CHAPTER X Investigations

Accustomed to comparatively short hours of sleep, as are usual afloat, Burgoyne was up and about before the sun rose. In spite of the unusual stability of his hard bed—it was the first night he had slept ashore for nearly four months—his rest was none the less good on that account; but once awake he felt compelled to dress and go out.

"What's up, old man?" inquired a drowsy voice, as Branscombe lifted a tousled head from his pillow—or rather a pile of folded clothes.

"Show a leg and shine, my festive," exclaimed the Third Officer. "Come along, let's see if we can put in a swim before breakfast."

Phil assented, dressed hurriedly, and accompanied Burgoyne into the open air. By that time the sun was just showing above the edge of the cliff. The reek of wood-fires mingled with the soft, cool air. Already in three separate canvas-screened enclosures the cooks of the respective crews were busy. Alwyn wondered whether Miss Vivian was one of the energetic ones.

"Our fair passenger has weathered another day, old thing," remarked Branscombe.

"Yes," agreed Burgoyne. "That's so. Hope we'll be able to work the stunt all right."

"It won't be for want of trying on your part," rejoined Phil. "Miss Vivian told me last night that you nearly jumped down her throat 'cause she'd washed her face."

"Was she angry about it?" demanded Alwyn.

"Not a bit, only amused."

"Amused?" retorted the Third Officer. "Just like a girl. She'd never see the serious side of things. I wouldn't mind betting that she'll disobey orders, and show a sparkling healthy complexion to every slant-eyed Chink that comes into the compound."

The two chums were passing within thirty yards of the hut with the canvas annexe that formed the "galley ". As they did so a grimy, laughing face with a mass of cropped hair appeared through a slit in the canvas, and a hand was waved in friendly greeting.

"You've lost your bet, old man," observed Phil. "Wonder if she heard what we were saying?"

"At any rate," rejoined Alwyn. "She's carried out orders. She probably realizes that this isn't a scene from The Pirates of Penzance. So far all's well, but honestly I don't like the look of things. There's something very fishy about the way that scoundrel Porfirio is treating us. This sort of conciliatory business has something behind it. I shouldn't be surprised if the blighter doesn't show himself in his true colours before very long."

The two chums walked to the extreme north-western point of the island, where further progress was barred by the sheer descent of cliff. It was hardly what Burgoyne had expected. He had hoped to find a path giving access to the shallow bay, but there was none.

Foiled of the chance of having a bathe, Burgoyne began taking stock of the surroundings. From where he stood the barrier reef enclosing the lagoon presented an unbroken wall of surf-lashed coral. There was not the suspicion of an opening. Immediately off the point the reef extended seawards for nearly a couple of miles, diverging shorewards until towards the north-eastern and south-western points of the island the lagoon narrowed to about one hundred yards. On the northern face of the island the coast was but slightly indented, the cliffs being of almost uniform height. But on the western side there was a bay of considerable width, bounded on the southern extremity by a hook-shaped spur of lofty ground, off which was an islet of about an acre in extent, and only about half the height of the nearmost cliffs of the main island. The cliffs did not drop sheer into the water, but were fronted by a broad and slightly-shelving beach of glistening white sand.

As far as Burgoyne could make out, this side of the island was undefended by guns in position. Evidently the authorities responsible for the safety of the secret base deemed the frowning cliffs to be sufficient protection. An army formed up on that beach would be useless for assault, since the smooth overhanging precipices were unscaleable.

Presently Alwyn, who had been silently contemplating the view, startled his companion by declaring:

"I'm going to explore that beach, old son!"

"Nonsense!" protested Phil. "The cliff's too smooth. There's not a single niche in it. You'd be smashed to a jelly for a dead cert."

"I'm not trying at present," said Burgoyne. "But I mean to some day. And by a rope."

"Rope! What rope?" asked his friend.

"We'll have to make up one from short ends," replied Alwyn. "It's easy to cut off short lengths and stow them under our clothes. Then at night, or at any odd time if it comes to that, we can make up a rope long enough to reach the beach, and strong enough to bear at least a couple of men. Then if we can get hold of some files——"

"You'll have a job, old son," interrupted Branscombe. "I was speaking to Withers about that very thing last night. There's a mighty sharp Chink in charge of the stores in the workshops, and he takes care to count every blessed thing in the tool line that's issued out, and when they are returned, he—— Hello! What's the move now?"

Breaking off in the midst of his description of Li Whong's methods, the Fourth Officer pointed in the direction of the conical hill which had attracted the chums' attention on their first journey from the tunnel to the compound.

Owing to the contour of the ground forming the prisoners' camp, the whole of the enclosed space was under direct observation, not only from the two block-houses, but from the hill as well. A few minutes before the flat top of the hill was seemingly bare. Now a tall flag-staff had been reared within the space of thirty seconds. Even as the chums looked, they saw a red-and-black flag broken out smartly at the masthead.

"What's that for, I wonder?" remarked Phil.

"Hanged if I know," replied Alwyn. "Precious little good I should imagine, since there's no wind. See anything seaward? I do, by Jove! There's a vessel nearly hull down."

"The Malfilio most likely," hazarded Branscombe. "Why doesn't she use wireless?"

"She does; to keep in touch with that seaplane of hers," replied Burgoyne. "But I don't fancy she would communicate by radio with her island."

"Why not? There's wireless on board the Kittiwake and that other craft, and they would have had ours if they hadn't blown the cabin to smithereens."

"Yes," agreed the Third Officer. "They've got the apparatus right enough, but Porfirio, although he's a rotten pirate, is no fool. If the island made use of it its position could be fixed by directional wireless, and that's what Porfirio doesn't want for obvious reasons. I think I twig the meaning of that flag. Look over there."

He pointed towards the eastern side of the island to a position slightly northward of the entrance to the tunnel. There, as on the last occasion when the Malfilio made the harbour, three heavy columns of smoke were rising. That was the pre-arranged signal that the pirate cruiser could make her base without fear of the island having fallen into other hands during her absence.

"She's evidently been disappointed," remarked Branscombe. "There is no other craft with her."

"Unless," added Burgoyne, "she's sunk her victim, in which case she wouldn't have had time to remove the cargo. Sorry we can't wait to see her negotiate the reefs, but if we are to have any breakfast we must be getting back. Talking of grub, old thing, reminds me: I'm going to ask Colonel Vivian to hold back at least one tin of stuff a day. It'll keep, and there's no knowing if we may want it in a hurry."

As the chums strolled back to the huts they noticed that the flagstaff on the observation hill had been lowered, while a few seconds later they heard the hum of an aerial propeller.

Scanning the sky, they spotted the Malfilio's seaplane flying at an immense height. Then, shutting off the motors, it volplaned steeply and vanished from sight behind the cliffs surrounding the harbour.

"That's what we want," declared Branscombe sententiously. "Pity we weren't in the Royal Air Force. Old man, we've been neglecting an important part of our education, what?"

"Yes," agreed Alwyn. "If either of us could manage that, we might be able to collar the seaplane one dark night, and be in Honolulu before daybreak. However, I still hold out hopes that we'll be able to cut out one of the small sailing craft."

"How far are we from Honolulu?" asked his companion.

"'Bout eight hundred miles, I think," was the reply. "And there's the North Equatorial Current against us, to say nothing of the Nor'east Trades. No, Honolulu's dead off as far as sailing there is concerned. I'd make for the Marshall Islands, or even the Gilbert Islands. It's farther, but one would stand a better chance. Heigh-o! We've got to find a boat first."

Breakfast was already in progress when they arrived at the camp. Directly the meal was over the men were paraded for inspection. Black Strogoff was not present for this function. He rarely was, according to Captain Davis, since he had a strong aversion to early rising. But the under-officer, Fernando, deputized for him, reading out instructions, written in peculiar English, with an accent that rendered the words almost unintelligible.

With one exception the routine of the various parties was the same as yesterday's; but four men were told off to provide fish for the Donibristle's crew. Later on Burgoyne found out that this was to be done every third day, the intervening days being allocated to fishing-parties drawn from the Kittiwake's and Alvarado's crews respectively.

"I'm on that, if it can be worked," decided Burgoyne. "You fellows know how to carry on with the crane."

The men expressed no surprise nor resentment at the Third Officer's decision to "put in for a soft job". Knowing Burgoyne to be a smart officer who never spared himself when there was work to be done, they guessed that he had something up his sleeve.

So when the working parties marched through the gate of the compound, one of the crew who somewhat resembled Burgoyne wore the Third Officer's drill coat and cap, while the latter in his shirt sleeves fell in with three others, and was supplied with lines and bait by an unsuspecting Chinese pirate.

After the customary precautions on the part of the guards, Burgoyne's party was taken through the tunnel to the beach. Alwyn suspected that the fishing operations would be conducted from the rocks, but to his great satisfaction the Chinaman pointed to a boat, and made signs for it to be launched.

The boat was a heavy one, being about eighteen feet in length and double-ended. There were air-tanks under the side benches, while, differing from the majority of ship's lifeboats, it had a centre-plate. Although it was fitted for masts and sails, they were not in evidence.

As the Chinaman unlocked the padlock and unrove the heavy chain securing the boat—it was the endmost one of a tier—Burgoyne pointed to the mast-clamps.

"No sailee. Makee pullee long-time," said the Chinaman. "You go longee fetchee oar one chop quick."

He pointed to a long, low building abutting the cliff. Burgoyne obeyed with alacrity. He was all out to find things, and the more he learnt of the position and contents of the various buildings, the more he felt pleased with himself.

The door of the shed was open, but a brief glance told him that it was secured, when shut, by means of an exceptionally stout hasp and padlock. Within were four of the pirates playing cards, while two more were watching the game over the others' shoulders. They took but little notice of the new-comer and continued their game.

Burgoyne made good use of his eyes as soon as they grew accustomed to the comparative darkness within the building. On each side of the shed were lockers, with brackets above them clamped to the walls. On these brackets were several oars of various sizes, boat-hooks, and light spars. Overhead, resting on the beams supporting the roof-trusses, were boats' masts and sails, some of the latter loosely furled, and others in painted canvas covers. Judging by the dust, it seemed as if this lot of gear had not been disturbed for a considerable time.

By means of the oars stacked against the wall, Burgoyne hoisted himself on the rafters, and, selecting what he took to be the masts and sails belonging to the lifeboat, he lowered them to the floor. Then, heavily laden, he returned to the beech with the utmost sang-froid.

The Chinaman was talking to one of his compatriots, and failed to notice the Third Officer's approach. By the time the former had finished his conversation, Burgoyne and his three men had already stepped the masts and were preparing to hoist the sails.

"No can do," shouted the pirate. "No makee sailee. Takee um back velly quick. Fetchee oar and makee row."

Burgoyne complied. He had gained his point. He had found out at the first attempt the proper gear belonging to the boat.

He replaced it carefully, but rammed the truck of the mast with considerable force against the end of the building.

"That'll help loosen the boarding," he soliloquized. "Now for the oars."

The pirates were still deep in their game. Deftly Alwyn placed a pair of stout ash oars by the side of the lifeboat's masts and sails, so that they would be invisible from the floor; then selecting another couple and four pairs of rowlocks he returned to the boat.

It took the united efforts of four men to run her down the beach into the water, but, Burgoyne reflected, two might perform the operation if there were rollers to assist in the launching. Then, again, there was the weight of the Chinaman, who had already clambered in and was sitting aft and holding the tiller.

Thigh-deep in water, the Donibristle's men waded before they scrambled on board. The oars were shipped, and with long easy strokes the boat headed towards the entrance of the harbour.

Passing within a couple of boats' lengths of their former ship, the men gave curious glances at the old Donibristle, on board of which Branscombe's party were unloading No. 1 hold. Standing at the head of the accommodation ladder was Black Strogoff.

"No tricks, you fellows!" he shouted. "You'll be under observation all the time." Then he added something in Chinese, and the Oriental seated aft solemnly held up an automatic pistol before returning it to the folds of his loose, blue linen jacket.

The warning was unnecessary. Burgoyne had not the slightest intention of giving his captors the slip. When he did he would take good care that his revolver, which was now hidden under the floor of his hut, would once again be nestling against his ankle.

Again luck was in his favour. The pirate in charge of the boat signed for the men to continue rowing, and steered towards the entrance. They were going to fish in the lagoon it appeared.

Although working an oar, Burgoyne frequently looked ahead over his shoulder. He noted the mass of towering rock that formed the screen to the entrance when viewed from seaward. He wondered which of the two channels was the main approach; the northern one was the broader, but the boat was taking the southern approach, which was barely fifty yards wide between the southern arm of the harbour and the inner side of the barrier island.

A quarter of a mile's steady pull brought the boat clear of the mass of rock on their port hand, and afforded an uninterrupted view seaward. Half a mile away was the coral reef, pierced by a deep channel through which at that moment the Malfilio was returning. She was moving slowly, but before the lifeboat had rounded the south-eastern point of the island the pirate cruiser had turned into the northern approach channel. So far so good; Burgoyne had learnt the secrets of the big-ship channel leading to the pirates' lair.

It was hot work rowing under the blazing sun, but Burgoyne was not in the least keen to stop. It was an unknown water. He was now for the first time making the acquaintance of the southern side of the island, and if the boat carried on long enough they would soon open up the western side, which Alwyn had already studied from the cliffs of the compound.

The Chinaman gave no sign to anchor. Lightly grasping the tiller, he was puffing contentedly at a pipe with a bowl about the size of a small thimble, the contents of which he replenished every five minutes or so. Alwyn found himself speculating upon what was in the mind of this inscrutable-faced Oriental. Was he gloating over the fact that he was now a taskmaster set in authority over the "foreign devils"? What a tale would Ah Ling, late sampan-man on the crowded Yang-ste-Kiang, tell should he ever return to the Flowery Land.

Presently the lifeboat entered the narrowest part of the lagoon, close to the south-western side of the island. Here the sheltered water was barely thirty yards in width. The spray from the surf-thrashed reef descended in cooling showers upon the perspiring rowers. The grating of the rowlocks and the creaking of the ash oars were drowned by the thunder of the breakers, yet in that narrow belt the boat was in perfect safety.

Half a mile farther on the reef receded from the land and disclosed a narrow passage to the open sea. Here the island terminated in a hooked promontory that Burgoyne had previously seen from the compound. Passing between the steep headland and the rounded islet that lay off it, the lifeboat entered the broad but sheltered bay that comprised the major portion of the western side of the secret base.

Ah Ling signed to the rowers to lay on their oars. The boat glided another fifty yards before the Chinaman gave the word to drop anchor.

"Now you makee catchee fishee," he said. "No catchee, no dinner: can do?"

The four white men began baiting the hooks. Burgoyne, in the midst of the operation, took the opportunity to secrete one pair of rowlocks in a little locker in the bows. Then, having cast his line overboard, he prepared to make good use of his eyes.

Interruptions in the form of bites were numerous. Weird-looking fish, most of which he failed to recognize, took the bait with avidity, and all four men were constantly hauling in the spoil and depositing it in a slimy, writhing mass on the bottom boards.

From the spot where the boat lay at anchor, the cliffs were so high that the observation hill was hidden by the beetling crags. There was a sandy beach that terminated abruptly at about a hundred yards from each of the limits of the bay. Towards the northernmost part the cliffs, although smooth and projecting towards the top, were considerably rugged at the base, a fact that Burgoyne had been unable to notice from his point of vantage on the brink of the precipice. There were one or two caves, but of what extent, and whether their floors were above high-water mark, he had no means of ascertaining. Almost immediately above the nearmost cave was the end of the iron fence enclosing the compound. It projected at least six feet beyond the edge of the cliff, and, fanwise, the same distance below it.

"That'll be a bit of a nut to crack, sir," observed one of the men, reading the Third Officer's thought.

The speaker was Jasper Minalto, one of the Donibristle's quartermasters, a native of St. Mary's in the Scilly Islands. Tall and broad-shouldered, and with the raven locks and flashing eyes that characterize so many of the Cornish folk, his strength and agility were remarkable. In the dog-watches, during the Donibristle's uninterrupted runs across the Pacific, Minalto would amuse and astonish his messmates by his feats of strength. He could break a "nickel" between the tips of the thumb and forefinger of either hand; snap a piece of whipcord on the muscles of his arms or legs; but his show piece was to bend the galley poker by striking it against his bare forearm. Yet, in spite of his ponderous bulk and brute strength, he was an easy-tempered, good-natured man whose almost unlimited energy was concealed under an exterior of careless repose. He would seem to tackle a job with lazy indifference, but in nine cases out of ten he would finish it thoroughly long before others engaged upon a similar task.

"Do you think that fence would baulk you, Minalto?" asked Alwyn.

The quartermaster deliberately hauled a struggling fish into the boat as he replied:

"Say the word, sir, and I'll du it. Afore I wur nine I'd scale the fence at Star Castle, down at home, an' it wur no better nor worse than yon, I'll allow."

Minalto spoke without any indication of bragging, and Burgoyne, knowing his reputation, realized that this was the man he wanted. When the opportunity occurred, the Scilly Islander would be the man chosen to accompany him upon the daring expedition that was already being developed in Burgoyne's mind.

At about eleven in the forenoon Ah Ling, remarking "Muchee finee; upee anchor ", announced that it was time for the fishing operations to end.

With seventy pounds of fish to their credit, the men rowed back to the harbour. Burgoyne's "catch" was the smallest, but he had obtained some very useful information which he hoped to employ to good purpose at the first favourable opportunity.

Nevertheless it came as a bit of a shock when, on emerging out of the tunnel, he was stopped by Black Strogoff.

"I gave orders for your men to go to fish," exclaimed the pirate angrily. "Your place is with the men up there."

He pointed to the cliff on which some of the Donibristle's crew were still laboriously hauling cargo from the beach.

"Another time," continued Strogoff—"another time you go to fish instead of work the crane, I'll have you beaten till you cannot stand. You got that? Good, an' don't you forget it."