"I did, miss."
Who did what? Dull mutters and echoings pierced into Hammer's brain, as if voices that he used to know were whispering in the distance. They swelled and died away and swelled again, reminding him vaguely of the bells he had heard one evening in Venice.
There it was again—there—that was the clear silver of San Giorgio's Campanile, with the deeper tones of Giovanni e Paolo dipping down through the silver, then Santa Maria Formosa dropped in her liquid notes, with, over all, far-flung cadences drifting faintly down on the sea-wind from the Frari until the great dome of the Salute spoke to the sunset, and all the myriad others——
No, it was nothing but Harcourt talking, talking to his mother! That was odd: Harcourt was five miles out at sea, and his mother had been dead for twenty years, he was quite sure.
Ah, he was wrong after all! It was only John Solomon and Sara Helmuth talking together. At that he opened his eyes, caught a faint flicker of light—and remembered.
A violent nausea swept over him, but he conquered it, lying with clenched fists. He recalled what a dying man had once whispered to him aboard the cattle boat—"I wonder what the other place is like?"—and he repeated it over and over in his mind, for it was a good joke.
"I wonder what the other place is like!"
It was his own voice speaking, and he laughed, a dry cackle of a laugh that struck the other voices dead. Where was he?
"I'll lay odds that it's hell——"
Something cool touched his brow and he jerked away sharply, every nerve in his body twinging. Then he realized that the thing was a hand, and heard that queer laughter of his ring out again, though he had not meant to laugh at all.
"Best let 'im be, miss. 'E ought to be waked by now, but 'e'll come up all right-o. Dang it, I don't know as I blames 'im much. It was a mortal bad place."
"Hello, John!" Hammer made a great effort and forced himself to speak. "What are you doing on the other side, as the spiritualists say! Who's that devil got his hand on me? Take him off, darn it!"
The hand was withdrawn, and he heard Solomon chuckle.
"'E's come through, miss, but 'e don't know it. 'Ey, you, Mr. 'Ammer! Sit up and take a werry good look at this 'ere devil 'o yours—beggin' your pardon, miss."
The startled American felt himself pulled to a sitting position, and blinked. The flickering light was from a fire, and he seemed to be sitting on a cot in a tent; also, the tent looked oddly like that of Dr. Krausz's.
That was hardly possible, of course, but John Solomon was standing in front of him and smoking his vile black tobacco, while it was indubitably Sara Helmuth at his side.
"Why—why, what's—where—" he stammered confusedly. Then a cry of mortal agony broke from him. "Good God, don't play with me like this!"
He tried to shut out the vision, his hands over his eyes; as he sank back on the cot he felt other hands on his, pulling them away, and something warm and wet splashed on his face.
"Hammer! Don't, please! It's all right, really! Hammer, dear—oh, John, can't you do something?"
"Ay, miss, if you'll stand aside."
Something struck him, and he heard a cry, then came more blows that knocked him back; furious, he struggled up to see the girl forcing the laughing Solomon back.
"Stop that, John! Don't be cruel——"
"Say, what do you think I am—a punching-bag?"
The angry American leaped up, and instantly Sara Helmuth was holding to his arms, half-laughing, half-crying as she looked up at him. Solomon chuckled.
"I thought as 'ow that'd fetch 'im about, miss! Sit down, sit down, Mr. 'Ammer. It's only John Solomon, a-'itting of you flat-'anded. Sit down, sir."
Hammer obeyed, utterly bewildered, still holding the girl's hands. The hysterical seizure passed and and left him very weak.
"Then I'm not dead, Sara?"
"Not as anybody knows on, sir," returned Solomon cheerfully, and his voice changed suddenly. "Miss, leave us alone for a minute, if you please."
Obediently, the girl rose, and stepped outside the tent, Hammer looking after in terror lest it was all a dream. Solomon came and sat beside him, gripping his hand.
"'Ere, buck up, sir! I'm sorry there ain't a drop o' liquor, but there ain't. Now you brace up ship-shape and proper, Mr. 'Ammer—you 'ear me? Buck up, I say! You ain't 'urt and you ain't dead, and if I punches you one in the eye you'll know it. Beggin' your pardon, sir, but don't be a——"
And there came a flood of low-pitched but biting words that effected their purpose. Hammer forced control over himself with a shudder and gripped back at Solomon's hand.
"'I'm all right, John," he said shakily. "But—but it's hard—to realize. Call Sara, will you?"
She must have been listening, for she was at his side immediately, and when he had her hands in his again it seemed to Hammer that all was right with the world.
"Now tell me about it," he said, his flagging interest reviving before the wonder of it all. "Didn't the—the adders—puff-adders, Krausz said they were——"
"No, sir, they didn't," broke in John. "They didn't, 'cause why, they wasn't nothing of the sort, sir. I dessay the doctor thought as 'ow they was puff-adders, and for the matter o' that so did I till I got down and 'ad a good look at 'em as I was a-slipping of the rope on you——"
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Hammer sharply. "Do you mean to say you went down in there after me? And you thought they were adders——"
"Lud!" And for the first and last time in his life Hammer saw John Solomon blush in the firelight. "Don't take on so, Mr. 'Ammer—you see, the Arabs wouldn't do it, so it was werry plain it 'ad to be done, and——"
The American put out a hand, his voice husky.
"Thank you, John," he said simply. "I—I think you understand."
"Yes, sir. And now if you'll be letting me tell my story, sir—well, it was like this. I got there too late, what wi' losing some o' me men and one thing and another, and the doctor 'e was a-looking down the 'ole, so I knowed where you was. It fair druv me mad for a bit, sir, and I ups and lets drive. Werry sorry I am to say it, but I missed, not 'aving used a gun for a long time.
"'Owsoever, we potted three o' them danged askaris, the fourth bein' me own man, but the doctor's got clean off. It give me quite a turn, Mr. 'Ammer, it did that, when I come to the edge o' that there 'ole and looked down. The two Afghans was after the doctor, and the Arabs wouldn't go down, so I 'ad to.
"We got the missus up first-off, but when I went down again for you, sir, it near give me the jumps to see you a laying across Jenson's body——"
"What!" broke in Hammer. "Jenson dead? I thought you said they weren't——"
"So I did, sir; so I did; and quite right they weren't. Near as we could figure it out, sir, Jenson died o' fright, and a good job, I says. So we got you up, and wi' that I went for the doctor and druv him clean into the jungle, I was that worked up. Werry sorry I am to say it, but where 'e is I don't know, and what's more, I don't care. We made a good job o' them askaris, though, and took two o' them Dutchmen alive. So there you be, Mr. 'Ammer, all ship-shape and proper." Silence settled inside the tent, broken only by the choking bubble of Solomon's ancient pipe. Hammer realized that it had all taken place that afternoon, and this was evening; but the snakes were not deadly after all——
"I made a blessed fool of myself, then!" He looked up and caught his words, wondering if they knew, by any chance. Well, since the girl had been unconscious and Jenson dead, they didn't. "However, no matter about——"
"Yes, Hammer, it does matter." Sara spoke gravely, her eyes glistening. "You see, after we brought you here you were out of your head, like you were back there at the plantation, and you went over and over that horrible scene—oh, Hammer dear!" There was a catch in her voice. "Didn't—didn't I tell you once upon a time that when the great moment came——"
"Don't, Sara!" begged Hammer earnestly, trying to smile and failing dismally. "Yes, you were right, and it doesn't matter whether I made a fool of myself or not. I——"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir and miss," broke in Solomon hastily, as he rose, "I'd better see as them Arabs put out a guard in case——"
But neither of them heard him, for they were looking into each other's eyes, and Hammer suddenly found that words would not come to him.
"Sara, I—I'm afraid—I love you."
He dared not move, for he had blurted the words out before he thought, and now fear nestled in his heart. Then a soft hand touched the red whip-wale on his cheek, and——
"Hammer, dear, I—I'm glad, I love you!"
But, as John Solomon remarked to the Southern Cross—having forgotten what he went out to do—"Dang it! 'Uman nature is 'uman nature, I says. If so be as a man 'as a 'eart like gold there ain't no woman too good for 'im, as the old gent said to the actress lady."
Which, taking it by and large, may be accepted as a true statement of fact.
Now, it is commonly said of novelists and magazines that a man in the first transports of requited love feels forgiveness for all his enemies; nay, the hero, in the magnanimity caused by owning the earth and the seven heavens, all too frequently sends his deadliest foe packing with the confident trust that he, the foe, will go and sin no more.
That makes good Sabbath-day reading, but it makes nothing else. A man strong enough to have a great enemy may be strong enough to forgive that enemy, but it is much more likely that he is not, has no desire to be, and would not if he could.
Cyrus Hammer expressed himself to this effect at breakfast the next morning. Sara Helmuth was still sleeping, and he and Solomon, with Omar and the two Afghans, discussed the probable future of Dr. Sigurd Krausz, archaeologist.
"He's dangerous," declared Hammer with decision. "I'd say, send out all the men after him, John, and if he comes willingly, then all right. If not, fetch him, anyway. The poor devil must be in bad shape, what with that nose of his; but after yesterday I'll be blessed if I'm not set on giving him the limit!"
Solomon looked at the Afghans. Akhbar Khan exchanged glances with his cousin, and the two men rose, bowed in a silent salaam, and stalked off with their rifles under their arms.
Solomon looked at Omar, and the Arab's teeth flashed out as he followed. And so, for the present, Hammer forgot his enemy, for Sara Helmuth had emerged from the other tent and now joined them.
"There's summat as Mr. 'Ammer don't know about yet," remarked Solomon complacently as the girl sipped her coffee, and she flashed a smile at him. Save for the circles about her eyes, sleep had removed all traces of her weariness. "When so be as you're ready, miss, we might 'ave a look at it."
"Very well," she nodded, then her eyes steadied. "But first, John, I want it thoroughly understood that I waive all claim to it. By right it belongs to you and to Hammer—by right of suffering and toil and——"
"What is it you're talking about?" demanded the American, frowning.
"The treasure," she said, and explained. As she had rightly told Krausz, that part of the treasure which contained the papers, relics, and gifts from the Viceroy to the King of Portugal, had been placed in the pit of snakes, and in all likelihood would have remained there had not Solomon been forced to descend, and so discovered that the snakes were harmless.
It had been hauled out and left amid the ruins. The more intrinsically valuable portions of the treasure were buried underground in another place, but the girl had by now given up all hopes of ever getting it.
"We know where it is," she concluded with a shiver, "but it would take time, and I wouldn't stay here a minute longer than necessary, money or no money. You and John, Hammer, can divide——"
"Hold on there!" exclaimed the American. "I'm not in on this treasure stunt. It belongs to you, Sara——"
"Just a minute sir and miss," and Solomon leaned forward earnestly, waving his empty pipe as he spoke. "O' course, I 'as to go back wi' you to Mombasa and straighten up this 'ere mess wi' the governor; but if so as you don't want to wait, I'll come back and dig up the stuff on me own. I'll chance it if you will, miss; and you Mr. 'Ammer to take what there is 'ere, me to take what's left."
"That's fair enough, Sara," put in Hammer quickly. "Only, I've no right to——"
"You have!" cried the girl indignantly. "The idea—after all you've gone through for me! Well, let's have it as John proposes, then; you and I, Hammer, take the papers and relics, and John can take the gold for his share. If you don't say yes, I'll—I'll give the whole business to Potbelly!"
"All right," laughed the American, who, to tell the truth, had no great faith in the entire treasure story. "All ready?"
As only two of the Arabs had remained in camp, Solomon summoned them with axes, and the five started for the ruins. Hammer could not enter the tangle of jungle without a shudder, and would greatly have preferred staying away altogether; but once in for it he patted the revolver given him by Solomon and determined to see the thing through.
Fortunately for his peace of mind it appeared that Solomon had left the treasure in one of the clear spaces of the fort itself, for which Hammer was devoutly thankful; he sorely doubted his ability to visit that pit again, for his nerves were still badly shaken.
They reached the clearing, and in spite of his scepticism, Hammer felt a thrill at sight of the two coffin-like lead cases that lay beside the bush-strewn ruins of a wall. Without delay the two Arabs fell to work with their axes, ripping open one of the cases; and after half an hour's labour a second case, of heavy wood, was laid out.
"Teak," grunted Solomon. "Give that ax 'ere."
With some care he attacked the locks that rimmed the iron-bound case, smashing them one after another. When the last had gone he paused, and beckoned Sara forward.
"Open it, miss."
The girl obeyed eagerly. Stooping over, she managed to raise and tip back the heavy top, and with it a mass of camphor-smelling cloth that had lain beneath. A gleam of yellow shot up, and Hammer found himself staring down at a magnificent gold-wrought reliquary. One of the Arabs gave an exclamation in Kiswahili.
"Thahabu! Gold!"
At the same instant Hammer's eyes darted up to the bush-strewn wall. The others had heard nothing, absorbed in the sight of the treasure, but Hammer caught a dull tan-hued form amid the bushes, and snatched at his revolver. He perceived a glint of steel, and fired through his coat pocket.
"Yess, it iss gold," came a mumble, piercing through the startled cry of Sara, and the misshapen face of Sigurd Krausz rose amid the bushes.
A tongue of flame spat back at Hammer, who tried to fire again but could not. Slowly, yet before the echoes of Krausz's shot had flung back from the jungle around, the American slipped and went to his knees.
He looked up in surprise at Sara Helmuth; then, as her fingers went out to his, he choked and fell sideways, both hands clutching at his throat.