"Hanged if I can wait about for the moon to rise, Jack. It will be two mortal hours before it's much use to us," declared Bobby Beverley. "Game to carry on at once?"
"Right-o," assented Villiers; "but I'm afraid we won't do much. Can't see your hand in front of your face, so to speak. Wish we had a good dog here."
"We'll try with the Aldis," rejoined Beverley.
"Right-o," agreed his chum for the second time. "Let's get a move on."
From the store they procured an Aldis lamp and battery. The lamp, primarily intended for flashing signals (it was powerful enough to enable a message to be sent over a distance of five miles in broad daylight), could be used as a miniature and portable searchlight, although the weight of the case containing the cells was considerable.
"Perhaps," suggested Villiers, as the two men plunged into the coco-palm groves, "perhaps the young blighter's taken it into his head to scale one of the peaks and can't find his way down."
"Hope not," replied Beverley. "Dashed if I fancy climbing a thousand feet or so of lava rock. 'Sides, he must have heard us shouting all over the show."
"Possibly," admitted Villiers. "But he might not be able to let us know."
"Had a rifle."
"And a handful of cartridges. And a handful wouldn't last a whole day with a boy on his own for the first time with a real rifle."
For nearly twenty minutes they proceeded in silence, following a track recently made through the dense undergrowth.
"Trouble is," remarked Beverley, "we've been acting like bulls in a china-shop on the previous stunt. If Dick left a trail we've obliterated it."
"We have," admitted Villiers. "S'pose we weren't born trackers, any of us. It's like collaring a skilled woodcraft man and sending him afloat. He would be all at sea in a double sense."
He stopped and swung the rays of the lamp upon a clump of palms.
"I remember this spot," he continued. "Do you notice how curiously these trunks shoot up? A sort of kink in them. Merridew and his party took that path; we, if you recollect, bore away to the right, and Trevear and Claverhouse carried straight on. If we bear away to the left I fancy we'll be striking a fresh trail."
There was a path of sorts. Whether any of theTitania'screw other than Dick Beverley had traversed it remained for the present a matter for speculation. The ground was covered with the decaying vegetation of years and showed no trace of footprints, although the undergrowth on both sides gave indications of being forced aside.
"Pigs, no doubt," commented Villiers, when Bobby called his attention to the trampled saplings. "Hallo! though; what's this?"
The brilliant rays of the Aldis lamp lighted up a small glittering object. It was a cartridge-case.
"Lee-Enfield, .303," declared Beverley, picking up and sniffing at the brass cylinder. "Fired recently; I can smell burnt cordite distinctly. We're on the trail."
Twenty yards farther on the shelving ground was stained by a quantity of blood, the dark-red stain continuing at regular intervals.
"Good enough," remarked Villiers. "Young Dick shot a pig and wounded it pretty badly. The brute got away and he followed it."
"Hope to goodness it isn't Dick's blood," said Bobby anxiously. "The youngster might have put a bullet through his leg or arm by accident."
"If so, he would have turned back," reasoned Jack; "no, it's a wounded pig's trail."
Two hundred yards farther on they stumbled over the body of the victim of Dick's rifle.
The animal was stone dead. On examination the two men discovered two bullet-wounds. One, a fairly-deep one in the pig's flank, had accounted for its comparatively long flight before collapsing through loss of blood. The other, obviously fired at close range, had passed completely through the pig's head.
"So Master Dick, instead of administering thecoup de grâcein the orthodox manner, wasted another cartridge on the animal," commented Villiers. "The pig's been dead for at least three or four hours. Now, what's the next move?"
The narrow path, evidently the "runway" of a porcine herd, terminated abruptly at what appeared to be a cul-de-sac.
"He retraced his steps," declared Beverley.
"No jolly fear," protested his companion. "He wouldn't have left his trophy lying here unless he went on, intending to get it again on the return journey. Bring that light a bit lower, old thing; that's right. Yes, I thought so."
Close to the ground was a narrow, tunnel-like gap in the undergrowth. This the two men negotiated on their hands and knees, to find themselves in a wide, sloping expanse of open country devoid of trees and dotted by a few stunted bushes.
"Which way now?" inquired Bobby, as the two chums regained their feet.
Villiers did not reply.
"Switch off that light for half a tick," he said.
Beverley did so. For some seconds they stood blinking in the sudden transition from dazzling light to intense darkness.
"What's the move?" asked Beverley.
"I thought—might have been mistaken, though. Ah! there you are; what's that?"
At a considerable distance away—how far it was impossible to gauge with any degree of accuracy—a feeble ray of light stabbed the darkness—three short, three long, and then three short flashes.
"S.O.S.," exclaimed Villiers and Beverley simultaneously.
"Switch on again," continued the former. "Keep behind me. I've got a pocket compass."
Taking a rough bearing of the direction of the distress signal, Villiers began to walk rapidly towards its source of emission, Beverley following a good ten paces behind, and throwing the beam of the Aldis lamp ahead in order to enable Villiers to make his way over the rather rough ground, much of which consisted of "rotten" lava and boulders of various sizes.
Above the moan of the off-shore breeze they could hear the roar of the surf. They had almost gained the other side of the island.
Suddenly Villiers came to a halt. A precipice yawned at his feet. How deep it was he was unable to see until his companion came up with the light.
"Be careful," he cautioned. "The edge is pretty soft. Hand me the lamp and hang on to my feet."
Possessing himself of the Aldis lamp, Villiers lay prone upon the bare ground, while Bobby, hardly able to control his feelings, gripped his companion's ankles.
They were on the edge of a terraced cliff that rose a good eighty feet above a shelving beach. Twenty yards from the base was Dick Beverley.
"You all right, Dick?" shouted his brother.
"All right so far," was the reply. "Ankle's a bit sprained."
"We'll soon be with you," rejoined Bobby reassuringly.
It was easier said than done, for although there were five or six natural terraces, the cliff looked formidable enough in the deflected rays of the lamp.
"Better wait till the moon rises, old bird," counselled Villiers. "It won't be long now."
"That won't help us much," objected Bobby. "We're on the west side of the island, remember. How did you climb down, Dick?" he inquired, raising his voice.
"I didn't climb—I was pushed," answered Dick resentfully.
Villiers swept the edge of the cliff with the powerful light. Away to the right the land terminated in a low promontory certainly not more than twenty feet in height and a good three hundred yards distant. To the left the cliff rose still higher, terminating in a projecting crag a full two hundred feet above the sea.
"We'll be with you in half an hour," he shouted.
"Right-o; no immediate hurry," replied Dick cheerfully, for knowing that help was at hand his spirits rose accordingly.
"What a ghastly spot," declared Beverley, as the men cautiously made their way round in the direction of the shelving promontory. "Looks as if there had been a volcanic eruption here not so very long ago."
"Centuries ago, perhaps," replied Villiers. "Lack of vegetation doesn't help us much to fix a date. I'd like to explore this show in broad daylight."
"We may have to," added Bobby. "How we are going to get that kid back to the ship in the dark puzzles me. We'd possibly find ourselves bushed."
"It's a sad heart that never rejoices," quoted Jack. "Main thing is we've found your brother. Sprained ankle's nothing. Wonder what he meant when he said he was pushed? Look out—that's a nasty one."
He pulled up just in time to avoid a deep and narrow fissure that ran practically at right angles to the general trend of the cliffs.
"We can scramble down that," decided Bobby, "and save a long detour."
"And perhaps find ourselves stranded on the next terrace. I'm not having any, old thing. If you want to indulge in a sprained ankle just to show sympathy to your brother, then that's your funeral."
Beverley saw the force of the argument.
"Right-o," he replied simply; but it occurred to him that for once at least the two chums were exchanging characteristics. He was usually cautious, while Villiers was of a boisterous, go-ahead nature. Now Villiers displayed caution, while he, Beverley, was decidedly impulsive.
"I'd do it like a shot," continued Jack, "if there were any pressing necessity for it, but there isn't. Dick is in no immediate danger. If we slipped then Harborough would have three useless people on his hands. Stand by with that lamp."
Guided by the beam of light Jack jumped the intervening gap, adroitly caught the bulky apparatus, and waited until Bobby had safely crossed the crevice.
Beyond that point progress was comparatively simple, and presently they found themselves on the sandy shore of the lagoon.
"Let's see the extent of the damage, Dick," said his brother, when the rescuers arrived at the shelving ground where the injured lad lay.
"Nothing much," declared Dick. "Ankle twisted. It's quite all right when I don't move; when I do it gives me what-oh!"
Bobby was busy wrapping handkerchiefs soaked in salt water round the swollen limb.
"Tell us what happened," he invited.
"Not much to tell," replied Dick. "I got one pig all right, then I thought I'd done enough in that line for the time being, so I started to explore a bit. I was standing on the cliff up there when I heard a terrific lot of grunting, and a big brute with a large pair of tusks came charging this way. That spoilt the contract. Although I promised not to shoot more than one pig I wasn't going to be charged by a pocket edition of a rhinoceros."
"It was a boar, perhaps," suggested Jack.
"Might have been; it bore me over the top of the cliff, anyhow," rejoined Dick, laughing at his own joke—a laugh that ended in a wry face as a twitch of pain shot through the ankle. "I let rip at the brute at ten paces, but I must have missed it. The next thing I remember was being bowled over, rolling and bumping until I came to a stop about here. Seen anything of my rifle, Bob?"
"I'll look for it," said Villiers, again switching on the lamp.
It was but a few paces to the foot of the lowermost cliff terrace. Within a yard of the base, and lying in a slight depression of soft ground, was the porker that was responsible for young Beverley's present condition. It was stone dead. The .303 bullet had entered its head just below the base of the skull and had emerged out of the animal's hind-quarters.
Close by was the rifle, apparently undamaged by its fall except that the muzzle was choked with earth.
Villiers returned and reported what he had found.
"We ought to be making tracks," he observed. "The moon's up, although she's still behind the palm trees. Harborough and the rest of the crush ought to be on the war-path by this time. I'll try the signal for recall, but I don't think it'll be of much use."
He flashed the Aldis obliquely skywards, and Morsed a message to the effect that everything was O.K.
"Now for home!" he added. "Good four miles round by the shore, isn't it?"
"Better than risking a short cut inland," said Bobby. "We'll leave the lamp here and fetch it later on. I'll carry Dick on my back."
Lifting the patient on his brother's back was no easy task. It was decidedly painful as far as Dick was concerned, but the lad kept a stiff upper lip.
Fortunately the hard sand afforded good going, but at the end of twenty minutes Bobby was unfeignedly glad to transfer his burden to Jack's broad shoulders.
Upon rounding the north-eastern extremity of the island their path was flooded with brilliant moonlight, for hitherto they had been in the deep shadows cast by the beetling cliffs. On their right lay the dense palm groves, the broad leaves waving in the light breeze; on their left the placid waters of the lagoon, backed by the undulating line of creamy foam that marked the ceaseless battle between the sea and the coral reef.
Bobby halted and raised one hand.
"Hark!" he exclaimed.
Above the dull roar of the surf and the gentle hush of the foliage could be distinguished men's voices. Harborough and his party were still searching.
"Ahoy!" roared Jack. "That's done it," he added; "they've heard us."
Five minutes later half a dozen of theTitania'screw, headed by Harborough and with Pete bringing up the rear, arrived upon the scene. The rest of the crew were roaming over the other side of the island.
"There's one thing," remarked Harborough in a low voice to Villiers, "we shan't have our rest disturbed tomorrow night prowling around for the youngster. I was afraid he had shot himself. What did he shoot, by the by?"
"Two pigs," replied Jack.
"Hurrah, massa!" shouted Pete, who happened to overhear the conversation. "Roast pork to-morrow!"
"Right-o, Pete!" rejoined Villiers. "You can jolly well help to bring in the meat."
"All ready? Stand clear."
With a deafening clatter the powerful little motor of theCormorantsea-plane fired, and the aluminium propeller revolved until it merged into a dazzling circle of light.
Slowly, but with increasing momentum,the compact air-craft began toskim along the placid surface of the lagoon, leaving a long and ever-widening wake.
It was theCormorant'sfirst ascent since the trial flight at the works. The sea-plane's tanks were but half full in order that the single seater might accommodate a passenger.
Claverhouse, leather-helmeted and goggled, was at the joy-stick. Behind him on a somewhat precarious perch strapped to one of the struts was Trevear, armed with a camera.
Originally it had been Harborough's intention to equip the two sea-planes with a wireless-telephone outfit, but, further consideration ended in the proposal's rejection on the grounds that the practical results would not justify the initial outlay. The application of aerial photography would be of great service in locating the sunkenFusi Yama, and the view thus obtained would be of a more or less permanent value. Reporting by wireless telephone would have been satisfactory up to a certain point. There would not have been the delay entailed in the use of photography with its processes of developing and printing, but on the principle that the camera cannot lie Harborough hoped for definite and important results.
There had been keen competition on the part of theTitania'screw to "go up", but Harborough reminded the applicants that they were not joy-riding at a couple of guineas a flight, and proceeded to whittle down the aspirants for the part of aerial photographer, until Trevear, the reserve pilot, was alone left in the running.
Every available boat carried by theTitaniawas pressed into service to act in conjunction with the seaplane. Fitted with mark-buoys and sinkers, the boats paddled across the lagoon ready to buoy the wreck if luck enabled the airmen to spot it.
Ascending in wide spirals, theCormorantrose to a height of two thousand feet. At that altitude theTitaniawas dwarfed to the size of a dingy, while the boats looked no bigger than pea-pods. The greater part of the lagoon showed clearly through the water—a pale-green unbroken expanse of sand fifteen to twenty fathoms beneath the surface. Here and there were opaque ill-defined patches that required careful investigation.
For twenty minutes the flight continued, Claverhouse swinging the bus to and fro in a succession of short turns, working methodically from the entrance of the lagoon to the part where it almost joined the island itself, while Trevear, with binoculars glued to his eyes, carefully examined the floor of the broad sheet of tranquil water.
Suddenly the observer ejaculated an exclamation of satisfaction and jogged the pilot on the shoulder.
"Got it!" he yelled, and grasped his camera.
"Good enough for a record," he soliloquised, and, drawing a Verey pistol from a rack, he proceeded to fire a green light.
That was the signal for the boats to close. The motor-boat towing the whaler and the gig approached the spot, the crews keeping a sharp look-out for the signal that was to indicate that they were over their unseen objective.
It was a long task. With feelings of exasperation, Trevear watched the boats pass wide of the mark over and over again, only to be recalled and started on a fresh course by means of pre-arranged signals from the Verey pistol.
"There must be a current running round that point," thought Trevear. "Every time they appear to be swept away. Ah! That's better; they've discovered the same thing."
He raised a pistol and waited while the boats approached the dark, ill-defined patch on the edge of which lay something of fairly-symmetrical shape.
"Good enough!" exclaimed the observer, letting fly with three red lights. "Bring her down, Alec!" he shouted.
Claverhouse did so, vol-planing seawards in a steep, exhilarating dive that proved that the master-hand of the ex-R.A.F. bomber had not lost its cunning. Striking the surface with a double bump, theCormoranttaxied in the direction of the boats, from which the mark-buoys had already been dropped. They were now bobbing sedately in an exaggerated curve over the site of the wreck.
"Fifteen fathoms!" announced Harborough, as the sea-plane was taken in tow. "We're in luck, if that is the wreck. I bargained for twenty to twenty-five."
"She's in a big patch of weeds," said Trevear, "and lying well over on her bilge."
"Weeds generally mean mud," remarked Harborough. "Awkward stuff to work in. However, we're lucky to locate the wreck so quickly. By the old-fashioned method of creeping and grappling we might have taken weeks. Stand easy. We'll start diving-operations this afternoon."
Accordingly, when the heat of the day showed signs of abating, the diving-party proceeded to the spot. Swaine, clad in his diving-dress, sat in the stern sheets nursing his copper helmet. As the outfit was self-contained there was no necessity for the cumbersome air-pump and pipe. A wire-rope ladder and a shot-line and distance-rope comprised all the gear necessary for lowering from the boat.
During the week that had elapsed since Dick's adventure, Jack Villiers had been undergoing a diving-course. Already he had made good progress under the experienced Swaine's supervision, and although he had not yet reached a depth of fifteen fathoms he was ready, if need were, to descend to his comrade's assistance should anything go wrong.
"You'll have to watch the current," observed Harborough, as the boat swung to her anchor. "Better to work against it than with it on a job like this."
"Right-o, sir!" replied Swaine, as his assistant prepared to complete the hermetically-sealing process by placing the copper helmet on his head and screwing down the front and side plates.
Encumbered with leaden-soled shoes, slabs of the same metal fixed to his chest and back, and wearing his chemically-created air-reservoir and a diver's electric lamp, Swaine was helped over the gunwale. Awkwardly he descended the rope-ladder, till the water reached the level of his shoulders. Then, raising his bare hand in a gesture of farewell, he disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a trail of air-bubbles to mark his descent.
Swaine had declined to take the portable telephone with him on the preliminary descent, objecting on the grounds that it would hamper his movements. On the other hand, Harborough had strictly enjoined him not to attempt to enter the hull of the wreck, but to content himself with an examination of the hull and report upon its position and condition.
The moment the diver reached the bed of the lagoon all communication with him was cut off. All he could do was to advance as near as possible in a straight line, paying out his distance-rope as he plodded through the ooze until he reached the wreck.
The watchers in the boats could note the trail of air-bubbles as Swaine walked away from the shot-rope. The bubbles were the only indications of his presence and of the fact that the life-sustaining apparatus was still working.
"He's progressing against the current," observed Bobby Beverley.
"Perhaps it's only a surface-current," rejoined Harborough. "If so, so much the better. Sharks? No, I don't fancy they'll dare attack a diver. They'd be more frightened than the man. An octopus is another proposition. They are apt to be found in weed; but they don't grow to any very large size in these parts."
"If that's the wreck, sir," said Claverhouse, who, having seen theCormorantsafely moored, had rejoined the boats, "it would be better to get to her from the land, I think. She's within a hundred yards of the beach, and, although the water deepens pretty quickly, a diver ought to make his way up and down with very little trouble."
"Good scheme, Claverhouse," replied Harborough approvingly. "We might even rig up a semi-permanent guide-rope, and later on an endless line for getting the stuff ashore."
"He's returning, sir," announced Villiers, pointing to the line of bubbles.
"That's splendid," exclaimed Harborough.
He could hardly conceal his impatience, for there were moments when the generally-inscrutable features of the baronet did betray the state of his mind, and this was one of them.
The quivering of the rope-ladder under the influence of the current gave place to a series of violent jerks. Swaine was ascending.
"Trim the boat!" ordered Harborough, as the crew leant over the gunwale from which the rope-ladder hung.
It was a necessary caution, for in their eagerness to witness the return of their comrade the men had put the gunwale dangerously low down.
At length the great copper helmet, showing green in the clear water, came into view. Another twenty rungs and it appeared above the surface.
Waist deep, Swaine waited until the glass observation-discs in his helmet were unscrewed. He was breathing heavily, and his red woollen cap was damp with perspiration.
"Well?" inquired Harborough. "Found it?"
Swaine shook his head.
"Found something," he replied, "but not theFusi Yama."
His gaze fell upon Claverhouse.
"Say, Alec, dear old thing," he continued. "Weren't you the guy who bombed a P-boat, in mistake for a Fritz submarine?"
"Yes," admitted Claverhouse; "but I missed her, thank Heaven."
"Next time you go up you'd better take me to spot for you," resumed Swaine. "I guess I might be able to distinguish between theFusi Yamaand a wooden two-decker. Fact, sir," he declared, replying to Harborough's unspoken question. "It's the wreck of a frigate or something of the sort. Couple of centuries old, I should imagine. She's lying hard over on her starboard side. Amidships she's practically broken in two. Her foremast is still standing, but the main- and mizen-masts are half buried in the mud; water-logged and held down by the weight of the metal-work, I suppose."
"Didn't go on board?" asked Beverley.
"Not much," replied Swaine emphatically. "Looked too jolly rotten to my liking. I'd tackle it if I had a chum down with me."
"However," broke in Harborough briskly, "since we are looking for theFusi Yama, investigations on the wooden vessel can wait. When will you feel equal to another ascent, Claverhouse: to-morrow morning?"
Alec looked up and noted the position of the sun. Oblique rays were of little use, but for the next hour operations might be possible.
"I'll go up at once, sir," he replied.
TheCormorantsea-plane flew for the best part of an hour, covering practically every square yard of the lagoon, and it was not until the sandy bottom began to grow dim in the increasingly-slanting rays of the sun that Claverhouse and Trevear came down.
"Not a sign, sir," replied Trevear. "We could see the wreck of the frigate plainly enough. There are a couple of foul patches, one a little to the south-west of the entrance to the lagoon, and another off the south-eastern point of the island. TheFusi Yamamight be lying on the weeds on one of them."
"I don't think so," replied Harborough. "In his yarn Williams mentioned that the German cruiser towed her prize into the lagoon and ported helm when she got inside. So I take it that the object of our search lies northward of a line drawn between the entrance and our shore-station."
"We'll tackle it again to-morrow morning," said Claverhouse. "A little after eleven o'clock is the best time."
"Very good," agreed Harborough. "We'll rig awnings on the boats, and that will give us a chance during the heat of the day."
Dick Beverley was tremendously excited over the news of the discovery of the frigate. It appealed to him almost as much as if theFusi Yamahad been located.
"Think my ankle will be well enough for me to go afloat, Bob?" he asked that evening, just as Bobby was "turning in".
"That's for you to say," replied his brother. "It's your ankle, not mine."
"I felt fit to get about yesterday," declared Dick, "only the skipper wouldn't let me get out of my bunk. Do you think Swaine will let me have a diving-dress and go down? It must be frightfully exciting."
"You'd better ask him," replied Bobby diplomatically.
"What was she like?" asked Dick. "The frigate, I mean."
"Smothered in seaweed, and as rotten as a ripe pear."
"And yet Trevear saw her lying on the mud and weed," said Dick thoughtfully. "I suppose the two vessels weren't lying close together?"
"By Jove, Dick!" exclaimed his brother. "That looks like business. Well, good-night. I'll speak to Harborough to-morrow, and see if he'll let you go in one of the boats."
Bobby altered his plans. Instead of "turning in"—he had been sleeping on board theTitaniasince his brother's accident—he went on deck and dropped into the skiff dinghy, which was lying at the lower boom. Then, taking to the oars, he rowed silently towards the shore.
It was a calm, moonless night. Overhead the stars blazed like points of fire, their reflections scintillating on the smooth surface of the lagoon.
He landed on the coral beach, dug the fluke of the boat's anchor firmly into the ground, and made his way toward the encampment. A hurricane-lamp was still burning in the tent shared by Claverhouse, Trevear, and Swaine.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the former in some surprise. "What brings you ashore this time o' night?"
"Shop, old bird," replied Bobby.
"Let rip, then," rejoined Alec, in mock tones of resignation. "Thought, perhaps, you came to borrow my safety-razor."
"You two fellows both saw the wreck, I suppose," said Beverley, addressing the airmen. "What shape did it appear like?"
"Where's a pencil?" inquired Trevear, fumbling in the breast-pocket of his white drill tunic. "Right-o. Paper's scarce in this part of the world, so I'll sketch it on the table. There you are."
"Yes; that's like it," agreed Alec.
"You've drawn the plan of a boat," continued Bobby. "Swaine swears she's lying on her beam ends."
"So she is," declared the diving-expert.
"You didn't go round her, did you?" asked Beverley.
"Not much use," he answered. "I could see she wasn't theFusi Yama, and there was a pretty stiff current setting round the bows and stern. I was glad to use her as a sort of breakwater."
"Pity you hadn't carried on round," resumed Bobby; "lying on her beam ends with a broken back, she wouldn't present such a profile as Trevear has drawn. I believe—and Dick put me on to the wheeze—that theFusi Yamais lying fairly close alongside and nearer inshore."
"By Jove, Beverley!" exclaimed the three men in chorus.
"Hope you're right," added Trevear, anxious to restore his lost prestige as an aerial observer.
"Game to have another shot at it to-night?" inquired Swaine, beginning to pull on his rubber boots.
"Surely you're not going to dive again to-night?" asked Claverhouse.
"If it comes to that," said Swaine, "it makes very little difference whether it's night or day at that depth and in muddy water. But what I propose doing is putting off in a boat and taking soundings. Is there a lead-line in the dinghy, old thing?"
"What are you fellows doing kicking up such a deuce of a row at this time of night?" inquired a gruff voice. "Go to bed, and get your beauty sleep, you noisy blighters."
Griffiths, blinking in the light, had shoved his head and shoulders through the tent-flap.
"Just the man we want, soldier!" exclaimed Beverley. "A little practice at rowing a dinghy, you know."
"Not in these trousers," protested the ex-Engineer officer, displaying a leg clad in pyjamas of variegated hues. "What's the move? Are you fellows trying to camouflage a nocturnal bridge-party?"
"At him, lads!" exclaimed Swaine, and the four hurled themselves upon the interloper. In spite of his desperate resistance Griffiths was dragged into the tent, and while Beverley sat on his chest the others rammed a pair of rubber boots on his feet and a sou'-wester on his head.
"Kamerad!" exclaimed Griffiths. "Chuck it! I'll fall in with your rotten scheme, whatever it is."
By this time the commotion had aroused the remainder of the shore-party, and to them the nature of the proposed expedition was explained.
"Right-o!" said Vivian. "We'll launch the cutter and have a moonlight trip, only there isn't any moon."
Eleven men put off from the beach, four in the skiff-dinghy, the rest in the cutter. Expectations ran high, and everyone was in good spirits.
"Not so much noise there," cautioned Beverley, "or you'll wake the Old Man."
"We'll wake him right enough, if we find the ship," rejoined Swaine. "Port helm a bit, Bobby; I can see the mark-buoys."
The first cast of the lead gave fifteen and a half fathoms. Working shorewards, they found, contrary to their expectations, that the lagoon grew deeper, the soundings increasing to seventeen. Then, without warning, the depth decreased to eight.
"Lower a small grapnel," suggested Swaine. "Bend a stout line to it, and we may drag up something."
This they did, and very soon the barbed point of the grapnel engaged.
"Something pretty tough," declared Bobby, as the transom of the dinghy was drawn almost level with the water under the efforts of her crew of four, "We've lost that grapnel."
"In a good cause," added Claverhouse.
"We'll get the cutter to bear a hand at hauling it up," continued Bobby.
For some minutes it seemed as if the united strength of eleven strong men was of no avail. The cutter, in spite of her relatively greater buoyancy, was well down aft under the terrific strain.
"Belay and go for'ard," ordered Beverley.
The eleven men were crowded uncomfortably in the fore part of the cutter when suddenly the strain on the grapnel relaxed. The boats' bows dipped. Volumes of water poured in over her bows and under she went, leaving her crew struggling to clear each other.
Almost before the men in the dinghy could grasp the situation properly, there was a terrific swirl in the water and a large greenish-white object shot up to the surface.
It was a ship's boat, green with weed. Its copper air-tanks still retained their buoyancy, and the additional strain imparted by the grapnel had wrenched the boat from the lashings that secured it to the chocks. Fortunately, in its violent ascent to the surface the boat missed the evicted crew of the cutter.
The water was warm and there were no sharks about, or if there were the unusual splashing had scared them off. The cutter, being provided with air-compartments, floated with her gunwale a couple of inches above the surface, so that with the aid of a brace of buckets and a baler the water was soon thrown out and the men regained their craft.
This done the dinghy and the cutter started in pursuit of the unknown boat, which, in the grip of the current, was drifting towards the entrance to the lagoon.
Holding on to the "horse" of the recovered boat, Beverley scraped the slimy deposit of weed from a portion of the transom. Underneath, in faded letters that were still legible, was painted the nameFusi Yama.
"Good enough!" declared Bobby triumphantly. "Let her go. I don't think she'll drift out of the lagoon. If she does, it is of little consequence. Now, you blighters, pull for theTitania."
The rest of the proceedings savoured of a "glorious rag", for on making fast alongside the yacht the crews began shouting, firing Verey lights, beating suspended brass crutches, banging tin balers with stretchers, and raising pandemonium generally.
In the midst of the hubbub Harborough and Villiers came on deck, just as Swaine, forestalling his comrades, was sounding a terrific tocsin on theTitania'sbell.
"What the——" began Harborough.
"We've come off to splice the main-brace, sir," shouted Beverley.
"Have you?" rejoined the baronet. "For what reason?"
The answer, issuing simultaneously from a dozen lusty throats, was unanimous and emphatic:
"We've found theFusi Yama!"
"Gott in Himmel!" exclaimed Kaspar von Giespert. "Don't say that you've had no luck."
"Ach, Herr Kapitan," replied Strauss, in the tone of a man repeating a venerable formula, "no luck at all."
For fifteen evenings almost the same exchange of words had taken place. For fifteen days, without respite, even when the sun was directly overhead, the crew of theZughad laboured, at first with a remarkable display of energy, in their efforts to locate the wreck of theFusi Yamain the lagoon of Ni Telang. Almost every square yard of the enclosed sheet of water had been swept by means of drags, grapnels, and bighted ropes. Divers had gone down whenever any obstruction had given rise to the hope that the object of the quest had been found, only to ascend with the disconcerting report that the grapnel had fouled a lump of coral rock.
Von Giespert took very little active part in the operations. He was content to leave the "donkey work" to Strauss, and spent most of the day living in a hammock-chair under double awnings.
He had counted upon finding the wreck with the minimum of trouble. As the days passed and Harborough's time-limit grew nearer, von Giespert began to feel anxious, and anxiety soon began to give place to feelings of desperation.
Up to a certain point the rough chart, which Harborough had purposely allowed his rivals to filch, had proved accurate. To a certain extent it would have served equally well for Ni Telang or Nua Leha, for in either case there was a strong geographical resemblance between the two lagoons, their entrances, and the islands themselves, even to the triple peaks. The latitude and longitude of the former island as stated on the chart agreed to a second with the results of von Giespert's readings of the sextant and chronometer. The only flaw—a very important one—was the fact that the wreck obstinately refused to allow itself to be found.
Von Giespert often wondered what the "schweinhund Englander" was doing. Self-complacently he pictured his rival going south and putting into Brisbane or some other Australian port to kill time until, according to the mutual agreement, Harborough would return and claim the right to search the lagoon of Ni Telang. It was only in the earlier stages of the operations that the German was self-satisfied. He firmly believed that by the time theTitaniaput in an appearance the gold would be safe in the strong-room of theZug. Now he was not feeling so optimistic about it. On the contrary, he was the victim of jumpiness, which did not improve his temper.
The men, too, were showing signs of unrest. Strauss was a hard taskmaster. He drove but he could not lead; his education as a ruler of men missed one important fact: to get men to work properly it is essential that they should be well fed. On board theZugthe provisioning arrangements were far from good. Had von Giespert given one tenth of the time he had lavished upon the mechanical and scientific appliances on board theZugto the personal comfort of the crew, much of the trouble that subsequently occurred might have been avoided.
"What report have you to make?" asked von Giespert, in continuance of his previous question.
"We worked northward of a line east of point G for a distance of seven hundred metres," replied Strauss. "That practically covers the whole of the lagoon where there is a depth of five metres or more."
"Then the lagoon has been twice examined?"
"Twice—carefully," said Strauss with conviction. "Schrang made three descents; Woeber, two. In every case it was rock."
"But the wreck must be somewhere here," exclaimed von Giespert petulantly, embracing the greater part of the lagoon with a swirl of his jewelled fingers. "The men must have been careless. To-morrow let them start it again."
It was an easy thing to say, but even Strauss foresaw difficulties in carrying out the order.
"There is another matter, Herr Kapitan," he said. "We are getting short of water. The only spring we have found on the island has failed. It was but a small one. I put two hands on the task of sinking a well, but they found no water at four metres. The conden——"
"Yes, I know all about the condensers," interrupted von Giespert irritably, and since it was his fault that the work of repairing them had not been undertaken at Batavia—the last port they touched where work of that kind could be performed—his subordinate's reference to the faulty apparatus was unwelcome.
"I would suggest," continued Strauss, finding boldness in the fact that he, too, was experiencing inconvenience from the shortage of drinking-water, "that four of the hands take the whaler and run across to the island where we lay when the English vessel discovered us. There is water in abundance. We could get three small tanks into the boat, and the men could fill them by means of barricoes."
"Very well," agreed von Giespert. "Pick four men who can best be spared. How is the glass?"
"Steady, Herr Kapitan."
"I suppose there is a possibility of the numskulls missing the island entirely? If so, we shall lose a valuable boat."
"I can give them the compass course. It is usually a favourable wind both ways," said Strauss reassuringly. "All being well, they ought to be back in a couple of days."
"Send them," rejoined von Giespert curtly; then in an undertone he added: "It was a happy thought when I laid in that stock of Pilsener at Batavia, Herr Strauss. Shall we split a bottle now?"
At daybreak the whaler set off on its voyage to Nua Leha. Barely were the boat's sails out of sight when one of the Huns who had been employed ashore came off with the news that he had discovered an ample supply of water.
Von Giespert showed no signs of thankfulness at the intelligence. Instead, he cursed the man for not finding the spring earlier, and upbraided Strauss for sending away the whaler on an unnecessary errand.
For the greater part of the day the sweeping-operations were resumed, the men working sullenly and taking advantage of every opportunity to skulk. About three in the afternoon one of the grapnels fouled something, and a diver descended to examine and report upon the nature of the obstruction.
He came to the surface with the information that the grapnel had caught in the fluke of a large stockless anchor to which was shackled a heavy studded chain. He had traced the latter for a distance of ten metres, at which point it had sunk deeply into the ooze.
This was the one promising incident of the fortnight's operations. Von Giespert, shaking off his lethargy, showed tremendous interest in the find.
"They would, of course, have anchored the prize before they scuttled her, Strauss," he observed, "or she might have drifted into very shoal water. Tell that fool of a diver to go down again. What's the use of half doing a job? If he takes a crowbar with him he can trace the whole length of the cable, even if it is under mud."
While the diver was engaged upon his task von Giespert departed from his usual routine by getting out of his hammock-chair and going to the rail, from whence he could watch the operations.
When, after an interval of forty minutes, the man reappeared, von Giespert hailed a boat to fetch him off. Into this he jumped, not waiting until it was alongside the accommodation-ladder, and ordered the rowers to pull their hardest.
The report was a most disappointing one. The diver had succeeded in finding the free end of the cable. There were only four links buried in the mud. In order to confirm his statement he had bent a rope to the last link and had brought the line up with him.
That evening von Giespert was a prey to alternate hopes and fears. He upbraided Strauss when the latter suggested that the anchor might have belonged to a vessel that had put into the lagoon and had either parted or had been compelled to slip her cable; and he raved incoherently when Strauss hinted that the British or the Australian Government might have already recovered the treasure and blown up the wreck.
Ten hours after the time of her expected arrival the whaler returned from Nua Leha, deeply laden with water obtained at considerable risk and by dint of hard work.
"We have found the English ship,Titania, Herr Kapitan," reported the man in charge of the watering-party.
"Where?" demanded von Giespert.
"At the island where we were sent to get water, Herr Kapitan."
"What is she doing there?" demanded von Giespert.
"She was lying at anchor in the lagoon, Herr Kapitan. All her boats were out, and they had buoys placed round a certain spot."
Von Giespert uttered a round oath.
"Did they see you?" he asked.
"No, Herr Kapitan," replied the man. "We thought it best to be prudent, so directly we sighted the vessel we rowed away and landed on the opposite side of the island. There was water there——"
"Never mind about the water," interrupted the owner of theZug. "Is that all you saw?"
"We made our way round the island and climbed a hill overlooking the lagoon. Max had his glasses with him. They were diving for something. On the beach were tents and huts, and a pile of boxes. Early next morning we went there again, but the Englishmen were ashore playing cricket. So we did not stop, but filled up with water and set sail. The breeze fell light on our way back——"
Von Giespert asked several more questions, then curtly dismissed the man.
"Come to my cabin, Strauss," he said abruptly.
Behind locked doors the two Huns discussed the disconcerting news.
"Huts, tents, and diving in the lagoon," quoted von Giespert. "It's quite certain that Harborough is not killing time there. He's tricked us—tricked us, Strauss."
"It looks like it, Herr Kapitan," remarked his second in command. "He must have known when he lured us here."
For once von Giespert accepted his subordinate's suggestion without either flatly contradicting or scoffing at him.
"That cursed Englishman has been grossly deceiving me," he exclaimed. "It is a breach of good faith, but I'll be quits with him yet."
It was a typically German and consequently one-sided view to take. Not for one moment did von Giespert consider that he had not hesitated to employ underhand methods beside which Harborough's ruse was simple in the extreme. The Hun had commenced operations by stealing what he took to be the genuine charts and plans; he had not hesitated to employ physical force in his attempts to cripple the British expedition, and now, like a boomerang, his villainy had come back upon himself. His mind was filled with feelings of rage at the fact that his rival had scored heavily.
"What do you propose to do, Herr Kapitan?" asked Strauss, after the climax of his employer's temper had been passed.
"Do?" exclaimed von Giespert. "Something desperate. I will stick at nothing. Listen; how will this do?"
His subordinate's eyes gleamed as he listened to the hastily-outlined scheme.
"It is indeed colossal, Herr von Giespert," declared Strauss, his sense of proportion swept away by the magnitude of his employer's powers of imagination. "Carried out in its entirety it will be simply perfection."
"It will be," agreed von Giespert grimly. "We must see to that."