But Dickpa was not listening. He had suddenly increased his pace, and then pulled up dead in his tracks. A low whistle escaped his lips. The others joined him, and stared in amazement at the sight which met their eyes.
"You've told us many times, Dickpa, that anything can happen in Brazil," said Biggles, " but I'm dashed if I expected to find anything like this. It looks as if we've found the front door."
The object which riveted their attention would not have been remarkable in different circumstances, but it was the last thing any of them expected to find up there. While they were talking they had approached the giant buttress and actually reached it before they were aware that a bridge, about thirty feet wide, spanned the chasm at its narrowest point. It was formed of two whole, roughly squared-up trees, laid side by side, without handrails or anything to prevent a careless traveller from stepping straight off into space. To make matters more difficult, one of the trees had slipped, so that it was lower at one end than at the other, and in fact only just resting lightly on the opposite cliff. It looked as if some convulsion of the earth had made the gap wider than it had been originally, for even the second tree only just reached the opposite side and looked as if a good push would send it off altogether.
Biggles looked at Dickpa reproachfully.
"I hope you're not going to tell me that I've got to walk across that thing," he said slowly. Dickpa shrugged his shoulders. "It looks as if it's either that or stay here," he said tersely.
"Who's going first?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," exclaimed Biggles. "I don't get the hang of all this. Here is a way up to the plateau, that's plain enough, and there was a way down via the cave. You don't tell me that people came across the mountains and across this crazy bridge just for the pleasure of going down again? No, they came up here for something, and it would have to be something pretty important to bring me up here. It looks to me as if this was the main entrance, and one that could be pretty easily closed, too."
"I believe you're right," said Dickpa, thinking hard. "It would be interesting to know what they came up here for."
"It would, but, not being a soothsayer, thoughtreader, or what-not, I can't tell you. Does that look like a track across there, or do I imagine it?"
The others followed his eyes, and saw a rough suggestion of a path leading right across the middle of the plateau on which they stood to the hill on the far side.
"Yes, that's a path all right," ejaculated Dickpa.
"Very well," said Biggles simply. "Don't you think it would be a good thing to see where it leads to before we walk the plank? Since we started I've been shot at, shaken, scared stiff, bitten, stung, hung, buried alive, and goodness knows what else, so I for one am going to have a last look for what we came for. What say you, Algy?"
"Every time," agreed Algy warmly.
"How about you, Dickpa?"
"Of course."
"And you, Smyth?"
"Tails up with me," cried the mechanic.
"Come on, then!" cried Biggles enthusiastically, and set off at a fast pace across the plateau, following the old trail which led from the bridge to the pyramid-like mass of rock on the far side.
Its outline grew more rugged as they approached, and it had lost all resemblance to a pyramid by the time they reached its base. It proved to be, in fact, nothing more or less than a huge conglomeration of rock, roughly oval in shape, with a large crown-like peak at one end and a smaller crest at the other. Three sides of it sloped down steeply to the plateau, but the other, which they could not reach, seemed to fall to the sheer lip of the precipice. The trail did not lead straight up, but wound around the hill corkscrew fashion, and was by no means easy to follow. They crossed a small stone bridge over a ravine, and often ascended short flights of steps that had been cut in the most difficult places. It was now past midday, and the sun blazed down with fierce intensity, but, mopping their faces, they
kept on. When they were about three-quarters of the way up, the reason for the winding of the trail became more apparent, for the sides of the hill sloped at such a steep angle in many places that it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to reach the summit by a straight path.
Biggles in his excitement, was well ahead of the others. They watched him break into a run up the last few yards and then stop with a jerk, at the same time throwing up his hands and staring downwards. For several seconds he remained thus; then he turned and beckoned frantically.
"He's found something," grunted Dickpa, and redoubled his efforts, all troubles forgotten.
Biggles started down to meet them.
"What is it?" called Dickpa, excited, while they were still some way off.
"I'll give you two guesses!" shouted Biggles.
"What is it?" repeated Dickpa, half angry at the delay.
"A town."
"A what?"
"Town!"
"Town?"
"Yes, town—t-o-w-n. In other words, a concentration of dwelling-houses, churches, squares, streets, and whatnots."
"You're joking."
"Joking my eye! Take a look," invited Biggles.
Dickpa, with the others at his heels, reached the crest of the hill. Before them lay a deep depression. The whole centre of the hill was, in fact, hollow, as if it had been scooped out with a giant ladle, and they knew they were gazing down into the crater of a long-extinct volcano. But whereas the outside of the eminence was dead rock, gaunt and stark and devoid of life, the inside presented a picture of sylvan beauty that was almost overwhelming in its unexpected loveliness. It
was richly, gloriously green, with a mantle of luxurious grasses and ferns, from which sprang trees and shrubs, many of which were laden with golden or rose-tinted blossoms. So unprepared were the watchers on the rim for such a spectacle that they could only stand and stare, lost in breathless wonderment.
But that was not all. From the centre, the sides of the crater sloped back in a series of artificial terraces of perfect symmetry. On these were rows of low, square houses, each isolated from, yet identical with, its neighbours, and all facing in the same direction, towards where a tall colonnaded building of Grecian beauty crowned the head of such a flight of steps as they had never seen before and could not have imagined. The whole effect was beautiful beyond description.
Dickpa, at the moment his eyes rested upon it, had turned as pale as death, and even Biggles, hardened almost to brutality by the careless hand of war, felt a sudden tightening of the heart-strings, while a queer emotion stole over him that the thing was unreal, a hallucination that would presently be dispelled. He glanced at his uncle, whose lips were moving inarticulately, as if he were trying to speak but could not find words to begin.
Then, "Let's go down," said Dickpa, in a strange tone of voice. "You boys must realise what this means to me," he went on slowly. "I've been searching all my life, hoping to find something, but I could visualize nothing on such a scale as this. It is the greatest moment of my life, for, unless I am mistaken, this is the biggest discovery of the age, greater perhaps than the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamen."
"How do we get down?" muttered Biggles in a strained voice, looking to right and left. " Ah, here we axe," he went on triumphantly, pointing to a narrow path, which, cut in the rock, wound downwards around the inside face of the cliff. Again the defensive value of the approach, down which only one person could
pass at a time, was apparent; a false step would have precipitated a walker on to the house-tops three hundred feet below.
As they drew nearer they could see that most of the buildings were in ruins; trees and shrubs had sprung up within them, and forced their way through the unglazed windows and flat roofs, across which sprawled a tangled growth of vines. They reached the first dwelling and stopped to look inside. It was clear at first glance that death, swift and unexpected, had overtaken the occupant, for his remains, half mummified in the rare atmosphere, had sunk forward over a bench on which were still scattered the tools of his
trade, which had evidently been that of a goldsmith or jeweller, for several exquisitely carved ornaments of the precious metal stood before him; another, half finished, was still clasped between his bony fingers. Two earthenware pots, one containing Indian corn and the other a thick, dark-brown stain that might have once been honey, stood against the wall near his side.
Dickpa picked up one of the ornaments, a carved figure of a llama, looked at it steadfastly for a moment, and then replaced it almost reverently. Not a word was spoken as they emerged into the sunlight again. They entered the next house, and the picture was the same, except that the occupant had evidently been a scribe, for a long pointed instrument and some blocks of stone on which he had been carving lay beside his lifeless body, just as they had fallen from his nerveless grasp when the cold hand of death had struck him down.
In every house they visited the same pitiful sight met their sympathetic gaze, and, overawed by the atmosphere of tragedy and decay that seemed to pervade the very air, the little party slowly reached the foot of the path.
"Did you notice anything—peculiar—about the
_
people—we have seen?" whispered Dickpa, for speech seemed like sacrilege in such a place.
Biggles looked up questioningly. "No," he said. "What—?"
"They were all men; we didn't see a single body of a woman."
"You mean they were
"Priests. This wasn't an ordinary town. It must have been a colony of religious devotees or something of the sort. There are years of research work to be done here, many years—
but let us go on," he broke off abruptly, and led the way along a broad, beautifully paved path, still as perfect as the day it was laid, towards the building on the steps that had evidently been a temple. Not until they reached the foot of it did they fully realise its immensity. It seemed to tower far above the rim of the crater, but this they knew was not actually the case. Like flies crawling up a sloping wall they mounted the majestic stairway, a stairway more wonderful than graced the palace of any European king. It was hard work, for the sun beat down with merciless intensity upon the stone, which reflected a glare which half blinded them with its fierce heat. Weary, and panting for breath, they reached the top and looked about them.
"The sacrificial stone," said Dickpa shortly, pointing to a great square mass that stood before the entrance of the temple. Its sides were still discoloured with dark significant stains that even the destroying hand of Time had been unable to remove. They reached it in a few strides. On it lay a long, curved knife of unusual material, which Dickpa told them was obsidian, a glass-like, volcanic product. "These people were sun worshippers," he went on in a hushed undertone, "and this is where they carried out their inhuman sacrificial rites that were the one real blot on their otherwise magnificent cultures and civilisation. But let us go in. We must see as much as we can now we are here, but we cannot stay
too late. I am not nervous, but I don't fancy the idea of spending the night here." They entered the frowning portal across the wind-scattered bones of one who may have been a sentry, and found themselves in a large, square chamber. After the glare outside, it seemed almost dark, for there were no windows, and instinctively they huddled up closer together in the eerie half-light as they looked about them curiously. Except for a few bodies, one of which wore a magnificent shimmering robe of tiny, bright-hued feathers, woven as tightly as those on the breast of a living bird, the room was empty. A layer of fine dust spread over everything; it rose in clouds under their feet and filled the air with gritty particles that set them coughing and sneezing as they started towards a low, square doorway in the opposite wall.
CHAPTER XIV
DISCOVERY
THEY crossed the Hall of Doom, as Biggles aptly named the place, and found themselves in another large chamber. It was even larger, but darker than the first, for there was no external door and the only light came from two small slits high up in a thick wall. When their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, they perceived only the same grim spectacle of recumbent bodies from which animation had long departed. The dust on the floor was deeper; here and there it had drifted into miniature dunes, like sand in the desert, where the wind had ruffled it. Dickpa picked up a handful and looked at it closely.
"Ash," he said laconically. "Volcanic ash. But these poor souls were not overwhelmed by an eruption such as overtook the ill-fated city of Pompeii. Pompeii was literally buried under ashes and lava. These unfortunate fellows haven't been burnt, that is quite clear, or their clothes would show it. Yet how did they die? What frightful agent of death could have struck them down wholesale, like the first-born in Egypt?" He bent over one of the bodies. "They might have been gassed," he went on slowly, answering his own question.
"Yes, that was it. Gassed. Choked to death, suffocated by sulphur fumes forced up by some subterranean disturbance such as the one that overtook us in the cave, but much worse. Yes, that must have been it; at least I can think of no other solution. Can't you picture the scene?" he continued in a voice which betrayed his emotion. "The priests at their devotions in the temple, on the very spot where we now stand; the lay brothers in their houses on the terraces, all
going about their daily tasks with no thought or warning of the impending doom that was about to overtake them; the invincible sword which was to strike them down, from High Priest to the lowest labourer, sparing none. Then, like that"—he clicked his fingers —" the terrifying rumble of unseen forces beneath their feet, a long pulsating quiver, and the silent advance of the gas released by the inferno that was to snuff them out like the firstborn of Egypt." Dickpa paused, almost overcome by the tragic picture he had portrayed.
"It may have been the same shock that loosened the bridge," said Biggles quietly.
"Probably, probably," agreed Dickpa. "Well, well, it's very sad. But what have we here?" he went on, walking slowly towards a fallen heap of masonry above which yawned a gaping breech in the opposite wall. "It looks as if it had once been a walled-up doorway which has been shaken down by earthquake at some time or other. I can see daylight coming in on the far side, too; there must be another outside door, or a large window." Side by side they walked across and looked through the gaping hole in the wall. For a long time nobody spoke. Nobody moved, or even seemed to breathe. Biggles was the first to break the silence, with a long-drawn intake of breath. "Well, there she is," he said simply.
Dickpa did not answer. He stood with his left hand resting against the broken wall, staring dully at something that lay beyond, as rigid as if he had been a figure carved in stone.
"Looks like money for jam, sir," ventured Smyth nervously. Biggles and Algy started to laugh, but stopped abruptly. Still Dickpa did not speak.
"Well, Dickpa," said Biggles, nudging him gently, "is it the treasure or isn't it? Pull yourself together or
you'll get fixed in that position. This isn't how I imagined our finding the treasure." Dickpa gave a deep sigh. "Yes," he said slowly, passing a trembling hand across his forehead, "it is the treasure. Do you know what that is?" he asked, pointing to an enormous plate of gold on which was engraved a human face from which innumerable rays sprang out in every direction.
"It reminds me of something—a sign representing the sun that I've seen at some time or other," replied Biggles.
"That's just what it is," said Dickpa in a low voice, vibrant with ill-suppressed excitement; "the famous Inca Sun God, made of solid gold. It was known to exist. Well, we shan't take that away with us."
"Why not?" asked Algy quickly.
"Don't you realise how much it weighs?" replied Dickpa with a short laugh.
"No; how much?"
"Tons. Tons and tons. My dear boy, a cubic foot of gold—that is, a piece of gold measuring twelve inches in each direction—weighs about eleven hundredweights —over half a ton. If you think you are going to pick all these things up and carry them away with you under your arms, you are sadly mistaken. The Sun God alone contains a good many cubic fe
et, and so does its sister idol, the Moon God, which I can see over there, although that, according to records, is made of silver."
Another silence fell in which they feasted their eyes on the most famous treasure in the world, a fabulous El Dorado, which, four hundred years before, would have been part of the ransom of the murdered Inca king but for Pizarro and his Spaniards, who, impatient at the delay in collecting it, committed one of the foulest deeds in history. The room was one vast treasure-chamber. Round the walls were piled ornaments and utensils of every
description, all of fine gold. Immense vases, goblets, dishes, ewers, and articles of all shapes and sizes representing plants, sheaves of corn, birds, animals, and even insects, were stacked in tiers, one above the other. There were hundreds of them, more than they could count. The floor was covered with beautifully wrought gold chests; what they contained they could only surmise. Against them leaned swords, shields, lances, daggers, and even agricultural implements, all of the same precious metal. Cubes of golden tiles were neatly arranged at intervals.
"You must remember," said Dickpa, in a hushed whisper, "that everything used within the precincts of their temples, even the gardening tools, were of gold. Look at those," he went on, pointing to a heap of gold sheets, each about the size of the lid of a chest, which seemed to have been roughly handled, for many of them were dented and bent. "I can guess where those came from: Cuzco, from the temple named 'The Place of Gold.' The whole of the lower part of it was sheathed in gold plates held on by cornices of the same metal. Amalgro, Pizarro's brutal lieutenant, got some of it, but most of it defied the efforts of his gold-mad soldiers to remove it, and when they came back the priests had hidden it. And there it lies," he went on in a voice of unutterable sadness. "And to think those swinish soldiers actually forced the Inca goldsmiths to melt down their own exquisite work—that part of the treasure upon which they did lay their blood-stained hands—into ingots, so that it could be transported more easily. What vandalism! What should we think of people who plundered our churches and cathedrals and melted down the church plate? Three and a half million pounds' worth of gold they took, to say nothing of precious stones and vast quantities of silver. Never has history before or since provided a picture of such incalculable booty; and to think, in spite of all that, they were not satisfied! All this treasure that we now
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