THE LOST WORLD

Opotiki News, Volume II, Issue 274, 22 December 1939, Page 8 (Supplement)

THE LOST WORLD

OUR SERIAL FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

By LAWRENCE STOUT

Chapter VIIL—THE FRIENDS OF INDIA

The story so fart

Dick Thorne, aged 15, a Paikapakapa school boy, is chosen by his teacher to return a book to Captain Albert Richards, a retired adventurer. Dick finds that Richards is the hero of the story, who actually finds the entrance to the Lost World which has been a legend for 4,000 years. The story was related by Richards to the author. As a result of the book, a gang of international crooks try to rob Richards, in the hope of discovering the plans. Dick finds him unconscious, and later, when Richards recovers, he gives Dick a job as his assistant. Dick finds a pleasant companion in Richards’ niece, Evie, a most self-confident school girl. The gang, led by Masters, Fritz, Smith and Wung, spy on Richards, and when he and Dick sail for Australia and Singapore, they kidnap Evie. The British Secret Service is also interested in the story of Richards’ discovery, and when he and Dick sail from Brisbane, Tony Phillips sails with them—as a steward. Tony attracts Dick’s attention by remarkable feats of juggling. After a ship’s concert, Dick and the captain slipped away in one of the ship’s dinghies. Just before they left, someone had been searching their cabin. They thought they had succeeded in escaping without anyone but the skipper knowing, only to find that the juggler, Tony Phillips, was hidden in their boat. They reached the coast of java, where Tony left them. Was he a friend or an enemy? Read on from there: Richards looked at the intruder squarely. “ Only one of us will go,” he said, reaching for his pistol. “Very well,” said the steward, “have it your own way. You go, I’ll follow. My name’s Tony, you know. Give me a call if you want help—come's in useful at times. — and, oh! before i forget it—watch out for friend Wung. He has rather a nasty chemical mind. Drugs and gas bombs, you know—l pitched a couple out of your cabin yesterday, hope you don’t mind.” With that, the tall figure left them and vanished in the dark shadows of the jungle. “Now, I wonder who he is?” murmured Richards, wrinkling his brow. “I think we shall see Mr. Tony again—as a friend.” The citizens of a “respectable” Auckland suburb would have been greatly perturbed if they could have looked into No. 43 Hezekiah Street, the evening following Evie’s abduction. In the long room into which the girl had been shown, stood two men. One of them was Fritz, the other, his servant, Peters. They spoke in German. “An excellent job, Herr Captain,” said Peters. “JTeil Hitler!” cried Fritz. “Heil Hitler!” replied Peters, lately Lieutenant Paul Muller. It was 12,000 miles from Potsdam, but in the Gestapo there is no knowing who is spying on who. So its agents, whenever they meet, are prone to make much ado of their loyalty to the Fuhrer. “The scow is ready, liverytiling is in order.” The lieutenant clicked his heels and saluted. On the couch in a drugged sleep, lay what appeared at first glance to be a boy of 16 in faded blue overalls. The short hair, almost shaven, and a bit of artistically applied grime would have disguised Evie from her own mother. If this is death, thought Evie, 1 wish I didn’t feel quite so seasick. No one ever told me dead people felt sea-sick. Before her capture such an idea would have amused her, but now she only felt sick and annoyed at a monotonous noise, put-put-put-put-put, that hammered on her brain. It was too bad. When people died, they should at least have peace. There was a blinding flash, and a searchlight was shone on her face. One of the arch-demons towered above her. Fire and smoke came out of his mouth, and his voice was like thunder. Beyond him, beyond the blinding

light, some ot his little demons wailed “ pcep-peep-pcep ” in a shrill treble voice. “ Hoy da, Petroff,” bawled Fritz, “ the drug is ojL us -appii't JLweek .too^K ? TliCre*rs~tt message £r<sl!PWp chief,” cried Petroff from tne wireless room under the bridge. ** There is a destroyer near Norfolk Island. We are to sail north to Rabaul.” He spoke with a foreign accent. Fritz went out and locked the door of Evie’s cabin. The smell of coffee in her nostrils finally brought Evie back to

consciousness. She remembered drinking the glass of milk which the old woman had brought her. Evie looked at the tiny cabin in which she, lay. Above her head was a porthole, so small that she could not have put her head out of it had it been open —but it was closed. She could recognise now many of the things she had felt in her dream: the motion of the boat, the noise of the engine, and the shrill whine of the wireless. She tried the door, but it was locked. Her head ached, and she felt a little sick. But she was hungry. Drugged or not, the coffee and rolls looked appetising, so Evie sat on her bunk and ate greedily. After that she felt better. Her head felt cold, and, raising her hand, she was horrified to find that her hair had been cut like a boy’s—indeed, it had been shaved. Instead of a dress she wore a suit of dungarees, like an engineer or mechanic. Some days later, Evie awoke to see land through the porthole. Cocoanut palms fringed a golden beach. The morning sun sparkled on numerous white houses half-hidden by the palms. A large steamer was anchored off the beach, with a swarm of little native boats clustered round it, like ants round a dead caterpillar. Fuzzy-haired natives paddied backwards and forwards between the ship and the shore. On the beach there were other natives, who carried bundles on their heads and disappeared into the forest of palms. Evie heard the anchor chain rattle over the deck as the schooner hove to. One of the hands in a smart jersey lowered a boat close to the porthole of her cabin. He had something embroidered on the front, but Evie could not make out if it was the name of the schooner. When she despaired of seeing it, the man turned and looked up at her. He was a half-caste, with swarthy skin, raven hair, and pearly teeth. The words “La Souris ” were worked on his chest. La Souris! The boat on which she was a captive was called “La Souris.” If only she could get a message to someone on shore, perhaps she could be rescued.

“ It’s no use,” said Fritz, looking- in at the door. “No one knows you’re here. At the first sign of any trouble, Petrol! will put you to sleep with his syringe.” Evie shuddered. Petroff was a loathsome creature whose eyes used to hypnotise her. lie was a drug addict, and at times would poke a syringe into his arm. lie had several times threatened to poke it into her. With this grim warning, Fritz closed and locked the door, and climbed into the waiting boat. Evie saw him being rowed ashore. If only she could send a message for help. A quick look around the cabin showed her there was no paper or pencil. There was a picture on one wall, a calendar advertising a brand of cigarette. It showed a buxom girl in a swilh suit posing on the beach. Soon after Fritz had reached the shore, Evie saw that the big boat had turned and was puttingout to sea. Its course brought it close beside the schooner, and now she could see the name. It was no wonder the outline had appeared familiar. On the bow, in large gold letters was the name ‘‘Port Moresby.” Her uncle and Dick were aboard. * * * “ Stay perfectly still!” cried Richards, reaching for his revolver. Dick looked down the barrel as the captain fired. Two shots rang out, and echoed and re-echoed through the jungle. "Phew!” said Richards, replacing his pistol. “ That was a close shave. Cobra. This place teems with them. It must have you’re 1 y ytfiokod '(.'own,, fcet,Avas a sixfoot snake. fPT shiny brown scales made it look cold and loathsome. "Come this side,” advised his chief. " There will probably be others there.” Dick did not need a second invitation. He stood as close to the captain as he could. The latter drew out a big map and laid it on the

ground. It was written in a foreign language, in which all the words seemed to end in " oom ” or " ook.”

" Dutch,” explained Richards, and added a few words in that tongue, which, of course, Dick could not understand. “ Here,” said Richards, pointing to the mouth of a« river, “ is where we are. Chunda Lai should pick us up here,” he indicated a narrow point that jutted out to sea. With this they set off along the beach, it was pleasant walking. The jungle fascinated Dick. Brilliantly plumed birds fluttered through the tree-tops, squirrels scampered about the branches, and here and there a snake was basking in the sun. They had gone perhaps two miles when the captain caught Dick’s arm. “ We go inland here,” he said.

"Why?” asked Dick. To answer him a great brown log came to life and lumbered down the beach towards them. The smell of decaying flesh from its great jaws made Dick feel sick. Ilis legs refused to run. Richards’ strong arm seemed to carry him through the air. After about fifty yards the crocodile gave up the chase and lumbered down to the sea.

"Only an old croc,” said Richards. “ There is a school of them along there.” Why didn’t you kill it?” asked Dick.

“Why should I?” replied his chief. " The law of the jungle is live and let live. You never kill except in self-defence, or for food. On a long trip you may need every round of ammunition. Besides, we don’t want to attract attention. That conjuror of yours may be snooping around.” "May lie?” asked Dick. " J liked him. I’m sure he wasn’t an enemy.”

“ Son,” said .Richards, ” remember this: from now on every man, woman or child is your enemy. Many of them may be charming, but they’d kill you just the same —if it suited them.”

“Do you think she’s alright?” said Dick, after a long' silence. Richards hitched his belt up. “1. guess so,” he replied, llis face was grim. " Yes, 1 think they'll take care of her —for a while.”

“If only we could do something—” complained Dick. “ Don’t worry, son,” said Richards. " Every port is beingwatched. Every likely haunt of the gang will be searched.” But who by?” asked Dick incredulously.

“By our friends,” replied the captain, and that was all lie would say on the subject of Evie. * * *

Cliunda Eal was a fat Bengali Babu, who had once won a scholarship to Cambridge. By denying himself sleep and food, he had learnt all his text books by heart, and had the satisfaction of becoming Mr. Cliunda Lai, M.A., B.Sc., LL.B. With these imposing qualifications, but no money, he had returned to Calcutta and painted his name on a dark cavern in the bazaar. While Cliunda had undoubted ability, his career as a barrister and solicitor had not been ent’rely successful—that is, until a mysterious visitor had revealed himself as a member of the Maharadi, the secret society which governs India. Wonder of wonders: the ■Maharadi had heard of Cliunda Lai, and required his services. Brom that day Cliunda Lai disappeared from the bazaar and was never seen again. After many years it was rumoured that one of the Council of Seven, by which the Maharadi is ruled, was none other than Cliunda Lai. If this was so, nobody could tell. In India, rumours grow'|4wgr mushrooms after the rain, There' -wcYe T r^ c C;Yprople in India, from Efiicers of HiS MajeSty-'a,^^''vi nmeVir; YU h o would ’ have gP***' 4 handsome reward to 3&a.xould tell them where Chunda Lai was, or what he was doing. The Maharadi is one of the most powerful secret societies in the world. Its tentacles stretched from Morocco and Cape Town to Manchuria, and from Tibet to Western Australia.

To look at him, there was nothing remarkable about Chunda Lai. He was a fat Brahmin of about forty-five or fifty. His small eyes were deep set. His round, chubby face had an expression of childlike simplicity, which often hid one of the cleverest brains in the East.

This evening at twilight he squatted on the deck of a dilapidated scow, which drifted on the incoming tide towards the wide mouth of a fiver. On a sandy bar near the river’s mouth a number of crocodiles were beginning to stir. Every few minutes one of the great reptiles would close its jaws with a snap that made Chunda start. "Why did this babu ever leave Calcutta?” he moaned to Suleiman, the Arab captain. Suleiman spat over the rail and closed his eyes. In Korok, on the Upper Nile, there were many crocodiles. They had lined the bank as Suleiman sailed his dhow to Dinka Land. And in Dinka Land there was I’longa, with the beautiful eyes. But then, in Bagdad, there was Tima, whose arms were so wonderfully fat and round . . . and in Rangoon there was little Meechu, with the lily face. Suleiman was an Arab, and also a sailor —and, like all sailors, he loved a girl in every port. " Ibrahim, thou la/.y dog,” cried Suleiman, " stick thy knife into that son of Shaitan, the cook, for in a minute the sun sets, and we have not eaten.” A squeal from the galley indicated that Ibrahim had faithfully carried out this instruction. At this moment a light flickered on the shore: once, twice, three times. " Excellency,” cried Suleiman,

" it is them. They made the signal.” As they watched, the signal was repeated.

“ Ibrahim,” roared “ put out the boat, man has come.” Soon Dick and tl were clambering’ on scow. No sooner were tlthan the sails were ! the little craft was h to sea. (To be Continu<