Section 28 of 36 - Table of Contents
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 dollars worth of gems, including the Flaming Jewel. But he was in the middle of a wilderness ringed in by hostile men, and obliged to rely for aid on a handful of the most desperate criminals in Europe. Those openly hostile to him had a wide net spread around him -- wide of mesh too, perhaps; and it was through a mesh he meant to wriggle, but the net was intact from Canada to New York. Canadian police and secret agents held it on the north: this he had learned from Jake Kloon long since. East, west and south he knew he had the troopers of the New York State Constabulary to deal with, and in addition every game warden and fire warden in the State Forests, a swarm of lain clothes men from the Metropolis, and the rural constabulary of every town along the edges of the vast reservation. Just who was responsible for this enormous conspiracy to rob him of what he considered his own legitimate loot Quintana did not know. Sard's attorney, Eddie Abrams, believed that the French police instigated it through agents of the United States Secret Service. Of one thing Quintana was satisfied, Mike Clinch had nothing to do with stirring up the authorities. Law-breakers of his sort don't shout for the 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. To Quintana there was nothing suspicious about Hal Smith. On the contrary, his clever recklessness confirmed that polished bandit's opinion that Smith was a gentleman degenerated into a crook. It takes an educated imagination for a man to do what Smith had done to him. If the common crook has any imagination at all it never is educated. Another matter worried Jose Quintana: he was not only short on provisions, but what remained was cached in Drowned Valley; and Mike Clinch and his men were guarding every outlet to that sinister region, excepting only the rocky and submerged trail by which he had made his exit. That was annoying; it cut off provisions and liquor from Canada, for which he had arranged with Jake Kloon. For Kloon's hootch-runners now would be stopped by Clinch; ad not one among them knew about the rocky trail in. All these matters were disquieting enough: but what really and most deeply troubled Quintana was his knowledge of his own men. He did not trust one among them. Of international crookdom they were the cream. Not one of them but would have murdered his fellow if the loot were worth it and the chances of escape sufficient. There was no loyalty to him, none to one another, no "honour among thieves" -- and it was Jose Quintana who knew that only in romance such a thing existed. N, he could not trust a single man. Only hope of plunder attached these marauders to him, and merely because he had education and imagination enough 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 the problem that confronted Quintana after robbing Darragh. And he determined to settle part of that question at once. About five miles from Harrod Place, within a hundred rods of which he had 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 one visage 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 Jose Quintana: "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 to your good advice." He looked at Henri Picquet, smiled and nodded invitation to speak. Picquet shrugged: "For me, mon capitaine, eet ees ver' simple. We are five. Therefore, divide into five ze gems. After zat, each one for himself to make his way out----" "Nick Salzar and Harry Beck are in Drowned Valley," interrupted Quintana. Picquet shrugged again; Sanchez laughed, saying: "If they are there it is 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 to the rifle of Mike Clinch?" "Why not?" demanded Georgiades sullenly; -- "we shall have worse to face before we see the Place de l'Opera." "There remains, also, Eddie Abrams," remarked Quintana. Crooks never betray their attourney. Everybody expressed a willingness to have the five shares of plunder properly assessed to satisfy the fee due 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 arrived in New York. Sanchez sneered, accusing Sard of wanting a bodyguard to escort him to his own home. "In this accursed forest," he insisted, "five of us would attract attention where one alone, with sufficient stealth, can slip through into the open country." "Two by two is better," said Picquet. "You, Sanchez, shall travel alone if you desire----" "Divide the gems first," growled Georgiades, "and then let each do what pleases him." "That," nodded Quintana, "is also my opinion. It is so settle. Attention!" Two pistols were in his hands as by magic. With a slight smile he laid them on the moss beside him. He then spread a large white handkerchief flat on the ground; and, from his pockets, he poured out the glittering cascade. Yet, like a feeding panther, every sense remained alert to the slightest sound or movement elsewhere; and when Georgiades grunted from excess emotion, Quintana's right hand held a pistol before the grunt had ceased. It was a serious business, this division of loot; every reckless visage reflected the strain of the situation. Quintana, both pistols in his hands, looked down at the scintillating heap 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 The Flaming 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. He smiled, 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, as all know ver' well. Therefore, it shall be our frien' Sard who will divide for us what we have gain to-day by our -- industry." The savage tension broke with a laugh at the word chosen by Quintana to express their efforts of the morning. Sard had been standing with one fat hand flat against the trunk of a tree. Now, at a nod from Quintana, he squatted down, and, with the same hand that had been resting against the tree, he spread out the pile of jewels into a flat layer. As he began to divide this into five parts, still using the flat of his pudgy hand, something poked him lightly in the ribs. It was the muzzle of 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 diamonds and 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 his pocket-flask, and dried it for general inspection. "My God," he protested tremulously, "it was accidental, gentlemen. Do you think I'd try to get away with anything like that----" Quintana coolly shoved him aside and with the barrel of his pistol he pushed the flat pile of gems into five separate heaps. Only he and Georgiades knew that a magnificent diamond had been lodged in the muzzle of his pistol. The eyes of the Greek flamed with rage at the trick, but he awaited the division before he should come to any conclusion. Quintana coolly picked out The Flaming Jewel and pocketed it. Then, to each man he indicated the heap which was to be his portion. A snarling wrangle instantly began, Sanchez objecting to rubies and demanding more emeralds, and Picquet complaining violently concerning the 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 inclined to think the division fair enough. Quintana got to his feet lithely. "For me," he said, "it is finish. With my frien' Sard I shall now depart. Messieurs, I embrace and salute you. A bientot in Paris -- if it 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 with enormous eyes. Torn between dismay of being left alone in the wilderness, and a very natural fear of any single companion, he did not know what to say or do. En masse, the gang were too distrustful of one another to unite on robbing any individual. But any individual might easily rob a companion when 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; his mind 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 roam alone in this filthy forest does not suit me." Picquet shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel in silence. They watched him moving away all alone, eastward. When he had disappeared among the trees, Quintana looked inquiringly at the others. "Eh, bien, non alors!" snarled Georgiades suddenly. "There are too many in 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 he was lost to view. When at length the last distant sound of his retreat had died away in the stillness, Quintana touched Sard with the point of his 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 will mo' kin'ly face south, and you will be kin' sufficient to start immediate. 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 Star Pon', then between the cross-road an' Ghos' Lake; an' then we shall repose; an' one of us, en vidette, shall discover if the Constabulary have patrol beyon'. ... Allons! March!" * * * * *Prev Next All
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