"Is that the photograph to which you refer?" I inquired, pointing to the envelope he held in his hand.
"Yes, sir," he replied, "and just you see if you can pick out your brother from among the party."
The doctor took the envelope from the man's hand and passed it on to me. The photograph represented five men, all of whom were dressed in white. Three were seated on the ladder leading to the after part of a steamship, the poop, I suppose, while the other two had placed themselves on either side of it. With an eagerness that will be readily understood I scanned the various faces. Then my heart gave a leap, for the man standing on the left of the rails was without a doubt my brother Max. Quite overcome by my emotion, I continued to stare at it until my eyes ached. Then in a voice I scarcely recognised, I asked the man the name of the merchant's agent.
"Mortimer, sir," he replied. "The names of the party are written on the back. The gent had put 'em there afore he gave 'em to me."
I turned the card over, and there saw, corresponding with their respective positions in the photograph, the names of the sitters. The three seated on the steps were Messrs. Thompson, Elford, and Gallagher, respectively. He on the right, wearing the uniform cap, was Captain Ganesford, Commander of theBrazilian Monarch, while the other, the man whose identity I was so anxious to decide, was a Mr. Max Mortimer.
"Thank God!" I said earnestly to myself. "I really believe it is Max." Then turning to the man in the bed, I said, "You have rendered me a service for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. There can be no doubt that the individual you speak of is my brother."
"I am indeed glad to hear it," said the doctor. "I fancied, from the beginning, that there must be something in his tale. Your Christmas Day has not been wasted after all."
"Wasted!" I answered. "If this only leads to our finding him, it is likely to be the happiest day of my life. I never paid a hundred pounds away more willingly. May I keep this photograph?"
"Keep it, sir, by all means," said the man. "You're mighty welcome to it. Lord, it's the first time in my life I've ever given a present to a Prince or been worth a 'undred quid."
"I think we had better leave him now," said the doctor. "The excitement can only have a prejudicial effect upon his condition."
I accordingly rose to say farewell to the man.
"Good-bye, your Royal 'Ighness," he said, as I touched his hand, "and good luck to ye. When yer find your brother yer might tell him that it was old Tom Gulliver, of Shadwell, as laid yer on the scent of 'im."
I promised him that I would, though I did not fancy Max would appreciate the circumstance as much as he appeared to do.
Then, having wished him good-bye, I thanked the nurse, and left the ward, the doctor accompanying me as far as the main entrance. There I thanked him for his kindness, and for the trouble he had taken.
I must leave you to imagine how eager I was to reach home.
Late as it was when I reached Rendlehurst, I found my father, mother, and Ottilie sitting up for me, consumed with anxiety, as you may suppose, to hear the news I had brought. When I entered the drawing-room there was complete silence, that spoke for the strain upon their nerves. Each seemed for the moment to be too anxious to venture a question. They had hoped so many times for news, and on each occasion had been so grievously disappointed, that they scarcely dared to place too much reliance in any fresh clue. I crossed the room and took my mother's hand.
"Mother," I said, "thank God I have good news for you at last!"
She uttered a little hysterical sob, and sank back into her chair, pale to the lips.
"Tell us what you have discovered, Paul," said my father, and even his voice trembled as he said it.
Thereupon I sat down and gave them a complete summary of all that had happened that afternoon. In conclusion I produced the photograph the dying man had given me, and handed it to my mother for her inspection.
"Yes, it is undoubtedly he," she began at last, when she had been gazing at it with tearful eyes for upwards of a minute. "It is my poor Max! God be thanked for His mercy!"
My father next examined it, after which he handed it to Ottilie, whose opinion coincided with ours. Indeed there could be no possible doubt about the matter. Anyone who had ever seen Max would have been sure to recognise him in the picture.
It was indeed a happy party that retired to rest that night. At last it looked as if the lost one would be found, and the wandering sheep brought back to the fold.
Early next day, after bidding those at home a fond good-bye, I travelled to Southampton, and by nightfall was on board ship and in mid-Channel. Fortunately, there were no passengers travelling by the boat with whom I was acquainted, or who even knew me by sight. This at least was something to be thankful for. To make assurance doubly sure, however, I had adopted another plan. Feeling certain that, if it became known that Prince Paul of Pannonia were visiting Brazil, telegrams would be dispatched to the newspapers of that country, and thus Max would be given sufficient warning to enable him to get out of my way; I had followed his example, and booked my passage in the name of Mortimer. As plain Mr. Mortimer, therefore, I was known on board.
Of the voyage out nothing need be said. We touched at Lisbon and St. Vincent in due course, and, when that island lay behind us, settled ourselves down to while away the voyage across the Atlantic as pleasantly as we knew how.
At last we reached Rio. It would be impossible for me to describe the varied emotions that filled my breast as we steamed through those wonderful straits into the harbour behind. Save for short excursions to Paris, I had not been out of England since we had taken up our abode in it, and, in consequence, this South American port was like a new world to me. The brightness, the variety of colour, the picturesque placing of the city, and the giant mountain Corcovado, rising behind it, made up a picture that I shall never forget as long as I live. As soon as it was possible for me to do so, I made my way ashore, and, chartering a cab, set off in search of Señor Montezma's office. The cab drivers in Brazil are like their brothers all the world over. They are excellent drivers, but their workmanship is occasionally leavened with a recklessness that is sufficient to bring your heart into your mouth half a dozen times in a hundred yards. It was so in my case. We had not proceeded more than that distance before we as nearly as possible knocked down a pedestrian. Had I only known that that man was Max, what a very different tale I should have to tell! But I did not recognise him, and, in consequence, I drove on to Montezma's office, quite unconscious that I had warned him, and for all the good I could do now I might just as well be back in England. At last I reached the office. In response to my inquiries I was informed that Señor Mortimer was out at the moment, but that doubtless it would not be very long before he would return. While I was making my inquiries Montezma himself emerged from his private office.
"Do I understand that you are inquiring for Señor Mortimer?" he asked, rubbing his hands together as he spoke, and bowing like an automaton. "In that case, if you will honour me by stepping into my office, and taking a seat till he returns, you will place me under an obligation. Señor Mortimer's friends are mine."
With that he bowed once more, and spread his hands apart, presenting such a comical appearance that I could scarcely repress a smile. I accepted his invitation in the spirit in which it was offered, and when I had seated myself, lit the cigar he pressed upon me. Señor Montezma, I discovered, was a small, podgy man, with a round bullet head, and a most happy and humorous cast of countenance. He had evidently settled it in his own mind that I was a new arrival in Rio, and I could also see that, for the same reason, his curiosity was excited as to what my relationship with Mr. Mortimer could be.
"I'm afraid I'm inconveniencing you, Señor," I said, observing that he did not proceed with his work. "Perhaps my brother may be absent for some time. In that case it will be better for me to call later on."
"Your brother?" he cried, springing to his feet and running towards me. "Señor, why did you not say before that you were Señor Mortimer's brother? You overwhelm me! I wish you ten thousand welcomes to our city. No, no, you must not move; I could not let you stir. All I have is at your disposal."
He shook me effusively by the hand, while his face beamed all over.
"Your brother will be pleased beyond measure to see you," he went on, still in the same impulsive fashion. "That he knows nothing of your arrival, I pledge you my honour. It will come upon him as a surprise. He will be overcome with delight. He will be the happiest man in Brazil!"
I was not quite so sure of this. Nevertheless, I wished Max would return, in order that we might get the meeting over. However, time slipped by, and he did not put in an appearance. When our patience was well-nigh exhausted, a clerk was despatched to the office at which it was known that he had intended calling. Ten minutes later the lad returned with the information that Max had visited the office and had left it nearly an hour before. Once more we sat down, and possessed our souls in such patience as we could command. Still the time went by and there was no sign of Max.
"It is really very strange," said Montezma at last. "I cannot understand it at all. As a rule he is punctuality itself. It is just possible he might have gone round to see his friend Brockford, with whom he lives. If, Señor, you will honour me by accompanying me, I will conduct you there."
Needless to say I accepted his offer only too willingly, and we accordingly set off together. At any other time I should have enjoyed the bustle and variety of the streets, but this afternoon I was too nervous, too full of anxiety concerning Max, to have much attention to spare for anything else. When we reached Mr. Brockford's office, we went in, to find the gentleman himself at home.
"No," he said, in answer to our inquiries, "I have not seen him since this morning. Unless he has business to transact with me, he seldom calls here until it is time for us to return to Paquetá. I trust nothing serious is the matter?"
As he asked the question he looked at me with searching eyes.
"This gentleman is Señor Mortimer's brother," Montezma observed with great importance. "He has arrived from England this afternoon."
"His brother?" cried Brockford, with what was plainly an expression of alarm upon his face. "You don't mean to say that you are Prince Paul?"
"IamPrince Paul," I answered. "How do you come to be aware that my brother is the Crown Prince?"
"It is sufficient that Iamaware of it," he replied gravely, "I have known it for some time."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," cried Montezma in alarm, "what does this mean? What is this I hear about Crown Princes?"
"It means, Señor Montezma," I answered earnestly, "that your clerk is no less a person than the missing Crown Prince of Pannonia, whose absence has caused such unending sorrow to his family. It is to persuade him to return to his friends that I am now in Rio."
The news seemed to stagger the old man. He could not take it in.
"A Crown Prince! a Crown Prince," he repeated, as if he were trying to convince himself of the truth of my announcement.
"If you will forgive me for saying so, I am afraid your brother will not be best pleased to see you," said Brockford, paying no attention to the other's state of bewilderment.
"It was necessary for me to come," I returned. "We have searched for him all the world over, but without success. His absence is breaking my mother's heart."
"Poor Max," said Brockford with a sigh, more to himself than to me.
Realising that it would be of little use our remaining where we were, we returned to Montezma's office, Mr. Brockford accompanying us. We had been absent something like half an hour, and were hoping that we should find Max awaiting us. To our dismay, however, this did not prove to be the case. The clerks had seen nothing of him. Once more we sat down to wait. The suspense, for me at least, was growing unbearable.
"What can have become of him?" I cried at last. "Do you think he has heard of my arrival, and is purposely keeping out of my way?"
Brockford shook his head.
"I should consider it very improbable," he answered. "He certainly had no idea of such a thing this morning, and, as I take it, you did not travel under your own name he would scarcely have penetrated the mystery of your alias."
In the interval, clerks had been sent out in all directions, in the hope that one of them might find him. They invariably returned, however, with the same reply: he was not at the place where they had searched. It was nearly six o'clock before we were confirmed in our belief that there was something more in his absence than met the eye. Our minds, mine especially, were filled with the gloomiest forebodings. At last, just as Brockford was beginning to wonder whether Max could have been taken ill, and have chartered a boat and returned to the Island before his time, a small nigger made his appearance in the outer office. He carried in his hand a letter, which was addressed to Señor de Montezma.
"It is from Señor Mortimer himself!" he cried. "Now we shall know the reason of his strange behaviour."
With that he opened the envelope, and, spreading the letter out upon the table, began to read it. It was not a very long one; but, such as it was, it was sufficient to cause him not only great astonishment, but also a considerable amount of pain. Tears trickled down his cheeks before he had finished, and when he laid it down it was with an audible sob.
"My Generous Friend and Benefactor(it began),"How will you feel towards me, when I tell you that it is necessary I should leave Rio at once, perhaps never to return to it, I dare not think. A circumstance, so unexpected that I can scarcely realise it yet, renders it imperative that I should seek a hiding-place elsewhere and without a moment's delay. I can only ask you to believe, if you do not know it already, that the secret which forces me to take this step is not one of which I need be in any way ashamed. Were it so I should never have been your friend. That I should have treated you like this, after all you have done for me, cuts me to the heart. Forgive me, if you can, and believe that while I live, I shall remain,"Yours in all gratitude and respect,"Maximilian Mortimer."
"My Generous Friend and Benefactor(it began),
"How will you feel towards me, when I tell you that it is necessary I should leave Rio at once, perhaps never to return to it, I dare not think. A circumstance, so unexpected that I can scarcely realise it yet, renders it imperative that I should seek a hiding-place elsewhere and without a moment's delay. I can only ask you to believe, if you do not know it already, that the secret which forces me to take this step is not one of which I need be in any way ashamed. Were it so I should never have been your friend. That I should have treated you like this, after all you have done for me, cuts me to the heart. Forgive me, if you can, and believe that while I live, I shall remain,
"Yours in all gratitude and respect,
"Maximilian Mortimer."
When he had finished reading a long silence fell upon us all.
There was only one construction that could conscientiously be placed upon Max's behaviour. This was, that he had got wind of my arrival in Brazil. But how he had managed to do so—for, of course, I did not know then that he had recognised me as the occupant of the cab that had so nearly knocked him down—I could not imagine. No, I only knew that he was aware of my intentions, and was resolved that we should not come face to face.
"I feared as much," said Brockford gloomily. "But he cannot have succeeded in getting very far away in such a short space of time. The question is, where we are to look for him. Your Royal Highness would, of course, wish to accompany me on my search?"
I thanked him, and declared that I should be only too grateful, if he would allow me to do so. It was impossible that I could remain inactive at such a time. Under such circumstances I should have given way entirely.
We accordingly bade Montezma good-bye, and set off to the quay, where his launch was waiting for him, in order that we might interrogate Manuel, the engineer in charge. The latter, however, declared most emphatically that he had seen nothing of Señor Mortimer since he had brought him across from the Island that morning. Nor did he believe that he had returned thither by any other means. Having satisfied ourselves on this point we returned to Brockford's office, where, as we expected, we found a letter couched in similar terms to that received by Señor Montezma. It had, however, one significant addition. In the postscript were these words, "Should you see my brother, as you are almost certain to do, tell him that, dearly as I love him, I shall not let him find me if he tries for a hundred years. Tell him to return to England, to marry the woman of his heart, and henceforth to treat me as if I were dead."
"Would it be of any use our putting our case in the hands of the police?" I inquired. "It would not be necessary for us to tell them who my brother is."
Brockford shook his head.
"I am afraid they would not be of the least assistance to us," he answered. "No, if we are to find him at all, we must do it on our own initiative. One thing is quite certain: he would not be likely to remain in the city any longer than he could help. There would always be the risk of your discovering his whereabouts. Now, the question we have to decide for ourselves is, where would he and where could he, go at such short notice? To decide that, we must find out whether he possessed sufficient money to take him very far. The manager of his bank and I are on excellent terms, and I feel sure, if we call upon him, he will give us all the information in his power."
"Let us call on him by all means," I answered; "and with as little delay as possible."
We accordingly set off once more, and, in due course, reached the bank. Passing to the private door, Brockford inquired whether the manager was at home, and, if so, whether he would see us. The servant replied that he had just returned, and we were forthwith conducted to his presence.
Having apologised for the intrusion, Brockford explained the reason of our visit. Max and the manager had always been great friends, and, in consequence, the latter was only too glad to do all that lay in his power to help us in our search. Begging us to be seated for a few moments, he retired into the business portion of the house, to presently return with the information that Max had not visited the bank that day.
"I happen to be aware that he had only a small sum in his pocket this morning," said Brockford. "I asked him for some change, and he could not give it to me. If he has not called here, or drawn a cheque on you and cashed it elsewhere, which he wouldn't be very likely to do, that settles the question of the money. Our next course is to find out what vessels have left the port, or are leaving, this afternoon."
After thanking the manager for his courtesy, we left the bank and once more returned to the harbour. After diligent inquiry there, we discovered that only two vessels had left the port that afternoon. One was bound to Bahia and the north; the other for Buenos Ayres and the south. The first was only a small trading boat; the other a tramp steamer of three thousand five hundred tons. The first, after inquiry, we dismissed from consideration. To the agents of the second we repaired in hot haste. It was just possible we had the key to the mystery in our hands.
"No," said the clerk, who waited upon us, in response to our inquiries, "I am quite sure no fresh hand was taken on board in Rio, and I am equally certain that she carried no passengers."
So minute and searching were our inquiries that it was well-nigh midnight before we had finished them. As on the previous occasions, Max had disappeared without, apparently, leaving a clue of any sort behind, to tell us of his whereabouts.
Next morning we were early at work again. By mid-day we had visited all the principal hotels, and many of less repute, had made inquiries at the various labour offices, at the railway stations, had interrogated the police and harbour officials, but still without success.
All that afternoon we continued our inquiries, on the day following also, and so on, day after day, for upwards of a month. In Mr. Brockford's company I scoured the country in railway trains, on horseback, and on foot. But always with the same result.
Feeling certain at last that he must have left Brazil, I bade Brockford and Montezma, both of whom were most assiduous in the help they rendered me, good-bye, and proceeded to Buenos Ayres. I could hear nothing of him, however, in the Argentine Republic. Thence, almost heartbroken, I caught the mail steamer and returned to England, once more to confess myself a failure.
Having described to you the failure of my attempt to find Max in Rio, I will now continue the record of his adventures, as narrated by himself in his diary, from the moment that he caught sight of me in the caben routefor Señor Montezma's office. Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, he had gained the pavement once more, muttering, as he did so, "Good heavens! Paul is searching for me. What am I to do?" A frantic desire to hasten after me and speak to me, so his diary confesses, took possession of him, but he put it away from him. He knew that to do so would only be to re-open the old wound, and later on to draw him back to the life he had made up his mind never to lead again. Consequently, he walked, even faster than before, in the opposite direction to which he had been proceeding when he caught sight of me. He scarcely knew what action to take. To return to Señor Montezma's office was impossible. But if he were going to give up his employment, what was he to do for a living? One thing was quite certain—he could not remain in Rio, and he could not starve. Then he remembered the offer Moreas had made him. If the latter had returned from Buenos Ayres, here was the chance he wanted. The thought was no sooner born in his brain than he searched his pocket-book for the piece of notepaper on which the address was written, and, having found it, set off to find the house. As he soon discovered, it was at the further end of the city, a fact for which he was more than grateful, when he remembered that I should scarcely be likely to venture so far in search of him. At last, after half an hour's walk, he reached the house. From the style Moreas had put on on board the steamer, he had expected to find a comfortable, if not a luxurious residence. To his great surprise, however, the house was situated in a back street, was tall, narrow, and inexpressibly dirty. Every window of that dismal thoroughfare was occupied by male and female heads, craned out in true Rio fashion to scrutinise the passers-by. His reason for being in the street at all, his personal appearance, even the very details of his walk were discussed. He paid no attention, however, but when he had located the house, entered it and made his way upstairs to the second floor. Having ascertained from a woman whom he met on the landing that he had selected the right door, he knocked. A voice within immediately bade him enter, and he did so, to find himself in a large room, scantily furnished, if indeed it could be said to have been furnished at all, and as dirty as the street outside. Moreas, in a state ofdéshabillé, was reclining on a cane settee beside the window, and, as usual, he had a cigar in his mouth. On seeing Max he sprang to his feet.
"Señor Mortimer, by all that's wonderful!" he cried, with an expression of the liveliest satisfaction upon his face. "I was only thinking of you a few moments ago, and now you turn up like the genii in the children's fairy stories. I hope your appearance means that you have been thinking over what I said to you some weeks back, and that you are prepared to accept my offer?"
"It is for that purpose that I am here," Max answered. "If we can come to a satisfactory arrangement together, I shall be glad to fall in with your plans."
"My dear fellow," the other cried enthusiastically, "I am quite sure we can agree on that and every other point. What is it you want to know?"
"Well, in the first instance, I want you to tell me when you intend starting on this expedition?" asked Max. "It is most imperative."
"The deuce it is!" returned Moreas, "what is the reason of it all—forgery, murder, or only petty larceny? I thought you had settled down to a respectable business career, and that you were determined to emulate the clinging propensities of the limpet?"
"My business career, as you call it, has suddenly come to a standstill," said Max gloomily, without thinking or caring very much what construction the other might place upon his statement. "It is sufficient that I must not be seen in Rio for some time to come, if ever."
"That is where the wind sits, is it?" retorted Moreas. "Well, it's no business of mine, of course; but, without wishing to be rude, I must say that I didn't think you had it in you. Hadn't you better make a clean breast of it to me, and see what I can do to help you? I'm rather resourceful in such matters."
"Good heavens! man," Max cried, "you don't surely suppose I'm wanting to keep out of the way because I've done anything wrong, do you? If you should——"
"My dear fellow," said Moreas with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "I don't think anything of the kind. I never do. It only makes trouble. You have overrun the constable, I suppose, and want to lie by until the pursuit has ended. Most of us do that at some time or other in our lives."
"I've done nothing of the kind," said Max with warmth. "I don't owe a halfpenny in the world. What's more, I have a considerable sum of money lying to my credit at my bank. No, the sole reason I have for wanting to get away quickly is because to-day I saw somebody connected with my old life. He's looking for me in Rio, and I want to make sure that he shall not find me."
"That is very easily managed."
"How am I to do it, then?"
"Stay here," said Moreas. "They will never think of looking for you in this quarter of the town. Until we leave, you will be as safe here as if you were in the centre of Africa. You don't surely suppose I haven't good and sufficient reasons for living in this hole? Of course I have, and this is one of them. If you think you can make yourself comfortable here, you are welcome to stay. What have you to say to my proposal?"
"That I shall be only too glad to accept your offer," Max replied. "The arrangement will suit me admirably. And now tell me something of the business in which you want my co-operation. You said, I think, that it was connected with diamonds."
"It is very much connected with diamonds," the other answered. "Eight or nine months ago I happened to be travelling in the diamond country, and it so happened that on this particular field there was a half-witted old lunatic who was everybody's butt. He was an extraordinary individual in many ways, and was always spying about for diamonds, and never finding them, in places where no sane man would dream of looking for them. He had theories of his own, he used to say, though there was no evidence that those theories ever turned up trumps. Every now and then he would mouch off by himself into the wilds, be away for a month or six weeks, and when he put in an appearance again, look as near starvation as a man could well do and still live. But according to his own tale he had never brought anything of value back with him. He had just returned from one of these little expeditions when I tumbled across him. His friends in the mining camp were making great game of him. I should say they got more fun out of that poor old lunatic over that journey than they had ever had from him before. He took it well, however.
"'You laugh at my diamonds,' he would cry, when they had gone a little too far with him; 'well, never mind, Señors, mark my words, the time will come when I shall find more diamonds than all the rest of you put together.' Then he would take two or three old pebbles out of his pocket and fall to polishing them as if he expected to improve their value. I wouldn't have lived that old boy's life amongst those men for something. The practical jokes they played upon him would have raised the temper of a mummy.
"Somehow, I had got the notion in my head that there was more in the old boy than met the eye. He seemed to be sharp enough when there was nobody about. In consequence, I kept my weather eye upon him. As doubtless you know, some of those daft chaps have curious instincts, and, as I have said before, seem able to find things in places where men with better brains would never think of looking for them. I shouldn't have been at all surprised to hear that the old chap had got acachehidden away somewhere. Having come to this conclusion, I made up my mind as to the part I was going to play. I had plenty of time on my hands just then, and if there was anything worth learning from the old boy I was going to learn it. Accordingly the next time they thought of playing one of their monkey tricks upon him, I determined to be present. Presently rumours got abroad that they were preparing a new joke. It was to be a wonder, I was given to understand. Then I found out what it was, and I tell you it fairly made my blood boil. The first part of the programme I discovered was to drug his liquor and to throw him into a deep sleep. 'Here,' thought I to myself, 'is my chance. As soon as they get everything fixed up and are ready to begin their performance, I'll step in and ring the curtain down.' Things had been a little flat in the district for some time, and a bit of amusement of this sort was just to their liking. The remainder of the day was devoted to anticipating the fun. A couple of hours before sundown, the old fellow looked in at the inn for his usual glass ofcachaca. In due course the doctored spirit was handed to him. He was about to put his lips to it, when I crossed and took possession of the glass.
"'Don't touch that,' I said, removing it to a safe distance. 'Some of your friends here have been playing a trick upon you. I'll show you directly what is the matter with it.'
"On hearing this an ominous murmur rose in the room. The crowd were not going to be disappointed of their fun by my interference. Presently the principal author of the joke, a Portuguese, and the bully of the neighbourhood, advanced and began to threaten me. The old man looked from one to the other of us, as if he did not know quite what to make of it all. He had had many practical jokes played upon him, but never before had a person come forward as his defender. The Portuguese by this time was looking as dangerous as possible.
"'Be careful, my friend,' said I, as he flourished a pistol before my face, and talked of what he intended doing if I did not leave the room. 'It is my will that this old man shall not drink the stuff you have poured out for him. Surely that is sufficient.'
"'It is not sufficient,' he answered, his temper fairly getting the better of him. 'You have intruded where you are not wanted, and I, for one, am not content to tolerate your behaviour.'
"'Of course that is for you to decide,' I retorted. 'If you don't like it, you can go outside. I don't intend to budge.'
"I could see that he was anxious for a row, and determined to give him a little lesson in the proprieties. I had not been very popular for some time, and was glad of the opportunity to show them what I was able to accomplish if the occasion should arise. Accordingly, I took my revolver from my pocket, and, bidding one of the bystanders toss a coin into the air, clipped it first shot.
"'Now,' I said, turning to the individual who, a moment before, had been so anxious to have my blood, 'you have seen what I can do with this little instrument. I am even better when the target is a man. Perhaps you are still dissatisfied with my behaviour.'
"'No, Señor,' he replied. 'Allow me to say that I am more than satisfied.'
"'Very good,' I answered. 'In that case you will oblige me by drinking with me.'
"Turning to the landlord, I ordered a glass ofAgoadente de Cana, and when it had been supplied to me once more addressed my antagonist.
"'Let us clink glasses together,' I said, holding mine out to him.
"'But I have no glass,' he replied, and thinking that I did not intend to provide it, was about to order some refreshment for himself.
"'One moment,' I answered; 'there is a glass upon the table. Oblige me by drinking what it contains.'
"This he absolutely refused to do, knowing, of course, that it was drugged. I was firm, however. He had had an opportunity of playing his game and had failed, and now I was going to try mine.
"'Pick it up,' I said, 'and drink what it contains without further delay. If it is good enough for our friend here, it is surely good enough for you.'
"Once more he refused to do as I ordered.
"'I am sorry for that,' I said. 'It seems a pity you should be so anxious to quarrel with me. Let me say, once and for all, that you must either drink, or show me your skill with that weapon in your belt. There is no middle course.'
"On hearing this his swarthy skin turned a sort of sickly green. The man was a coward right through. He did not want to fight after what he had seen of my skill with the revolver, and it was equally certain he had no desire to drink the mixture he had himself prepared. Eventually I gave him three minutes to decide, and, at the expiration of the time, had the happiness to persuade him to decide in favour of my proposal.
"'Your health, Señor,' I said, tossing off the contents of my own glass. 'Your health, and, if you will permit me to wish them to you, pleasant dreams.'
"If he had had half an opportunity he would have upset the glass, but I was on the watch for that. My right hand was in my pocket; the same in which I had placed the revolver, and from the expression upon his face I gathered that he was aware of the fact. At last, seeing that there was nothing for it but to do as I desired, he lifted the glass and tossed off the contents. I assured myself that he had left no heel-tap, and then bade him be seated, returning myself to the game of cards which the old man's entry had interrupted. The strength of the drug must have been considerable, for we had not played more than a dozen hands before his head had fallen forward on the table, and he was fast asleep. I convinced myself that he was not shamming, and then turned to the old man.
"'You see, my venerable friend,' I said, 'what your fate would have been had you drunk what was in that glass. For the future were I in your place, I should bestow my patronage elsewhere. This inn is not safe for you. And now let me escort you to your dwelling. Our friends here are none too amiably disposed towards you, and it is just possible they might take their revenge as soon as my back was turned.' With that we left the inn together and tramped along the track, till we reached the miserable hovel in which he lived. During our walk the old fellow had scarcely spoken. Now he became somewhat more communicative.
"'I am obliged to you, Señor, for what you have done for me,' he began. 'They hate me over there because they think I know more about diamonds than they do.' He was silent again for a few moments. 'And it's quite true,' he added solemnly to himself.
"At the time I regarded this as only another proof of the old boy's idiocy. I had often seen him polishing his pebbles, and, like every one else, had come to the conclusion that he believed them to be diamonds. Now, however, I have the very best of reasons for knowing that it was only another proof of his cleverness. It suited him to pose as a softy, and the pebbles were only a means he had adopted for putting us off the scent.
"'When you come to think of it, it was rather a good thing for you that I visited the hospederia to-night,' I said, when I had seated myself on a log that did duty for a chair, and had lit a cigar. For you see I wanted him to understand plainly that I had rendered him a service, and also that I expected him to be grateful for the same. 'If I hadn't been at hand they'd have played a nice game on you.' I thereupon furnished him with a brief outline of the intended amusement.
"As I proceeded I noticed the same look on his face that I had observed on a previous occasion. Had the jokers seen it, I fancy they would have treated him with more respect than they had hitherto done.
"'It was certainly good for me that you were there,' he replied, 'and I am very grateful to you, Señor, for the service you have rendered me.'
"After that he went to a corner of his hut, and having fumbled about for some time, produced a small leather bag. Taking his place once more on the log beside me, he unlaced the bag, and tilted half a dozen medium-sized stones into the palm of his hand. If the others he carried about with him, and of which he appeared to be proud, were only glittering pebbles, these were undoubtedly diamonds. Possibly they were not as valuable as he supposed, but, at any rate, they were worth quite enough to show me that what I had suspected was correct, namely, that his supposed ignorance was only a blind to cover his real cleverness. 'If the Señor will honour me by accepting one of these stones, he will add to the debt I already owe him,' he observed with a certain quiet dignity. 'It may remind him, in days to come, of his kindness to an old man who had no sort of claim upon him.'
"But I was not to be caught napping. The old fellow wanted me to believe that these few stones were the collection of a lifetime, stored as a provision against a rainy day. I knew better, however. My common sense told me that he wouldn't have been so ready to give them away if they had been the sole result of so much misery and toil. I accordingly declined his generous offer, taking a high hand, and stating that I had no desire to be paid for doing what was, after all, only a friendly act. The old fellow pretended to be hurt by my decision, and stowed the diamonds away once more in their hiding-place. Well, to make a long story short, I kept in close touch with him for the next fortnight. The practical jokers in the neighbourhood had had a lesson, and, seeing that I had constituted myself his protector, they left him severely alone. Presently I saw that he was contemplating some important step. A couple of fresh mules had made their appearance in hiscorral, and there were evident signs in the hut itself that he intended clearing out. I wondered what this could mean, and, since he had said nothing to me on the subject, I resolved to watch him the more closely. Knowing what I did, and guessing the rest, I had no intention of allowing him to give me the slip. For several days I watched him in this fashion. Then I noticed that his visits to the village became less and less frequent, and, when he did put in an appearance there, he invariably talked in such a way as to lead people to suppose that he had quite settled down in the neighbourhood, and had not the least intention of removing elsewhere for many a long day to come. Being aware of his character, this in itself was sufficient to put me on my guard.
"A night or two later, and fortunately when I was spending the evening with him, the climax came. The old fellow had, or pretended to have, taken a great fancy to me, and more than once he reiterated his desire that I should accept the diamond he had first offered to me. I steadfastly refused to do so, however, and could see that my decision increased his good opinion of me. On this occasion it was nearly ten o'clock before I left the hut. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and so still that you could have heard a leaf drop a hundred yards away. It was his own proposal that he should walk a portion of the way with me. We therefore set out, and had proceeded about half the distance, when there was a loud report of a rifle in the bushes close beside us, and a second later he uttered a cry and fell into my arms. That the shot was intended for myself, and that it was fired by one of my enemies in the village, I had not the least doubt. Bending over the old fellow, I asked him how he felt, but he did not answer. Then, carrying him as best I could, I retraced my steps as quickly as possible. When I reached the hut I laid him upon his bed, and, by the light of a lamp, endeavoured to discover the nature of his wound. The bullet, it appeared, had penetrated his right breast, and, from such knowledge of gun wounds as I possessed, it was evident to me that it was a fatal one. He was breathing heavily and with a considerable amount of difficulty, and must have realised that it was all up with him, for, when he spoke, he said as much.
"'Lay me down on the bed,' he said. 'They've got me this time, the cowardly dogs! If only I had been able to get away from here safe and sound, they'd have treated me a bit different when they next met me. In three months' time, if all had gone well, I should have been one of the richest men in the world. But I suppose it wasn't to be, so what's the use of grumbling?'
"After this philosophical expression of his feelings he was silent for a while. Once more I wiped the blood from his lips, and once more he spoke.
"'Señor Moreas,' he said, 'you're the only friend I've had these many years past. You wouldn't take what I offered you here, but I can give you some information now that will make it up to you a dozen times over. You may think I am not quite right in my head, but, right or not right, I know of the whereabouts of a place in this country where the finest diamonds in all Brazil are to be found.'
"From what he told me I gathered that he had learnt about the place from an old Indian woman for whom he had in his turn done a kindness. Twice he had made attempts to reach the place, but on each occasion he had been unsuccessful. That it existed, however, he was quite convinced. With his dying breath he gave me full particulars, informing me in what direction I was to proceed, and how I should recognise the place when I did come upon it. Then, having told me where to find several small bags of stones in the hut, and which, I might add, I afterwards sold for upwards of two thousand pounds in English money, he breathed his last in my arms. As soon as I was sure that he was dead, I made a final examination of the hut, took what I thought would be of service to me, and then returned to the village.
"A fortnight later I was on my way to Europe, and when I met you on board theDiamintina, I had found a market for the stones the old fellow had given me. They proved to be more valuable than I had supposed, and when I was convinced of this, I was anxious, as you may believe, not to let the grass grow under my feet before I set out in search of the place of which he had spoken to me. Circumstances, however, combined to prevent my doing so at once. A year went by, and still the opportunity did not arrive. If the truth must be told, the money I had brought from England I had lost at cards, and until I could find more, I knew it was impossible for me to embark upon such a costly expedition. What was more, I discovered that I was being shadowed by three men who were, to all intents and purposes, participators in my secret. How they obtained their knowledge, unless they had got it from the old man some time before, when he was drunk and talkative, I cannot say; but that they knew I had it, and that they did not intend to let me escape with it, soon became painfully apparent. Wherever I went those three men followed me, until at last their leader, an Englishman, came boldly up and placed a proposal before me. If I were prepared to allow them to participate to a certain extent, they were willing to find a proportion of the necessary money; they would also accompany me, and do their best to find the place in question. If I would not consent, then they would not allow me to go without them. I argued, threatened, and even attempted to buy them off, but it was of no use. They stuck to their point like bulldogs. Either they must be permitted to go with me, or I should not go at all. At last, seeing that I could do nothing else, I was perforce compelled to agree to their terms."
"And what do you intend doing now?" Max inquired.
"To-night we are going to meet here, and make the final arrangements; after that we shall start away on our journey."
"And what part am I to play in the performance?"
"That's exactly what we have to arrange," Moreas replied. "As I have already told you, these fellows are none too well disposed towards myself. If it should come to fighting, as it may very well do, they could act as they please with me. I should be powerless to resist them. My idea, therefore, is to get hold of some good man, and import him into the business, not as a friend of my own, but in the capacity of another enemy. To all appearances he would be hand-in-glove with them, but in reality he would be my ally, ready to step up and turn the tables, should they make themselves objectionable. Do you understand?"
Max replied that he understood perfectly well, but he was not quite certain that he altogether liked the idea. He was certainly not going to act in the capacity of a spy, either for Moreas or for anyone else. He said as much to the other, who laughed the matter off.
"My dear fellow, I don't want you to be a spy at all," he said. "What on earth put that notion into your head? I should be the last to suggest such a thing. No, all I want you to do is to prevent them from playing me false. If you come with me as my friend, they'll turn you out again. Don't you see? They're much too sharp to let me employ a bodyguard to act against themselves. All you will have to do will be to stand between us in the capacity of an umpire, and see that there is fair play on both sides. Now, what have you to say?"
"Under those circumstances I have no objection to acting as you propose."
"Very good; that settles it. Now we'd better arrange one or two other little matters while we're about it, and then postpone the remainder until they arrive."
It was not until nearly nine o'clock that evening that the three men, whom Moreas had informed Max were so determined to share the chances of the expedition with him, put in an appearance. It was part of the plan, that Max and he had arranged together, that the former should not be in the room when they arrived. He was to drop in half an hour or so later, as if by chance, and then to appear annoyed at finding them there. When he did so, Moreas greeted him with well-simulated surprise. The others stared at the intruder, as if they scarcely knew what to make of him, and then at Moreas, as if they were suspicious of his action in the matter. On his part Max studied them with equal interest. The taller of the trio was an Englishman, possibly thirty-five years of age, who boasted a frank and extremely pleasing countenance. His name was Bertram, and, as Max discovered later, he had occupied a good position in the world, from which he had fallen, more by his own folly than on account of any material wrong-doing. The other two were unmistakably Spaniards. The name of one was Diego Pereira, that of the other Antonio Rodriguez. Neither of them were particularly pleasant-looking fellows, and Max wondered as he looked at them what it was that had made the Englishman associate with them.
At the moment Max entered, the two Spaniards were talking vociferously. From what he could catch of their conversation it appeared that they were extremely dissatisfied with something Moreas had done, and desired to make trouble out of it if only such a thing were possible. Their grievance eventually proved to be his own importation into the affair, of which Moreas had been telling them.
"But what can I do?" the latter asked snappishly. "He swears that he will come with us, and how am I to prevent him?"
"As it appears that I am the subject of your conversation," said Max coolly, seating himself on the table, "perhaps I may be permitted to say a word. Let me inform you, therefore, once and for all, that it is not a bit of use Moreas or anybody else trying to keep me out of the business. I know all the ins and outs of it, and, I tell you plainly, our friend here doesn't leave Rio without me. You can buy me off if you're willing to pay my price, but, I give you fair warning, it will be a stiff one. Otherwise, I go. Take your choice."
"What did I tell you?" said Moreas angrily to the others. "I wish to goodness you were all at the bottom of the sea."
"That is very likely," returned Max. "But as we're not, you've got to give yourself the pleasure of our society. Has anyone else any objection to raise?"
He looked round at the assembled company. His coolness had evidently impressed them.
"If you are determined to go, and Moreas is willing to give half of his share to you, I don't know that anything more need be said," observed the Englishman. "Personally, I think it's a pity to bring a fifth person in; but, as he says, it is his affair, not ours. I'll give you one piece of advice, however, if you are coming; don't try to play any tricks with us."
"Or with me," put in Moreas sulkily. "If you do, you'll find yourself in the wrong box. By the time I've paid all of you your shares there will be nothing left for myself. I only hope nothing will go wrong."
"It had better not," answered Max. "At least, so far as you are concerned. You know me, I think, and I know you."
Moreas instinctively thought of the game of cards they had played together on theDiamintina, and of the pistol practice that had followed it. Was Max's speech only a part of the game of bluff they were both playing, or was it really intended as a warning to himself? A look of real apprehension flashed across his face. The Englishman observed it, and, if he had entertained suspicions before as to their complicity in the affair, this effectually dispersed them. They thereupon proceeded to make the final arrangements for the journey. A rendezvous was agreed upon for the following morning, and, this done, Max rose to take his leave.
"Adeos, Señors," he said, bowing to them with graceful insolence. "I have the honour to bid you farewell until to-morrow."
Then he left the room and went downstairs. But he did not leave the neighbourhood. According to the plan they had arranged, he took up his position in a dark corner of the street until he had seen the others depart. Then he returned to the house and rejoined Moreas.
"You played your part extremely well," said the latter patronisingly. "It's a long time since I witnessed a prettier bit of acting than when you told me I had better see that nothing went wrong while we were away."
"Don't be too sure it was all acting," replied Max quietly. "You have brought me into it to look afteryourinterests; but I fancy you'll agree with me that a man's first duty, in affairs like this at any rate, is to look after his own."
Moreas tried to laugh unconcernedly, but the result was a comparative failure.
To attempt a detailed description of Max's wanderings for the next few months would, even with the help of his diary, prove, I fear, a task altogether beyond my abilities. On the morning following the interview I have just described as taking place at Moreas' house, they embarked upon the train at a wayside station, a few miles out of Rio, and remained in it until they had proceeded as far as it was possible for the line to take them. Having reached the end of the construction, they alighted at a miserable village consisting of some twenty or thirty houses of the typical Brazilian type, and collected their impedimenta. Such stores and equipments as they intended carrying with them had already arrived, as also had the mules which had been purchased for the journey. Moreas, by virtue of being the only person who knew the secret, was duly installed as leader of the expedition; and, seeing that the day was too far advanced for them to make a start, he decided on remaining in the village that night, and proceeding as soon as it was light next morning. Being anxious to obtain as much information as possible concerning the track they were to follow for the next hundred miles, Moreas invited certain of the leading inhabitants to sup with them that night. This gave rise to a regular orgie. By midnight Moreas was decidedly intoxicated, while the two Spaniards were incapable of even sitting upright, so were stretched at full length upon the floor. Disgusted beyond measure with what he saw, Max left the room and passed into the verandah. There he found the Englishman, Bertram, smoking a cigar. He had taken a liking to the man, and cherished a belief that the feeling was reciprocated. "So you have had enough of it, too," said the latter as Max approached. "I couldn't stand any more of it, so I came out here."
"My case is very similar," answered Max. "It's a good thing this sort of thing is not likely to occur very often."
"I agree with you," returned the other. "Moreas and the Spaniards are very well when they are sober, but when they are drunk they are altogether impossible. Forgive me asking the question, but have you known Moreas very long?"
"A matter of two years," Max replied. "I met him first on the steamer that brought me out from England."
"Ah! I was right then," said Bertram, in a somewhat kindlier tone than he had yet spoken. "I felt certain that you were an Englishman when I saw you yesterday; and yet, do you know, if you don't mind my saying so, you don't altogether look like one."
"I'm not," said Max. "By birth I am a Pannonian, but I have lived in England since I was quite a youngster. You, of course, are English. There can be no sort of doubt about that."
"Am I so dreadfully insular, then?" the other inquired with a laugh. "I thought the knocking about the world I have had would have rubbed the edges off. Yes, I am an Englishman, I suppose, if ever there was one. I hail from Gainsthorpe, in Yorkshire. Do you happen to know the place?"
"I should think so," said Max, with sudden animation. "I've stayed there often."
After that they were both silent. The simple fact that they both happened to be acquainted with the same obscure village struck them as a marvellous coincidence; after a time, however, it became a bond that bound them very closely together. Later on, for some reason not altogether explainable, they left England, and talked of Brazil and life in South America generally. Of the subject upon which they were for the time being engaged they said nothing. They did not know each other particularly well yet, and both felt it would be safer to let it alone. Presently Moreas staggered into the verandah, stared wildly about him for a few seconds, as if he were looking for some one, and then reeled towards them.
"Come, come, Señors," he said with a hiccup, "I don't call this sociable at all. Here we are enjoying ourselves in the room yonder, and you keep away from us as if you don't desire our company. It isn't the sort of thing to make us friendly."
He seized Max by the arm, and attempted to lead him in the direction of the door, but the other shook him off.
"You must excuse me," he said. "I don't feel up to it to-night. Besides, if the noise you are making is any criterion, you are getting along well enough without us."
The other's mood had changed by this time. He turned and faced them, supporting himself by the verandah rails.
"I suppose you don't want to offend me on the first evening of this mem—mem—(hic) memorable journey?" he said.
"I have not the least desire to offend you," Max retorted. "Nevertheless, I am not coming in. It is useless for you to ask me."
Moreas thereupon transferred his attentions to Bertram, who proved equally intractable.
"Very well," he said at last, when he had tried to arrive at a proper understanding of the position; "if you won't come I suppose you won't, so I'll go myself, and leave you to conspire against me in peace."
With that he took himself off, and the two men were left to construe his last speech according to their inclinations.
"That is a cur who will require some watching," said Bertram, when they were alone once more together. "Thank goodness, however, I'm up to most of his tricks."
Max offered no reply to this remark. Angry as he was with Moreas, he felt that he himself was in an invidious position. To all intents and purpose he was the other's servant, and an innate feeling of loyalty, to however unworthy a master, kept him silent.
"If we are to be up as early to-morrow morning as we arranged had we not better begin to think about bed?" said Max at last.
"Perhaps we had. But I am rather afraid the others will not be in a condition after their carouse to-night to travel as soon as we imagine. However, if you are tired, by all means let us turn in."
They walked towards the door. Suddenly Bertram stopped, and, with a little hesitation, addressed his companion once more.
"I want to ask you," he said, "whether you have any objection to telling me the name of your friend; I mean the man who you visited at Gainsthorpe. It's just possible I might know him."
"His name was Beverley," Max replied, without thinking of the trouble to which his answer might possibly give rise.
"Do you mean Dick Beverley, the cross-country man?" said Bertram, after a momentary pause.
"The same," said Max. "Do you know him?"
"I ought to," the other replied, and then, after another display of hesitation, added, "Dick Beverley is my brother. Bertram is only my assumed name."
Max uttered an exclamation, that was partly one of surprise and partly one of pain. "Good heavens! can it be possible that you are Beverley's brother?" he cried. "I can scarcely credit it."
"It's more than possible, however, it's a certainty," returned his companion. "And now, d'you know, I fancy I can tell who you are. Your face has been haunting me ever since I first saw it. I knew I had seen it somewhere. You don't remember me, because I never saw you at the old place, but, the year after I cleared out of England, Dick sent me a photograph of himself, taken with a group of his brother officers. You and he were standing side by side, I remember. If you don't mind my saying so, you are the man who has been missing for so long, and about whom there has been so much talk—the Crown Prince of Pannonia."
"Hush, hush!" cried Max, as if he were afraid some one might overhear the other's words. "For heaven's sake don't talk so loud. You see, I don't deny the truth of your words. I suppose it would be no use. What a strange world it is, to be sure! My only reason for coming on this journey was because I was afraid of being recognised in Rio. Now it appears that it is destined for one of the men I am travelling with to find me out. What a fool I was ever to talk to you about Yorkshire!"
"It was I who started it," said the other apologetically, as if he were anxious to bear his proper share of the blame. "I'm sorry I asked you such questions, since it has caused you pain. I'm not much of a fellow, and I suppose there are a good many people who wouldn't trust me as far as they can see me; all the same, if you like, I will give you my word that your secret shall never pass my lips. I'll do that for the sake of poor old Dick, whose friend and comrade you once were."
"I thank you from the bottom of my heart," said Max. "Since my reasons were of sufficient importance to induce me to leave home, and give up everything that a man ought to hold dear, it may be supposed I am not anxious that other people should recognise me and drive me further afield again. If you will keep my secret, you will lay me under an everlasting obligation."
"Your secret is safe with me," answered Bertram solemnly. "I will pledge you my word on it, if you like."
"I'll believe you without that," said Max. "Let us shake hands upon it."
They accordingly did so. Though they could not, of course, realise it then, that hand-shake was significant in a variety of ways. Among other things, it laid the foundation of a friendship that was as sincere as it was mutual.
A few minutes later they retired into the house, and, when they had found a corner in which the night might be spent in comparative peace, if not in any degree of comfort, they wrapped themselves in their blankets and were soon asleep. Max and Bertram were early astir next morning. Not so the revellers of the previous evening. Like warriors on a battlefield, they lay just where they had fallen. Moreas was in the verandah, Rodriguez and his compatriot rested under the table, while the others were scattered in various picturesque, but undignified, attitudes about the different rooms.
"My prophecy of last night is likely to prove a true one," said Bertram, as they stood side by side surveying the prostrate figures. "They will not open their eyes till mid-day, and it will be some hours afterwards before we shall be able to get upon the road."
It turned out as he had said. Mid-day had arrived and passed before the remainder of the party seemed capable of getting upon their feet, much less of exerting themselves. Even then, the two Spaniards, Rodriguez, and Pereira, would have needed but little persuasion to make them continue the orgie for another night. Of this, however, Max and the Englishman would not hear, and even Moreas, who was by this time comparatively himself once more, joined in the chorus of disapproval. Accordingly, the horses and mules were caught and saddled, and, half an hour later, the party bade the village farewell and embarked upon their journey proper. For three days they traversed through well-vegetated forests, and over long rolling plains, with never a bush or a tree, until they entered a forbidding mountain range, and some stiff climbing became the order of the day. By the time they had had twenty-four hours of this, the strength and temper of both mules and men were well-nigh exhausted. It was in one of these gloomy passes, or cañons, as perhaps it should be properly termed, that an incident occurred that might very well have ended disastrously for the whole company concerned. It happened in this way. Ever since they had left the forest and set foot upon the sterile plateau, the commissariat, once so plentifully supplied, had been impoverished to a degree that bordered upon starvation. As a result, they were compelled to fall back upon the preserved food they had brought with them, and which was only to be used in case of emergency. This had given rise to a considerable amount of grumbling, and from grumbling certain members of the party found it a very short step to open quarrelling. Antonio Rodriguez and Moreas were the principal offenders in this respect. Indeed, it was noticeable to more than one that, in the last few days, the latter's character had changed completely. He was silent, morose, rarely smiled, and equally seldom allowed an opportunity to pass him of saying something that was likely to give offence. What was perhaps worse, he had become exceedingly jealous of the attention paid to him. Because he took it into his head that Max preferred Bertram's company to his own, he held aloof from him and conversed only with the Spaniards. But, in thus describing the change that had come over his character, I have wandered away from the incident I was about to put on record.
As I have said, the commissariat stood in great need of replenishment. Being anxious to give the animals a rest, it was agreed that the party should remain in camp for another day. This being so, Bertram took his rifle and started off into the mountains in search of game. When he had been gone about half an hour, Moreas, who had been in one of his tantrums all day, also decided to set out upon the same errand. Climbing the side of the mountain, he, in his turn, disappeared from view, and Max, who had been watching him, returned to the tailoring operations upon which he had hitherto been busily engaged. As he worked, the recollection of a quarrel that had taken place in the morning between Moreas and Bertram returned to his mind. It had been brewing for a long time, and, had it not been for Max's own repeated interventions, it would long since have taken a serious turn. Both men were equally ready to fight, but Max was aware that Bertram, good shot as he was, when pitted against such a man as Moreas, would stand but a small chance of success. He was still pondering over this, when another thought occurred to him. It placed a more serious aspect upon the case. He liked Bertram, and he had no intention of allowing the Spaniard to do him a mischief, if he could help it. He accordingly rose, stowed away his work in his saddle-bag, and, having explained to the two other men, that he felt inclined for a walk, and was going after Moreas, he also climbed the side of the hill. On reaching the summit he looked anxiously about him for the man he was seeking, both on the neighbouring hills and also in the valley below. For a long time, however, he was unsuccessful. Then a mile or so distant, along the hillside to the right, his quick eye detected a small black object, creeping slowly but steadily towards the west. He was evidently stalking something, and Max, remembering Moreas' skill with the rifle, resolved to follow him, in the hope that he might be of some service in helping to carry home the game.
Seeing the slow pace at which the other was travelling, it was not very long before he was close behind him. Moreas was now crouching behind a rock, as if he were anxious that the game he was pursuing, and which Max could not see, should not become aware of his presence. A moment later he rose and peeped over the boulder, at the same time lifting his gun into position. Being some distance above him, it was possible for Max to see over his head into the valley in the direction in which the rifle was pointing. Then, to his horrified amazement, he beheld Bertram leave a little coppice, and walk out into a piece of open ground, a couple of hundred yards or so distant from where the other man was waiting.In a flash the whole truth dawned upon him. It was Bertram whom Moreas was stalking so carefully, and it was Bertram he intended to shoot.He was about to call out in the hope of diverting the Spaniard's attention, or of warning the Englishman; but, before he could do so, the other had pulled the trigger. There was a report, and when Max, who had closed his eyes, as if he were afraid of what he might be called upon to witness, opened them again, Moreas was once more crouching down behind the rock, while Bertram was examining something, evidently, the splash of a bullet, on the face of a boulder behind him. Moreas had failed in his attempt; but the man he had aimed at had been standing directly before the rock, and it could only have been by a few inches that he had missed him.
"This is a terrible state of things," said Max to himself, when he had recovered a little from the shock Moreas' treachery had caused him. "What on earth am I to do?"
At first he felt inclined to descend hastily upon Moreas, and accuse him, there and then, of attempting to murder the Englishman. A moment later, however, the folly of this proceeding became apparent to him. Had he done so, it would have been necessary for the others to know of it, and, in that case, it was very probable that Moreas' life would have paid forfeit. This, for a variety of reasons, was undesirable. At the same time, he felt that he must protect his friend against any similar attacks. Bearing this in mind he watched Moreas' movements with the greatest anxiety. He was not at all certain that the latter, finding that his first shot had proved unsuccessful, might not attempt a second. Moreas, however, did not do so; he knew that Bertram, once placed upon his guard, would be on the look out, and he had no intention of allowing himself to be captured red-handed, which would certainly have been his fate had he missed. He accordingly remained in hiding until the Englishman had passed round the bend of the hill and was safely on his way back to the camp. Then he emerged, and, in his turn, retraced his steps by the way he had come, in so doing passing within fifty yards of the spot where Max lay concealed. When the latter reached the camp he found the evening meal prepared, and the two men amicably seated, side by side, near the fire, to all appearances better friends than they had been for some time past. Max fancied that Moreas looked rather apprehensively at him as he came into the firelight; but whatever he may have thought, he said nothing to him, either then or on a subsequent occasion, concerning that mysterious shot upon the hill. Bertram also followed his example, and, though he had plenty of opportunity, he did not once refer, either directly or indirectly, to the attempt that had been made upon his life that afternoon.
Next day they resumed their march, and twenty-four hours later left the mountains behind them, and once more entered a zone of fertile country. This continued for upwards of three hundred miles, until Moreas informed them that he felt sure they must be approaching the second range, that it would be necessary for them to cross before they could reach the country in which the old woman had declared that the diamonds existed. This proved to be the case, for the next day a faint blue haze on the northern horizon showed them that they were nearing what they might consider the half-way house to their destination. It was true that they had been warned that the road over these mountains would be likely to prove a serious obstacle in their path, and also that the long stretches of desert on the further side were good for neither man nor beast. They did not give that much consideration, however. Great though the present difficulties might be, the reward at the end would be much larger, if all they had been told were true. When, however, they reached the foot of the mountains they were able to realise something of what lay before them. Unlike the other range through which they had passed a fortnight before, this one consisted of high, rocky peaks, where even a goat could scarcely retain his footing, and dark, gloomy cañons, both almost grassless and entirely destitute of water. What was worse, their animals by this time were sadly out of condition, and often it was as much as the poor beasts could do to drag one foot after the other. Still they persevered. The Spaniards grumbled incessantly, it is true. Moreas, on the other hand, scarcely spoke at all, while Max thought he could even detect on the Englishman's handsome face a growing belief that they had attempted something that was beyond the power of human beings to accomplish. Whatever his feelings may have been, however, he never once permitted a word of complaint to pass his lips. The outlook was by no means a cheerful one. After the privations the party had been through so far, it seemed hard, indeed, that they should not be able to reach the goal for which they had been aiming. With such overwhelming odds against them, however, it seemed impossible that they could hope to succeed. But they were slow to own themselves beaten. Indeed, it was not until they stood face to face with almost certain death, that they realised how futile it was to continue the fight. Then, in one of the loneliest cañons of all that lonely range, they called a halt and took counsel with each other. The two Spaniards, as on a previous occasion, were openly mutinous, and showered black looks on everyone, each other included. Remembering what he had seen a fortnight before, Max never once permitted Moreas to leave the camp unaccompanied. The man's temper was by this time in such a condition that it was within the bounds of possibility that he would have chosen a vantage on the hill side above, and have shot them down without either a second thought, or a feeling of compunction.
"It seems to me we're in a pretty sort of a fix," said Bertram after some little discussion had taken place on their position. "The animals are giving way, and if we go on like this, it won't be long before we all follow suit. Now the question for us to decide is, what are we going to do. If the remainder of you are desirous of pushing ahead, then I'm willing to do the same. If not, let us turn back without further parleying. The matter, however, must be decided once and for all. There has been too much grumbling lately, and it seems to me the best thing we can do is to hold a meeting now, and settle everything. What do you say, Mortimer?"