While Torches Flare
PERHAPS if the gunboat had not been there, Briscoe would have gathered up the five hundred natives and led them in an attack against the big stone house.
But five hundred natives armed with knives would have little show against the small army of well-armed men with which Schwenk had suddenly surrounded himself.
On the path from the beach, shifting shadows in the dark, two Dutch sailors and two Kanakas were alertly on guard.
Behind the house a machine gun was planted for action. From a dark upstairs window protruded a rifle barrel. Higher up in the lookout the silhouette of another machine gunner could be seen.
It was a strange setting for a wedding, thought Briscoe, slipping quietly through the bushes which lined the curving road. A martial marriage, indeed, with an arch of guns instead of the bower of swords.
One man had about as much chance of breaking up the affair as he would have swimming the length of the shark-ripped lagoon. But Briscoe did not seem to realize that.
He reached the porch without being seen and crouched in the spot where he had first learned of Martin’s identity and intentions. It was not a very safe spot. Through the thin leaves, he could see the shoes of the Dutch sailor who did guard duty there.
From time to time he could hear Schwenk’s laugh within the house, accompanied by the lesser laughter of the gunboat’s officers and Martin.
That irritated Briscoe. Schwenk was not at all worried about picking up the mutineers. Schwenk felt so secure and powerful that he could wait for another day, another week. Schwenk knew that starvation would show them up sooner or later. He had already learned where they were and it was only a matter of trailing.
Right now, Schwenk was much more interested in bringing off this marriage successfully while the gunboat was still in port. Flattered by the prospect of possessing such a beautiful bride, Schwenk expanded and let the wine flow, let fall who may.
Footsteps sounded almost at Briscoe’s head. He glanced up and hurriedly drew back. Diana was in plain sight at the rail. But she was in light and he was in shadow and he passed unnoticed.
“I don’t believe it,” said Diana.
“But you saw his body, didn’t you?” said Martin.
“That could not have been Briscoe. I … I saw Briscoe.… I mean, he was one of those men who got away.”
“Nonsense. And besides, my dear, those men were all caught and shot. There is not the least bit of danger.”
“I am not worried about the danger. It … it chills me, this place. So brutal and harsh, nothing soft about it. I … I can’t go through with it.”
Briscoe’s heart lurched heavily and beat hopefully.
“My dear,” purred Martin, “I am only too glad to do as you wish. Anything for your happiness. That is all that means anything to me. I shall go back to Sydney and give myself up. What is that, compared to your pleasure?”
“Oh, no,” Diana gasped. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Schwenk will give you everything you want,” said Martin. “I was thinking of that. I can give you nothing but my fatherly care. But if for one moment you have a doubt about the wisdom of this affair, I shall tell Schwenk about it immediately and we shall leave for Sydney tomorrow on the Rangoon.”
“No. I’m being selfish, that is all. Forgive me. See, they are all waiting inside. Let’s go in.”
“Only if it is your express wish,” purred Martin.
“It … it is my wish,” said Diana.
Briscoe looked through the leaves at the sentry’s shoes. When they had passed him by, he slipped out, quickly rounded the end of the porch and gripped the rail over his head.
A wicker chaise longue was on his end of the veranda. He slid into the shadow behind it. By opening the wickerwork a little he could see into the open window. Beneath him paced the restless sentry, rifle glinting each time he stepped through the light.
“All ready?” cried Schwenk, teetering a little, his bloated face flushed with alcohol. “Ah, then, let’s get on with it.”
Diana suffered him to take her arm. His cold, killer eyes flashed as he raked them over her, his lipless mouth twisted into a greedy grin.
Briscoe watched Diana. In his lifetime he had seen many, many girls, but none had affected him with more than a passing admiration. From the first time he had seen her on the deck of the Sultan until now, Briscoe had known that, whether she loved him or not, nothing would ever quite be the same again.
His hand was clenched on the sweaty butt of the .45 automatic. It would be so easy to shoot Schwenk, so pleasant to watch him die.
But a shot would measure his life in seconds. A crisscross fire would instantly follow from all sides of the house. He would be dead almost before he could release the trigger.
But even death was sometimes worth the price. But she would never know. Somehow, before he took that course, he would have to make her understand.
The minister the gunboat had brought was tall and scrawny and obviously of great piety. He opened his book, peered over his glasses and motioned for Schwenk and Diana to stand squarely before him. The white-suited officers formed a ring behind the couple, smiling, quiet now, but still with an eye on Schwenk’s buffet.
The minister began. Briscoe drew his .45 and hefted it nervously.
The room was lighted by two tall candelabra which stood upon the buffet. Briscoe closed his mouth like a steel trap. He had made up his mind.
Shifting sideways behind the chaise longue, he took aim. The two thunderous explosions jarred almost together. Their bases struck, the candelabra toppled into sudden darkness.
Like a broken-field runner, Briscoe launched himself through the window and across the floor. Men went down like tenpins before him.
Even in the blackness it was not hard to find Diana. He swung her struggling body into his arms, whirled and raced toward the door.
Had it remained dark, he might have succeeded.
As it was, three flashlights pinned him in the doorway from the outside.
Desperately, he whirled and tried to go back through the room. Two sentries plunged into his path from the rear of the house, their torch beams playing over him.
A fixed bayonet prodded him in the back. The candles were lighted.
“Oho!” said Schwenk. “Hello, Briscoe. Just in time, Briscoe. Have a drink? This is Briscoe, gentlemen. A playful chap, this Briscoe. You know, the murderer I was telling you about. But very playful. Have a drink, Briscoe, because, as soon as you put my wife down, I think I’ll kill you.”
Diana was crying into Briscoe’s shoulder. All the nervous strength she had had was exhausted.
Brokenly, she said, “They … they tried to make me believe … Oh, I’ve been a fool.… You … did this for me! You can’t be what they say you are. You can’t! I’ve dreamed that someday I’d find out they were lying. I do not believe them now. Whatever they do to you, Briscoe, I’ll be with you.”
They pried her away from him. The Dutch captain, von Kroll, stood importantly in front of Briscoe and looked him up and down.
“Murderer, eh? Deserted from the Army, eh? We’ve remedies for that. You’ve shot men. You’ve tried piracy. But I’ll show you what they do to pirates and murderers.”
Schwenk was fingering Briscoe’s automatic.
The machine gunner who had been upstairs came down. The sentries were all in from the walk. They made a hollow square around Briscoe, bayonets menacing him.
“Captain,” said Briscoe. “You’ve got to listen to me. I am First Lieutenant Fremont of the United States Army.”
“I know,” said von Kroll, with a satisfied smirk. “And you deserted. I have authority to deal with criminals—”
“I am not a deserter,” said Briscoe, steadily. “I am on a year’s leave of absence. Warren Fremont was my father.”
“Ho, but I have you there,” said von Kroll. “The man died of fever.”
“That’s right,” said Schwenk, carelessly noting if a shell was in the automatic chamber and wondering just how he could make Briscoe run for it.
“He did not die of fever,” said Briscoe. “Warren Fremont was murdered by an ex-officer in the Prussian Army named Schwenk.”
“I’m afraid you can’t prove that,” said von Kroll.
“Very funny, isn’t he?” said Schwenk. “Very witty, Briscoe. Very witty.”
“In San Francisco,” said Briscoe, “Warren Fremont left a note in a safe-deposit box which stated that he was afraid of this new overseer Schwenk and that Schwenk should be investigated in event of my father’s death. That was a long time ago. I also thought my father had died from fever. That was five years ago. I finally saved money enough for the trip and managed to procure a year’s leave to investigate this island.”
“Hah, but you’re lying there,” said von Kroll. “You should have come to the Dutch courts, you see.”
“The Dutch courts have no authority over this island,” snapped Briscoe.
“What?” roared von Kroll.
“Timba is a part of the Sulu Archipelago,” stated Briscoe. “It was expressly deeded to the United States by Spain in 1899 as part of the Philippine Islands. It was purchased outright by my grandfather at that time as a copra plantation. Since then it has been lost to all but nautical charts. Because it is close to Borneo, Schwenk made the error of thinking it must belong to the Dutch. He murdered my father, imported slaves from Africa—”
“Bah,” snorted von Kroll. “You have nothing to prove this.”
“Not a thing,” said Schwenk with a twisted grin.
“I had those papers in my baggage. Every one of them. But Schwenk searched and evidently found them and destroyed them.”
“Get on with this, will you, Captain?” said Schwenk. “The fool stole a ship, you know, shot my men …”
“Of course. Guard, remove this man to the ship. We will hold court in the morning and dispense with the trouble of taking him to Borneo.” von Kroll turned around.
Everyone had been facing Briscoe. Von Kroll’s face went white as paper. His jaw dropped. A glass fell from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Outside a growing mutter could be heard. Nervously, the guard remembered that not one man had been left outside.
Slowly, everyone followed von Kroll’s horror-bulged eyes.
Sitting at the head of the steps, on the tripod of a machine gun, was Mike.
Juggling a stick of dynamite, Tim was perched upon a windowsill.
Carrying his immense sea bag, Banjo pushed through the crowd from the back door.
Torches were blazing on the drive. Torches flared and smoked on every side of the house. Five hundred natives swung their shining knives and strained their necks to make sure that Briscoe was really alive. They saw him. Their yells rolled like thunder. But they kept back until they received orders.
Mike scratched his stomach and suggestively swiveled the blue snout of the weapon. Tim leaned against the sill and hopelessly looked at the officers and men.
Von Kroll found his voice. “Damn you! My gunboat—”
“Ain’t been in operation for more than ten minutes,” said Banjo, setting down his bag.
Diana, finding herself free, stepped to Briscoe’s side and smiled triumphantly at the crowd.
“Briscoe,” said Banjo. “Maybe these is the papers you was looking for.”
He reached into the sea bag and hauled out a pile of odds and ends, wallets, watches and other things he had picked up while passing through the crowd.
He handed over a leather case on which the initials L.B.F. were stamped.
Briscoe whooped for joy. He snatched out a map, a deed, letters, old reports and treaty copies and thrust them under von Kroll’s quivering nose.
Von Kroll sniffed at them, rather than looked them over. But he found them to be right and correct and indisputable and he began to be very worried about his gunboat down there in American waters.
Until that moment, everyone had forgotten Schwenk. But Schwenk saw his fate written in von Kroll’s hands. He whipped up the automatic and, in spite of the machine gun, backed toward the door.
“Damn you!” screamed Schwenk. “Damn you, Briscoe! You can’t touch me. You can’t. I said I’d kill you and I will!”
Mike could not fire without killing others.
Not a man moved.
Schwenk’s finger was coming down on the trigger and Briscoe was squarely in his sights.
It happened in split seconds.
A black arm snaked into the doorway. The grinning, gloating black face of the giant Joffo darted up over Schwenk’s shoulder.
The hand struck at the instant Schwenk fired. The bullet furrowed the ceiling.
As though vanished in thin air, Schwenk disappeared.
They could hear him scream as he was dragged down the path. They were blasted by the roar which greeted Schwenk from five hundred throats.
Shadows swarmed on the curving road. Torches smoked and flamed. Knives flashed.
Mike grinned. “Captain,” he said, “you can get that gunboat of yours the hell out of here any time you want to. We got matters under control now. These Kanakas won’t make any fight, and Briscoe …”
Von Kroll looked quickly at Briscoe and Diana and then started to leave.
“Hell,” said Tim. “You always were dumb, Mike. They can’t take that minister away. Briscoe needs him.”
The minister, thoroughly frightened, looked about for his book.
Sheepishly, Banjo pulled it out of the sea bag and handed it across.