Death in the Andamans Read Online Free PDF

turned to stare across the harbour, puzzled and uneasy.
    Far out in the bay and moving towards the foot of Mount Harriet, three small white triangles showed bright against the shimmering blue. But it was not the sight of the distant boats that had arrested her attention and brought a sharp return of the strange disquiet that had possessed her earlier that morning.
    â€˜A lousy day for sailing,’ commented Charles, following the direction of her gaze. ‘They must be rowing — there isn’t a breath of wind. Well, rather them than me! What’s up, Coppy? Anything the matter? Got a tummy-ache or something?’
    â€˜The birds…’ said Copper confusedly. ‘Why have the birds all gone? There were none in the garden this morning. And – and look ____ ! There are no gulls in the harbour. There have always been gulls before … and birds … Do you suppose ____ ?’
    She shivered suddenly, aware of a curious feeling of tension and foreboding in the hot stillness of the morning and the fact that there were no gulls in the harbour. Though why their absence should worry her she could not have explained. Did birds know things that humans did not? Had the airless, breathless day sent them some warning that grosser senses were unable to comprehend, and had they obeyed it and ____
    Valerie said from behind her: ‘What are you dithering about, Coppy? Do get a move on, you’re holding everybody up.’
    Copper started as though she had been awakened from a dream, and uttering a hasty apology, ran up the gangplank and on to the ferry.

3
    â€˜ Caterpillars as big as that? How interesting,’ said Copper; managing with considerable difficulty to turn a yawn into a bright social smile and wishing that Mr Shilto would not talk so much. She wanted to give all her attention to the queer, wild, fascinating country that was flicking past them as the big car whirled along the winding thirty-mile road to Mount Harriet, but there had been no stopping Mr Shilto …
    Valerie was sitting beside Charles, who was driving, and Copper and Mr Shilto had been packed into the back of the car among a large assortment of bottles containing gin, beer, cider, gingerbeer, orange squash, soda water, and yet more beer.
    The bottles clicked and clinked against each other as the car swung to the sharp bends in the road and John Shilto tried to find a more comfortable position for his feet.
    He was a fat man who, had it not been for his height, would have appeared gross, and in spite of the burning suns of many years in the Islands his face had the unpleasantly pasty appearance of some plant that has grown in the dark. His narrow eyes, set between puffs of pale flesh, were too close together and markedly shrewd and calculating, while his conversation (which for the past ten miles had been concerned with the destructive activities of the coconut caterpillars) was as unprepossessing as his person.
    Copper, who cared little for caterpillars, coconut or otherwise, once again allowed her attention to wander as the car swung into a green tunnel of shade. Giant trees arched overhead, their large, queerly shaped, exotic leaves blocking out every vestige of sunlight, while on either side of the road the dense tropical forest leant forward as though it were only waiting until the breeze of their passing had died away, before slipping forward to close over the road once more.
    â€˜Annihilating all that’s made To a green thought in a green shade,’ thought Copper: and wondered how Andrew Marvell could have known about tropical forests? Ferns and long-tangled creepers clung to the branches overhead or swung down in looping festoons, the tree trunks were garlanded with sprays of small white orchids, and here and there an occasional Red Bombway tree, its leaves flaming in an autumnal glory of scarlet, patched the shadowed forest with a festive fire and reminded her that this was Christmas