The Spanish Cave (7 page)

“Captain Allarte,” said Echegaray, “was believed to have hooked a transatlantic cable. And your father's cousin—may he rest in peace!—died under the impression that pink sea snakes were crawling up his bedposts!”

Olazábal sat bolt upright, and stared at Echegaray indignantly.

“He was very sympathetic,” declared the captain, “and he loved me dearly.”

“No doubt he did,” agreed Echegaray calmly. “But he once mistook the moon for the sun in working out his position, and decided that he had arrived in the south Pacific after twelve hours sail from Zumaya.”

“It is human,” remarked Pablo, feeling it his duty to support his friend's father's cousin, “to err.”

“It is,” Don Ramon said. “And so I believe everything I hear when I hear it, but I test it pretty carefully afterwards. Now I have first-hand evidence from men I trust that a thing like an enormous sea crocodile has been sighted off Graciosa in the Azores, and off the south-west coast of Sumatra. There is a fairly well attested case of such a beast being seen in the Gulf of
California, but the classic instance is the creature sighted off the West African coast by the British warship
Dœdalus.
It was seen in broad daylight by all the men and officers of the watch, and they described it exactly. It had a long, powerful neck and a smallish head. They couldn't be sure of its shape below water, but it appeared to have a thick body propelled by paddles.”

“A survival from the age of reptiles,” murmured Father Juan. “It seems most unlikely.”

“Why?” asked Echegaray. “The crocodiles survived, and the giant tortoise. You'd say they were the most improbable animals if you'd never seen them. And if, as they think, it was a change of climate which wiped out the great reptiles, the most likely to survive would be the free-swimming animals which could seek warmth wherever it was.”

“The size of your sea crocodile would be against it,” objected Father Juan. “It must be a clumsy brute.”

“Yes. A school of barracuda or a pair of grampuses could probably make very short work of it. Good! Therefore there are very few of my sea crocodiles, and they can only live and breed in very protected places—such as the underground channel.”

“Well,” said Father Juan, “I reserve judgment. I am almost inclined to say like Tertullian, I believe because it is incredible. What are you going to do?”

Echegaray snapped out of his imaginative mood, and became the energetic shipwright of Bilbao. He sat down at the desk and wrote a brief note.

“Captain Olazábal,” he said, “I want you to take this to Pedro Torrontegui in the market of Bilbao. It's a request for one crate of oranges.”

“Torrontegui doesn't sell oranges,” answered Olazábal. “He's the head of the Communist party in the Basque provinces.”

“I know he is,” said Don Ramon, “but forget it. He's a friend of mine, and he has a kind of orange that I want. Take darned good care of them and don't put the crate near the boiler, or they might get over-ripe. Call at my yard, too, and ask for an outboard motor to fit Pablo's boat. Here are the measurements!”

“Ricardito, you're the best electrician here. Can you and your brother fix me a telegraph? I want a line that the boat can drag behind it as it explores the channel beyond the rock, and instruments so that a party in the boat can communicate with another party at the mouth of the cave.”

“Hal and I will see to that,” said Dick, “if Captain Olazábal can bring us from Bilbao a mile of cable, well enough insulated to stand being dragged under water.”

Olazábal made a note of it.

“And one thing more,
caballeros”
said Echegaray. “I think you will agree that for the time being none of us should speak of our discovery nor of what we intend to do—except, of course, to our good friend, Don Enrico Garland. And I would like you to forget the name of my revolutionary friend in Bilbao. Do you give me your words of honour?”

“I do,” each of them answered.

“How soon can the
Erreguiña
make the round trip, Olazábal?”

“If I push her, we'll be back about mid-day the day after to-morrow,” replied the captain.

“Good! I'll wire the yard to give you coal and any stores and money you need.”

The party broke up. An hour later the
Erreguiña
was foaming out to sea. Hal and Dick were charging storage batteries at their dynamo. Pablo was trying not to talk in the village tavern—a most difficult task, for he looked obviously loaded with secrets. And Echegaray, having stayed to supper with Father Juan, was having an argument with his host, as courteous and merciless as a duel, about the origin of the Basques.

The next day and a half passed very slowly for Dick, although he and Hal worked steadily. They made two buzzers and tappers, and rubbed up their Morse code by telegraphing to each other between the house and the garden. Dick insisted on doing most of the sending.

“My messages will be the most important,” he said, “because I'm going in the boat.”

“I'll be hanged if you are,” answered Hal. “You don't realise that the party in the boat has a slim chance of ever getting out alive—that is, if there's a word of truth in the whole yarn.”

“Orders!” said Dick proudly. “Echegaray wants me.”

Don Ramon and the two brothers thrashed the question out at lunch on the second day.

“There are three people,” said Echegaray, “who have a right to see what is in that cave—and they are probably the only people who ever will. Dick, because he's gone through more than any of us. Pablo, because he represents the fishermen of the coast. And I, because I want revenge for the loss of the
San José
and the
Daphne”

“I don't care, Don Ramon,” Hal replied. “I'm responsible for my brother. You'll have to take me, not him.”

“And I'm responsible for the expedition,” Echegaray retorted. “You know I'd like to take you, but two heavyweights in the boat are enough. And I do want a small third person to look after the motor and the telegraph, for Pablo and I will have our hands full. Your job, Don Enrico, will be to remain on top of the rock at the other end of the telegraph. I'll see that you are armed, for I wouldn't be surprised if you get enough danger there to satisfy even you. Olazábal will be standing by off the Cave of the Angels in the
Erreguiña”

Hal still shook his head.

“I'll toss you for it,” proposed Dick.

“All right,” Hal answered.

Echegaray whipped a coin out of his pocket and slammed it on the table with his hand over it.

“Heads, Dick goes in the boat! Tails, Hal goes! Do you agree, friends and
caballeros?”

“Right!” they said.

“Heads it is!” announced Echegaray, lifting his hand and showing the coin.

He did not show the other side of it. That was a head, too. Echegaray had his own reasons for wishing to test Dick's courage and presence of mind.

They were interrupted by two stalwart seamen rolling a drum of telegraph cable up to the door, and two more carrying the outboard motor between them. They were followed by Olazábal, who looked ready for any adventure, with his beret falling over one ear, and an expensive cigar nearly burning the tip of the other.

“The oranges are still on board,” said Olazábal. “Your friend loaded the crate, and told me I wasn't to move it.”

“Fine!” answered Echegaray. “And now let's pick up Pablo, and all take a little trip out to sea. We won't want the crew, captain. Just you and the engineer will be enough.”

They all strolled down to the quay, and went on board the
Erreguiña.
Olazábal let the crew go, and, after exchanging a few terse remarks with the engineer on the subject of Echegaray's unaccountable whims, took the boat down the estuary, and on into the open sea.

“We'll have a taste of the oranges now,” said Echegaray, when they were out of sight of Villadonga.

He opened the crate. The oranges were of fine size, and very carefully packed.

“Beauties, aren't they?” remarked Don Ramon, choosing one at random, and looking it over with admiration.

He drew a slit around it with his knife, and tore off the skin in two halves, which came apart much more easily than in any ordinary orange. Within was a shining steel ball with a wire sealed to its surface. Echegaray broke the seal, pulled the wire, and swinging his arm over his head sent the ball hurtling into the sea.

There was a flash, a roar, and a great spout of water.

“Food for the beast,” said Echegaray. “You were asking for dynamite, Olazábal, but I expect this mixture will do as well. It's mostly T.N.T.”

The fruit being satisfactorily tested, they went about and ran back to Villadonga. Before taking the crate ashore, Echegaray selected three of the bombs and left them on board the
Erreguiña.

“You'll be our third line of attack, Olazábal,” he said. “I don't suppose you'll see any fighting, but we won't leave you unarmed.”

Olazábal gave a twist to his beret, and weighed one of the deadly little fruits in his broad palm. Dick looked up at him with awe. The captain could hurl death with the speed and accuracy of mid-off in a Test Match.

They carried the crate up to the house, and laid it, carefully padded, in the ox-cart, together with the drum of cable, the batteries, the outboard motor, a tank of petrol, and an acetylene headlight. Pablo and Olazábal strolled ahead of the oxen, which seemed to be imitating their rolling walk. Dick rode in the cart, while Hal and Echegaray followed behind. They looked
like a party of travelling carpenters starting out for a new job.

Pushing, hauling, and yelling to the oxen, they got the cart off the track and up the slope to the oak grove, where they unloaded their cargo. With blocks and tackle they edged the drum of cable through the mouth of the cave and down on to the rock. Hal and Dick mounted it on an axle so that it would revolve freely, and connected the instruments. Meanwhile Pablo and Echegaray attached the motor to the stern of the boat, and Olazábal fixed the headlight in the bows. At sunset they lit naphtha flares on the rock to illumine their underground workshop. When Father Juan, arriving after dinner, peered into the cave, the scene below him with its flames, ladders, and toiling figures stripped to the waist, reminded him of a picture of hell in an ancient bible.

“Hola, padre!” called Don Ramon, mopping the sweat from his eyes.

“Have you got a job for me?” asked the priest.

“Not now—we're nearly through. But I will have to-morrow. Will you spend a morning with Don Enrico on top of the rock?”

“Surely,” answered Father Juan. “What will be our duties?”

“Did you ever hunt rabbits with a ferret?” asked Echegaray.

“Yes, as a boy.”

“Well, this boat is the ferret. We are going into the hole after our rabbit, and we'll probably kill in the
darkness underground. But if we don't we may bolt him, and he'll make for the mouth of his hole. In that case you two will bombard him like a pair of hunters on a Sunday—I mean, Saturday—morning.”

“And if the ferret never comes out?” enquired Father Juan.

“Luck is the master of all, as the song says,” answered Pablo. “Moreover, the ferret has sharp teeth.”

He pointed to the rack of steel balls, now stripped of their disguise.

“Hm'm,” said Father Juan, “I suspected that your oranges would be something of that sort. If ever your friend uses those on human beings, Don Ramon, I'll consider myself absolved of my promise.”

“When he does use them,” replied Echegaray, “there won't be any more need of secrecy.”

It was eleven at night before they returned to Villadonga. Paca met them at the bridge, and announced that she had prepared supper for all. She had, indeed. The long table groaned with cold partridges, a whole roast sucking-pig, hams cured in the mountain sun, and great wedges of Paca's home-made bread. Silent and thoughtful, quite unlike her usual tempestuous self, she hovered around the table, filling plates and glasses. She kissed Dick good-night as tenderly as if she were his mother.

Pablo and Olazábal rolled home arm in arm, each singing a different song and quite unaware of it. Father
Juan followed them at a discreet distance. Hal went to bed, and Echegaray was left alone at the table. He put his feet on the edge of it, tilted back his chair, and lit a cigar.

“And now, friend,” he said when Paca came in to collect the dishes, “tell me what's the matter.”

“Take care of the boy,” she answered.

“Do you think he's likely to be in danger?” asked Echegaray.

“You needn't tell me anything if you don't want to,” said Paca gently, “but I can see from your faces that you have found out the secret of the cave. I don't know what it is—only that it is dangerous. That much my family has always known. Swear to me that you will take care of the boy, master.”

“Why do you call me master?” asked Echegaray, holding her eyes with a long stare.

“Because I have a little of the ancient knowledge, but you—have it all.”

“I thought you were one of us, but you wouldn't admit it,” said Don Ramon.

He stood up and raised his hand above his head. His nostrils flared wide, and his face took on the uncanny beauty of a great animal about to spring.

“My blessing be on you, little sister! I swear to you by the blood that our ancestors worshipped that no harm shall come to the boy while I live.”

“Swear to me also on the Cross of our Lord, whom
we
worship,” said Paca obstinately.

“As a faithful son of the Church, I swear to you also on the Cross of our Lord,” answered Echegaray.

Paca bowed her head in thanks, and left him. At the door she turned back.

“And if you should die, master,” she asked, “is there one prepared to take your place?”