Biggles Takes A Holiday Read online

  For the most part the leathery leaves showed green against a solid background of shadow, although here and there the graceful fronds of a tree-fern, or a cluster of brilliant flowers, stood out in sharp relief. Lianas wound round every trunk and bough, passing from tree to tree to form a great network of cables. Raucous cries of birds could be heard far above, in the towering crowns of the trees, but few could be seen. Humming birds, and an occasional gorgeous butterfly, using the river for a highway, were the only living things that moved. Apart from these the brooding forest yielded no secrets. It gave no sign, either of welcome or resentment. It merely seemed to watch, confident of its strength, the noisy, busy, impudent intruders of its domain.

  “Let’s get ashore and stretch our legs,” suggested Biggles. “I think there’s enough water for us to make fast to the bank. If everything is all right, and it seems to be, we might make this our base. There’s plenty of room to get off again should we have to. According to my reckoning we’re within easy striking distance of this alleged paradise. It shouldn’t be more than a hundred miles or so, and that’s near enough for our immediate purpose. Okay everybody; let’s get cracking.”

  In an hour the machine was snug against the bank, its tanks topped up from the reserve supply of petrol that had been carried in the cabin. A small area of undergrowth had been cleared to permit the erection of a camouflaged bell tent; in it, food, fuel and equipment not urgently required had been stored. From a frying-pan balanced precariously on a Primus stove, tended by Bertie, arose the appetising aroma of sausages and bacon. Tea had already been made; Ginger, with his jack knife, carved a loaf of bread into hunks.

  “You know, old boy, if it wasn’t for the beastly bugs and what-nots this wouldn’t be a bad spot—no, by Jove, not bad at all,” observed Bertie, making a swipe at a wasp before impaling a sausage with a neat thrust.

  “A lot of other people have made the same remark,” replied Biggles, examining the ground carefully before sitting down. “Unfortunately, no one has yet thought of a way of liquidating the pests.”

  “Everything that walks, crawls, flies, or swims, seems to be permanently hungry,” put in Ginger.

  “I’m feeling a bit that way myself,” averred Bertie, reaching for another sausage. “Nibbling chocolate in an aircraft is no meal for a grown-up man, by gad.”

  After this there was silence for a while, for all were hungry after the long flight.

  “This place seems all right; we might as well make it our dump,” said Biggles presently.

  “From what I remember of it from topsides it won’t be an easy place to find,” asserted Algy. “Did you notice any landmarks?”

  “No,” admitted Biggles. “This infernal forest is all alike. We shall have to fix in our mind’s eye a picture of this particular stretch of the river. But somebody will usually be here and at a pinch could light a smoke fire.”

  The meal finished and the remains tidied up, Biggles lit a cigarette and called a final conference.

  “First of all, let’s be quite clear about why we’re here,” he began. “Our primary object is to get Angus out of this mess he’s fallen into. Our first job, then, will be to find out if he’s still alive. If he is, the next thing will be to get him away. That may not be easy if he’s down with fever. If this scheming doctor has had all his money we’ll make him cough it up. If he kicks at that we’ll take it from him, bearing in mind that he got it by false pretences. This little show is costing us a packet of money anyway so I don’t feel inclined to let Liebgarten get away with it. Those are the main targets. A complication is likely to be the other people here, but if there are still any British among them who want to go home we shan’t very well be able to leave them behind. That goes for everybody, up to a point, although we shall have to be a bit more careful about handling foreigners. Some may want to stay; if so, that’s okay with us. Common humanity demands that this place is given a thorough spring-cleaning, but it is not really for us to do it. As far as Angus is concerned it is of course a personal matter. With the others—well, we can expose the racket, and leave it to the respective governments to take care of their own nationals.”

  “You’re not thinking of hauling Leibgarten out and handing him over to the authorities?” queried Algy.

  “Certainly not,” returned Biggles without hesitation. “We might tell him what we think of him, but we’ve absolutely no right to interfere with a man on his own ground, on the territory of a friendly nation, whether it’s Argentina, Bolivia or Paraguay. That’s their affair, although no doubt if the racket is exposed they’ll do something about it. As it is, I’m quite sure they have no idea what’s going on or they wouldn’t tolerate it. But if this fellow Liebgarten is to all intents and purposes a respectable citizen, one who has bought his land and pays his taxes, it might be difficult to make a case against him. He might well argue that his colony idea was a perfectly genuine one, genuine and practicable; if the people haven’t the guts, the ability or the capital, to put the thing over, that’s not his responsibility— and there would be a certain amount of truth in that. Maybe the fellow is trying to turn the place into a little paradise—or that may have been his intention when he started. That it hasn’t panned out as he hoped was due to circumstances beyond his control. Other people have made similar experiments, but almost without exception they have ended in failure. Liebgarten may be a plain downright crook. On the other hand he may be merely a crank, and while cranks are dangerous people to have anything to do with they are not necessarily criminals. But no doubt we shall be able to satisfy ourselves as to what he really is when we’ve had a word with him.”

  Ginger looked up. “Do I understand from that remark that you are going to call on him?”

  “What else? I’m not going to crawl into the place like a housebreaker, or crash into it like a commando. It’s always a good thing to keep an open mind until you have something tangible to work on. After all, while I do not doubt it, we have only Linton’s word for it that people are being detained in the valley because they have no means of getting out. They went in of their own free will —don’t lose sight of that. In a court of law Liebgarten could argue, perhaps with some justification, that these accounts of pressure being brought to bear to keep the people there were just vindictive lies. He could also say, apparently with perfect truth, that anyone who didn’t like the place was at liberty to walk out. Even Linton admitted that the man has never been known to use force. If the witnesses were challenged with that in court, unless they committed perjury, the doctor would win his case. As I see it, if Liebgarten does not use force, then neither can we. Put it like this. If we barged into the doctor’s house with guns in our hands, demanding this and that, with no better excuse than the unsubstantiated word of one man, we should certainly be in the wrong. We might find ourselves in jail, not the doctor. No, the only proper course is for me to have a word with Liebgarten to see how he shapes. If he starts any funny stuff—well, we can show him that two can play at that game. Another point we ought to keep in mind is this. Conditions may have changed since Linton was there. It shouldn’t take us long to satisfy ourselves about that. Ginger can come with me when I go in case a witness is needed. You, Algy, and Bertie, can stick around here, in reserve, so to speak. I shall say nothing about you being with us. We shall apparently be on our own. Nor shall I say anything about having an aircraft in the offing. If Liebgarten wonders how we got to the place—well, it might be a good thing if he did a spot of wondering, for a change.”

  “When are you thinking of going?” asked Algy.

  Biggles considered the question. “I think we might as well start right away,” he decided. “There doesn’t seem to be any point in hanging about. The sooner I’ve seen the doctor the sooner shall I be able to form an opinion as to the true state of affairs. Bertie, for the moment you’d better take care of things here. Algy can fly Ginger and me over and put us down within easy distance of the valley. That, I imagine, will mean a landing on the river that run
s through the colony—the Polito. Having put us down you will wait for us to come back. Of course, we’ve got to locate the place first, and that will have to be done from the air. We might spend the rest of our lives looking for it from ground level.”

  “But if we go anywhere near the place in daylight the aircraft will be seen,” Ginger pointed out.

  “Yes, I must admit that there is a chance of that,” replied Biggles. “If what Linton said about natives was true there will be eyes in the forest as well as in the colony. But there is this about it. If an aircraft is reported, or even if the doctor himself spotted us, he would not necessarily connect it with visitors. Ours is not the only machine in South America. I don’t suppose many machines, military or civil, come this way very often, but it could happen once in a while if an aircraft got off its course. Being seen in the air, therefore, needn’t necessarily upset our plans. It would be a different matter altogether if it was spotted on the ground or on the river. In that case the doctor could hardly fail to be suspicious. But it’s a chance we shall have to take. We’ve got no other means of transport, anyway, and I’m not likely to try walking a hundred miles through this confounded jungle. I haven’t much time for walking in any circumstances, but in this stuff it’s plain purgatory. I know—I’ve had some; and so have you, if it comes to that.”

  Biggles rose. “I don’t think there’s any more to say so we might as well move off.” Followed by the others he walked down the bank to the aircraft.

  “You want me to wait for you just where I put you down?” questioned Algy.

  “That’s the idea.”

  “What do I do if you don’t come back?”

  “Don’t be in too great a hurry to do anything. Give us, say, until five o’clock. That should give you time to get home in daylight. If we don’t show up by five go back to Bertie. In the morning both of you had better come over as soon after dawn as you can manage. You may find us waiting. If we aren’t there, one of you can stay with the machine while the other has a look round to find out what happened to us.”

  “Good enough,” agreed Algy. “I thought I’d better get that clear.”

  Biggles took the automatics and some clips of cartridges from their locker and distributed them. “Keep these out of sight unless they’re needed,” he advised.

  With Bertie watching from the bank the others then entered the aircraft. The flying-boat was cast off and allowed to drift out into the stream. The engines came to life, and after churning the water into foam the machine took off on its reconnaissance.

  III

  PARADISE VALLEY

  THE run to the supposed position of the valley would occupy, Biggles estimated, about half an hour, assuming that Algy’s navigation had been correct and Linton had not been mistaken over the locality. Linton’s instructions for finding the place had of necessity been vague, because he himself could not have known to within fifty miles where he was going. True, he had crossed a desert; but one desert is much like another. Tropical forests vary little. The only conspicuous landmark was the Polito River, which ran through Paradise Valley, but here again, in countries where big rivers are common there is little to choose between them. However, as the Polito was of exceptional size, and ran practically from north to south, Biggles was fairly confident of identifying it when he saw it, as he could not fail to do if he maintained a westerly course.

  The matter was discussed in the cockpit. Ginger, looking down on the forest, which rolled away to the horizon on every side, was by no means happy about it. Never, he thought moodily, was better demonstrated a remark Biggles often made, that it is one thing to look at a map, but another thing altogether to look at the actual country it represents. He did not even know what country they were flying over. It might be any one of three, and to talk of boundaries in such a jungle was manifestly absurd.

  However, in twenty-five minutes by the clock in the instrument panel a wide river came into view ahead. On Biggles’ instructions, Algy, who was at the controls, cruising at two thousand feet, held straight on towards it.

  Biggles spoke to Ginger. “That must be the Polito,” he asserted. “The map doesn’t show any other river of that size hereabouts. The question is, is the valley upstream or down, from the point where we shall strike it? I imagine the only way to answer that question is by trial and error. I’m inclined to think, from where we crossed the coast, that we may be a little south of the objective, if anything, so we’ll try upstream first.”

  This, in the event, proved to be correct, and in point of fact the objective was located with less trouble than Biggles expected.

  On reaching the river Algy turned right, that is, upstream, and before ten minutes had elapsed, Ginger, gazing ahead, saw a physical feature which he suspected at once must be the one they sought. It was a valley, yet not so much a valley as he had visualised, or what is generally meant by the word. There were no high steep banks. Rather was it a long, shallow depression, bounded by high land in the distance, with the river flowing through the middle. Focussing his eyes on the place as they approached he could make out a number of what appeared to be hen houses scattered more or less throughout the entire length of the valley, giving the district the appearance of an extensive poultry farm, or a series of allotments with the usual ramshackle tool sheds. Aware that no one would start either a poultry farm or allotments so far from any possible market he could only conclude that this was the vaunted Paradise Valley, although there was certainly nothing about the place to warrant a title so extravagant. He touched Biggles on the arm.

  “Okay, I’ve seen it,” said Biggles. “All right, Algy; you’re close enough. Throttle back a bit and turn her round.”

  Algy complied, and the Navigator was soon flying back over its course gently losing height.

  Biggles surveyed the water below intently for a suitable landing site. There were, in fact, several likely looking places—or so they appeared from the air. The problem was to choose the one best suited to their purpose.

  They were down to a couple of hundred feet before Biggles suddenly made up his mind. He pointed ahead to a stretch of water apparently free from obstructions. “Try there,” he told Algy. “If, when you get close, you see anything likely to cause trouble, take her up again.”

  Algy nodded to show that he kept pace with the situation.

  The only obstruction that revealed itself, and this was at the last moment, was what everyone took to be a log that suddenly appeared from nowhere, as the saying is, directly in the path of the machine. It brought from Biggles an exclamation of alarm and caused Algy to stiffen. But, as if it saw what was bearing down on it the supposed log came to life and dived.

  “Croc,” muttered Biggles laconically. “I’ve never hit one, landing or taking off, but I’ve always had a feeling that it wouldn’t do the keel any good.”

  The aircraft passed over the spot vacated by the crocodile and presently ran to a standstill on a sheet of water not unlike that from which it had taken off.

  “Take her over to the right bank,” ordered Biggles.

  Again Algy obeyed; and a minute later the Navigator slid smoothly beneath overhanging trees to bump its nose gently on a fern-covered bank.

  “Nicely,” complimented Biggles. “I doubt if we should have found anything better. I reckon we are about three miles from the nearest farm—if those huts we saw are called farms. I don’t think I’d tie up, Algy. In fact, after we’ve gone ashore I’d feel inclined to let her drift a yard or two from the bank, in case some of these hostile Indians crept up on you and tried to get aboard.” He looked up and down the river, listening at the same time; but there was no movement anywhere, and the only sound was the distant chattering of monkeys and the clamour of birds far overhead. Satisfied with his inspection he jumped lightly on the bank. Ginger followed.

  “See you later,” Biggles told Algy. “We’ll be as quick as we can, but we may be some time. Don’t get in a flap if we don’t come back at all tonight. In that case try again in t
he morning as soon as it’s light enough to see to get off.” Turning, he forced a way through the luxuriant undergrowth to the highest part of the bank. Reaching it, he pulled up short, glancing quickly to left and right. He looked at Ginger and made a grimace.

  Ginger knew what he meant. A path—it was really no more than a faint track—ran parallel with the river.

  “I don’t like that,” murmured Biggles. “It’s handy in one way; it’ll make travelling a lot easier; but it can only mean that someone comes along here pretty often. If we shifted the aircraft upstream or down we should probably find the same trail. Of course, it may be only a game track. There’s one thing we might do, though.” He turned round and spoke again to Algy. “There’s a path here,” he said. “Take the machine over to the other bank and wait there. Do what you can in the way of camouflage.”

  Algy waved to show that he understood, whereupon Biggles returned to Ginger.

  “What happens if we run into a bunch of these natives Linton spoke about?” questioned Ginger.

  Biggles shrugged. “We should always have that risk no matter which way we approached the valley,” he commented. “We shall have to chance it. We don’t want any trouble if it can be avoided, but you’d better have your gun handy. I’m not standing for any nonsense.”

  “I wouldn’t call poisoned darts and arrows exactly nonsense,” remarked Ginger.

  Biggles changed the subject. He looked at his wrist watch. “Half-past ten,” he announced. “We’ve plenty of time.” Taking the lead he walked on along the bank.

  “I don’t think this track can be used very often,” observed Ginger, after a while.

  “If it wasn’t used it wouldn’t be here,” replied Biggles. “The jungle would swallow it in a month. It may interest you to know that Indians use it, anyway. I’ve seen bare footprints in the muddy places. I imagine this is the usual way the natives Linton spoke about come when they want to see Liebgarten. Any one trying to escape would also have to use the path for the simple reason that progress through the jungle would be practically impossible without proper cutting tools.”