The Flaming Jewel

by Robert W. Chambers

the kiss had been accomplished, she rested onehand on his shoulder and rose, and drew him with her.

  Then _his_ moment came: he drew the emblazoned case from his breast,opened it, and, in silence, laid it in her hands. The blaze of thejewels in the sunshine almost blinded them.

  That was _his_ moment.

  The next moment was Quintana's.

  * * * * *

  Darragh hadn't a chance. Out of the bushes two pistols were thrust hardagainst his stomach. Quintana's face was behind them. He wore no mask,but the three men with him watched him over the edges of handkerchiefs,-- over the sights of levelled rifles, too.

  The youthful Grand Duchess had turned deadly white. One of Quintana'smen took the morocco case from her hands and shoved her aside withoutceremony.

  Quintana leered at Darragh over his levelled weapons:

  "My frien' Smith!" he exclaimed softly. "So it is you, then, who havetwice try to rob me of my property!

  "Ah! You recollec'? Yes? How you have rob me of a pacquet whichcontain only some chocolate?"

  Darragh's face was burning with helpless rage.

  "My frien', Smith," repeated Quintana, "do you recollec' what it was yousay to me? Yes? ... How often it is the onexpected which so usuallyhappen? You are quite correc', l'ami Smith. It has happen."

  He glanced at the open jewel box which one of the masked men held, then,like lightning, his sinister eyes focussed on Darragh.

  "So," he said, "it was also you who rob me las' night of my property.... What you do to Nick Salzar, eh?"

  "Killed him," said Darragh, dry lipped, nerved for death. "I ought tohave killed you, too, when I had the chance. But -- _I'm_ white, yousee."

  At the insult flung into his face over the muzzles of his own pistols,Quintana burst into laughter.

  "Ah! You _should_ have shot me! You are quite right, my frien'. Imus; say you have behave ver' foolish."

  He laughed again so hard that Darragh felt his pistols shaking againsthis body.

  "So you have kill Nick Salzar, eh?" continued Quintana with perfect goodhumour. "My frien', I am oblige to you for what you do. You aresurprise? Eh? I is ver' simple, my frien' Smith. What I want of a manwho can be kill? Eh? Of what use is he to me? Voila!"

  He laughed, patted Darragh on the shoulder with one of his pistols.

  "You, now -- _you_ could be of use. Why? Because you are a better manthan was Nick Salzar. He who kills is better than the dead."

  Then, swiftly his dark features altered:

  "My frien' Smith," he said, "I have come here for my property, not tokill. I have recover my property. Why shall I kill you? To say that Iam a better man? Yes, perhaps. Bu also I should be oblige to say thatalso I am a fool. Yaas! A poor damfool."

  Without shifting his eyes he made a motion with one pistol to his men.As they turned and entered the thicket, Quintana's intent gaze becamemurderous.

  "If I mus' kill you I shall do so. Otherwise I have sufficient troubleto keep me from ennui. My frien', I am going home to enjoy my property.If you live or die it signifies nothing to me. No! Why, for thepleasure of killing you, should I bring your dirty gendarmes on myheels?"

  He backed away to the edge of the thicket, venturing one swift and evilglance at the girl who stood as though dazed.

  "Listen attentively," he said to Darragh. "One of my men remains hiddenvery near. He is a dead shot. His aim is at your -- sweetheart's --body. You understan'?"

  "Yes."

  "Ver' well. You shall not go away for one hour time. After that----"he took off his slouch hat with a sweeping bow -- "you may go to hell!"

  Behind him the bushes parted, closed.

  Jose Quintana had made his adieux.

  * * * * *

  Episode Nine

  The Forest and Mr. Sard

  * * * * *

  I

  When at last Jose Quintana has secured what he had been after for years,his troubles really began. In his pocket he had two million dollarsworth of gems, including the Flaming Jewel.

  But he was in the middle of a wilderness ringed in by hostile men, andobliged to rely for aid on a handful of the most desperate criminals inEurope.

  Those openly hostile to him had a wide net spread around him -- wide ofmesh too, perhaps; and it was through a mesh he meant to wriggle, butthe net was intact from Canada to New York.

  Canadian police and secret agents held it on the north: this he hadlearned from Jake Kloon long since.

  East, west and south he knew he had the troopers of the New York StateConstabulary to deal with, and in addition every game warden and firewarden in the State Forests, a swarm of lain clothes men from theMetropolis, and the rural constabulary of every town along the edges ofthe vast reservation.

  Just who was responsible for this enormous conspiracy to rob him of whathe considered his own legitimate loot Quintana did not know.

  Sard's attorney, Eddie Abrams, believed that the French policeinstigated it through agents of the United States Secret Service.

  Of one thing Quintana was satisfied, Mike Clinch had nothing to do withstirring up the authorities. Law-breakers of his sort don't shout forthe police or invoke State or Government aid.

  As for the status of Darragh -- or Hal Smith, as he supposed him to be,a well-born young man gone wrong. Europe was full of that kind. ToQuintana there was nothing suspicious about Hal Smith. On the contrary,his clever recklessness confirmed that polished bandit's opinion thatSmith was a gentleman degenerated into a crook. It takes an educatedimagination for a man to do what Smith had done to him. If the commoncrook has any imagination at all it never is educated.

  Another matter worried Jose Quintana: he was not only short onprovisions, but what remained was cached in Drowned Valley; and MikeClinch and his men were guarding every outlet to that sinister region,excepting only the rocky and submerged trail by which he had made hisexit.

  That was annoying; it cut off provisions and liquor from Canada, forwhich he had arranged with Jake Kloon. For Kloon's hootch-runners nowwould be stopped by Clinch; ad not one among them knew about the rockytrail in.

  All these matters were disquieting enough: but what really and mostdeeply troubled Quintana was his knowledge of his own men.

  He did not trust one among them. Of international crookdom they werethe cream. Not one of them but would have murdered his fellow if theloot were worth it and the chances of escape sufficient.

  There was no loyalty to him, none to one another, no "honour amongthieves" -- and it was Jose Quintana who knew that only in romance sucha thing existed.

  N, he could not trust a single man. Only hope of plunder attached thesemarauders to him, and merely because he had education and imaginationenough to provide what they wanted.

  Anyone among them would murder and rob him if opportunity presented.

  Now, how to keep his loot; how to get back to Europe with it, was theproblem that confronted Quintana after robbing Darragh. And hedetermined to settle part of that question at once.

  About five miles from Harrod Place, within a hundred rods of which hehad held up Hal Smith, Quintana halted, seated himself on a rotting log,and waited until his men came up and gathered around him.

  For a little while, in utter silence, his keen eyes travelled from onevisage to the next, from Henri Picquet to Victor Georgiades, to Sanchez,to Sard. His intent scrutiny focussed on Sard; lingered.

  If there was anybody he might trust, a little way, it would be Sard.

  Then a polite, untroubled smile smoothed the pale, dark features of JoseQuintana:

  "Bien, messieurs, the coup has been success. Yes? Ver' well; in turn,then, en accord with our custom, I shall dispose myse'f to listen toyour good advice."

  He looked at Henri Picquet, smiled and nodded invitation to speak.

  Picquet shrugged: "For me, mon capitaine, eet ees ver' simple. We arefive. Therefore, divide into five ze gems. After zat, each one forhimself to make his way out----"

&nb
sp; "Nick Salzar and Harry Beck are in Drowned Valley," interruptedQuintana.

  Picquet shrugged again; Sanchez laughed, saying: "If they are there itis their misfortune. Also, we others are in a hurry."

  Picquet added: "Also five shares are sufficient division."

  "It is propose, then, that we abandon our comrades Beck and Salzar tothe rifle of Mike Clinch?"

  "Why not?" demanded Georgiades sullenly; -- "we shall have worse to facebefore we see the Place de l'Opera."

  "There remains, also, Eddie Abrams," remarked Quintana.

  Crooks never betray their attourney. Everybody expressed a willingnessto have the five shares of plunder properly assessed to satisfy the feedue to Mr. Abrams.

  "Ver' well," nodded Quintana, "are you satisfy, messieurs, to divide an'disperse?"

  Sard said, heavily, that they ought to stick together until they arrivedin New York.

  Sanchez sneered, accusing Sard of wanting a bodyguard to escort him tohis own home. "In this accursed forest," he insisted, "five of us wouldattract attention where one alone, with sufficient stealth, can slipthrough into the open country."

  "Two by two is better," said Picquet. "You, Sanchez, shall travel aloneif you desire----"

  "Divide the gems first," growled Georgiades, "and then let each do whatpleases him."

  "That," nodded Quintana, "is also my opinion. It is so settle.Attention!" Two pistols were in his hands as by magic. With a slightsmile he laid them on the moss beside him.

  He then spread a large white handkerchief flat on the ground; and, fromhis pockets, he poured out the glittering cascade. Yet, like a feedingpanther, every sense remained alert to the slightest sound or movementelsewhere; and when Georgiades grunted from excess emotion, Quintana'sright hand held a pistol before the grunt had ceased.

  It was a serious business, this division of loot; every reckless visagereflected the strain of the situation.

  Quintana, both pistols in his hands, looked down at the scintillatingheap of jewels.

  "I estimate two and one quartaire million dollaires," he said simply."It has been agree that I accep' for me the erosite gem known as TheFlaming Jewel. In addition, messieurs, it has been agree that I accep'for myse'f one part in five of the remainder."

  A fierce silence reigned. Every wolfish eye was on the leader. Hesmiled, rested his pair of pistols on either knee.

  "Is there," he asked softly, "any gentleman who shall objec'?"

  "Who,' demanded Georgiades hoarsely, "is to divide for us?"

  "It is for such purpose," explained Quintana suavely, "that my frien',Emanuel Sard, has arrive. Monsieur Sard is a brokaire of diamon's, asall know ver' well. Therefore, it shall be our frien' Sard who willdivide for us what we have gain to-day by our -- industry."

  The savage tension broke with a laugh at the word chosen by Quintana toexpress their efforts of the morning.

  Sard had been standing with one fat hand flat against the trunk of atree. Now, at a nod from Quintana, he squatted down, and, with the samehand that had been resting against the tree, he spread out the pile ofjewels into a flat layer.

  As he began to divide this into five parts, still using the flat of hispudgy hand, something poked him lightly in the ribs. It was the muzzleof one of Quintana's pistols.

  Sard, ghastly pale, looked up. His palm, sticky with balsam gum,quivered in Quintana's grasp.

  "I was going to scrape it off," he gasped. "The tree was sticky----"

  Quintana, with the muzzle of his pistol, detached half a dozen diamondsand rubies that clung to the gum on Mr. Sard's palm.

  "Wash!" he said drily.

  Sard, sweating with fear, washed his right hand with whiskey from hispocket-flask, and dried it for general inspection.

  "My God," he protested tremulously, "it was accidental, gentlemen. Doyou think I'd try to get away with anything like that----"

  Quintana coolly shoved him aside and with the barrel of his pistol hepushed the flat pile of gems into five separate heaps. Only he andGeorgiades knew that a magnificent diamond had been lodged in the muzzleof his pistol. The eyes of the Greek flamed with rage at the trick, buthe awaited the division before he should come to any conclusion.

  Quintana coolly picked out The Flaming Jewel and pocketed it. Then, toeach man he indicated the heap which was to be his portion.

  A snarling wrangle instantly began, Sanchez objecting to rubies anddemanding more emeralds, and Picquet complaining violently concerningthe smallness of the diamonds allotted him.

  Sard's trained eyes appraised every allotment. Without weighing, and,lacking time and paraphernalia for expert examination, he was inclinedto think the division fair enough.

  Quintana got to his feet lithely.

  "For me," he said, "it is finish. With my frien' Sard I shall nowdepart. Messieurs, I embrace and salute you. A bientot in Paris -- ifit be God's will! Done -- au revoir, les amis, et a la bonheur!Allons! Each for himself and gar' aux flics!"

  Sard, seized with a sort of still terror, regarded Quintana withenormous eyes. Torn between dismay of being left alone in thewilderness, and a very natural fear of any single companion, he did notknow what to say or do.

  En masse, the gang were too distrustful of one another to unite onrobbing any individual. But any individual might easily rob a companionwhen alone with him.

  "Why -- why can't we all go together," he stammered. "It is safer,surer----"

  "I go with Quintana and you," interrupted Georgiades, smilingly; hismind on the diamond in the muzzle of Quintana's pistol.

  "I do not invite you," said Quintana. "But come if it pleases you."

  "I also prefer to come with you others," growled Sanchez. "To roamalone in this filthy forest does not suit me."

  Picquet shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel in silence. Theywatched him moving away all alone, eastward. When he had disappearedamong the trees, Quintana looked inquiringly at the others.

  "Eh, bien, non alors!" snarled Georgiades suddenly. "There are too manyin your trupeau, mon capitaine. Bonne chance!"

  He turned and started noisily in the direction taken by Picquet.

  They watched him out of sight; listened to his careless trample after hewas lost to view. When at length the last distant sound of his retreathad died away in the stillness, Quintana touched Sard with the point ofhis pistol.

  "Go first," he said suavely.

  "For God's sake, be a little careful of your gun----"

  "I am, my dear frien'. It is of _you_ I may become careless. You willmo' kin'ly face south, and you will be kin' sufficient to startimmediate. Tha's what I mean. ... I thank you. ... Now, my frien',Sanchez! Tha's correc'! You shall follow my frien' Sard ver' close.Me, I march in the rear. So we shall pass to the eas' of thees StarPon', then between the cross-road an' Ghos' Lake; an' then we shallrepose; an' one of us, en vidette, shall discover if the Constabularyhave patrol beyon'. ... Allons! March!"

  * * * * *

  II

  Guided by Quintana's directions, the three had made a wide detour of theeast, steering by compass for the cross-roads beyond Star Pond.

  In a dense growth of cedars, on a little ridge traversing wet land,Quintana halted to listen.

  Sard and Sanchez, supposing him to be at their heels, continued on,pushing their way blindly through the cedars, clinging to the hard ridgein terror of sink-holes. But their progress was very slow; and theywere still in sight, fighting a painful path amid the evergreens, whenQuintana suddenly squatted close to the moist earth behind a juniperbush.

  At first, except for the threshing of Sard and Sanchez through themassed obstructions ahead, there was not a sound in the woods.

  After a little while there _was_ a sound -- very, very slight. No drystick cracked; no dry leaves rustled; no swish of foliage; no whippingsound of branches disturbed the intense silence.

  But, presently, came a soft, swift rhythm like the pace of a forestcreature in haste -- a discreetly hurrying tread which
was more a seriesof light earth-shocks than sound.

  Quintana, kneeling on one knee, lifted his pistol. He already felt theslight vibration of the ground on the hard ridge. The cedars weremoving just beyond him now. He waited until, through the partedfoliage, a face appeared.

  The loud report of his pistol struck Sard with the horror of paralysis.Sanchez faced about with one spring, snarling, a weapon in either hand.

  In the terrible silence they could hear something heavy floundering inthe bushes, choking, moaning, thudding on the ground.

  Sanchez began to creep back; Sard, more dead than alive, crawled at hisheels. Presently they saw Quintana, waist deep in juniper, looking downat something.

  And when they drew closer they saw Georgiades lying on his back under acedar, the whole front of his shirt from chest to belly a sopping messof blood.

  There seemed no need of explanation. The dead Greek lay there where hehad not been expected, and his two pistols lay beside him where they hadfallen.

  Sanchez looked stealthily at Quintana, who said softly:

  "Bien sure. ... In his left side pocket, I believe."

  * * * * *

  Sanchez laid a cool hand on the dead man's heart; then, satisfied,rummaged until he found Georgiades' share of the loot.

  Sard, hurriedly displaying a pair of clean but shaky hands, made thedivision.

  When the three men had silently pocketed what was allotted to each,Quintana pushed curiously at the dead man with the toe of his shoe.

  "Peste!" he remarked. "I had place, for security, a ver' large diamon'in my pistol barrel. Now it is within the interior of this gentleman...." he turned to Sanchez: "I sell him to you. One sapphire. Yes?"

  Sanchez shook his head with a slight sneer: "We wait -- if you want yourdiamond, mon capitaine."

  Quintana hesitated, then made a grimace and shook his head.

  "No," he said, "he had swallow. Let him digest. Allons! March!"

  But after they had gone on -- two hundred yards, perhaps -- Sanchezstopped.

  "Well?" inquired Quintana. Then, with a sneer: "I now recollec' thatonce you have been a butcher in Madrid. ... Suit your tas'e, l'amiSanchez."

  Sard gazed at Sanchez out of sickened eyes.

  "You keep away from me until you've washed yourself," he burst out,revolted. "Don't you come near me till you're clean!"

  Quintana laughed and seated himself. Sanchez, with a hang-dog glance athim, turned and sneaked back on the trail they had traversed. Before hewas out of sight Sard saw him fish out a Spanish knife from his hippocket and unclasp it.

  Almost nauseated, he turned on Quintana in a sort of frightened fury:

  "Come on!" he said hoarsely. "I don't want to travel with that man! Iwon't associate with a ghoul! My God, I'm a respectable businessman----"

  "Yaas," drawled Quintana, "tha's what I saw always myse'f; my frien'Sard he is ver' respec'able, an' I trus' him like I trus' myse'f."

  However, after a moment, Quintana got up from the fallen tree where hehad been seated.

  As he passed Sard he looked curiously into the man's frightened eyes.There was not the slightest doubt that Sard was a coward.

  "You shall walk behin' me," remarked Quintana carelessly. "If Sanchezfin' us, it is well; if he shall not, that also is ver' well. ... We go,now."

  * * * * *

  Sanchez made no effort to find them. They had been gone half an hourbefore he had finished the business that had turned him back.

  After that he wandered about hunting for water -- a rivulet, a puddle,anything. But the wet ground proved wet only on the surface moss.Sanchez needed more than damp moss for his toilet. Casting about him,hither and thither, for some depression that might indicate a stream, hecame to a heavily wooded slope, and descended it.

  There was a bog at the foot. With his fouled hands he dug out a basinwhich filled up full of reddish water, discoloured by alders.

  But the water was redder still when his toilet ended.

  As he stood there, examining his clothing, and washing what he could ofthe ominous stains from sleeve and shoe, very far away to the north heheard a curious noise -- a far, faint sound such as he never before hadheard. If it were a voice of any sort there was nothing human about it.... Probably some sort of unknown bird. ... Perhaps a bird of prey. ...That was natural, considering the attraction that Georgiades would havefor such creatures. ... If it were a bird it must be a large one, hethought. ... Because there was a certain volume to the cry. ... Perhapsit was a beast, after all. ... Some unknown beast of the forest. ...

  Sanchez was suddenly afraid. Scarcely knowing what he was doing hebegan to run along the edge of the bog.

  First growth timber skirted it; running was unobstructed by underbrush.

  With his startled ears full of the alarming and unknown sound, he ranthrough the woods under gigantic pines which spread a soft greentwilight around him.

  He was tired, or thought he was, but the alarming sounds were fillinghis ears now; the entire forest seemed full of them, echoing in alldirections, coming in upon him from everywhere, so that he knew not inwhich direction to run.

  But he could no stop. Demoralised, he darted this way and that; terrorwinged his feet; the air vibrated above and around him with thedreadful, unearthly sounds.

  The next instant he fell headlong over a ledge, struck water, felthimself whirled around in the icy, rushing current, rolled over, tumbledthrough rapids, blinded, deafened, choked, swept helplessly in a vastgreen wall of water toward something that thundered in his brain aninstant, then dashed it into roaring chaos.

  * * * * *

  Half a mile down the turbulent outlet of Star Pond, -- where a greatsheet of green water pours thirty feet into the tossing foam below, --and spinning, dipping, diving, bobbing up like a lost log after thedrive, the body of Senor Sanchez danced all alone in the wilderness,spilling from soggy pockets diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, intocrystal caves where only the shadows of slim trout stirred.

  * * * * *

  Very far away to the eastward Quintana stood listening, clutching Sardby one sleeve to silence him.

  Presently he said: "My frien', somebody is hunting with houn's in thisfores'.

  "Maybe they are not hunting _us._ ... _Maybe._ ... But, for me, I shallseek running water. Go you your own way! Houp! Vamose!"

  He turned westward; but he had taken scarcely a dozen strides when Sardcame panting after him:

  "Don't leave me!" gasped the terrified diamond broker. "I don't knowwhere to go----"

  Quintana faced him abruptly -- with a terrifying smile and glimmer ofwhite teeth -- and shoved a pistol into the fold of fat beneath Sard'sdouble chin.

  "You hear those dogs? Yes? Ver' well; I also. Run, now. I say to yourun ver' damn quick. He! Houp! Allez vous en! Beat eer!"

  He struck Sard a stinging blow on his fleshy ear with the pistol barrel,ad Sard gave a muffled shriek which was more like the squeak of afrightened animal.

  "My God, Quintana----" he sobbed. Then Quintana's eyes blazed murder:and Sard turned and ran lumbering through the thicket like a stampededox, crashing on amid withered brake, white birch scrub and brier, notknowing whither he was headed, crazed with terror.

  Quintana watched his flight for a moment, then, pistol swinging, he ranin the opposite direction, eastward, speeding lithely as a cat down along, wooded slope which promised running water at the foot.

  * * * * *

  Sard could not run very far. He could scarcely stand when he pulled upand clung to the trunk of a tree.

  More dead than alive, he embraced the tree, gulping horribly for air,every fat-incrusted organ labouring, his senses swimming.

  As he sagged there, gripping his support on shaking knees, by degreeshis senses began to return.

  He could hear the dogs, now, vaguely as in a nightmare. But after alittle while he began to believe that their hysterical yelping wasreally growing more distant.

  Then this man whose ever
y breath was an outrage on God, prayed.

  He prayed that the hounds would follow Quintana, come up with him, draghim down, worry him, tear him to shreds of flesh and clothing.

  He listened and prayed alternately After a while he no longer prayedbut concentrated on his ears.

  Surely, surely, the diabolical sound was growing less distinct. ... Itwas changing direction too. But whether in Quintana's direction or noSard could not tell. He was no woodsman. He was completely turnedaround.

  He looked upward through a dense yellow foliage, but all was grey in thesky -- very grey and still; -- and there seemed to be no traces of thesun that had been shining.

  He looked fearfully around; trees, trees, and more trees. No break, noglimmer, nothing to guide him, teach him. He could see, perhaps, fiftyfeet; no further.

  In panic he started to move on. That is what fright invariably does tothose ignorant of the forest. Terror starts them moving.

  * * * * *

  Sobbing, frightened almost witless, he had been floundering forward forover an hour, and made circle after circle knowing, when, by chance heset foot in a perfectly plain trail.

  Emotion overpowered him. He was too overcome to stir for a while. Atlength, however, he tottered off down the trail, oblivious as to whatdirection he was taking, animated only by a sort of madness -- horror oftrees -- an insane necessity to see open ground, get into it, and liedown on it.

  And now, directly ahead, he saw clear grey sky low through the trees.The wood's edge!

  He began to run.

  As he emerged from the edge of the woods, waist-deep in brush and weeds,wide before his blood-shot eyes spread Star Pond.

  Even in his half-stupefied brain there was memory enough left forrecognition.

  He remembered the lake. His gaze travelled to the westward; and he sawClinch's Dump standing below, stark, silent, the doors swinging open inthe wind.

  When terror had subsided in a measure and some of his trembling strengthreturned, he got up out of the clump of rag-weeds where he had laindown, and earnestly nosed the unpainted house, listening with all hisears.

  There was not a sound save the soughing of autumn winds and the delicaterattle of falling leaves in the woods behind him.

  He needed food and rest. He gazed earnestly at the house. Nothingstirred there save the open doors swinging idly in every vagrant