Island of Terror Read online

  “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 Montevideo,” 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.

  “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 tomorrow, 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 tomorrow,” 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 tomorrow. 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 notic
ed 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 tonight. 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.

  CHAPTER 8

  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 weekend 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. Corcovado, with the gigantic half-completed Christ on the summit: Sugar Loaf Hill by the aerial rope-way: Copacabana 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 motorcar 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,

&nb
sp; 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 halfway through lunch.

  “We’ll get off tomorrow,” he announced, “and it’s 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.”