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