Island of Terror Page 13

  “Quite right, Bill,” said Jim thoughtfully. “When is the next boat in from England?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” 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 tomorrow.”

  “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 tomorrow 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 Montevideo. 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 tomorrow: 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 tomorrow. 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 tonight. 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 tomorrow, 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 role, 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.”