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- Author: Various
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His plans perfected, Prince Krassnov had then returned to Kinchinjunga with his rocket, since when the mysterious flood of those perfect diamonds into the jewel markets of the world had begun.
"So you see, my friends," he smiled, "that is what you Americans would call my 'little game'—a game your chance discovery has rather jeopardized, you must admit."
Professor Prescott could well realize this, but at a glance from Stoddard he declined to admit it.
"A very ingenious game!" he said. "But where do the Lamas figure in this? Surely they must know of the presence of this meteor within their kingdom."
"No doubt they do," the prince conceded. "This is why they are so reluctant to have foreigners enter their domain. At one time, I am satisfied, they knew its exact location and drew many of their own gems from that source. But in recent times the snow people have guarded their secret well. The Lamas are as terrified of them as the natives—and with better reason!"
He did not mention what the reason was, but there was something ominous in his tone.
ut to get on with my story, friends. I am not telling you all this merely to satisfy your curiosity. I have what you call a motive in my madness!"
Madness was right, thought Stoddard. The man was dangerously, criminally mad.
"My motive is simply this," he went on. "You have chanced upon my little nest-egg, and consequently I have either to let you in on the deal or—"
Krassnov paused; shrugged.
"But why talk of anything unpleasant, when there is wealth enough here for all? What I propose, briefly, is that you join me."
They knew it was coming, but they winced, nevertheless.
"Oh, don't be premature!" he exclaimed, a little nettled. "Hear me out. What is good enough for me and my fellow nobles of Imperial Russia is surely good enough for poor, under-paid professors of democratic America. Listen, friends—I am generous. Join me and we will make millionaires out of all of you. Every professor in your country shall be a little czar. It will be, to use the old phrase, a triumph of the intellect."[55]
Beyond a doubt, the man was mad; yet his madness was vast, dizzying. Though neither was tempted, they were both rendered speechless for a moment. It was like standing on a mountain top and being shown the countries and the glories of the world—like standing on the top of Kinchinjunga, thought Prescott.
"But you assume we are all Bolsheviks, like yourself, we professors," he said, struggling for calm words.
"Bolsheviks!" snorted the prince. "I spit on them! You think I, a nobleman, am interested in the masses? Cattle—swine! I plan only for the day when we who are worthy rule again, and this that I have told you is my plan. You can, as you Americans so coarsely say, either take it or leave it."
tension hung in the air, as his words echoed into silence. The man had revealed himself.
"And suppose we leave it?" asked the professor, restraining his irritation as best he could. "What then?"
"Then I am afraid—ah—unpleasant consequences would result," was the bland answer. "Surely you realize that I could not let you and young Dr. Stoddard rejoin your expedition with this story to report."
They realized it quite well.
"But suppose we agree not to report it?" said Professor Prescott.
"Not to doubt your honesty of intention," replied Krassnov sharply. "I would refuse to accept such an agreement."
"Then I see nothing else but to decline your kind proposal," said Stoddard, before the professor could formulate further words. "What do you propose to do—murder us?"
"Nothing so personal," said the prince, with his sardonic smile. "I shall merely turn you over to my little subjects. They no doubt will deal with you as your merits warrant."
Whereupon he pressed a button under that elaborate teakwood table. The musical gong they had heard before sounded again, and the prince's two Cossack retainers reappeared.
He addressed them briefly in Russian, adding to his guests:
"Adieu, friends! If you change your minds, you have only to speak. You will be understood, and I shall be gratified."
And without further words, they were led from that ornate apartment.
aken back to the dazzling chamber under the meteor, they were turned over to the pigmies.
A powwow resulted, but it was brief. The two captives were bound fast in a curious ceremonial pit near the center of the room. Then the midget horde withdrew, leaving them alone there under that eery glow.
"Now what the devil will be the next step?" queried Stoddard, when the last of the pigmies had gone.
Professor Prescott considered for a moment, before replying.
"I don't think there will be any next step, except our cremation," he said at length.
"Cremation?" gasped his young friend. "What do you mean, cremation?"
Another pause, then:
"Just this. Don't you see where we are? Right under the Thunderbolt! Well?"
"Well what?"
"Simple enough, Jack." The professor's tone was grave. "When dawn comes, and the rising sun strikes that—"
"Good God!" Stoddard suddenly understood. "Why, we'll be cooked alive—frizzled!"
It was only too true. Even now, the pale rays of the moon, concentrated by the myriad facets of that monumental diamond, were beginning to focus on them a warmth that[56] was uncomfortable. And by morning—!
The two men crouched there silent, realizing their desperate plight. They must escape, before the sun rose. But how?
tudying their bonds, they discovered that they were of rawhide of some sort, obviously from the hides of animals these strange people caught on the lower slopes somewhere. But though they strained and twisted, they could not stretch them, the leather evidently having been cured to a marvelous toughness in these high altitudes.
Precious minutes ticked by as they struggled there, but they were unable to extricate themselves.
But before the end of a half-hour, Stoddard managed to free one arm, and reaching into his jacket he drew forth a small, compact metal object—his cigarette lighter.
Twirling the wheel, while Professor Prescott held his breath, he succeeded in kindling a flame on its tiny wick.
If only he could reach the thongs with it! If only he could burn them through and free himself and the professor before any of the pigmies re-entered that lethal chamber!
Wrenching around now, he applied the flame to his left wrist, which was still bound. As the living fire touched his flesh, he winced with pain, but almost anything was better than the grisly fate that threatened.
Slowly, a little at a time, he endured the torture, straining at each application to see if the thongs would yield.
"Here, let me try it once!" called out Professor Prescott, as he cried aloud with the agony of the ordeal.
"No. I'll get it!" Stoddard gritted his teeth, continued. "There! I think my hand is free!" He struggled. "Yes. Now wait!"
Replacing his cigarette lighter in his pocket, he drew his blistered wrist from its smouldering bonds and struggled feverishly now to undo the lashes about his feet.
Five minutes of that and suddenly he flung them off and stood up.
"Now! Now then, Professor. I'll have you loose in a jiffy!"
Bending over his fettered companion, he worked with frantic haste to untie the rawhide bonds.
Another five minutes and they were both free.
rofessor Prescott stood up and stretched.
"Thank God for small favors!" he exclaimed. "But you, Jack? You must be burned cruelly.
"Forget it!" Stoddard was already wrapping a handkerchief around his wrist. "Now let's see about getting out of here. These little rats all seem to be asleep, and Lord knows where that maniac Krassnov is. Perhaps we can make it. At any rate, we'll give them a run for their money!"
As he spoke, he drew his automatic.
Silently, stealthily, they left that glittering chamber and proceeded down the cavern toward what seemed to be the entrance, guided by their remembrance of the way they had come.
A hundred yards or more they made, seeing no sign of their captors, when suddenly a musical gong rang out.
"We've stepped on one of Krassnov's infernal signals!" cried Stoddard, above the din. "Now there'll be hell to pay!"
And "hell to pay" there was, almost instantly—for before they had taken ten more steps, the cavern ahead was full of small, ghostly figures, jabbering in their shrill voices.
Indifferent now of what he did, their lives at stake, Stoddard blazed away with his automatic, sweeping it from side to side of the stony walls as he fired.[57]
As the shots crashed out, the jabbers turned to shrieks of terror. Several of the pigmies fell. The rest broke their ranks and shrank into the shadows.
"Run!" yelled Stoddard, slipping a new clip into his pistol.
The professor needed no invitation. Gathering his long legs he sped after the younger man, and together they burst from the mouth of the cavern.
utside, in the dazzle of moonlight, they paused for an instant.
"This way!" called Stoddard, racing toward that splintered arena.
They gained it and lunged across it to the shelving slope that reached upward to the narrow, perilous ridge whence they had come.
As they proceeded, the pigmy horde following with incredible swiftness, Stoddard wheeled and fired time and again—and now his shots were answered by the reports of rifles.
"Krassnov and his Cossacks!" he muttered. "Well, we'll give them our heels, unless they hit us."
"And Russians are notoriously bad shots, I understand," panted the professor.
At any rate, they reached the slope and struggled upward toward the ridge, putting themselves presently out of range behind the jagged rocks that loomed on every side.
But just as they were congratulating themselves on their escape, came a dull, reverberating explosion—and as they clung to their insecure footholds, a volcano of snow and ice rose ahead. Thousands of tons of debris avalanched into the chasm below.
tunned, deafened, they looked around.
Down in that pocket where the Thunderbolt had so recently gleamed was one vast chaos, and above, where that razor-back ridge had led across the intervening chasms to safety, was a dazzling void.
To both came the same thought, but Stoddard expressed it first.
"Krassnov—he's dynamited the ridge!" he gasped.
"Then we—we'll never get back now!" echoed Professor Prescott.
"No, but they'll never get us here!"
"Scant comfort, though, when we're pinioned here like a couple of birds with their wings clipped."
"Right; but let's see. Let's figure. We're better off than we were. And what was it Napoleon once said: 'When you can't retreat, advance.' So suppose we—"
"But listen!"
toddard heard. It was the sound of rifle shots. And looking down, he saw a feverish activity surrounding the rocket. Myriads of the pigmies were swarming upon it, while a handful of Cossacks were holding them off.
"Something doing down there, all right!" he muttered. "Looks to me like—why, sure I've got it! That madman has overshot himself, for once! He's buried their precious meteor, in blowing up our ridge, and they've turned on him!"
"I think you're right," agreed Professor Prescott. "Suppose we advance as you say. It looks like a chance."
"Right," said Stoddard.
Slowly, cautiously, they returned down the slope.
When within a hundred yards, they knew they had sized up the situation correctly. With frantic speed, Krassnov was supervising the shoveling out of his rocket from amid the debris; was directing its loading, while the free members of his crew held off the enraged natives who were obstructing them.
Descending even more cautiously now, they neared the scene of activity.
"My plan is this—to get aboard[58] and find out where they're going!" said Stoddard, through shut teeth. "What do you say?"
"Lead on!" said the professor.
So they continued down, neared the resting-place of that strange craft, and, under shelter of the moonlight shadows, stole through the confused ranks surrounding it and crept aboard.
towing themselves into the first likely niche that offered—a narrow cubicle behind a flight of metal stairs—they waited, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of being discovered.
Fifteen minutes passed, a half-hour, when suddenly sounded a rasping of doors that told them the rocket was being sealed.
Then came a roar, as of some mighty blast beating down upon the frozen earth, followed by a lifting, rushing sensation—and they were flung violently to the flooring.
The pressure ceased in a moment, however, to be supplanted by a buoyant, exhilarating sense of flight. It increased, and they judged they must be traveling at great speed.
Glancing at the luminous dial of
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