The Greatest Works of Fergus Hume - 22 Mystery Novels in One Edition. Fergus Hume

you never stay two days in London,” said Peter, in astonishment.

      “Neither do I. Don’t I tell you I’m tired of it? Be quiet, Peter; I can see that Jack is on the verge of being delivered of a great idea.”

      “Upon my word, that’s cute of you, Philip,” exclaimed Jack, admiringly. “Yes, I have a scheme to propound, for the carrying out which I need your assistance—in fact, the assistance of all three.”

      “This promises to be an interesting conversation,” said Cassim, in an animated tone. “Proceed, John Duval, Engineer. What is it you wish us to do?”

      “I had better begin at the beginning, gentlemen all.”

      “That’s generally considered the best way,” observed Peter, with mild sarcasm.

      “Be quiet! you small pill-box. Let Jack speak.”

      “As I told you at dinner,” said Jack, placing his elbows backward on the mantelshelf, “I have been all over the world since I last saw your three faces. China, Peru, New Zealand, India, Turkey—I know all those places, and many others. I have made money; I have lost money; I have had ups and downs; but everywhere I can safely say I’ve had a good time.”

      “Same here,” murmured Tim, refilling his pipe.

      “At present I am in Central America,” pursued Jack, taking no notice of the interpolation, “under engagement as a railway engineer to the Republic of Cholacaca.”

      “Cholacaca?” echoed Tim, loudly; “isn’t it there the row’s to take place?”

      “Why, what do you know about it, Tim?”

      “A special correspondent knows a lot of things,” returned Fletcher, sagely. “Go on with the music, my boy. I’ll tell you something when you’ve ended.”

      Jack looked hard at Tim and hesitated, but Philip, curled up luxuriously in his big chair, asked him to proceed.

      “You’re going to tell an Arabian Night story, Jack.”

      “Well, it sounds like one.”

      “Good! I love romance. It’s something about buried cities, and Aztecs, and treasure, and the god Huitzilopochtli.”

      “Oh, bosh! You’ve been reading Prescott.”

      “It seems to me,” observed Peter, plaintively, “that with all these interruptions we’ll never hear the story.”

      “The first that speaks will be crushed,” announced Tim, glaring around. “If you please, Mr. Duval, it’s waiting we are.”

      Jack laughed, and resumed his story.

      “While I was at Tlatonac—that is the capital of the Republic—I became mixed up in certain events, political and otherwise. I found I could do nothing I wanted to without assistance; so, as I suddenly remembered our promise to meet here this year, I came straight to London. In fact, I was in such a hurry to find out if you three had remembered the appointment, that I left my luggage at the railway station, and came on by a hansom to Portman Square. This is the reason I am not in evening dress.”

      “Oh, deuce take your evening dress,” said Philip, irritably; “you might have come in a bathing-towel, for all I cared. I didn’t want to see your clothes. I wanted to see you. Go on with the story of the buried city.”

      “How do you know my story is about a buried city?”

      “I never heard a romance of Central America that wasn’t.”

      “You’ll hear one now, then. This isn’t about a city—it’s concerning a stone.”

      “A stone?” echoed his three listeners.

      “Yes. An opal. A harlequin opal.”

      “And what is a harlequin opal, Jack?”

      “Tim, I’m astonished at your ignorance. A special correspondent should know all things. A harlequin opal is one containing all the colours of the rainbow, and a few extra ones besides.”

      “Well, Jack, and this special opal?”

      “It’s one of the most magnificent jewels in the world.”

      “Have you seen it?”

      Jack drew a long breath.

      “Yes; once. Great Scott, what a gem! You fellows can’t conceive its beauty. It is as large as a guinea-hen’s egg. Milky white, and shooting rays of blue and green, and red and yellow like fireworks. It belonged to Montezuma.”

      “I thought those everlasting Aztecs would come in,” said Philip smiling. “Well, Jack, and what about this stone?”

      “Ah, that’s a long story.”

      “What of that? The night’s young, and the liquor’s plentiful.”

      “I don’t mind sitting up all night, if the story is interesting. Start at once Jack, and don’t keep us any longer in suspense. I hate wire-drawn agonies.”

      “A year ago I was pottering about at Zacatecas, over a wretched little railway that wasn’t worth bothering about. Being hard up, I went in for it in default of something better; but meanwhile kept my eyes open to see what I could drop into. After some months, I heard that the Republic of Cholacaca was about to open up the country with railways, so I thought I’d go there to get a job.”

      “Where is Cholacaca?”

      “Down Yucatan way—not far from Guatemala.”

      “Oh, I know; looks on to Campeche Bay.”

      “No; on the other side of the neck. Washed by the Carribean Sea.”

      “I must get you to show it to me on the map,” said Philip, finding his geographical knowledge at fault. “I have an idea of its whereabouts, but not of its precise locality. Meanwhile let us continue your adventures.”

      “When I heard of this prospect at Tlatonac,” continued Jack, without further preamble, “I left Zacatecas for Mexico, stayed a few days in the capital, to make inquiries about the Republic. These proving satisfactory, I went on to Vera Cruz, and, fortunately, found a coasting-vessel which took me on to Cholacaca. Considering the ship, I got to my destination pretty sharp. I didn’t know a soul in the town when I arrived; but, after a few days, began to pick up a few acquaintances. Among these was Don Miguel Maraquando, a wealthy old Estanciero. He has great influence in Cholacaca, being a member of the Junta, and is regarded by many people as the future president of the Republic.”

      “That is if Don Hypolito stands out,” said Tim, softly.

      “Have you heard——” began Jack, when the journalist cut him short.

      “I’ve heard many things, my boy. Later on I’ll tell you all I know.”

      “You seem to be pretty well acquainted with what’s going on in Cholacaca,” said Jack, after a few moments’ reflection; “but I’ll tell my story first, and you can tell yours afterwards. Don Miguel became a great friend of mine, and I saw a good deal of him while I stayed at Tlatonac. He is greatly in favour of this railway, which is to be made from the capital to Acauhtzin, a distance of some three hundred and fifty miles. Don Hypolito Xuarez, the leader of the Oposidores, objected to the scheme on the ground that it was utterly unnecessary to run a railway to Acauhtzin when ships could take goods there by water.”

      “And isn’t the man right?” said Tim, indignantly; “what’s the use of running a railway along the seacoast?”

      “We’ll argue that question later on,” replied Jack, dryly; “I have my own ideas on the subject, and, as an engineer, I know what I’m talking about. Don Hypolito’s objection sounds all right, I have no doubt; but if you look into the matter you will see he hasn’t a leg