Читать книгу The Secret of the Desert - Coutts Brisbane - Страница 6

Table of Contents

FROM below came the first choked splutter of the starting motor, then it settled into stride. Throwing himself flat, Girvan loosed the stops of the windlass.

"Go astern!" he yelled.

Some one repeated the order, the Rockabelle backed away from her anchor, the cable paid out. As though they realized that their prey was escaping them, the unseen riflemen redoubled their fire, concentrating on the bows.

"There must be some sailors amongst those scoundrels!" thought Girvan. "They want to keep us here. Way enough! Full speed ahead!" he bellowed.

The cable had drawn taut. Bullets were flying as thick as hailstones about the forecastle, several struck the windlass. It wouldn't have been healthy to rise and loose the shackle that held the cable end. Girvan whipped out his knife, slashed the tough rope, it gave with a loud snap, the severed end snaked through the hawse-hole and splashed under the bow. Then, losing her stern way, the Rockabelle began to forge ahead, gathering speed.

"Hard over!" Girvan stooped and raced aft, throwing himself down beside Kettle, who, prone on the deck, was twirling the wheel.

Jim, who had started the motor, appeared in the hatchway, ducked as a bullet whistled past his nose and came across the deck snake fashion. A group of men lay about Lobo and the other fellow who had been hit, passing Tommy Paston strips torn from a shirt. One of them had fetched the skipper's medicine kit. There was a sharp tang of iodine in the air.

The Rockabelle came round in a half-circle and headed down the inlet. For a minute longer the firing continued, then, with a last flurry, ceased.

"Keep down!" bellowed Girvan, and it was well he did, for a few moments later came another burst, even more furious. It lasted, perhaps, twenty seconds, then ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

"Just so! They thought they'd catch us on our feet," said Girvan. "Two men forward! Keep down! Starboard a little, Kettle!"

The Rockabelle forged on. The falling tide was with her, and she made good way. There was no more firing, and presently the schooner was well out of range. Jim, who had been using his glasses, thought he saw a movement, but he couldn't be sure, for the shimmering waves of hot air above the heated sand distorted everything.

"You can get up now," called Girvan, and, having seen that the wounded men were comfortably stowed, bellowed for Ah Sin, who, during all the racket, had kept up a continuous screaming. "Shut off the siren now!" he commanded. "Why did you make that row?"

Ah Sin was trembling all over as he crawled out of his galley on hands and knees, looking fearfully back at the shore that had held such a deadly surprise.

"No wantee be killee!" he moaned. "No likee!"

"I don't likee, either. No one does. But that's no reason for squealing like a demented rabbit!" rumbled Girvan. "Now tell me, have you ever heard anything about this inlet? Have you heard of any shell up here? Any poachers?"

"Yes!" wailed Ah Sin, his yellow face streaming with tears. "Piecee fella walkee 'long thlis way. Piecee Jap. Sneak shell. Killee two Chinaman las' year. Velly bad men!"

"Then why the deuce couldn't you tell me when we came in?" roared Girvan. "And if there's shell in the inlet, and they've been taking it, why aren't there any signs along the beaches?"

"No can tellee. Not knowing. Thlink them gone 'way. Flaid you laughee along of me tellee."

"Oh, get along with you and get us something to eat!" snapped Girvan, and went aloft. Tommy and Jim joined him.

"We're well out of this," said Paston, after a silent scrutiny of the shores. "What do we do now?"

"Get along and report at Thursday Island. If there's a gunboat she'll come round and scour the place. I suppose Ah Sin heard the correct explanation. A gang of Jap and probably Malay poachers. But—"

"That doesn't explain the disappearing schooner," put in Jim. "And it seems to me these fellows were under jolly good fire control," said Tommy. "You'd say they were disciplined. Have you looked over Lancing's papers yet? And are we going to tow that yawl all the way to Thursday Island?"

"Yes, we'll try to take her there. I haven't looked at the letters and the notebook yet. Let's do it now!"

The letters were from a friend of Lancing's in London, and contained only casual gossip.

"Nothing in these. Nothing in the other books aboard, I think, except notes about butterflies and beetles. But this was in his pocket," said Girvan, turning over the notebook.

It was about seven inches by five, made up of thin parchment paper, with a line of perforation along the inner margins to allow of a leaf being detached. There were several sketches on the first few leaves, one of a bit of marsh with a group of buffaloes, done swiftly but with great spirit. Another of a curious bird with a crest, accompanied by notes of its colouring. A third page was covered with notes about the habits of an ant.

There followed several blank pages, then halfway down one a hasty scribble:

"Unfortunate necessity. Two buffaloes attacked me. Had to shoot them. They charged fire, but, fortunately, saw them in time. Very narrow escape. Found one had been lately wounded by bullet. This confirms suspicions that men are somewhere in neighbourhood. Tomorrow I will..."

Girvan turned the page. The two following had been torn out. There was a smear of blood on the narrow margin left in the book.

"That's odd!" murmured Tommy Paston, looking over his shoulder. "See, the following sheets are indented. That means he wrote on those two. It looks as if he had written after he was shot, doesn't it? Then why did he tear the pages out? Let me have the thing."

He held the page beyond the gap sideways to the light, allowing the indentations made by the pencil-point through the thin paper to show.

"Two pages overlaid. No, it's too mixed up to read," he said, and turned several more pages. "Hallo! Here's something! A sheet of carbon paper. Um! It's mixed up, but..."

He held up the open book. Upon the page displayed was a confused jumble of writing in the faint black of the carbon.

"The words written separately on two pages have been transferred to this one," went on Tommy. "This is the missing stuff. Very shaky and uneven writing, apparently. 'Strange...heavy...tion.' No, I can't read it!"

"And no one else, either. It's all a jumble," Jim said. "What a pity! He must have written about the hounds who killed him. Perhaps he found out who they were, or something of the sort."

"I can't read it in its present condition," went on Paston. "But I know how it can be done. I'll have it photographed and have a magic-lantern slide made of it. When the enlarged image is thrown on a screen, we'll be able to pick out one lot of words from the other. If there's a secret hidden there, we'll discover it."

"Then we'll have to wait till we get home. Meanwhile I'll stow the thing away in my safe. But why, in the name of all that's mysterious, did Lancing destroy those two pages after taking the trouble to write them, especially when he was dying?"

"But was it he who destroyed them?" asked Tommy Paston.

"Who else?"

And, shaking his head, Captain Girvan gathered up letters and notebook and stowed them in his cabin safe.

As they neared the mouth of the inlet, a breeze came off the land and sail was hoisted. A little after noon the Rockabelle reached the open waters of the gulf and shaped away for the tip of the York Peninsula and Thursday Island. It was as the schooner was put over on the long board to the northwards that Girvan, going aft, glanced over the rail to see what sort of weather Lancing's yawl was making. The little vessel had disappeared.

Girvan hauled in the short length that remained of the tow-line and examined it. It had been cut more than half through, and the remaining strands had snapped. It was a clean cut.

"May have been done by a bullet. Must have been done by a bullet. There were enough of them flying about. Then the rope gave way under the strain. I suppose we left the yawl somewhere up the inlet. Can't be helped. We got everything out of her, anyhow," thought Girvan, and let it go at that.