Mystery of the Ambush in India. Adams Andy
Maybe he had even told them that he would lure Biff here.
Until now, Biff had had a chance either for fight or flight. Those were both gone, and if he didn’t suffocate in this bandbox, he would probably be yanked out and torn apart before he could even make a move. He was so tightly jammed, he couldn’t even reach into his pocket and find the ruby, which he felt was the real cause of his misfortune, despite the soft talk Diwan Chand had given him.
Even now, Biff heard voices: “Farangi – we find him – look there…” And he could hear crates being turned over close by. Next, the shouters were clambering in and out of the cabinet itself, for Biff could feel it shake and the hoarse, snarly voices were almost at his elbow. They were even pulling the pagoda out from the wall, for its platform was set on wheels; and they were literally spinning it about, with Biff still inside it, yet for some reason, they passed by him in the blackness.
More shouts, louder crashes were suddenly punctuated by pistol shots, leading to a last round of tumult that soon died. Biff heard receding footsteps; then came a deadly silence, which was even worse. Biff felt totally helpless and abandoned, unable to move, afraid even to call for help. He was drenched in perspiration, and why he hadn’t suffocated or been found he couldn’t understand, until a sharp click interrupted his numbed thoughts.
Biff lurched forward, found the front doors and stepped shakily from the pagoda cabinet to find one person in the dim light of the warehouse waiting, grinning, to receive him. That was Chandra.
Briefly, the Indian boy explained things.
“They took a good look for you, all right,” he said. “Some of them did, anyway, while the rest kept fighting each other. They looked a lot, but they didn’t find you – or me.”
“But where did you go, Chandra?”
“Back in basket that brought me here,” replied Chandra, widening his grin. He reached past a crate, pulled out the basket, squatted in it and suddenly squirmed from sight, as if the basket were bottomless. Biff looked in and was amazed to see nothing except a heap of old cloth.
Then, the heap stirred, and Chandra twisted into view from the basket’s bulging sides where he had artfully coiled his thin, agile body.
“So that’s how you vanished!” exclaimed Biff. “Why, you were still in the basket when the two men took it away!”
“How else could I get here so quick?” retorted Chandra. “They are friends of Jinnah Jad, who show up with basket at the right time. This godown is where Jinnah Jad keeps all his tricks, like the new pagoda he built to make people vanish. So I put you there.”
“And I was thinking – ”
Biff cut himself short, but Chandra picked him up.
“You think maybe the big ruby made you invisible,” declared Chandra, “as it is supposed to do. But no, it was the pagoda trick. It hid you, the basket hid me.”
Biff was cooler now, and he felt an actual shudder as he looked around at the wreckage and saw some silent human figures lying near the gate to the courtyard. Otherwise, the warehouse was deserted, except for Biff and Chandra.
“But where did they all go, Chandra?” Biff asked.
“You heard shooting?” returned Chandra. “That was the police. They came to help Diwan Chand. Lucky they didn’t use tear gas, which they do a lot. We would have gotten it, too.”
Chandra was looking around at the broken boxes. He saw one that interested him and beckoned Biff that way.
“We must get out before police come back and ask us to be witnesses,” declared Chandra. “But the people who are after the ruby will be watching for you. So you must wear other clothes – like these.”
Chandra was picking some native garments from those that had been dumped from an overturned chest. Studying Biff, Chandra noted the deep tan that Biff had acquired during his long voyage on the Northern Star.
“Your face is dark enough,” decided Chandra, “but your light hair will have to be hidden. So we will make you into a Sikh. A Sikh always wears a turban. That will fool everyone.”
Soon, Biff was attired in a costume that made him feel top-heavy. It consisted of shorts, shirt, and jacket, and a huge turban, which completely covered Biff’s ears as well as his head, after Chandra helped him wrap it. They bundled up Biff’s clothes along with some other garments and went out by the rear gate.
It was fortunate that both were in native garb, because Biff could sense that eyes were watching them as they followed the street to the market place. Chandra knew it too, for he said, “Don’t look around. They will suspect us if you do.”
There were natives in the market place, gathered in little clusters, discussing the recent riot. They glanced at the boys as they passed, but that was all. Chandra gave a pleased chuckle, then added cautiously, “It looks good now, but still we play it safe. We go the long way, past the thana.”
By thana, Chandra meant police headquarters, a place that suspicious characters would avoid. After passing it, the boys were satisfied that they were not being followed, so they doubled back to the New India Bazaar, where they saw Li and Kamuka studying the passersby from the doorway of a sporting goods shop.
It was Biff’s move now. He eased up to Li, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Salaam, Sahib.” Li turned and blinked puzzled at the face beneath the turban until Biff could no longer restrain a grin.
“Biff!” exclaimed Li. “But where – and why – ”
“We can’t talk here,” interposed Biff. “Meet me around the corner and bring Kamuka.”
Chandra was with Biff when the other boys arrived. After introducing the Indian youth, Biff said:
“I must go to New Delhi. If Chandra can go with me, it is up to him to decide who can accompany us.”
“I can go,” Chandra assured him, “and Kamuka, too. But not Li.” He turned to the Hawaiian youth. “Too many people saw you with Biff while you were watching Jinnah Jad make jadoo. You might be recognized, one because of the other.”
Before Li could even show the disappointment that he felt, Biff softened the situation.
“Somebody will have to go up to Darjeeling,” he reminded his friend, “to tell the family where I’ve gone. Canceling those extra plane reservations and handling our luggage is a tough job, too. It looks like you’re elected, Li.”
Li not only was elected; he did his job well. He went to the Grand Hotel and returned by taxi, rejoining the group at a restaurant that Chandra had specified. Li had canceled the air reservations without difficulty; he had brought hiking packs for Biff and Kamuka, and he had arranged for shipment of the excess baggage.
After a substantial meal, Li returned to the hotel by cab, to catch the Darjeeling plane. The other boys boarded a big bus for Howrah, across the river. Biff and Kamuka looked down from the tremendous cantilever span and viewed the muddy Hooghly, hoping to spot the Northern Star moored in the dim distance. They were talking about it – in English, unfortunately – when Chandra hissed for silence.
They realized then that they were an odd group as it was – too odd to be using English as a common language. Biff, whose features didn’t properly match his Sikh’s costume; Kamuka, who might have come from an upcountry tribe, but was wearing European clothes; Chandra, who with his dhoti and jacket, looked like a jadoo wallah’s boy, which was exactly what he was, and therefore the most outlandish of the trio.
In short, they were attracting too much attention. Biff and Kamuka promptly subsided. Biff, particularly, felt that he should show some dignity, so he did, by looking squarely at the other passengers, until he caught the eye of a distinguished-looking man across the aisle.
The man had a large beard and a huge turban, which marked him as a Sikh, and a genuine one. He was studying Biff with sharp eyes that continued their piercing probe until the bus reached Howrah Station. Then, as they were stepping from the bus, the bearded Sikh suddenly spoke to Biff in what was their own common