The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories. Sapper
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.
CHAPTER 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