BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

but what with the singing, shouting, cloak-flinging, flower throwing, and what not, they both felt quite worn out, and were not at all sorry to at length arrive at the door of the Casa Maraquando.

      The news of their arrival had preceded them, as a matter of course, and Don Miguel, with outstretched arms, was waiting in the gateway to receive them. Dolores, with a cry of delight, flung herself on the breast of her uncle, who at once carried her into the patio. Then the rest of the party followed, and the doors were shut against the mob, which still remained in the street, terribly excited. After a time, the tumult quietened down like a sea after a storm, and the throng streamed into the Plaza de los Hombres Ilustres to organise a demonstration to the honour and glory of the Chalchuih Tlatonac and its guardian.

      In the patio, Dolores was received with noisy demonstrations by Doña Serafina, and with joyful tears by Eulalia. It was some time, however, before Don Miguel could part from his niece, for he held her to his breast, calling upon all the saints to shower blessings on her head. Never had the stately Spaniard been so moved, and when he delivered his niece over to the tender embraces of Serafina and Eulalia, he turned towards Jack, with tears in his eyes.

      “Señor Juan,” he said, in a voice of emotion, grasping the young man’s hand, “I can never repay you for what you have done. From this moment you may command the services, and the lives of myself and those dear to me.”

      He could say no more, but, with a wave of his hand, walked to the other end of the court to conceal his emotion. Jack was scarcely less moved, and as for Dolores, she was being overwhelmed by her cousin and aunt.

      “Dear one,” chattered the old lady, noisily; “now that thou art safe, I vow twenty candles to the Virgin, who has thus watched over thee, and to San Juan, who is the patron saint of your preserver.”

      “I, also!” cried Eulalia, who had in some mysterious way become possessed of the history. “I vow a jewel to San Felipe, for it was his namesake who preserved them from the Indians.”

      Jack and Philip were much gratified by these marks of attention; but Peter, being left out in the cold, was inclined to be cross.

      “They might vow a candle or so to San Pedro,” he grumbled, “seeing the whole Church of Rome is under his care.”

      “Offer him some beetles, Peter,” said Jack, in the little doctor’s ear; but the suggestion was not received favourably by the entomologist.

      Having wept and cried over Dolores to their hearts’ content, the ladies proceeded to lead her away to resume her own dress; but before doing so, both aunt and niece flung themselves on Jack’s neck, and embraced him with fervour. Duval did not mind a kiss from Eulalia, but he objected to the aunt. Nevertheless, as he had to take the bitter with the sweet, he passively submitted to be made much of.

      “Caro, Señor! You are an angel from heaven,” cried Serafina, with fervour.

      “As valiant as the Cid,” said Eulalia, kissing Jack’s bronzed cheek.

      “We will pray for you to the saints.”

      “Your face shall be in my soul!”

      This last remark came from Eulalia, whereat Philip winced. Seeing this, Jack brought the duet to a speedy end.

      “I am your servant, Señoritas! What I have done is nothing, and thanks are rather due to Cocom than to me.”

      “But without you, Don Juan, Cocom could not have saved Dolores.”

      “And without the boat of Señor Felipe,” added Eulalia, glancing at the baronet, “none of the three would be here.”

      Philip made a polite gesture of dissent, though in his heart he was glad that Eulalia inclined so kindly towards him. Then Jack kissed the hands of the ladies in a most gallant fashion, and they, after removing Dolores once more from the arms of Don Miguel, whither she had flown, led her out of the patio. This being done, while waiting for the evening meal, Don Miguel demanded from Jack an account of his adventures, a request which was at once seconded by Philip, Rafael, and Peter, who protested that they could listen to a dozen repetitions of his hairbreadth escapes. Thus adjured, Jack, with as much suppression of himself as possible, narrated the events which had taken place from the earliest period of his capture by Xuarez down to the present time when he was rescued by Philip. Frequently the story was interrupted by ejaculations from his auditors, and by the time the story was finished they were all furious with Don Hypolito, particularly Señor Maraquando.

      “To think, Señor,” he cried, indignantly, “that I have touched the hand of that man. Carambo! To give up a white man to the cursed altar of Huitzilopochtli. It is infamous! It is unheard of!”

      “But you forget, Señor, he is a pure-blooded Indian.”

      “I ever thought so,” said Rafael, sagely. “There were many ways about Xuarez, my father, that were not those of a Spaniard.”

      “Indian or no Indian,” growled Philip, clenching his fist, “if I get within striking distance of the scoundrel, I won’t leave a whole bone in his body.”

      “Nor will I,” said the meek Peter, fiercely, “fancy him wanting to lay Jack out on a jasper stone like a corpse on a dissecting-table.”

      “Be quiet, you Chamber of Horrors,” said the baronet, angrily, “don’t mention such a thing.”

      “There is one great good gained out of much evil,” observed Don Miguel, reflectively; “the possession of the opal strengthens us greatly against Xuarez.”

      “How so?” asked Philip, curiously.

      “Because this priest, Ixtlilxochitli, will not be able to manage the Indians for him without the stone.”

      “I am afraid, Señor, the mischief is done,” said Jack, gravely, “the opal declared war, and now the Indians will join Don Hypolito.”

      “It’s a pity we can’t get up a counter prophecy, and make the opal declare peace,” remarked Philip, quietly; “then the Indians would take no part in the war.”

      “I fancy that is impossible,” said Miguel, shaking his head. “I would it could be so. If the Indians would only keep quiet, Xuarez would find great difficulty in accomplishing his plans. Should Janjalla fall, and Xuarez concentrate his own men and the Indians before Tlatonac, it will be hard to beat them back.”

      “Janjalla will not fall,” cried Rafael, in a fiery tone; “there are brave men defending it. They will hold out till reinforced. The regiments march southward to-morrow, the torpederas and The Iturbide go the next day; and between the two we shall conquer these rebels.”

      “We will try, at all events, my son,” said Maraquando, smiling at the young man’s enthusiasm; “but, meanwhile, it is best to look on both sides of the question.”

      “With the opal stone in Tlatonac, we cannot fail,” declared Jack. “You have seen it, Señor Maraquando?”

      “Not yet. Dolores was too agitated to show it to me.”

      “Here is my cousin,” said Rafael, rising to his feet. “She brings the opal with her.”

      Before he finished the sentence, Dolores, now arrayed in her European dress, entered the patio, followed by Doña Serafina and Eulalia uttering cries of admiration. In her hand she carried the Harlequin Opal, which glittered faintly in the dim light.

      “See, uncle!” cried Dolores, placing the gem in Maraquando’s hand, “I give you the luck of Tlatonac.”

      “So this is the famous stone?” said Miguel, gazing at the wonderful play of colours, “I do not wonder it is held sacred. So beautiful a jewel I have never yet beheld.”

      “There, Señor Maraquando, I disagree with you,” observed Jack, in a nervous voice; “there is a jewel still more beautiful in my eyes—Dolores!”

      Don Miguel started and stared