a
rather better one than that, Mr. Maitland."

"Look here, Dresler," remarked Jim wearily, "I'm getting a little tired
of you. What do you imagine can be my object in telling a lie over a
thing that can easily be proved or disproved? Anyway you can now go
along to Blackett's cabin, and I'll pull you out in the morning. I want
a respite from your face. Show him the way, Percy."

The dwarf got down off his chair, and stood for a moment or two in the
centre of the saloon. Jim was rummaging in a cupboard for the whisky:
Percy was lighting a cigarette. And so there was no one to notice a head
that suddenly appeared in the fan-light, with a pair of bestial eyes
fixed on the short misshapen figure of the blind man. Amazement followed
incredulity in their expression: gloating anticipation followed
amazement. Then as Jim straightened up the head was abruptly withdrawn.

"Good night," said the dwarf as Percy took him by the arm.

"Between half-past five and six," grunted Jim.

"I shall be ready," remarked the other.

"It's the devil, Percy," said Jim when his cousin returned. "I tried to
bluff it out in front of that little swine, but they've got six to four
the better of us. And anyone who is not bughouse can see they have."

"You don't think they'll hurt Judy, do you?"

"No," said Jim thoughtfully. "At any rate not to-night. Their only idea
is to get the correct map. And they're not going to do anything which
would jeopardise their chances of obtaining it. But the fact remains
that we shall have to give it to them. We must get Judy off that yacht,
and they won't let her come without it. It's a pity, but it can't be
helped."

"You meant to come back here?"

"Of course I did. Once we'd got Judy safe in Rio, we could have fitted
out a properly armed expedition. And even if we'd found no treasure we
should have had a lot of fun. But now that swab Miguel will know as much
as we do. He may or may not decide to carry on now, when he finds the
island is not uninhabited. And if he doesn't the same idea will strike
him--go back and refit. Which is where he will score. He's got a yacht
ready to hand: we haven't."

He rose and stretched himself.

"Ah! well. Absolutely nothing matters beyond getting Judy safely out of
it. Hullo! what the devil do you want?"

He swung round and stared at the dwarf who was standing in the entrance
white faced and shaking.

"Was it either of you," he quavered, "who passed his hand over my face?"

"It was not. What happened?"

"A hand--a huge hairy hand--touched me. I could feel the fingers
pressing on me gently."

"Stay here," snapped Jim. "Percy, get your gun, and come with me."

He picked up his own revolver, and started along the corridor out of
which the cabins led.

"Is there a light inside?" he muttered.

"No," said Percy. "I didn't bother as he's blind."

"Go back and get my electric torch. It's in the small locker." And
suddenly his voice rose to a shout. "God! look at that."

They had left the dwarf standing in the centre of the saloon. He was
still there, but just above his head were two great brown hands, that,
even as they watched, shot down and clutched him by the throat. Then,
before their eyes, he was drawn up, screaming like a pig, and
disappeared.

For a moment or two they stood motionless, rooted to the spot: then
simultaneously they dashed back into the saloon. The fan-light was wide
open: he had been lifted through it. They could still hear him
screaming, but as they darted up on deck there came a heavy splash, and
silence.

"The dinghy," roared Jim. "Pull it alongside, while I get the rifle."

They jumped into the little boat, and rowed feverishly for the shore.
And having beached her they stood listening. Not a sound could they
hear, save the monotonous roar of the breakers on the reef. And then
from some way off the piteous shrieks of the dwarf began again. They
raced along the beach, but the cries grew fainter and fainter. Some
stones came rattling down beside them: the thing was climbing the hill.
And after a while silence settled once again.

They made their way slowly back to the dinghy: any idea of pursuit was
impossible. By day Jim would not have hesitated to fire, trusting to his
marvellous eye not to hit Dresler. But in the darkness he was helpless.

"This is getting beyond a joke," he said quietly, as they rowed back.
"Not that I care a damn what happens to that little brute, but it's
going to make it the devil for us."

"In what way?" cried his cousin.

"He was our guarantee for Judy. And now to-morrow morning we've got to
tackle the yacht with neither him nor Barnet. Of course they won't
believe us. Damn it! Percy, I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't
seen it with my own eyes."

They tied up the boat, and went on board. And at that moment the moon
rose from behind the hill. Silhouetted on the sky line was an enormous
figure, and instinctively Jim threw up his rifle. Then he lowered it
again.

"Too long a range," he said regretfully. "But look at the size of the
thing."

A bellowing roar of defiance, twice repeated, came across the water:
then the sky line was clear once more.

"I hold no brief for Dresler," he went on gravely, "but he's going to
pay for his sins this night. Look at the marks of the brute on the
deck."

In the brilliant light of the tropical moon the wet footprints showed up
clearly: marks just like those they had seen in the mud that afternoon.

"Probably the same one that took the wretched Lopez," muttered Jim.
"Gad! Percy, I'll be glad to get Judy out of this."

"Why don't we push off now?" said his cousin. "This light is almost as
bright as day."

"You're right, old lad. We will. I'd forgotten about the moon when I
said to-morrow morning. Go and get the engines started."

Percy went below, and Jim sat down on a coil of rope thinking. How to
get Judy off the yacht--that was the problem. He had no idea which her
cabin would be, and even if he could find out it would be impossible to
approach the yacht unseen in the moonlight. There was certain to be some
form of watch kept, however slack discipline might be. And then there
was Bill too: it was out of the question to leave him behind. Still it
was a good idea to go now: anything was better than this enforced
idleness. And he would feel easier in his mind if he was on board the
yacht himself.

He glanced at the opening in the rocks with anxious eyes. If only Bill
had been still with them it would have made it so much easier. They
wanted someone in the bows badly, to help con the boat.

"All ready when you are," shouted Percy, and he rose to his feet. The
sooner they were through the better, and if they were going to pile up
there was no good putting it off. But their luck was in. Twice did a wet
jagged pinnacle of rock show out of the swell within a foot of them:
once quite distinctly they felt her graze. And then came Jim's cheerful
shout of "Full speed ahead"; they were through, and steering for the
open sea.

"What did you make of that thing, Jim?" said his cousin, joining him at
the wheel. "Have you ever seen anything like it before?"

"No, I haven't," answered the other thoughtfully. "But we've seen what
happened to Lopez. And there is no doubt at all in my mind that he never
went ashore of his own free will. They got him just as they got Dresler.
Which shows pretty conclusively that they do not remain merely on the
defensive, but are prepared to be the aggressors. Incredible though it
may seem, Percy, my own belief is that very few people have ever got
away from this island--that what Bill told us was true. And it's that,
far more than any harm Judy may come to from Don Miguel, that is making
me so desperately uneasy."

"You think they may attack the yacht?"

"I think it is a certainty. But my hope is that they may wait till a
party goes ashore, as they did in the case of the _Paquinetta_. They
evidently possess a certain low cunning, and then they may hesitate to
board the yacht when she is fully manned. In which case it will be
to-morrow night, because they won't land anyone till they've got the
map. That's what I'm banking on."

He paused abruptly, staring ahead. They were steering parallel with the
edge of the swamp, over which the mist now lay like a blanket of cotton
wool.

"Listen," he cried. "My God! there's another. Race her, Percy: take the
bottom out of her. There is firing going on in front of us."

His cousin sprang below, and the next moment the boat was quivering from
bow to stern like a mad thing. But even above the sound of the engine
came the ominous crack, crack, of firearms, followed after a time by an
even more ominous silence. And sick with anxiety Jim stood at the wheel
staring over the glittering silver water ahead. Did that abrupt
cessation of firing mean that the things had been repulsed, or did it
mean...? Not even to himself could he complete the alternative.

They rounded the point, and saw the yacht lying at anchor a mile away.
Lights were shining through some of the portholes, but they could see no
sign of any movement, though in the moonlight the deck and bridge were
clearly visible. She was about a quarter of a mile from the shore, and
the first thing they noticed as they drew alongside was that the steps
of the gangway were sopping wet.

They made fast, and dashed up on deck. And the sight that confronted
them was so incredible that for a moment or two they stood there unable
to move. The yacht was a shambles. Just in front of them lay Bully
McIntyre, a blood-spattered crowbar still gripped in his hands. His head
was bent back, and round his throat were great red weals. His neck had
been broken from behind. Others of the crew lay about with their heads
battered in: the sickly smell of blood was everywhere. It was a ghastly
scene in the cold white light at any time, but one that was calculated
to make them numb with horror when they thought of Judy.

They rushed below; all the cabins were open. And inside the first one
they entered they came on what was left of Don Miguel. But it was not on
the crushed remnants that Jim's eyes were fixed, but on the chair that
stood by the bed. On it lay a little revolver, and he picked it up.

"Judy's," he muttered hoarsely. "The one I gave her. Oh! my God."

"Jim: come here."

A hoarse shaking voice which he dimly recognised as Percy's came from
outside, and like a man walking in his sleep he joined him in the
corridor.

"Look at that."

The door of the next cabin had been splintered to match wood, and on the
bed lay Judy's hat. For a while they stood looking at it, not daring to
meet one another's eyes. The situation was beyond speech: beyond
thought. Judy was in the hands of these monstrous horrors, without even
a revolver to protect herself with.

"What are we going to do, Jim: what can we do?"

"Do," answered the other tensely, "do. Go after her, of course. And if
there's no other way out--shoot her. But there's going to be another way
out, Percy."

His voice rose to a savage shout. "We'll beat the brutes yet."




CHAP. XI


Judy Draycott bolted the door of her cabin in Don Miguel's yacht, and
tried to think coherently. Her brain was whirling: the events of the
last few hours seemed like some hideous nightmare. She had been asleep
when Jim and Percy went ashore, and had only awakened two hours
afterwards to find Bill Blackett mounting guard and looking worried.

"Where are the others?" she asked and he told her.

"Madness, miss," he remarked gloomily, "but there's no use arguing with
Mr. Maitland. And what makes it worse is that the dago's yacht has
arrived. She passed some way out, and she hasn't seen us yet, but if she
comes to look for us there's no way of hiding. And then we're between
the devil and the deep sea."

He scanned the side of the hill through his telescope, but nothing
stirred.

The afternoon dragged slowly on, and at four-thirty she went below to
make some tea. To while away the time the sailor had been telling her
some of Jim's exploits, but she noticed that he never let five minutes
elapse without searching the hill with his glass. And when she returned
with the cups he was pacing up and down the deck looking anxiously at
the sun.

"Another hour and a half, two hours at the most, and it'll be dark," he
said. "Blast! here's the yacht."

She turned round: steaming slowly round the headland came the boat whose
graceful lines she had last seen in Rio harbour.

"They've spotted us," said Bill, shutting up his telescope. "Now what
are they going to do?"

They were not left long in doubt: having arrived opposite the opening in
the rocks the yacht's engines stopped, and she remained there rolling
lazily in the swell while a boat was lowered.

"Eight of 'em," muttered Bill. "That dwarf I've heard you talk about is
one of them, and a great red-faced fellow who looks English."

The boat was being rowed towards them rapidly.

"Don't let them come on board, Bill," cried Judy.

"How can I stop 'em, Miss?" he said gravely. "I can't shoot the lot.
Maybe they've only come to ask questions, and mean us no harm."

"Is Maitland there?" sung out the red-faced man whom Judy at once
recognised as Barnet, as the boat came alongside.

"He is not," said Bill. "He's ashore. What are you wanting?"

"You'll see soon enough," grunted the other. "Up you get, Emil."

He helped the dwarf on board, and came up after him followed by four of
the boat's crew.

"We don't want the whole Brazilian navy on deck," cried Bill angrily.

"It doesn't matter what you want. You'll damned well take what you get.
Now then where's that map?"

"Mr. Maitland has got it on him."

Barnet stared at him suspiciously, and whispered something to the dwarf
who shrugged his shoulders.

"When will he be back?"

"I know no more than you do," answered Bill. "He went ashore three or
four hours ago."

And once again the two of them whispered together, evidently deciding to
adopt a different line.

"My dear Miss Draycott," began the dwarf ingratiatingly, "I feel sure we
shall be able to arrange matters amicably. I must say that I have the
greatest admiration for the way you have scored off us up to date, but I
feel certain that you will be the first to admit that matters cannot go
on as they are any longer."

"I prefer to have no discussion at all with men who were responsible
for my brother's murder," said Judy passionately.

"Come, come," said Dresler, "I can assure you that was an accident. No
one regretted it more than Sir Montague Barnet and myself. Anyway it is
over and done with: it belongs to the past, and we are concerned with
the present. Now then, are we going to work together or not?"

"Nothing would induce me to have anything to do with you," cried the
girl.

"But I fear you will have to," said the dwarf suavely. "I don't want to
waste time pointing out obvious facts but we outnumber you by more than
ten to one. And only my abhorrence of violence makes me discuss the
matter at all. The position is this, Miss Draycott. Mr. Maitland has the
map: we want the map. Moreover we intend to have the map. Now if you
will give me your solemn promise that you will persuade Mr. Maitland to
hand it over to us, then I, in my turn, will give you my promise that a
fair share of the treasure, should we discover any, will be handed over
to you."

"And if I won't promise," said Judy.

Once again the dwarf shrugged his shoulders.

"Need we go into such an eventuality," he said softly. "I will leave it
to your imagination."

"Then I will give you my answer, Mr. Dresler. Rather than see that map
in your hands, I shall ask Mr. Maitland to tear it up and throw it in
the sea. Oh! you brutes!"

She gave a sudden cry, as the four men, obeying a quick gesture from
Barnet, hurled themselves on Bill Blackett. For a few moments he fought
like a demon, and one of his assailants went overboard with a broken
jaw. But it could only end one way when Barnet, with a loaded stick in
his hand joined in as well. There came a dull thud, and Bill crashed
forward on the deck unconscious.

"There's no good wasting time, Emil," grunted the baronet. "That fellow
Maitland may be back at any moment. Put him in the boat."

They lowered the motionless sailor into the boat alongside, and Barnet
picked up his rifle.

"Now, Miss Draycott," he said curtly, "will you kindly follow your
friend or have we got to lift you in too."

"What are you going to do with us?" said Judy.

"Exchange your quarters for more comfortable ones on board the yacht.
Emil, I'm going ashore: I will return with Maitland."

And so having landed him she found herself being rowed to the yacht,
with Bill still lying unconscious in the bottom of the boat. And though
she tried not to notice it, a feeling of sick fear began to come over
her as she saw the way the sailors looked at her. They were talking to
one another in Brazilian and every now and then they laughed evilly, as
if enjoying some secret joke. What a fool she had been to speak so
precipitately: why hadn't she temporised till Jim got back? But when she
stared at the hill, the only moving thing she could see was the figure
of Barnet slowly climbing.

An officer received her as she mounted the gangway, and she hated him
even more than the sailors.

"In ze regretted absence of Don Miguel," he leered in broken English,
"it is to me much pleasure to receive you. Will you please to come: I
show you ze saloon."

She watched Bill being hoisted on board; then sick at heart she followed
the officer.

"It is pretty, is it not?" remarked her guide, and as she glanced
indifferently round the room, he suddenly seized her in his arms and
kissed her.

It was just what Judy wanted to rouse her from her despondency. With a
smack like the shot of a pistol she got him with her open hand on the
cheek, and he staggered back snarling. Then muttering something in
Brazilian he came towards her again, only to find himself looking down
the wrong end of a small business-like automatic.

"Another step, you little swine," said Judy, "and I'll kill you."

For a moment they stared at one another: then with an ugly laugh he
turned away.

"You wait, you English mees," he remarked, "till Don Miguel come on
board again. You have lovely time then."

"Get out," cried Judy, and with another glance at the automatic, he
went.

After a time she relaxed, and going to one of the portholes looked out.
The throb of the engine had already told her they were under way, and
she saw they were going back to the south of the island. In the distance
she could still see the motor-boat, with a squat figure of the dwarf on
the deck: then the hill hid it from sight.

No one else came to disturb her, and she remained at the porthole
watching the island listlessly. Where were Jim and Percy? It was getting
almost dark: even if they were in the open it would have been impossible
to see them. And at last with a feeling of utter despair in her heart
she sat down at the table in the centre of the saloon.

After a while a steward came in and turned on the light, and at the same
time the engine ceased. She rose and peered out again, as the rattle of
the chain told her they had anchored, but it was too dark to see more
than the bare outline of the land. They were lying close in, but beyond
seeing that it was wooded she could make out nothing.

The door opened, and she turned round. Two men were standing there: one
she had never seen before, the other was Don Miguel.

"Welcome, my dear young lady, to my yacht," said the millionaire. "And
allow me to introduce Captain McIntyre."

"How is Captain Blackett?" she cried.

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," he remarked. "I
can assure you his life is in no danger. Did he prove intractable or
what?"

"He was the victim of an unprovoked assault," she said angrily.

"Dear me!" he laughed. "It's lucky for him that his head is hard. So I
hear Mr. Maitland is carrying out a little private exploration. I wonder
if he was more fortunate than we were. We rowed all the way up the
river, and all the way back again and found nothing at all, except a
pool containing crocodiles."

He pressed the bell, and ordered a bottle of wine and some whisky.

"Sit down, McIntyre," he said, "and help yourself. You will join us,
Miss Draycott?"

"No, thank you," she answered coldly.

"A pity. This is an excellent vintage."

His eyes were fixed on her gloatingly, and involuntarily she shivered.

"Not cold, I trust. Or perhaps a touch of fever. May I get you some
quinine?"

"How long are we to be kept prisoners?" she burst out.

"What an ugly word," said the Brazilian. "Let us put it that I hope you
will enjoy my hospitality for a considerable period. Let us also hope
that Mr. Maitland does nothing foolish with the map. It will prolong
matters if he should, and this island is not a spot that I would select
as a health resort."

"It's a stinking fever-soaked hole," grunted McIntyre.

"But doubtless our lady guest will enliven the tedium of it," murmured
the other.

"Will you kindly show me where my cabin is?" she said icily, and Don
Miguel again rang the bell.

"Show Miss Draycott to her cabin," he ordered as the steward entered.
"The large one--next to mine."

The man grinned and led the way. And in the last glimpse she had of the
two men, they were shaking with silent laughter.

She bolted the door, and sat down on the bed to try and get things
straight in her mind. She was afraid, desperately afraid. And the more
she thought about it, the more hopeless did it seem. Even if Jim gave
them the map, what guarantee was there that they would be allowed to
go? And he and Percy could do nothing with the numbers they had against
them. Anyway as a last resource she had her revolver, and even as she
comforted herself with that reflection she remembered that she had left
her bag with it inside in the saloon.

She went back at once: the two men were sitting where she had left them.
Her bag was still on the table, but the instant she picked it up she
realised by the weight that the revolver was no longer inside. She
looked at the Brazilian: he was balancing it in his hand.

"Give my revolver back to me," she cried furiously. "How dare you touch
my bag."

"Just to see that no dangerous lethal weapons were being carried, my
dear young lady," he grinned. "You've no idea what a lot of damage one
of these little toys can do. Captain McIntyre was terribly nervous when
he saw it."

"Sure," said the sailor with mock gravity. "I told the boss I wouldn't
be able to sleep a wink if I knew anyone on board had a gun."

"You cowardly brutes."

She faced them defiantly, though in truth she felt very near tears.

"You wouldn't dare do a thing like that if Mr. Maitland was here."

"But since he isn't here the point does not arise, does it," said Don
Miguel softly. "And since it is more than doubtful if he ever will be
here the point will never arise either."

"What do you mean?" She stared at him with dilated eyes.

"I have my own methods of dealing with people who try to double cross
me," remarked the Brazilian. "I warned Mr. Maitland in Rio, and he
decided not to heed my warning. I fear he may regret it."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

"Whereas you, my pretty one, will I trust have no cause to regret your
visit to South America."

She fought down the sick fear that was gripping her.

"If you do anything to Mr. Maitland," she said, "you won't get the map."

"In which case our stay here is likely to be much more prolonged," he
remarked. "But with you on board to comfort me I shall view the prospect
with equanimity."

He rose suddenly and came towards her, and she cowered back. There was
something so utterly repulsive about this swarthy looking brute that she
felt almost hypnotised with loathing. And the next moment he had caught
her in his arms.

"Jewels shall be yours, my pretty," he whispered thickly, "and money.
You shall have all your desires granted."

His face was coming closer to hers, until, making a desperate effort,
she broke away from him and fled like a wild thing to her cabin. And not
till the door was bolted once more did she feel safe.

She sat down panting for breath. What was she going to do? It was only a
temporary respite: sooner or later she would have to eat and drink. And
that would mean meeting Miguel again. What, too, about Jim? They
intended treachery: the Brazilian had admitted it himself. They would
get the map by means of specious promises, and then knife him or
something from behind.

A knock came on the door, and the steward enquired what she would like
for dinner.

"Nothing," she cried, "nothing at all," and the man went away. Eating
was a physical impossibility, but after a while she rose and gulped down
some water from the carafe. It was luke warm but she felt better for it.
And for a time she stood staring out of the porthole.

Nine o'clock: surely Jim should be there by now. But no sound broke the
stillness of the night except a gramophone which was being played by
some member of the crew. And as the hours went on her anxiety increased.
Why didn't he come? Had some accident happened to him on the island
which had prevented him?

The gramophone ceased: the yacht grew silent. Once her door handle was
softly tried, and Don Miguel's voice came from the other side. But she
did not answer him, and after a while he went away and she heard the
door of the next cabin shut. And at length, still sitting in the chair
she fell into an uneasy doze.

A sudden sound awakened her, and she sat up with a start. The moonlight
was flooding her cabin, and for a moment or two she sat trembling in her
chair. And then to her horror she saw a slowly widening crack in the
partition wall of the cabin. A panel was sliding back, and it had been
the click as it started that had aroused her.

She watched it with dilated eyes: on the other side of it was Don
Miguel's cabin. And at length his head was poked cautiously through. He
looked round until he saw her, and for a while they stared at one
another in silence. Then with a leer he pushed the panel right back, and
stood in the opening.

"Have you changed your mind, my pretty," he whispered.

"Get out, you unspeakable cur," she said tensely.

"But I've only just come," he remarked. "Wasn't it thoughtful of me to
give you the cabin next mine? All specially prepared as you see. Now are
we going to be wise, or are we going to give trouble?"

The leer grew more pronounced, and he took a step forward. And at that
moment she heard him give a strange gurgling noise: saw something brown
round his throat, and watched him being dragged back through the
opening. He disappeared, and with no thought in her mind save the
incredible fact that he'd gone, she sprang to the sliding panel and
slammed it to. And as she did so there came from the other side of the
wall a blood-curdling scream, followed by a series of bumps as if a
heavy sack was being thrown about.

She cowered back terrified: the noise was like nothing she had ever
heard. And even as she listened to it pandemonium broke loose in the
ship. Shots, oaths, yells of terror came from every direction, and every
now and then a loud splash indicated that somebody had fallen overboard.
She forced herself to go to the porthole, but there was nothing to be
seen though the din had now become indescribable. And mingled with it
came a succession of strange snarling grunts.

She crossed to the little window that opened into the corridor, and drew
back the curtains. Pressed against the glass was a face, and as she
stared at it every drop of blood seemed to freeze in her veins. It was
human, and yet it was animal. Its teeth were bared like those of an
angry dog: its flattened nostrils were distended. And in its eyes was a
look of bestial savagery.

Suddenly it put its hand straight through the glass, and tried to clutch
her, but she fell back half fainting on the bed. For a while the great
hairy arm continued groping: then it was withdrawn, and she could hear
it snarling angrily, evidently furious at having cut itself. And then to
her unspeakable horror the door handle rattled violently. The thing was
trying to get in.

The door creaked and groaned: she could see the panels bulging inwards.
And in those few moments Judy experienced the supreme acme of human
terror. _For she knew the door handle would not hold._ Already the wood
was beginning to splinter, and in one last desperate throw for safety
she tried to clamber through the porthole. But it was too small, and
with a pitiful little moan she cowered back on the bed just as the door,
with a final crash, was burst open, and the thing came in. And it was
then that something snapped in her brain, and Judy fainted.

When she opened her eyes again she found herself in darkness. She was
lying on the ground, and for a while her mind refused to act. Then
little by little it came back to her, and she bit her lip to prevent
herself screaming. It wasn't some hideous nightmare: it was the truth.
Something had come into her cabin, something that she dimly remembered
as being of vast size, and unspeakably horrible. And it must have
carried her off the yacht.

Where was she? She felt the ground with her hand and found it was hard
earth. And suddenly the full horror of her position dawned on her: she
was in the power of these awful creatures. From close beside her there
came a movement, and involuntarily she gave a little cry. And then with
a feeling of unutterable relief she heard a well-known voice.

"How are you feeling, miss?"

"Bill," she cried, "where are we? What's happened?"

"The same as happened in the _Paquinetta_," he answered grimly. "They've
slaughtered or taken prisoner every soul in the yacht, and now we're in
their power."

Some voices started jabbering Brazilian near by, and she asked Bill who
they were.

"Some of the crew, miss. There are about ten of us altogether. The rest
are dead."

"Thank God, they didn't kill you, Bill."

"It was that crack on the head in the motor-boat saved me, miss. I'd
come to, and was lying dazed and sick in the bunk where they'd thrown
me, when I heard the fight start. So I staggered up on deck unarmed as I
was and ran right into two of them. It was so unexpected I didn't show
any fight, and they just carted me off."

She forced herself to ask the question, though she dreaded the answer.

"Have they got Mr. Maitland too?"

"I haven't seen him, miss, or his cousin either."

"He may be able to do something," she said, hope springing up in her
mind.

The sailor said nothing. In the first place he doubted if Jim could ever
find them, and if he did what could he possibly do? There were scores of
these hideous monsters, and even if he succeeded in shooting a few of
them, it would only make the others more savage.

"By the way, miss," he said at length, "have you got your revolver with
you?"

"I haven't, Bill," she answered. "That brute Don Miguel took it from
me."

And the sailor almost groaned aloud. No good now alarming her more than
she was already, by telling her to blow out her brains in certain
eventualities: they could only wait in agonising suspense.

"What will they do to us, Bill?" she asked tremulously.

"God knows, miss," he said gravely. "We've just got to keep our spirits
up and hope for the best."

"But, Bill, are they human?"

"Half man, half beast, miss. You remember I told you. They've got a sort
of language for I heard them talking, but to look at they're more like
gorillas."

"I suppose," she said quietly, "they'll kill us."

And he dared make no reply. All that he could pray for was that they
would kill her and that nothing worse should happen. He was unarmed
himself: he was powerless to help her in any way. And the realisation of
the girl's peril made him well-nigh sick with fear. He had tried to take
note of the direction in which he had been brought, but it had proved
hopeless. It had seemed a veritable maze of paths, and since for long
stretches of the journey the moonlight had not penetrated into the
forest, most of it had been done in darkness. All that he knew was that
they were in some form of underground cave.

Two of the sailors near by were talking, and he understood sufficient
Brazilian to get the gist of their remarks.

"Do you hear what those blokes are saying, miss," he said, when they had
finished. "According to them some of the words these things use are a
sort of Brazilian _patois_. And from what they heard the reason for the
attack on the yacht was that their chief or king or something like that
was killed this afternoon."

"Doesn't seem to help us much, does it?" she said with a pitiful little
laugh. "Bill, wouldn't it be possible to escape? There must be a way
out."

"First thing I thought of, miss. But the brutes have blocked the
entrance of the tunnel we came in by."

"So that our only hope is Jim," she whispered under her breath.

They fell silent: and Judy's thoughts went back to that night in
Hampstead when she had first met Jim and asked his advice about the
treasure. Who, by the wildest stretch of imagination could have dreamed
that it would have ended as it had? It was all so inconceivable that
even now she had a feeling that she would wake up soon and find it was
some fantastic nightmare. And suddenly she cried out almost
hysterically.

"It can't be true, Bill. It is just like Alice in _Alice in Wonderland_.
We'll find it's all a dream and these things are just a pack of cards."

And the sailor who had come on deck just in time to see Bully McIntyre's
neck broken with a flick of the wrists could think of nothing to say. In
fact he found himself praying that her reason might give: then at any
rate she would be spared the mental horror that lay in front of her.

For the twentieth time he asked himself what was going to happen. How
long were they going to be kept in this underground hole, and what was
their fate going to be when they were taken out? Presumably the brutes
were asleep resting after the fight: in which case it might be many
hours before they knew.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the most extraordinary uproar from
above them. The bell began clanging furiously: a chorus of bellowing
grunts that increased in intensity as more and more of the brutes joined
in almost drowned it. The ground over their heads shook violently: they
could hear the lumbering footsteps passing backwards and forwards.

Gradually the clamour died away and the bell ceased, though a kind of
deep chattering which still continued showed that their captors were
very wide awake. It sounded as if something had excited them greatly,
something which they were now discussing at length. And then clear above
everything came an anguished cry.

"Help! For God's sake--help!"

Bill Blackett sat up with a jerk.

"That's not Mr. Maitland," he said positively, "though I know the
voice."

"It was the dwarf," cried the girl. "I'd know his voice anywhere."

"The dwarf," said the sailor slowly. "And he was blind. That means
they've been on board our motor-boat."

"And it means," said the girl excitedly, "that they haven't got Jim or
Percy. He was left there alone."

Bill Blackett said nothing. Did it mean that of necessity? Or did it
mean that Jim and his cousin had put up a fight and been killed, and
that the dwarf being helpless had merely been captured?

The excitement above continued, though it was more controlled. One of
the monsters seemed to be holding forth to the others, and when he'd
finished his audience emitted a series of bellows that seemed to betoken
approval. And almost immediately after there came, from the entrance to
their prison, the sound of the barrier being removed, and the soft
padding of bare feet on the ground. One of the brutes was with them.

They could hear its heavy breathing as it stumbled about, and suddenly
there came a yell from one of the sailors--an Englishman.

"It's got me," he screamed. "Save me, boys."

His voice died away: the barrier crashed back, and Bill Blackett wiped
the sweat from his forehead. One of them had been taken: whose turn was
it going to be next? Impossible to help the poor devil: impossible to do
anything except sit in the darkness and wait.

Above them the noise had again increased, and mingled with it came the
shouts of the dwarf and the sailor. And then once again the bell began
tolling, whilst the rest of the uproar ceased abruptly.

There was something almost solemn in the monotonous clanging: it sounded
as if it might have been the accompaniment of some religious ceremony.
It continued for about five minutes: then in the silence that followed
one deep grunting voice could be heard. And suddenly one of the
Brazilians near them cried out in horror and said something to one of
his companions, something which once again Bill Blackett could
understand roughly, and which caused him to stare into the darkness with
haggard eyes. Sacrifice: human sacrifice to some god: that was what was
going on above their heads.

"Help me, you little swine. Don't sit there doing nothing."

The voice of the sailor who had been taken came to them faintly, and
Bill cursed under his breath. The poor devil was English anyhow, and it
was intolerable to have to sit there helpless while he was being killed,
perhaps tortured.

"Help me. For God's sake, say something to these brutes."

A frenzy of fear rang in the man's voice: evidently the end, whatever it
was, was drawing near. And then it came.

"One of them has got me. One of them has got me."

The scream was almost inarticulate, and subsided into a meaningless
babble of words which was drowned in the triumphant outburst of noise
from the spectators. And after a while that too, subsided, and all was
silent once more.

"What does it mean, Bill," said Judy in a trembling voice.

"It means, miss, that now we're one hand short," he answered quietly.

"You mean he's dead."

"That's it, miss, I'm afraid. They've killed him."

"And that's what is going to happen to us," she went on steadily.

"It looks like it, miss," he said.

"How do you think they did it?"

"I haven't an idea," he answered. "From what he called out he seemed to
be appealing to that dwarf to help him."

"He said, 'One of them has got me.' Oh! my God, Bill," her voice rose to
a scream, "can't you strangle me now?"

"Steady on, miss," said the sailor gently, though his heart was sick
within him. "Don't let's give up hope yet. Maybe Mr. Maitland will find
some way of escape for us."

But his voice lacked conviction and he knew it.

"Don't try and deceive me, Bill." With an effort she pulled herself
together. "Things have gone too far for that. Do you think we've got a
chance?"

"Yes," he cried stoutly. "I do. Provided Mr. Maitland is still free."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then our number is up, miss."

There was no good beating about the bush, he reflected: the girl was
thoroughbred and had better know the truth.

"That's what I wanted to find out," she said. "Now, Bill, we've neither
of us got a revolver, so I want you to do something for me. These
sailors have all got knives. Will you please borrow one?"

"I have a knife myself, miss," he said quietly.

"Good. Then if the end comes, Bill: if we have to give up hope will you
give me your solemn word of honour that you will kill me."

The sailor swallowed hard for a few moments, and then he answered her in
a husky voice.

"If there's no hope left, miss, I give you my word of honour that I will
kill you."

And with a little sigh of relief Judy Draycott stretched out her hand to
him in the darkness. She knew he would not fail her.

"Will it be long, Bill, do you think?"

"Heaven knows, miss," he said, and even as he spoke there came the sound
of the barrier being removed from the end of the tunnel, and a
flickering light danced on the walls of their prison. One of the
monsters carrying a torch which threw out great volumes of black smoke
was coming towards them. Others were following, and the girl crept
closer to him.

"Now, Bill--now. Quick--you promised."

He drew his clasp knife, and opened the big blade. The sweat was pouring
off his forehead: his hand was shaking like that of a man with the ague.
And he was just nerving himself for the supreme effort, when suddenly,
clear and distinct there came a sound that made him pause. It was faint
but unmistakable: it was the siren of the yacht. And who could be
blowing it?

The monsters paused: the prisoners dimly outlined in the smoky light sat
up listening. Steadily it went on blaring: long, long, long: long,
short, long. Over and over again, until the meaning dawned on Bill. The
morse code: O.K. Someone was sending those two letters into the night;
who could it be but Jim Maitland? And with almost a sob of relief he
replaced his knife in his pocket. In view of that message there was
still hope.




CHAP. XII


All around them the sailors were muttering excitedly. Even though they
knew nothing of the existence of Jim Maitland, they realised that some
human agency must be at work, and that therefore there was at any rate
somebody who was not a prisoner.

And the monsters themselves seemed to realize it too. The one in front
who appeared to be the leader was conferring with two others, stopping
every now and then to listen to the siren which still went on
monotonously, whilst the smoke from the torches made Judy's eyes smart
and caught her in the throat.

At last they came to a decision, and the leader gave a gruff roar which
was evidently an order. It was answered from the other side of the
smoke, and the prisoners heard the sounds of hurried movements which
quickly died away in the distance.

"Some of the brutes have gone to investigate," muttered Bill to the
girl. "I wonder what is going to happen now?"

But what he wondered far more, though he did not say so, was how Jim,
assuming it was him, was going to get from the yacht in time to be of
any help. The sacrifice that had already taken place had not been a long
affair.

"Bill, they're coming nearer."

The girl clutched his hand terrified, as the three torch bearers
advanced into the centre of the circle of prisoners, their faces
looking, if possible, more incredibly evil in the flickering yellow
light. And then they knelt down in a row and remained motionless, their
gleaming eyes fixed on the entrance of the tunnel. Something was coming
along the passage towards them.

Fascinated in spite of their terror the captives stared into the
darkness. What new horror was going to reveal itself? At last they saw
it, dimly outlined in the smoke, moving slowly forward a step at a time.
It was another of the monsters and it was carrying something in its
arms. Foot by foot it advanced, and then bending forward it deposited
its burden on the floor, so that the light of the torches shone on it
clearly. And even Bill Blackett gasped in amazement: the burden was
nothing less than the blind dwarf.

"Merciful Heavens! miss," he whispered, "they're worshipping him. They
think he's some sort of god."

Over and over again the three torch bearers prostrated themselves so
that their foreheads touched the ground, whilst from the darkness
behind there commenced a deep chanting noise which grew in volume till
they were almost deafened. Then, abruptly, it ceased: the three torch
bearers straightened up: silence reigned. The only sign of movement came
from the dwarf whose head was turning from side to side in a frenzy of
fear.

Suddenly one of the monsters began what seemed to be an address. Sounds
which were clearly meant to be words were strung together in sentences;
and, whenever he paused, his companions, unseen in the smoke, answered
with grunts of approval.

To Bill the whole thing was complete gibberish: he could make neither
head nor tail of what the brute was saying. Once or twice he caught a
word that seemed to have a Spanish ring about it, but except for that it
was merely a jumble of meaningless sounds, which, coupled with the
stifling fumes from the torches tended to make him half conscious. He
still held Judy's hand in his, and he knew by the pressure of her head
on his shoulder and her heavy breathing that it was affecting her in the
same way. All the better, he reflected stupidly: pray heaven she
remained in that condition till Jim Maitland came--if he ever did.

And then suddenly one of the sailors opposite burst into a wild torrent
of Brazilian, to which Bill forced himself to listen. He only got the
bare gist of it, but that was sufficient to make his mouth go dry, and
tighten the grip of his arm round the girl's waist. Sacrifice--he'd
guessed that already, but he had hoped for time. Now from what this man
was screaming out, it was to be at once, unless... He listened
intently: then he too began to shout.

"Shut up, you lily-livered swine," he roared furiously. "By God! if I
could get at you I'd cut your throat."

The monsters had ceased as if surprised at this unexpected interruption,
and Bill scrambled to his feet.

"Hi! you blind man," he cried, "I don't know your name, but you listen
to me."

The dwarf turned his agonised face in Bill's direction.

"These things that have got us think you're a god. Do you get me? What
you say goes. It's up to you to decide what is going to happen. Now
there's a lady here--just a young slip of a girl. And somebody has got
to be sacrificed to you. At once. Now we've got to gain time, do you
see. There's a chance of our being rescued. And according to that spawn
of Satan opposite what these monsters have been saying is that it's
either got to be Miss Draycott or six of us. Now I'll be one of the six,
but as there's a God above unless you say that you wish her spared, I'll
get at you and kill you."

"How can I say anything," quavered the dwarf, "I don't know how to speak
to them."

"Leave it to me," howled the Brazilian sailor in broken English. "I tell
all right. I make understand. Why six of us--for one girl--you damned
Englishman."

And then breaking into Brazilian, a torrent of words came pouring from
his mouth to which Bill could only listen impotently. The three torch
bearers had turned their heads and were looking at him: the one that had
carried in the dwarf seemed to be listening also.

Suddenly Judy clutched Bill's arm.

"Listen," she whispered tensely. "Didn't you hear something?"

"Nothing except that damned dago," he answered. "What was it, miss?"

"There: there: again." She was shaking with excitement. "Bill: it was a
voice: it was Jim's voice."

"Steady on, miss. Mr. Maitland can't have got here from the yacht yet."

"I don't care: it was his voice. Oh! Listen, Bill: listen."

The sailor craned his ears, and at that moment there came a momentary
pause from the sailor opposite. And in that pause, quite distinctly from
somewhere above their heads, there came a low voice:

"Worship the dwarf."

And the voice was the voice of Jim Maitland. Apparently the others had
not heard it, and Bill turned to the girl, by this time as excited as
she was.

"You're right, miss," he muttered. "It's Mr. Maitland. Come on: let's do
what he says."

The Brazilian was off again, as Bill, taking Judy by the hand advanced
into the circle of light. And then with the utmost solemnity they
prostrated themselves on the ground in front of Dresler. The sailor,
surprised by this new development ceased talking: the monsters watched
in silence. And the dwarf, sensing that something strange was happening
called out in a terrified voice.

"What is it!" he cried. "Tell me for God's sake. I'm going mad."

"Keep it going, miss," muttered Bill. "It's our only hope. Good Lord!
what's happening now."

There had come a sudden stir amongst the ape-men, and out of the corner
of his eye Bill saw that a beam of light was flickering round the walls.
They jibbered and chattered to themselves as they watched it: then with
one accord they threw themselves on their faces. It was a message from
their god. At times it shone on the clouds of smoke: then finding an
opening it would pierce through them and light up one of the beast
faces. But always it moved on until at length it rested on the sailor
who had begun speaking again. And there it remained motionless, till his
voice died away and he stood there staring upwards stupidly.

There came a triumphant shout from one of the monsters, and the three
torch bearers sprang on the Brazilian who screamed like a wounded hare.
The one who had carried Dresler in seized the dwarf and pulled him up,
and a few seconds later all the ape-men had gone. So had the Brazilian
sailor. The prisoners were alone again in the darkness, with only the
reeking fumes left by the torches to remind them of the incredible scene
they had just witnessed.

But to Judy everything was different: Jim was there. How he had reached
them: what he was going to do next: how he had done what he had done she
did not stop to ask. The mere fact that he was on the spot was good
enough for her: somehow or other he was going to save them.

Suddenly she realised Bill was speaking.

"I can't make it out, miss," he was saying. "There must be a hole in the
roof somewhere through which he shone an electric torch. And then he
worked on the superstitions of these things. But how did he get here:
how did he know where we were? And how is he going to escape them now?"

From above was coming a repetition of the sounds of the former
sacrifice: the Brazilian sailor was following in the steps of the
Englishman. And Judy covered her ears with her hands in her endeavour
not to hear the poor wretch's screams of terror. At last they ceased:
the second victim had paid the penalty, and for a while there was
silence.

She had kept casting feverish glances in the direction of the passage,
hoping against hope that the flicker of Jim's torch might suddenly
appear, or that she might hear his voice close to her. But the darkness
had remained unbroken, and the only voice she had heard had been that of
the poor brute yelling above them.

And now as the silence continued she began to try and get some order
into the chaos of her mind. Bill was right of course: for some reason or
other these horrible creatures regarded the blind dwarf as a god. And in
him it seemed to her lay their best chance of safety. The trouble was
that, not unnaturally he was more terrified than any of them. They, at
any rate, could see what they were up against: whereas to him the
situation must appear doubly awful. To be utterly helpless in their
hands: to be picked up and carried by them would be enough to send him
off his head. And if that happened--what then? He would be useless as
far as helping any of them to escape was concerned.

Time dragged on; still no sign of Jim. And after a while she began to
lose heart. What could one man do, even a man like him, against a horde
of these foul monsters. Strong though he was she realised that he would
be like a child in the hands of one of them: what then could he hope to
do against fifty? Had he just postponed the inevitable for a short time?
Would it have been better if Bill had not shut up his knife?

And then another ghastly thought struck her: supposing they had already
got him. And killed him. Some of those yells might have come from Jim.
And if that was so she realised that she didn't mind what happened to
her.

At length nature asserted herself and she began to doze. Around her all
the others were fast asleep, except Bill who forced himself to keep
awake on the chance of getting another message from Jim. And it was his
sudden grip on her arm that awoke her, as much as the noise of a dull
boom accompanied by a distinct earth tremor.

"What is it, Bill?" she cried.

"Sounded to me like an explosion, miss," he answered. "And it came from
a long way off. Seems to have woken the brutes again, too."

Above them they could hear the ape-men moving about and talking to one
another excitedly. And then from a great distance there came faintly a
roar. It was caught up and repeated from closer at hand: then again from
quite near by. A signal of warning was being communicated through the
forest, and the effect on the monsters above was instantaneous.
Pandemonium broke loose: the ground over their heads shook so much that
lumps of earth were dislodged and fell on them.

"Can't have been a big gun," said Bill thoughtfully. "There couldn't be
a warship here, and if there was she wouldn't fire. Besides we'd have
heard the shell burst."

He struck a match and looked at his watch: two hours now before
daylight. And he was just blowing it out when his eyes fell on a twisted
piece of paper lying at his feet. He snatched it up, and opened it out:
it was a note from Jim.

"It's from Mr. Maitland, miss," he cried excitedly. "He must have
dropped it through when he spoke to us that time. You read it while I
light some more matches."

With their heads together they pored over it.

"Do not be alarmed whatever happens," it ran. "Obey me implicitly, and
we'll do it yet. As a last resource I have a revolver. The crucial time
will be after the explosion. Then keep your heads close together."

"That's now, miss," muttered Bill. "And here come the brutes back
again."

The torch bearers were returning along the passage: the others came
crowding behind them. And it was clear that they were in a furious
passion. Angry, snarling grunts came from all sides and the prisoners
cowered back against the walls. The dwarf instead of being placed
reverently on the ground was thrown down with such force that he lay
there half stunned: evidently his period of godhead was over. And the
leader of the monsters, its face convulsed with bestial rage shambled
round the circle peering at each victim in turn.

Suddenly it paused, and a hush fell on them. Once again that mysterious
circle of light was playing round on their upturned faces, and Judy
clutched Bill's hand. Jim was there once more. The light danced here and
there, until it finally centred on the dwarf where it remained steady.
And with a bellow of rage one of the ape-men picked him up.

Instantly the light began to move again, and the great brutes paused.
What further victim did their god desire save this false imposter? Round
the waiting circle the beam moved, lighting up each face in turn and
then on to the next. And suddenly Bill remembered the letter.

"Then keep your heads close together."

He leaned over till his cheek touched Judy's.

"Orders, miss," he whispered. "It's us this time, or I'm a Dutchman."

He could feel her body quivering against his; the light was only two
away. Once more it moved: and then again. Their two faces showed up
clear in the beam, and the beam remained steady.

An ape-man dashed at them: the light went out, and the monster paused.
Once more it shone out, and from above them came the order "Get up."
Bill helped her up, the light shining on their faces as they moved. And
once more two of the monsters came at them. Instantly the light went out
again, and the brutes halted, evidently puzzled. Their god clearly did
not wish these two victims to be touched.

"Move."

Another laconic order, and with the light again illuminating their heads
they walked towards the entrance tunnel. The ape-men thronged round them
till Judy thought she was going to faint with horror. But they did not
touch her, and with Bill's arm supporting her she stumbled along the
narrow passage.

The beam from above had ceased: only the flickering yellow light from
the three torches showed the way. In front of her she could see the
agonised face of the dwarf, as he was carried along by one of the
monsters, and in spite of all he had done, she could not help feeling
sorry for him. He could be no help to them now: he was just a fellow
victim more helpless far than they were.

At length they reached the open air, and she drew great gulps of it into
her lungs until she felt steadier on her feet. Then still clinging to
Bill's arm she peered round half hoping to see Jim. It was dark, but not
with the overpowering blackness of the underground prison they had left.
And as her eyes grew accustomed to it she realised they were standing in
a big clearing. The shadowy forms of the ape-men were moving about:
close by them stood two of the hideous monsters. And one of them
suddenly put out its hand and touched her on the shoulder.

She gave a little scream, and shrank closer to Bill. But the pressure
continued and she found herself being forced forward, while the sailor
kept close by her side. The clearing narrowed into a track, then widened
out again into another open space. And the ape-man's grip tightened so
that she stood still.

The monsters were curiously silent: there was a feeling of tension in
the air. By the light of the torches she could see their eyes shining as
they crouched in a semi-circle round her. In front of her stood the one
carrying the dwarf, and at its feet there gleamed a streak of something
on the ground. Water: the smoky flames were reflected in it as by a
mirror. And beyond the water--nothing.

Suddenly a sound that was half a gasp ran round the motionless watchers,
and Bill clutched her arm. The darkness beyond the water was becoming
faintly luminous. The monster holding the dwarf put his burden on the
ground and fell flat on its face: the others prostrated themselves
likewise, as the luminosity increased. And with curiosity overcoming her
terror Judy stared at this extraordinary phenomenon.

The centre of the light seemed to be about six feet from the ground, and
as it grew stronger and stronger the ape-men began to manifest signs of
increasing terror. The torch bearers had dropped their burdens, which
lay smoking on the ground, and had thrown themselves on their faces
also. Only Judy and Bill still stood up, with the misshapen figure of
Dresler just in front of them moving restlessly about on his stunted
legs.

At last the light focussed itself into a definite nucleus: a circle some
three inches in diameter that shone steadily. Around the circle it grew
fainter till it faded into the general darkness. Gradually the nucleus
increased in size, and as it did so the agitation of the monsters became
extreme. A low wailing noise came from them, and the leader began to
beat its great chest with its hands. And then with startling suddenness
the nucleus of light expanded and grew until it took the form of a
luminous face hanging in mid air.

"It's a trick, miss," muttered Bill, though his voice was shaking a
little. "It must be a trick of Mr. Maitland's."

She stared at it fascinated, and though she knew Bill was right her
mouth felt a little dry, and her knees were inclined to shake. There was
something inconceivably ghostly about the dismembered head floating in
the air in front of her, with its reflection glinting in the water. Its
features were Mongolian and evil, and in its forehead was a black patch
from which no light shone.

The monsters were beside themselves with fright, though none of them
seemed to be able to pluck up enough courage to go. And she was just
wondering what was going to happen next when there came a scream from
the dwarf. The leading ape-man had risen to his feet and was holding
Dresler high above his head. It gave a heave with its mighty shoulders,
and flung the dwarf clean over the water towards the shining head. Then
once again it threw itself on its face.

They heard the dwarf land with a crash in some undergrowth: then
silence, broken only by a faint rustling noise. A further sacrifice had
been offered--but how? The fall could not have killed him. Motionless
the monsters waited, their eyes fixed on the spot. And then came a shout
from the dwarf.

"Help me! They're all round me. Ah-h----"

The shriek died away in his throat, and Judy gave a little moan. There
was something too horrible in this unknown terror of the darkness. What
were all round him? They could hear him stumbling about on the other
side of the water moaning pitifully. And then again he shrieked.

"I can't stand this," muttered Bill. "The poor brute is blind."

He took a step forward, and then occurred a thing so unexpected that he
stopped, rooted to the spot. There came a hissing noise, and leaving a
trail of sparks behind it, a rocket soared up from behind the luminous
face. It burst above them, and for a space the clearing was lit up as
brightly as if it was day.

With yells of terror the ape-men scattered in every direction, until
Bill and Judy were left standing alone in the centre. And as if turned
to stone they stared fascinated at the sight in front of them. The head
was the head of an idol, its luminosity no longer showing in the
brilliant light that flooded the place. But it was not at the idol they
were looking.

Standing below it, in some low undergrowth was the dwarf. And even as
they watched him a deadly yellow-brown head raised itself to a level
with his face, and struck twice. They looked at the edge of the water:
the coarse grass was moving. Another swaying head raised itself and
hissed angrily: another and yet another. They watched them writhing in
every direction as the dwarf blundered about: they saw him bitten twice
more before the light died out. The place was a heaving mass of snakes.

Then as the head once more grew luminous, and the smoking torches still
guttered on the floor, there came a sudden splash. The dwarf by chance
had found the water and came blundering through it. His face was
distorted with agony: twelve times had he been bitten. And he barely
reached the edge before he gave one final moan, fell on his face and
with a last dreadful convulsion lay still. Emil Dresler, blackmailer,
white slave trafficker and arch-scoundrel was dead.

All round them the ape-men moved restlessly in the dense growth that
formed the sides of the clearing. Occasionally they saw two gleaming
eyes staring at them, but the brutes themselves did not dare to venture
into the open. And then the movement ceased: eyes were watching from
everywhere, as if waiting for something.

Judy turned round: what was happening now? The leading ape-man was just
behind her: its hands were coming out to seize her. And with a pitiful
scream--"Bill save me," she felt herself picked up as if she was a child
above the brute's head, and carried towards the edge of the water. She
was the next sacrifice.

Bill had sprung forward fumbling madly with his knife, when suddenly she
found herself deposited once more on the ground. And forcing herself to
look at the monstrous thing towering above her she saw that it was
staring at the idol with a puzzled expression in its eyes. She looked
herself, and to her amazement saw that the luminous head had
disappeared. And yet there was still a diffused light which came from
the direction of the idol.

Two of the torches had died out: the third gave but a feeble flicker, so
that the darkness was almost complete. And gradually there rose from
behind the idol two shining hands followed once more by the face. The
idol itself was moving, and with a bellow of fear the ape-man flung
himself down. Upwards rose the hands, but Judy with every nerve tingling
had her eyes riveted on the face. For now the features were not evil and
Mongolian: the features were the features of Jim Maitland. What he had
done, what trick he was playing she neither knew nor cared: Jim was
there and nothing else mattered.

Fascinated she watched him: what was he going to do next? Very steadily
the face rose till it seemed an incredible height in the air. Then it
came rushing through the air towards her, and she realised Jim had
jumped. From all around her came roars of terror, and the sounds of
heavy bodies stampeding through the undergrowth. Their god had come to
life.

Jim landed in the water, and then with measured step he approached the
one prostrate ape-man who remained. It rose to its feet and backed away
whimpering, followed by those terrible shining hands, and face. And as
Jim passed Judy he muttered "Follow me."

It forced the monster to the entrance of the clearing; then with a
sudden bound he sprang at it, and placed both his hands on its chest.
And there marked in fire on the brute's body were the imprints of his
fingers. They remained there glowing in the darkness, and as the ape-man
looked down and saw the marks of its god gleaming on its own chest its
nerve broke completely. It gave one gigantic bound, and disappeared into
the forest: the three of them were alone.

"Come," said Jim quietly, "We've got no time to lose. The effect of my
ju-ju may not last long."

"But how did you do it, Jim?" cried the girl breathlessly.

"That will keep, Judy," he answered. "What we've got to do now is to
make tracks for the motor-boat and Percy."

"What about the others, Mr. Maitland?" said Bill.

"We'll open the barrier for them," said Jim, "but after that they must
fend for themselves. There will be no room for them on board the boat."

"What about the yacht?"

"Unless I'm very much mistaken there is no longer a yacht," answered the
other gravely. "Percy has done his work passing well. Now then--heave on
this, Bill: again so--and again."

The heavy barrier slid back: the way to the tunnel was open.

"You are free," shouted Jim down it. "Make your way to the north end of
the island, and we'll try and rescue you later. Quick now, you two: we
can't have them following us."

He darted across the main clearing the other two at his heels. A
luminous patch glowed faintly on a tree, which marked the entrance to
one of the paths, and a moment later they were running down the track.
They came to a fork: another luminous spot showed them the direction.
And at every point where there might be any doubt the same sign was
found.

"I marked the places where we might go wrong on my way," explained Jim.
"Lord! but it's been touch and go."

He slowed up to a walk: then stopped to listen. From behind them still
came the sounds of the ape-men calling to one another, and once they
heard a shrill human scream.

"I don't give much for the chances of those other poor devils," said Jim
gravely. "But it would have had to be all or none, and we couldn't have
taken more than two at the utmost."

He pushed on again, with the luminosity gradually fading from his face
and hands, until at length he came to the alligator pool where he forked
right down stream. And after about a quarter of a mile he let out a hail
which was answered from in front of them. Percy was there in the
motor-boat.

"Yes, dear," he said quietly as he lifted her on board, "it was touch
and go."

For a second they were alone, and she put her arms round his neck.

"I don't know how you did it, Jim," she whispered, "but I think you're
the most wonderful man on earth."

Which was the moment that Percy would choose to appear.

"Welcome, wench," he remarked. "Dear me! how very strange. I'd no idea
that phosphorus travelled aerially so to speak."

"What are you blathering about, you unspeakable mess," demanded Jim, and
then happening to glance at Judy's face he made a dive for his cousin.
For her lips were luminous, and the method by which they had become so
was not hard to guess.

"I just can't believe I'm back here," said the girl a few minutes later.
"Can you, Bill?"

The boat was nosing down the river towards the open sea.

"I can't, miss," he said solemnly. "How did you manage it, Mr.
Maitland?"

"Well, Bill, one thing stood out a mile."

The first streaks of dawn were beginning to show in the east, and the
three of them were sprawling on the deck with Percy at the wheel.

"The only possible hope was to frighten those brutes by something which
they would regard as supernatural. Gun work was useless: there were far
too many of them. And it was then that I remembered that I'd stowed a
pot of luminous paint amongst our kit for the very purpose I used it for
in the forest--marking a trail by night.

"Now Percy and I had been to the spot where we found you yesterday
afternoon, and while there we had fallen through an ancient type of trap
into the very place where you were imprisoned. And there we killed one
of the monsters. But the barrier was open at the end of the tunnel so we
escaped all right. The point however is that I knew where you would be
taken to, which was a very great advantage.

"Then came the second discovery--made by Percy. For what purpose they
brought it I don't know--probably in case blasting was necessary--but
there was a large quantity of dynamite on board the yacht. So we
concocted a plan. By the way--what happened to her, Percy?"

"All in good time, Jim: you carry on."

"Percy was to land me complete with phosphorus paint, and then return to
the yacht. Three quarters of an hour later, so as to give me time to get
to you he was to let drive on the siren. I told him to send O.K. to
cheer you up, but the real object was to draw as many of the monsters
away from you and back to the yacht as possible. It succeeded admirably:
at least thirty of them went crashing past me in the forest."

"And thirty of them came on board the yacht," put in Percy. "When I
heard 'em down there by the water's edge, I laid a ten minute fuse to
the dynamite, and hooked it in the motor-boat. She split open like a
rotten apple, Jim, and sank at once, and I think the little pretties
were all in her at the time."

They had reached the open sea, and all around them the water was strewn
with wreckage.

"Pity," said Jim. "She was a nice boat. However so much for that. To go
back to you and Judy. I had no idea, of course, what was going to
happen, or how those brutes proposed to deal with you. I'd heard the
screams of a man as I went through the forest."

"That was the Englishman they sacrificed first," said Bill.

"Also shouts from someone else whose voice seemed familiar. And you can
guess my amazement when I realised as I got nearer that that someone
else was none other than Dresler, who had been abducted from the
motor-boat earlier. Moreover they were obviously making a god of him,
and the reason suddenly dawned on me. The golden idol which they worship
is made in the form of a misshapen dwarf, and they probably thought that
Dresler was this idol come to life.

"However all those who hadn't gone to the yacht were below with you, and
by peering through a chink in the booby trap, which apparently is not
set when they are there I could see you quite distinctly. And I could
also hear that unpleasant Brazilian sailor. So since it was essential to
find out the way they went to work, I thought he would be an admirable
person to start on.

"Well the trick with the electric torch succeeded, and they brought him
up whilst I hid in the undergrowth. They lashed his feet and his
hands--just as we found Lopez, Percy--and threw him over the water
towards the idol. And there they left him to be bitten to death by _fer
de lance_ and poisonous adders--just about as deadly a combination as
you could get. Moreover a complication on which I had not reckoned.

"You see I'd already made up my mind that the only hope lay in playing
the fool with their idol. But the point that now arose was how the devil
I was going to get to it. A _fer de lance_ is no respecter of persons,
and as you saw for yourselves that ground was alive with the brutes,
which were imprisoned there by the water. However I knew it had got to
be chanced, but I had to wait till the explosion took place. I guessed
that would rouse them, and it was essential to get you and Bill up from
below while it was still dark, or else my luminous paint fell flat.

"It all worked according to plan except that for some reason or other
they turned on Dresler. However that didn't matter: he richly deserved
all he got. I got through the snake belt by wrapping my coat round my
legs; then I stood behind the idol on a sort of pedestal place. And the
rest you know. First I rubbed its face with the paint: then I hoped that
the rocket would finish them. But it didn't. So I covered the idol's
head with my coat and decorated my own hands and face keeping hidden
behind it while I did so. And that's that."

"Not bad for you either, James," remarked Percy kindly. "Sorry I wasn't
in at the death but I quite enjoyed myself this end. Great fun seeing
that yacht blow up. Hullo! do my eyes deceive me, or are those some of
the little pets on the edge of the swamp?"

Jim snatched up the field-glasses. The sun had risen: the mist had
lifted from the bog which stretched away to their left. And as he
watched a peculiar smile flickered round his lips. There were more than
a dozen of the ape-men, and they were clustering round a small squat
object that lay on the ground. Then with a great effort they lifted it,
and flung it into the swamp. For a while they stood there: then they
vanished into the forest.

"Half a million gone west," he remarked. "Assuredly I damaged that god's
reputation. And I guess it's just as well that I spent some of my spare
time removing this while I stood behind it."

From his pocket he drew a huge red stone the size of a hen's egg. It lay
in his hand like a ball of crimson fire; then he held it out to Judy.

"That's for you, bless you," he said. "And you richly deserve it after
all you've gone through."

She looked at it quietly for a moment or two: then she glanced up at
Jim.

"It's a ruby, isn't it?" she asked.

"It certainly is," he answered. "Moreover I should say that it literally
is priceless."

"And you give it to me?"

"That," he remarked, "is the idea."

She stared at him steadily, a strange look in her eyes. Then with a
quick movement she flung it overboard, and with that streak of
glittering red light there vanished for ever the last of the treasure.

"I couldn't bear it, Jim," she cried. "It's haunted. We would never have
a moment's peace while we had it."

"We?" he said, taking both her hands in his.

The others had gone below: they were alone.

"That," she repeated softly, "is the idea."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus ended the strange adventure of Lone Tree Island. No trace was ever
found of the members of the yacht's crew, who perforce had been left
behind: in fact the island was reported to be uninhabited. But sometimes
o' nights an expression comes over Jim's face which makes Judy look at
him suspiciously. Is there still treasure hidden somewhere in that
forest guarded by the survivors of the ape-men? Is there perchance
another god of solid gold in some undiscovered clearing? Who knows? And
as far as Judy is concerned there is one person who certainly never
will--her husband.


                                THE END




Printed and Bound in Canada

Press of The Hunter-Rose Co.; Limited, Toronto




[End of The Island of Terror, by Sapper]
